Death of an Empire by M. K. Hume Read Free Book Online Page A

two wagons that we can purchase, preferably ones that are watertight?’
    Ranus rubbed his hands together with oily pleasure and presented two wagons for Cadoc’s careful inspection. Like the carthorses, the wagons were old and clumsy, but they came with stout leather covers that would protect Myrddion’s tools of trade. A bargain was soon struck and most of Myrddion’s store of gold changed hands. As Cadoc harnessed the horses, Myrddion turned back to face the wily old trader.
    ‘Ranus, I’ll tell you straight, I’ve no desire to serve in any conflict outside my own land. Commanders always seem to take advantage of healers, so I’ve been dragged into a number of disputes in the past. I’ve found that working for a royal master is never financially rewarding, so I’m sure you understand my reservations, my friend.’
    The Roman trader smiled like a shark. In truth, a good war was very profitable for his business, but he took pains to avoid any personal experience of the carnage. ‘Aye, young lordling, I can see that a healer would be a valuable addition to any commander’s army.’
    ‘How may I avoid the coming war? I wish to travel to the south, eventually to Ravenna, and I don’t wish to be sidetracked by the Huns or the Franks along the way. What route would be fastest and safest?’
    Ranus rubbed his stubbled chin with a horny forefinger. Myrddion winced at the rasping sound that resulted, while the Roman eyed the younger man with cunning, insolent eyes.
    ‘Well, young sir, if I were to gamble on where Attila will attack next, I’d be thinking of the rich lands to the southwest. He’ll pour his warriors into the lands of the Alemanni and strike either at Worms or Strasbourg. He could easily be holding those cities already, but we’ll never know until his horsemen come knocking at our own gates. The Huns move fast. Attila will carve through the Frankish countryside like a hot knife through cold butter, using the Reno river as his marker to move his troops from place to place.’
    Myrddion frowned. ‘So where should I go if I hope to avoid him? This land is foreign to us and I’d rather avoid any pitched battles, if I can – even minor skirmishes. Of course, if I stumbled across wounded men, I’d be morally bound to treat their wounds – but I must reach Ravenna without being delayed by a war.’
    ‘Then I’d take the main Roman road leading into the east. I’d drive my wagons to the river, where Caesar crossed into the north to defeat the barbarians, then head south to Tournai, Cambrai and the Frankish border cities. With luck you’ll skirt around the fighting.’
    Myrddion grimaced. ‘Won’t I be heading towards the Huns if I follow your advice? Why not follow the coastal route?’
    Ranus shrugged expressively. ‘It’s true that the best road runs along the coast, but you’re likely to run across one of the armed groups from the defending king’s forces. The Franks and the Goths are just as dangerous as Attila’s warriors, so I’d follow the central route if I were in your position. The roads there are in disrepair and the Romans don’t guard them any more. But, I do know that most of the bridges are still standing, so . . . well, it’s really up to you.’ Obviously sick of profitless chatter, Ranus turned back to his sweetmeats and his execrable wine, trusting his customers to latch the gate as they departed.
    The darkness was complete by the time Myrddion and Cadoc had picked up the three widows and loaded their provisions, the tools of their trade, the leather field tents and Myrddion’s precious box of scrolls. Distrusting the local inns along the waterfront, Myrddion chose to travel under the rising moon to the outskirts of Gesoriacum where they could make camp in relative safety. Unfed, but safe beneath the wagons among their furs and woollen blankets, the small party were soon fast asleep.
    Cadoc woke at daybreak and departed the camp to gather further supplies of food while one