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

of the widows, Rhedyn, scoured the cooking pot with river sand and used dry meat to begin a stew that would sustain them once they were on the move. Another widow, Brangaine, used the last of their wheat to make flat cakes on a griddle. When Cadoc returned, Rhedyn selected several wilting carrots, a turnip past its prime and some soft cabbage to give flavour to the stew. Myrddion awoke to the smell of cooking meat, seasoned with salt bought for a few coppers by Cadoc, and his mouth watered with hunger for the familiar fare that gave him such pleasure on the open road.
    Master and servants ate with their fingers, using Brangaine’s flat cakes to soak up the gravy as Cadoc recounted the local gossip he had picked up in the marketplace.
    ‘The Huns, whoever they might be, are on the move,’ he told them as he demolished his first plate of stew. ‘The local people are terrified, although Gesoriacum is unlikely to be attacked.’
    ‘King Vortigern told me that the Huns under Attila threatened Rome . . . although he could easily have been wrong,’ Myrddion said doubtfully, knowing that Britain rarely received useful intelligence from the Frankish side of the Litus Saxonicum. None the less, the name Attila caused his tongue to tremble. ‘Did the people say why the Huns have come so far to the west – why they are at war with the people of Gaul?’
    ‘A Roman general called Flavius Aetius has pissed them off by returning their gift to its original donor.’
    The widows giggled, while Truthteller made an incredulous grimace at the thought that any passably intelligent general would make such a mistake of protocol. Cadoc began to refill his bowl with stew while continuing his explanation of what he had heard from the villagers.
    ‘No, Truthteller. The gift from the Huns was a dwarf called Zerco, and this Aetius seems to take a dim view of treating human beings as inconsequential presents to be exchanged at will. Unfortunately, the Huns chose to view Aetius’s mercy as an insult.’
    ‘Does the cause of the conflict really matter?’ Finn asked. ‘The Huns will invent a reason to be offended if they truly desire a war. Is Flavius Aetius an able warrior?’
    ‘So they say. He is the best that the Empire has left – which isn’t saying much. Do you want to become embroiled in this war, master? Perhaps we can recoup our losses from the voyage.’
    Myrddion looked doubtfully at his narrow fingers as he cleaned his bowl with a scrap of bread. Was his father this particular Flavius? For the first time, the healer considered the difficulty entailed in finding a man with such a common gens, even though the name had a noble history.
    ‘What else have you heard of this Flavius Aetius?’ he asked as artlessly as he could manage. If the general’s age indicated that the man could be his father, he might reconsider his decision to avoid the war.
    ‘I only know what the marketplace gossip tells me,’ Cadoc responded. ‘He is said to be about sixty years old. His mother was Italian, of no real birth, and he is of Scythian descent. He calls himself Roman because he served at the imperial court and was trained at the Tribuni Praetoriani Partis Militaris. He’s beenthe most successful of the Roman commanders for near enough forty years.’
    Myrddion nodded with relief, his resolve firming. We must pass through Gaul as quickly as possible so that we can reach Rome and Ravenna. No more crazed kings, hungry for glory. And no more generals ready to spend the life-blood of their young conscripts like copper coin. He could dismiss this particular Flavius from his consideration on the grounds of his age and the impurity of his blood.
    ‘Then he will have to defeat the Huns without us. I am weary of battles and dying men.’
    ‘But master . . .’ Cadoc rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in an age-old gesture.
    ‘Yes, I know we are stripped of our wealth, but we’ll not starve. The peasants will keep us fed for the sake of a