The Bandit King - Book I - Promotus

Part Two: Northeast Thracia August AD 391

Chapter Two

In the center of the old Thracian fort of Kalasdiza, the lifeless eyes of an ox head stared across the market place. In the center of the cobblestone circle, the carved, mustached face of the oaken god-post stared back.

Behind the Guth-Bagms god-post, the ox's body and that of its draft mate crackled and spit fat onto the coals beneath them beside the headman's lodge.

The market circle and the houses that encircled it, were all within the earth and timber walls of the old fort. Beyond the walls were two camps. One formed by a circle of carts, narrow sleeping houses really set atop axles. The other camp was a circle of carts. Both made defensive barricades should they be attacked.

Around a fire outside the camp formed of carts, Gothic warriors danced. Stripped to the waist, they twirled and leaped in their long-legged canvas trousers, trampling a ring in the grass. Hand drums thumped and bird-bone whistles shrilled, their music setting the pace for the dancers. Spears hammered upon oaken shields then, viper quick, their arms jabbed killing thrusts; upward from the waist, down from over their round shield top, and out in slashing swings. They threw their shouts upward, toward Teiws, the one-eyed god of war. It was a frenzied mock battle, to honor death, to strengthen muscle, to celebrate Fithar, god of vengeance.

Among them danced Alaric;warlord of the Goths, leaping with the grace of a mountain lynx. Ahead taller than the other Goths, his copper-red hair, loose and flying. Sweat streaming from him as he circled the fire in an ancestral dance every boy learned before they killed their first man-maker; boar or bear.

His muscles stood out likeknotted oaken rods on his arms. Thin white scars; spear-marks; the magic runes of manhood, one rune linked to the other in zik-zak patterns on his forearms from elbow to wrist.

Alaric had ordered the spear dance. A feast to Fithar's blood. It was exhilarating, it was exhausting, and his men would talk of it when he led them north of the Haemus mountains to claim his birthright. There, among his own people he would order the dance again when Dubarung, the do-nothing,who stole his birthright was dead and Alaric wore his father's stolen bearskin and be reiks of his tribe.

Beside him danced sandy-haired Eberwulf his boarthegn, a man who swore to protect him when Alaric first challenged Dubarung five years ago. Boartusks, strung around Eberwulf's neck, bounced and rattled upon hischest.

Alaric bounded right, out of the ring of dancers then dropped to sit upon a felled log and watch the men dance past. True, the men who danced were Terving Gothslike Alaric, but not of his kuni, his tribe. Their oaths were sworn to Reiks Athaulf, a prince in Alaric's army.

Alaric glanced at the sun's disk shining through the poplar leaves. It was low and that raised alarm in Alaric. The sun was one hand above the horizon. It was getting late and the feeling that something was wrong crept up the back of Alaric's neck. His hand went to the amber amulet that hung from asilver chain around his neck. The amulet, a plate two fingers wide with the arrow shape of Teiws carved through its center and filled with silver. Reiks Sarus's scouts should be back.

Alaric rose and stepped quickly from the dance circle. He pulled his long woolen tunic over his shoulders and wove a hasty trail along the trampled paths toward Sarus's camp.

Alaric's feeling of something being wrong increased when he neared Sarus's camp and heard shouts.

Sarus, a great bear of a man,stood beside one of his captains still on his horse.

Behind the captain was a Roman centurion, tied to the saddle of a Roman horse.

The captain, his helmet hanging from the pommel of his saddle, pointed west, toward the Roman road. "... north from Arzus."