Barbarians In The Republic

Prologue

Somewhere near the borders of Germania and Northern Gaul – 129 BC

The young boy shivered as he crouched in the iron cage and felt the icy blast of the wind touch his naked body.

He drew his knees closer to his chest and could feel his teeth chatter as rough hands at the back of the cart parted the thick hides, allowing the wind to blast its way inside the cage. The hides covered the cattle cart on all sides, except for a narrow gap at the back that let in enough air for him to breathe. Through the widened gap now, he could see a large man standing on the ground holding a blazing torch in his hand and looking at him.

“Are you sure it's him?” asked the hulking figure of someone standing close to him.

“Yes” said Cyrix, whose voice the boy recognized as one of his captors, the leader of the band of warriors who had kidnapped him.

Who were these strange men? Why had they taken him? These were questions that plagued his young mind, as the events of the past few days remained a blur in his memory, as he lay within the cage. He missed his mother and the comfort of her arms each night, before he slept. He had led a hard life until that vacation, that trip to the ancestral home of his mother, to the forgotten village that had been sacked years ago and rebuilt by a few survivors from her clan.

All had been peaceful on the way back to their own settlement in the deep forest, when they had been suddenly attacked by Cyrix and his followers.

He was sure to die, he thought, bearing their brutal taunts and blows in silence, as his father had taught him to bear any hardship since a very young age, placing him under a rigorous training regimen along with other boys of his age.

He was weak at the moment as he hadn't eaten or drunk anything for some days now. His ribs were bruised and he felt intense pain in various parts of his body, as he stared at this bulky man who appeared to be inspecting him like a prized animal that had been captured in a hunt. In most places, the vital ones, he felt strong and he was confident he could still beat off these men easily and escape, if he saw an opportunity. His keen eyes saw Cyrix grip the carved bone handle of his throwing knife and suddenly, he wasn't so sure, as he had seen him use it with deadly effect before on the man whom they relied on to guard them while they slept, his maternal uncle from the village they just visited. The boy was angry and still defiant, although his body was weak.

The chief was unafraid and tried to look kindly at the boy, as Cyrix continued his tale.

“We followed the Queen for several days, along with her son and her train of servants and slaves. On the third day, and while everyone was asleep, we killed the guards before her tent. Before an alarm could be raised, we already had the boy you wanted, but only after a terrible fight where we lost the son of master Bagi. He was unable to conquer his lust for the Queen who killed him as he tried to violate her honor.”

Cyrix waited respectfully for the chief to respond, keeping a keen eye on the boy, in case he attempted anything foolish. The boy really scared him and he was wary, despite the protection offered by the cage.

“You have done well and she is a worthy Queen, to love and protect my cousin's spawn,” said the chief Barix, spitting in contempt.

“Soon, his father will come to me, looking for him and I will make him pay for his former insults.”

The chief leaned into the cart, to inspect the boy more closely, holding the burning torch high to throw some more light.

The boy had his knees drawn up about him, clutching his legs in a tight grip with his long, bony arms. Naked and shivering uncontrollably with the cold, he disdained the use of a warm cloak that had been offered by Cyrix earlier, and which lay crumpled on the filthy floor before him.

“The boy seems cold and weak but has a lot of spirit,” said the chief Barix, seeing the discarded cloak and the steady stare of the boy, who looked at him with as fierce a look as he could muster, under those circumstances.

“He is a beast,” said Cyrix in an angry tone of voice.

“Although only a mere boy, he has the strength of many men and it took five men to subdue him before I could get him inside this cage. I was lucky and managed to hit him hard on the head with my club. Otherwise, he would have escaped us, after killing a couple of your warriors, who are still sore from his blows.”

“I hope you didn't harm his mother,” said the chief Barix, with a questioning look to Cyrix. “That would displease me.”

Kidnapping the son of his rival, his cousin Gerovix, was bad enough. He didn't want his woman too, as that would mean certain war. With the boy, as his rival cousin already had older sons by another wife, a barbarian woman, it would be a good negotiating tactic. He could possibly get better terms with regard to demands he had made on certain lands that were in dispute. These lands rightfully belonged to him and not to his cousin, who claimed them as his birthright, by virtue of his mother's claim on the chief Barix's property as part of her dowry.

It was a common tactic and the chief Barix knew that Gerovix would not back down until he sent him a strong message, forcing him to resettle the tribes who were now occupying the chief's lands, close to the Italian border. These were nomadic tribes who might choose to migrate again, perhaps even settle in Italy , something which would arouse Rome 's wrath. There were also other reasons, where he had cause to side with Rome , for different purposes altogether. One day, if the citizenship laws proposed by Gaius Sempronius Gracchus, a powerful senator in Rome , were to be enacted, all of Italy would be part of Rome and that worried him greatly, as well as certain senators in Rome who were sympathetic to the chief's concerns over the tribes allied to Gerovix.

Rome !

The very name frightened him and he constantly wondered how they managed to build such a mighty empire with no real chiefs or rulers, but with someone who was appointed consul and who held office for just one year along with a junior colleague, his co- consul .

The consul , the chief Barix learnt quickly, was often a puppet and easily manipulated by powerful factions in the senate, as Rome really functioned like a true democracy in the Republic which had been established several centuries ago. Although some of the patricians could be bought, there were certain men in Rome who could never be swayed by gold, as they only acted in the interests of the Republic. The letter he was reading confirmed his suspicions and he needed to respond soon to its contents.

Every year, the chief Barix sent an ambassador well before the winter months, as the barbarian lands were frozen and inaccessible for a long period of time. There was nothing to do all day except bathe indoors and relax with his women, waiting for spring to arrive. At least his ambassador would have something to do during those dull months, meeting with various patricians who would help protect his interests in this region, if he allied himself with Rome by signing a treaty.

The chief stepped away from the cart and stomped his feet, trying to keep warm while he pondered over the letter he just received from the ambassador that morning, brought by a weary courier.

In the meantime, Cyrix closed the opening, relieving the boy's discomfort a little, securing it with ropes that were cleverly looped through iron rings in a crisscross formation.

The chief Barix fished out a letter from a pocket in his cloak and again read some lines slowly in Greek, awkwardly holding the papyrus scroll open with his free hand but careful not to burn it by bringing it too close to the burning brand.

It was a short letter with only the essentials, the way he liked it. No greetings or anything of that sort, unlike the formal Roman letters, which were usually so long winded that he would give them to his Greek wife and have her summarize the gist of what they meant to say to him.

The lady Athena, his wife, also acted as his secretary and advisor, helping him navigate through the verbiage that usually accompanied any missive received from a Roman senator. Luckily, all the correspondence was carried on in Greek, a language he was familiar with and which the lady excelled at, having received a fine education from her learned father in Athens .

His ambassador wanted a huge sum of money deposited under the custody of a young senator, a patrician from an old Roman family named Marcus Aemilius Scaurus. Per the letter, Scaurus would use the money scrupulously for various projects that would be beneficial not only for the Republic but also the chief's interests, which would be recorded in a treaty later, as only the senate in Rome could formally approve such an arrangement.

He needed to make a decision soon and this money under Scaurus's control would firstly fund the development of a Roman outpost for peaceful purposes. This garrison would be set up within his lands, in order to help defend frequent attacks from his rival on the outlying villages and towns close to the lands which were in dispute, as his cousin Gerovix tried to expand his reach and influence through a campaign of terror.

The soldiers assigned to the garrison that Rome was proposing to build would indirectly be under his control, per the treaty that would be signed with the Republic at some future date in time. His ambassador cautioned him to be patient, as it would take years to formalize a treaty that would meet the senate's approval. In typical fashion, the senate moved with extreme slowness on all foreign requests for alliance, even though it was in the interests of Rome .

He would be indirectly funding the development of their army!

However, the Romans had a peculiar system and a man like Scaurus, if he could find funds on his own, would act as if the treaty were already signed and could mobilize and raise troops for the garrison, without too much interference from the senate, by simply paying for the costs. He would fight on two fronts, he thought. On the one hand, he would contain the threat the Gracchi represented to his people, if their radical proposals were enacted and on the other hand, he would utilize Rome 's help to consolidate his lands. The last thing the chief wanted was Roman citizenship for all people settled in Italy , right near his borders. Why encourage Roman expansion? His people got along fine with the Italians but things could change if they were to become Roman citizens. The chief Barix thought he could not lose in the current situation, as all advantages seemed to favor him from these outcomes. Scaurus's increasing influence in the senate would help oust any support for the Gracchi, if he had enough money to wage a war against them and their growing number of supporters. Money, it always came to money, he thought. However, its judicious use was what concerned him, not the amount of money he had to pay to these Romans.

All the lands that belonged to his cousin were lost by his foolish grandfather some years ago to one of his brothers, whose grandson Gerovix, now boldly seized even more lands from the chief Barix, after his father married the chief Barix's aunt, a complicated alliance, as the families sought to become closer through various marriages. The relationships were confusing and the chief Barix simply called Gerovix his ‘cousin'. This situation was becoming more alarming now, as Gerovix was also forming numerous alliances with other tribes to strengthen his position, although an all out war was the furthest in their minds at the moment. At best, an uneasy peace reigned between the two cousins.

This boy would tip the balance in his favor, he thought, as Gerovix was rumored to be in great love with the Celtic Queen he married, the mother of this boy he'd kidnapped. Her son would be dear to him and it would be some payback, as he had desired this Queen herself, many years ago, when she was still a lovely young girl, for his second wife.

“We did not harm her,” said Cyrix to the chief, when he questioned him again about the Queen, once he ceased reading and brooding over the scroll's import, before carefully storing it again in the spacious pocket of his warm cloak.

“However, we had to knock her unconscious as she was also very strong, as these Celtic warrior women are. The ensuing fight with the boy in their tent was terrible and if his mother hadn't called out to him, I would not be standing here.” Cyrix quickly explained the trouble they had encountered in quelling the boy's spirit, after their rumble in the Queen's tent.

“He is a chief's son and therefore will have a lot of spirit. I'm surprised as I never thought my poor cousin's bloodline was that strong” said the chief Barix with a sinister sounding laugh. “He must inherit this strength from his mother, who is rumored to be a great warrior herself, despite her considerable beauty.”

“Possibly, you may be right about that” said Cyrix, shrugging at the chief's response. “Before she was rendered unconscious, she had killed one of my men already with her bare hands, strangling him to death.”

“It was wise of you to take so many men,” said the chief Barix, slapping Cyrix in a friendly manner on his back. “You have earned my trust again and I am grateful for your help.”

Cyrix bowed deeply to the chief, acknowledging the compliment made by him. He was a man of twenty five, with a painted face that made his face look fiercer than it was and wore thick trousers, tough boots made of boar hide, and animal skins over his body, which was enveloped by a fur lined thick woolen cloak with a hood for protection against the cold.

The chief Barix adjusted his fur lined helmet, as a strong blast of wind threatened to dislodge it from his massive head. The helmet was surmounted by the horns of an ox, the ends of which were covered with gold, indicating his status as the chief. He also wore a thick golden chain around his neck with an amulet that carried the image of a Greek vase on one side and a boar's head on the other. The strange combination of symbols belonged to his family ever since the first chief Barix in his line had laid claim over the vast lands bordering Germania and Northern Gaul a couple of centuries ago, soon after the conquest of Egypt by Alexander the Great.

His own vast estate was set in a mountainous region close to the thick forests that spread for many hundreds of square miles and which were not only impenetrable but home to a number of tribes and settlements scattered in small groups all over that vast region.

The chief Barix had no claims there and avoided the deep forests, as those tribes were truly savage and he was scared of them himself.

Thinking for a long time, while Cyrix stood by him on a narrow trail that led further up in the mountains, towards his estates, which were set on a flat plateau encompassing a small lake bordering the deep forests beyond, the chief Barix made a decision.

“Take him to the old man and tell him to take special care as he is dangerous,” said the chief, walking away towards his waiting horse, as he wanted to get back to the warmth of his home, feeling another cold blast of air, that seemed to even penetrate the thick bear skin he wore underneath the long woolen cloak that he wrapped around his barrel chest.

The lady Athena would probably be wondering where he was, as she waited in the bath he had abandoned, on receiving a message from one of Cyrix's men. Although she was his principal aide in all diplomatic matters, he had not revealed to her the purpose of this secret meeting with Cyrix. He would reveal everything to her in time, after he decided his next course of action.

The chief Barix was a tall, corpulent man with a long beard and mustache, bright yellow in color, a prominent feature of the men who descended in the chief's line. His long hair flowed well past his shoulders and despite his bulky frame, he seemed to move quite agilely and mounted his horse without any assistance.

Nodding to Cyrix, he was about to leave when Cyrix asked him, “Should I leave my men with the old man to guard the boy?”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” said the chief, laughing at his question and riding up the narrow trail, without a backward look at Cyrix, who stood there, perplexed by the chief's answer, wondering again about the boy and the source of his mysterious strength.

Cyrix admired the boy, who had refused any food and water for the past few days. Even a cloak offered by one of his men to cover his naked body had been refused. All that the boy wore was a simple golden chain about his neck, with a pendant, which appeared to be inscribed with some writing. He didn't know what it said as he and his warriors had been too scared to approach him, especially after their fiery encounter.

What power and energy the boy had!

After that terrible blow to his young head a few days ago, he had continued to fight and resist his capture, even as he was helplessly locked up in the cage.

Cyrix had never seen someone so small, so strong and so ferocious, as he bit, scratched and hit with surprising power, knocking down a couple of grown men during the tremendous fight at the camp, at the time of his kidnapping. The boy fought like one of those mountain wolves he'd seen once, when they descended in a pack upon a bear, when they were hungry and couldn't find smaller prey. Only in this case, this boy was the wolf and they were like so many deer before him.

Earlier, Cyrix had thought it would be an easy assignment and some of the men wanted to rape the Queen, as they began to desire her, after following the Queen's party discreetly over several days from the village they visited. She was possibly visiting a relative, as the entire population of the village had come to see the Queen leave, along with this boy and the rest of the party. To his luck, they took a forest trail and for several days while they followed them, Cyrix had been puzzled as to why they chose this particular trail as he knew it led deep into the forest. Maybe there was an unknown branch ahead that led directly to the lands of Gerovix by a shorter route.

He was aware of his chief's rivalry with his cousin, over lands that belonged to his chief and also a woman they both desired when they were younger. The chief Gerovix had obtained her by force, abducting her one night from her village in a night raid, after sacking and burning it. He wondered if this boy was that same woman's son. The chief could not have made her his first wife in any case, he thought, as she was not Greek but a Celtic woman, a real beauty, he thought, after observing her closely from a nearby tree where he hid.

In any case, he had the prize in his sight, the young boy he had been charged to apprehend. On the fourth night, while the party camped by a stream, the three guards near the Queen's tent had begun drinking some of the wine that had been presented by the villagers, at the insistence of the Queen, who was also joined by a couple of her counselors. Her son was already inside the tent, possibly fast asleep, as Cyrix had observed the mother tell him to go inside as soon as the sun's light faded. The boy had protested but meekly went after his mother yelled at him.

Cyrix and the other men hid in the trees and by the moonlight, they observed the Queen take a bath in the stream, although the water must have been cold. It was early spring and in the evenings, a sudden chill usually descended around this time. The sight of her naked body and her beautiful face with the long, golden hair framing it had aroused all the men's baser instincts and they began to desire her strongly for themselves, feverishly anticipating the moment when Cyrix would finally give the signal for attack.

They waited patiently for the guards to get drunk and while two of them lounged near a fire, which blazed in the center of a circle formed by the tents, the third guard sat directly near the entrance of the Queen's tent, armed with a formidable ax. This warrior worried Cyrix, as he had not drunk as much wine while the other two guards were already singing songs and telling each other bawdy jokes. Patience, he signaled to his men as they quietly waited. He made a sign that he would take care of the guard before the Queen's tent while the others took care of the drunken guards by the fire.

Cyrix was skilled at throwing a knife and rarely missed his target. He eased the weapon slowly out of its sheath and tested its balance carefully. He had only one chance, as he didn't want to alarm the others in the surrounding tents. He was worried about a couple of huge men in the Queen's party, who appeared to be counselors, but could also be armed and dangerous. These two men had already retired to their respective tents, attended by their slaves and servants, after bidding the Queen goodnight, who retired to her tent accompanied by two slave girls.

The counselors must be also drunk, thought Cyrix. However, he wanted to take no chances and if these men interfered, the boy could escape in the resulting confusion, a situation he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Once Cyrix noticed the guards almost dozing off by the fire, as they began to lean forward and kept pulling themselves back, barely able to keep awake, he gave his men the signal to attack, imitating the call of an owl. The two by the fire never stood a chance as his men silently crept behind them and quickly cut their throats.

The guard before the Queen's tent noticed the sudden apparition of the attackers and sprang up to his feet, about to raise an alarm but Cyrix was ready. His knife flew true and straight, catching him right in the throat and cutting off any sound before he could yell out a warning.

Rushing into the tent but careful not to make the slightest sound, Cyrix killed the two sleeping slave girls quickly, slashing their throats as they lay stretched out on the rug covered floor of the tent. In the meantime, some of his other men silently followed him inside the luxurious tent, which was warmed by a huge iron brazier filled with coals. A shielded oil lamp hung from a stand set in the corner of the tent, casting a surreal glow on the scene before him.

The Queen slept on a large bed under a thick blanket of fur and her head was barely visible, while the boy slept on another bed nearby, similarly covered, as the night had turned pretty cold.

Making a motion for complete silence, Cyrix carefully approached the Queen's bed along with another man. The other man, impatient to see the Queen's body, suddenly pulled the thick cover down, exposing her body to the waist, revealing her magnificent breasts and her firm belly. She was completely naked underneath and was in a deep sleep.

The sudden chill awakened her instantly and she found herself staring at a fierce man with a heavily scarred face, who held a knife to her neck. She was in shock, but quickly understood that if she moved or made a sound, she would be killed as the sharp blade was a mere inch away from the delicate skin covering her throat. She felt tears coming to her eyes as she saw her slave girls lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Cyrix, in a low voice said calmly, “Speak one word and your throat will be cut like your slave girls. All we want is your son. He will be our guest for a few days and then we'll release him. Do not fear for his safety, as we'll treat him well. Nod if you understand.”

He was bent over her near the side of the bed and looked directly into her eyes with an intense but steady gaze, to make sure she understood that he would not hesitate to kill her.

With wide eyes and a realization of the helplessness of her situation, she nodded slowly, feeling shame and humiliation mixed with fear, as she felt the other man grope and feel her body, while kneeling on the other side of the bed. She moved her eyes slowly and looked at her son's bed, where four men were gathering all around it, their knives drawn. One of them held a net made of thick rope in one hand. Another man gripped the edge of the thick fur coverlet underneath which the boy slept. She could feel the edge of the knife almost cut her throat, as Cyrix moved a little closer, holding her long hair firmly with one hand. She knew that this man would slice her neck before she could make a sound to alert her son of the danger facing him.

The man gripping the coverlet suddenly pulled it off the bed while another attempted to immediately silence the boy, in case he tried to scream, by putting his hand over his mouth, while he moved his knife closer to the boy's throat, attempting a similar maneuver as Cyrix did earlier with the Queen, but much more clumsily.

The boy awoke almost instantly and hit the man holding his mouth with his fist, knocking him down. As the man with the net tried to throw the net on him, the boy slipped under the net and launched himself at the man, driving him to the ground and started punching him. The two other men attempted to hold the boy but he bit one on the arm and athletically kicked the other hard in the chest, knocking the man down.

Cyrix, alarmed by the boy's quick movements, reversed the knife and with the bone handle, struck the woman a vicious blow on her temple, knocking her unconscious almost immediately, as she slumped on the bed, to the chagrin of the other man who was bent upon violating her. Ignoring the developing fight with the boy, this man tried to revive the Queen.

Holding the stout club he removed from his shoulder belt, Cyrix leaped towards the boy and attempted to hit him but somehow, even the skills of Cyrix, an accomplished warrior, were no match as the boy evaded the blow with surprising agility and punched him in the stomach. Cyrix doubled over with the force of the blow and coughed a little blood, as he staggered to regain his feet after briefly going down to his knees.

The boy, in the meantime, had turned in lightning fashion and hit another man in the face and kicked a third, the one he had knocked down first and who now came from behind him. The boy kicked this man hard in his lower abdomen, dropping him to his knees and forcing him to bend over with the pain, just like Cyrix a few moments earlier.

This boy was getting the upper hand! How would he face the chief Barix later and tell him they had to flee because they were beaten by a mere boy of ten years!

Cyrix recovered quickly and circled the boy with another man, the one whose arm had been bit, while the other men still lay on the ground, groaning in pain from the boy's blows and kicks and slowly attempting to regain their feet. No matter what they did, the boy was too quick and did not make a sound, which astonished him a great deal. He began to admire this boy, rather than hate him, despite the hurt and pain he felt in his abdomen.

What a punch he had!

Cyrix aimed a blow at his head and missed, feeling his jaw nearly break as the boy knocked him down on the floor of the tent with a clever punch, ducking the swing easily. As he fell, he noticed the boy wrestle with the other man, who seized him about the body and they were now on the ground, with the man on top of the boy, pinning him down with his sheer weight. To Cyrix's considerable amazement, he watched the boy slip out from under the man and hit him hard on his body, stomping his back with his heel and making him groan.

Cyrix struggled to his feet for the second time and at that moment; he heard a scream behind him, as the Queen regained consciousness. The man groping her earlier dropped the water flask he was using to splash her face, startled by her sudden animation.

The boy was distracted and turned to look at his mother, pausing momentarily in his savage beating of the other man with the heel of his foot. Cyrix did not miss this time and cleanly hit the boy's head with his club, knocking him to the ground, but not too hard to cause him serious injury. The chief Barix did not want the boy to be hurt and Cyrix had to be careful, as he quickly reversed the club and used the wooden part of the club, not the spiked iron tip, which could crack his skull and maybe even kill him.

Another man from Cyrix's band of warriors, hearing the scream, had meanwhile rushed inside the tent, and attempted to restrain the Queen, who was rushing towards the boy, while the kneeling man beside her tried to grab her from behind. She stomped hard on this new man's foot as she got off the bed, and elbowed him violently in the face as he bent over in pain, knocking him backwards to the ground. As the other man, the man who had violated her person, wrestled with her, holding her from behind, she brought him to the ground and, twisting away violently, gained the upper hand, sitting on his chest and then holding him down with her knees. She wrapped her strong hands on his throat, and slowly choked him to death, hate and anger flooding her eyes, remembering how he had abused her.

Cyrix and the other men were too occupied to rescue him as they struggled to bind the net quickly around the boy. Finally, five of the men ran out of the tent towards their horses holding the struggling boy with great difficulty, while he went to rescue the last man from the angry Queen, who was shouting curses and screaming for help while pressing down still on the man, with her knees crushing his chest as she steadily choked the life out of him.

Cyrix hit the Queen again with the bone handle of the knife, who fell on the ground, still holding her attacker by his neck in a tight grip. When Cyrix attempted to pull him to his feet, he noticed that he was already dead. Checking to make sure that the unconscious Queen was still breathing, he rushed out of the tent, to confront the two huge counselors, who had grabbed long swords and were running out naked out of their tents, armed only with their weapons, on hearing the Queen cry out for help.

Throwing his knife again, Cyrix killed one of them in the same fashion as the guard with the ax, while he deftly parried the thrust of the other man with his club and struck him hard on the skull, hearing it crack with satisfaction when the spikes on his iron tipped club connected with the top of his head.

The other servants and slaves were terrified by this scary looking barbarian with his painted face and ran screaming into the forest, possessed by fear and panic.

Cyrix coolly pried his club out of the dead man's skull, allowing the blood to drip a little before slinging it back on his shoulder. He also retrieved his precious throwing knife, which had killed two men already, pulling it out of the other counselor's throat and casually wiping it clean on his thick beard, while he surveyed the camp with his chilly eyes.

By then, the camp was completely deserted, as everyone who was still alive had fled into the forest. Cyrix seized a brand from the blazing fire and swiftly set the entire camp ablaze, illuminating the forest briefly with the intense flames that emanated from the burning tents.

In the meantime, his men had already taken the boy with them deep into the forest towards their horses, while he kicked, struggled and attempted to bite them while still wrapped in the net. They had a hard time getting him into the cage later that night, when they reached the covered cattle cart following a different trail with the boy lashed onto one of the horses with a stout rope. The terrified men handled him like they were handling a deadly snake, before throwing him into the cage and locking him securely inside with an iron bar. The boy struggled in the cage for a long period of time, still wrapped in the net and after a few hours, had managed to chew his way out of it and launched his body against the iron bars of the cage again and again, attempting to break free, until he was tired and could not move any more.

How would they keep this boy prisoner?

The chief Barix had been plain in his meaning. “Leave with him the old man Maritus,” he'd said, before returning to his estate.

How would the old man control this wild animal?

Throughout the journey since the capture of the boy, the men had thrown rocks, stones and used long sticks to prod, hurt and beat the boy, remembering the blows he had given them with each step they took. He did not make a sound but sat silently in a corner of the cage, staring balefully at them with a steady gaze. Most of the warriors experienced pain all over their bodies and the man whom the boy had bit developed a fever and had to be carried for most of the way by the other men. Tiring of his lack of response to their jibes, taunts and blows, they left him alone after a while.

The old man Maritus had retired from the current chief Barix's active service over eight years ago, when the old chief died suddenly, his heart giving way during a hunting trip for wild boar. The chief had slumped on his horse, dying instantly from the excitement of the hunt, as explained by the Greek physician later, after examining his body.

Since that day, Maritus, who had been very attached to the father of the present chief, had lived in a house near the lake, a log house that he had built with his own hands.

No one in Cyrix's group knew much about him when Cyrix began to actively serve the new chief Barix as the leader of his personal bodyguard. He was trusted by the chief and frequently acted as his spy and his trusted messenger, when he had to convey the chief's secret decisions to the other chiefs of nearby tribes and clans with whom their tribe was allied with. The others in the chief Barix's camp were either too scared or did not speak about the old man Maritus, out of respect for their earlier chief.

Some of the older warriors would often tell Cyrix to mind his own business or not answer him, shrugging when he asked them any questions about Maritus or his relationship to the chief's family.

Maritus had chosen a beautiful spot for his house, very near the edge of a calm, deep lake. On one side, there was the lake, bordered by the impenetrable forest and mountains. On the other sides of the house, a beautiful patch of green grass grew all around, bordered by a wide patch of garden, forming a semicircle around the lawn before the house. All kinds of trees, flowers, vegetables and other shrubs were planted there, a beautiful garden that was tended by the old man with loving care, as he spent long hours trimming and pruning the various bushes and plants during the warmer months. Access to the house was either from the lake or through the garden, which had a visitor's path paved with large squares of stone. Thick shrubs and bushes with thorns prevented access from other parts of the garden, a formidable barrier for any intruders who tried to approach the old man's house by this route. An archway of flowering tall shrubs at the end of the paved path, well before the lawn, marked the boundary up to which he could feel safe.

Maritus had a few horses and dogs, which he kept in a wooden shed nearby. Cyrix knew the dogs were vicious and would attack if he moved beyond the archway and set foot on the lawn. Another wider path at one end of the garden was mostly used by the servants in the chief's house, who brought hay for the horses and other things the old man needed for his comfort. If he attempted to go by this path, the dogs would attack him as he had no token with a scent familiar to the dogs.

Cyrix knew all of this and wondered why the chief maintained the old man in this lavish manner, with complete privacy. He knew that Maritus was himself a slave, but he had never seen a slave furnished with such comforts as this old man. Maritus also had a boat and on the other side of the lake, there was another log house, right at the edge of the forest, where the old man's estranged wife lived, along with their twin granddaughters.

The old man and his family were a mystery to him and for some reason, as he and the men approached the hill over which they would see the old man's garden soon, he began to feel an extreme sense of fear, as his mouth had gone completely dry.

It was the old man himself who inspired this fear in him, remembering some stories suddenly, myths that been passed in the camp. For some reason, many of the myths and legends of extraordinary feats and encounters pointed to this old man.

Who was he really?

The dogs waited silently on the lawn near the end of the path that Cyrix walked on, in a pack of around ten or twelve, after barking a few times to alert the old man to the presence of visitors. Cyrix came to a halt just before the archway and waited alone with a torch in one hand, clutching his club with his other trembling hand, in case one of the dogs decided to attack him. He did not really fear the wild dogs as he had not violated the boundary established, with some of them resembling wolves more than dogs as they were huge, with thick black fur.

However, the old man scared him more than the dogs and before he could shout out his name, he saw him appear in their midst, his approach hidden by a dense fog that shrouded most of the lake and extended well beyond the house, right up to where the dogs waited. Some of them growled at Cyrix while he stood there, as if warning him that he should not try anything foolish.

“What do you want?” asked Maritus, standing tall and erect like a spear, his lean body wrapped in a giant cloak with a hood.

Cyrix could see his bright eyes by the torchlight, with little or no expression in them.

Quickly, Cyrix explained what the chief Barix wanted and said that he had been asked to leave the boy under his care, until further notice.

“Where is he? Bring him to me,” said the old man, his voice surprisingly deep and powerful, hardly showing his advanced age, as it was rumored that he was well over seventy.

Cyrix, bowing his head slightly, explained that they were afraid of him, despite his weakened condition and told him he could follow him to where the cattle cart stood, on the other side of the garden. He then turned and went back along the path quickly, with Maritus keeping easily in step behind him, surprising Cyrix, who wanted to get a head start and warn his men to be on guard, as he did not entirely trust this old man.

The young boy stared at the bald old man who peered into the opened cage, while Cyrix held a torch behind him. He had kind eyes and his smooth hairless face, although it looked ancient, was remarkably free of wrinkles or lines, except for a few around his eyes and at the corners of his lips.

At first, the boy had been tempted to kick and fight his way out when the hides were violently parted and the cage was opened with a loud, ringing noise as Cyrix hastily removed the securing iron bar, pulling the door along with it. Then, he saw this old man's face appear at the entrance, as he leaned forward into the cart fearlessly and looked at him.

However, something stopped him from lashing out with his feet and he felt calmed by the quiet, steady gaze of the old man, which seemed to be filled with compassion and love, a look he had seen on his mother, when she bent down and looked at him, before singing him a song that made him sleep.

He could not explain it either why he then meekly crawled out of the cage and shakily knelt on the ground, after climbing down from the cart unassisted. He was unable to bring himself to stand, as he felt no strength in his legs. He collapsed onto the ground and felt suddenly warm and secure in the old man's arms, when Maritus lifted him easily and brushing his long black hair aside, gently kissed him on the forehead.

“What have they done to you, dear boy,” said the old man in a soft voice, horrified by his emaciated condition and wondering how he was still alive, while the other men, including Cyrix, stood ready with their weapons drawn, with Cyrix holding his knife ready to throw at the boy, in case he attacked them.

They were all scared and astonished that the boy had not launched himself at the old man, despite his weakened state.

Suddenly, with a stick that magically appeared in the old man's hand, as he easily held the boy with just one arm, Maritus lashed out at the boy's captors and with clean strokes, knocked the knife out of Cyrix's hand as well as the weapons held by the others.

He moved so quickly, so gracefully and with such speed and power thought the boy, striking the men with precision on their wrists. Soon, most of the men were groveling on their hands and knees, clutching one or both wrists alternately, while screaming with the intense pain that each of his strokes inflicted. Many of the men thought their wrists had been broken and kept wringing them, to make the pain go away.

“Shame on all of you,” said Maritus angrily, his voice increasing in pitch and intensity, as he gripped the boy tightly against his body.

“This is not the way to hold the son of a great chief, even if he is our prisoner now, like an animal. You should have treated him with courtesy and respect, which is a grace that we also bear towards our enemies.”

The old man's face had become a mask of anger and the frightened men cowered beneath his gaze, unable to face him.

Cyrix attempted to speak and felt the stick strike him on the side of his face, knocking him to the ground, producing a huge welt on his cheek.

The tired boy continued to watch the old man, mesmerized by his skill as he put his foot on Cyrix's neck, on which he wore a rough leather sandal with an extremely thick sole, like a Roman soldier's caligae .

“Tell me why you should live right now, for this treatment of a boy who did you no harm,” said Maritus, his eyes boring into Cyrix.

The torch Cyrix held earlier lay burning on the ground beside him and showed his extreme fear and shock, as he had not expected the old man to attack them. Neither did he expect to be humiliated in this manner, as his entire band of warriors had been overpowered by one old man armed with only a simple stick, in a matter of moments.

“We had no choice as we feared to approach the boy,” said Cyrix slowly, his voice quavering a little, as he felt a rising sense of panic overpower him.

He then explained how the boy had fought them in the tent and the lucky blow he had struck him when he had been momentarily distracted by his mother. He also said the boy had refused food and even a cloak that had been offered for his comfort and that he and his men were not responsible for his present condition.

Maritus looked at the boy, who for some reason, had tears in his eyes when he saw the look of compassion again in the old man's eyes.

Cyrix had never felt closer to death than before, knowing that the old man would not hesitate to kill him, as he felt the old man's foot on his neck. He realized that he was no match for Maritus and felt like a child before him. The fear he felt seemed to grip his heart like a vice, as if icy hands were clutching it and his breath almost stopped when the old man looked down at him, his eyes glowing like one of those mountain wolves he'd seen in the forest.

The wolf has found its cub, he suddenly thought to himself. For a moment, he wanted to laugh but thought better of it. He wanted to live and remained quiet, pleading for his life with his eyes.

Maritus released Cyrix from the pressure of his foot, after a few long moments during which he looked lovingly at the young boy. One move of his foot and he would snap his neck instantly, which Cyrix was well aware of seeing the expert way in which the old man held him down, with his heel ready to turn and move his chin back. As Cyrix watched in relief, the old man swiftly walked down the path leading through the garden without a backward glance or even a nod, still carrying the boy and pressing him close to his chest, wrapping him up completely in the warm folds of his woolen cloak.

A formidable man, thought Cyrix, hoping that this would be the last time he would see him, as he breathed heavily and regained his feet, which seemed to be wobbling and unsteady.

“If the boy escapes, it will be your head as well your granddaughters,” shouted Cyrix to the retreating old man, who didn't acknowledge him. “You know what the chief will do to you!”

The boy heard him well and for some reason again, escape was the last thing on his mind at the moment as he felt comfortable and secure in this old man's arms for the first time in days.

By the time the old man reached his house and put him on a soft bed, he was already asleep, exhausted by his ordeals. The old man took the boy's golden chain and pendant gently off his neck, and examined it thoughtfully for a while, reading the inscription on the coin shaped pendant.

‘Vaten' – What did it mean? Where had he seen something similar to this coin before? He searched his mind, trying to recall a memory from a long time ago, from his youth. Giving up after a few moments, he put it away in a secret place, after carefully storing it in an ornately carved wooden box. He went outside the house to feed his hungry dogs with the meat from a wild boar he had killed the previous night. The dogs had done well and deserved a treat, he thought.

For some reason, he felt happy that night, a feeling he hadn't had in years now, not since the death of his only son many years ago, during a hunting trip. The boy had been careless and had tripped, gored by the tusks of a wild boar while he helplessly watched, too late to save him.

A few months later, the chief Barix and Maritus walked slowly beside the calm lake, talking quietly while the boy played in the distance with a hoop that Maritus had fashioned for him.

“So who is the boy?” asked the old man, finally. For the past hour, the chief had tried to explain how Cyrix and his men had been mistaken and had followed some unknown Queen or high born lady, mistaking her to be the Celtic woman that Gerovix had married.

“I don't know,” said the chief Barix, who in turn asked Maritus about the missing pendant.

Maritus had told the chief that he had seen a pendant on the boy but it had been misplaced or perhaps the boy had thrown it somewhere and all it said was a word – ‘Vaten'.

The old man did not know what this word meant and neither did the chief, who wondered who this boy was, if he was not the son of Gerovix.

He had kidnapped the wrong boy!

The old man, for some reason, did not wish to reveal the existence of the pendant or what he thought it really meant, as he himself was not really sure. This was a mystery that he would have to explore, in due time, something that could not be revealed yet to the chief. If what he thought was true, it could shake the very foundation of the peace that reigned in this region. Although the peace was uneasy, it was still peace. Maritus had sworn to the chief Barix's father that his entire life would be dedicated to preserving the peace that existed in the now split up family, keeping the lands within the broader family itself, between the cousins. He was not too sure of what the chief Barix intended with the Romans he courted, but he would learn that in due course, as the lady Athena never hid anything from him. The boy was special and it was not Gerovix, the chief's cousin, who concerned Maritus, but someone else, someone far more powerful, who could destroy everyone and everything. The chief Barix would be truly shocked if he knew what he suspected and would probably be driven into a panic, something he wished to avoid. He could not return the boy either for this reason and Maritus decided, after a long internal deliberation, to rear the boy as his own son. The boy's real father would not be too happy but this was a choice he had to make, for the interests of the family he had sworn to protect.

“I would like you to make the boy an offer,” said the chief Barix, in a resigned tone of voice. “Since I cannot restore this poor boy to his family, per your advice, I would like to adopt him as a son, if he likes my own family. He can stay with you, as you wish to train him. Has he told you anything about where he is from and the name of his tribe and also his father's name?”

“The boy is devoted to me,” said the old man simply. “He will not mention the name of his father, nor his own family or tribe, and I respect him for that.”

Pausing for a moment, Maritus continued, “Send your daughter and wife to me separately. I will introduce them one at a time to the boy as his relationship with each will be different. He will meet you only after he has met your family. You must at least grant him that, if your intentions are noble towards him. I understand that you will adopt him only after his eighteenth year. Will you also make him your heir?”

“Adriane is my heir and if he marries her, he will be the chief of this tribe. Surely you understand,” said the chief Barix, with a knowing look, a silent accusation at the betrayal concerning his daughter, which troubled him each time he saw Maritus.

The old man sighed and turned away, heading back to his house, saying to the chief, “You can have Adriane. I have the boy and he will be mine, not yours. I will let the boy decide once he is a man, not you. Perhaps he may not marry your daughter.”

He did not turn and look at the chief again, signifying that the interview was over.

Maritus couldn't wait to get back to the golden boy, the boy who had fallen into his lap as if some gods had released him, as he was perfect. If the old man did something, he imitated him to perfection with precision, timing and calmness. His mind was like a sponge and absorbed complex ideas with little or no effort.

Who was this boy? Who was his father? What was his ancestry?

He would know this in time, he thought. In the meantime, he would impart all his knowledge and training to the boy, to Vaten, as he called him, per the mysterious word inscribed on the pendant.

The chief Barix went back to his horse, secretly pleased.

If the boy's father ever came looking for him, he would be at least proud to know that he was treated like a great chief's son, although he would be with a slave, the old man Maritus. His wife and daughter's frequent visits would reinforce this belief, if it came to that, as they could question any of his servants or even the warriors in his camp, who could attest to this.