The Songs of Slaves (4 page)

             
“Another time I would have.”

             
“But he’s so much bigger than you.”

             
“It does not matter. I applied the strength of my whole body against the strength of his one isolated part of his. And so I used strength against weakness. Once I had him, all his strength could not help him. It is part of the science of combat, an ancient way the Greeks call
Pankration
.”

             
“You learned that as a priest?”

             
“I was not always a priest.”

             
“You were a warrior, then?” Connor said, the fabled idealization of Romans springing back into his mind; for if this small, aging man could so easily defeat one of the most feared men in the settlement, then what could an army of them do?

             
But Titus said nothing.

             
“Why do you not answer me?”

             
“Why do you ask so many questions? Why do you speak to your elders as if they were your equals? As if they owed you explanations? In that respect the drunken Pagan was right to be angry with you. But I suppose that the Brothers have been too lax on you because you were not their own. Now that you are so nearly grown up there will probably not be time to teach you real manners.”

             
“I do not see why you will not tell me,” Connor said. The man apparently had come to tell them everything they were not doing right, but was now unwilling to tell him of the one thing he did want to hear about.

             
“Very well.
Yes. I was twenty-five years under the eagle of Rome. I fought in her legions when I was
young and sinful. But
Pankration
I learned from my father and my grandfather. When my grandfather had been a young man he had competed in the Olympic Games
, so he was an excellent man to learn from
. I broadened what I knew when I fought beside the
foederati
mercenaries of the Sarmatians, the Sueves, even the Huns. But battles are not won by individual fighting skill. Battles are won with the strategy, and with the shield wall
–
with every man knowing his job and every man trusting the men beside him to do theirs. Discipline wins on the field, and that is what has made the Roman Army succeed wherever Roman diplomacy may fail. But you barbarians celebrate your individual prowess and are out for your own glory, and that is why we almost always defeated you. Unity is a concept you do not understand, and so the power of your individuals combines to make your collective weak.”

             
Connor did not like being called a barbarian, whatever that word might mean, and resented the insinuation that Rome would have conquered Eire if it had wanted to. Everyone in the land knew that would not happen – Eire was blessed. But he did not interrupt as Titus began again.

             
“Until recent years.
Now the Romans are too rich and lazy to fight their own battles, and we rely on the barbarians to do it for us. It is often hard to tell the difference when the hordes meet on the battlefield. Even when I was in – almost a dozen years ago now – only a fifth of the empire’s forces where of Rome and the central Roman states. Citizens spurn the army now, as they spurn every kind of discipline. They pursue only their own wealth, their own desires,
their
own sinful pleasures. Even now that we are fraught with enemies on every side, now that even our great eastern army was crushed by Goths, and the Emperor himself fallen on the battlefield, they have not learned God’s lesson.”

             
“Rome was defeated? The Emperor killed?” Connor asked.

             
“A great portion of the army of the East and one of the Emperors,” Titus said, starring ahead to the trees, a frost of bitterness forming in his voice. “Yes.
Perhaps our greatest defeat
–
but not the first and not the last.
Now we seem to be constantly at war. And when we are not at war with barbarians, we are at war with each other. Brother against brother, until there is no rest in the land but the roving and raiding of armies. I lost my wife and son that way. I was twenty-four years old. I
was a strong and brave legionnaire, marching in the ranks of a mighty army. But where were we?
Hundreds of miles away in Gaul, fighting against other Roman legions in a dispute between two powerful consuls.
We were fighting each other while the enemy was killing our people and stealing our wealth.”

             
“Rome is falling then?” Connor asked. He knew well enough of raiding and rivalries between clans. In Eire it was a way of life. But he had only experienced skirmishes and quick raids bent on theft; not the widespread terror that the priest was describing.

             
“No,” Titus said. “Prune the tree down to nothing, but it will still spout new growth. Man is no different. No, Rome still lives. May it live
forever.
”

             
“But it is poor?”

             
A short laugh escaped Titus. “No. The barbarians are so taken by their sudden wealth that it never takes them long to lose it. Gold finds its way back into Roman coffers even before the hordes head back north.”

             
Connor shook his head. The priest made little sense to him.

             
“You see, Rome is not just a city,” Titus explained. “It is not just buildings or gold in a chest.
Rome is a s
ystem –
a system of economics and taxation, of roads and waterways, of alliances and offices. The Emperor does not even live in Rome, but in Ravenna; with another Emperor in Constantinople. An army taking a single city – no matter how important that city may be – cannot destroy the empire.”

             
Connor nodded.

             
“But there is one thing that can. Indeed, one thing that is.”

             
“What?”

             
“Sieging armies learned long ago that the mightiest wall cannot hold if you undermine its foundations. The citizens of the Empire see the system as being the most important thing. It is what gives them their wealth, their comfort, their order. But most do not realize that the system’s strength does not come from itself, but from the ideals that it was based on. What is it that elevates man? Is it his search for wealth and comfort? Even the animals do that, in their way. No. It is thought and reason, knowledge and piety. Justice, Temperance, Courage. Rome was made great by its laws, and by its philosophers. Before Christ came to show us the truth, men still yearned for it, searched for it with every part of their being. And what elevated man
elevated man’s empire, until it was raised so far above the tribes shivering in the cold that they could only envy us. But now, like the barbarians, our own people think that it is the wealth they should envy – not the wealth of spirit that made the material wealth possible in the first place. But I waste my breath. I can see that you are not listening.”

             
Connor was listening, but he did not understand. They were nearing home. Connor headed for a tall ash tree at the edge of the clearing.

             
“I left my javelins over there,” he said. “I was hunting today.”

             
“But you caught nothing.”

             
“No.”

             
“Did you try?”

             
“Yes,” Connor said, realizing that he had not.

             
“Just porridge or bread for supper tonight.
I will be grateful to God, nonetheless.”

             
Connor shook his head. Why was the priest trying to shame him for not hunting? But he then thought of the others who were depending on him. He had let them down, too.

             
“Teach me to fight like you do,” Connor said.

             
Titus stopped, and looked almost angry.

             
“I am a priest of the Church,” Titus said. “I come to you ready to teach life-giving doctrine. And when you had learned that, I could educate you in the ancient works of philosophy – Aristotle, Plato, Cicero, Emperor Aurelius, and all the others. I could teach you to read, and to speak Latin and Greek. I could teach you mathematics, logic, and rhetoric. But you look past all these things, and instead ask to be taught to fight? So that you might advance your simplicity and ignorance, and get into brawls with those you should be seeking peace with!”

             
“Teach me to fight,” Connor said again. He did not know what many of these other things were, or why Titus should be so impassioned about them.

             
“No,” Titus said. “I will not teach you to use your body for violence if you will not learn to use your mind for something better.”

             
“I will then,” Connor said. “Teach me these other things, too, if you want. But teach me to fight.”

             
“And you will learn willingly?”

             
“Yes.”

             
Titus placed his hands on Connor’s shoulders and looked hard at him. The priest’s gray eyes seemed to smolder, but Connor stared back into them.

             
“Very well,” Titus said at last. “I accept you as a pupil. But you will learn the arts of the mind first. Every day that I am content with your progress, I will teach you a little of
Pankration
. If I am not pleased with your progress in either discipline I will release you. Do you understand? You will have to work very hard. You will have to work every day. And you will have to be diligent in your other duties – I do not want to eat porridge when I smell meat cooking on the fires of those around us. Do you agree to these terms?

             
“Yes,” Connor said. And he felt that he was entering into a solemn pact.

             
“Bind on it,” Titus said. Connor did not understand what this meant, but Titus gripped his right wrist, shaking arm to arm in the manner of the
Imperium
.

             
“Let us return,” Titus said. “It is growing late.”

             
They made for home without saying another word. The gray cloud wafting fro
m the smoke holes of the
huts dissipated into the twilight sky. Titus had not yet made a convert, but he had accepted his first student. And Connor had found his teacher. 

I
I: Hibernia, Late Summer, 408 AD

The sun broke the crest of the mountain, dawning light into the gloomy wood below. Connor welcomed its warmth on his face. He had slipped into the forest long before dawn, as the others still lay in drink-deepened sleep. Now, hours later, he bent his head forward and dug his heels into the damp ground as he drug the slain beast behind him.

             
The boar was not the biggest he had ever seen, but even gutted it weighed nearly as much as he did. The litter he had lashed from sturdy branches lifted much the animal’s weight off the ground, but pulling it out of the forest was daunting task even for the strong. Connor did not think of the work as the ropes bit into his shoulders. He was content that the hunt had been successful. He had found his prey and slain it with a single javelin throw, even as the angry male charged at him. Mannus and Grania would now have their wedding gift – the only one that he could give them, unless they wanted Latin lessons, he mused. Once the preparations were done, they would have fresh meat for now and salted pork and cured sausages for weeks to come, and trade what they could not use.

It was the least that he could do. Not only had Mannus always been his good friend, but he and Grania both had treated him like a guest of honor at the wedding feast last night. He had stood off to Mannus’s side as the young man had his hand bound to Grania. Four virgins in white stood in the four directions, guarding against any mischief from the spirit world and ushering in luck and prosperity on the new man and wife. Dervel had performed the ceremony, but all noticed that Mannus’s father had a druid standing by. His family name and fortune were too important to not have recognition from all gods and men. Afterwards, the entire village had feasted on lamb, calf, and venison; bread, butter, and honey; ale and of course mead flowing endlessly, until night fell and the dancing began. Connor had been at Mannus’s side when the beaming groom’s father had gifted him the fine, milk-white stallion. Such a well-muscled and spirited animal Connor had never seen before. Mannus scrambled up into the saddle and rode it around proudly; but then dismounted.

             
“You ride him, Connor,” he had said. “You are a natural with horses. Show us what he can do.”

             
Connor needed no encouragement, but leapt up in the saddle and let the incredible beast find his pace as much as he dared in the failing light. It had been like flying.