‘I’ll tell you why the Hatti kings liked Jesus. Because the faith He preached was a submissive creed. A slave’s creed. Makes people easier to handle, see, if they think you’re enslaving them for their own good.’
‘That’s a cynical point of view.’
‘All soldiers are cynics.’
‘Oh, no, they’re not, Zida, believe me. Your friend Kassu for one. Look, I’m getting cold, Henti. Shall we go to the house?’
‘All right.’
Zida called, ‘You two! Keep an eye out for stragglers. And you lot get on with the pyre. .’
Footsteps.
And there was Pimpira, alone in the dark. Soon he could smell burning meat.
28
He waited and waited.
He was growing very cold, because he had been lying still so long. He tried not to think of what had happened above, where his mother and father might be now. What he might see when he came out.
But when to come out? He had no way of telling the time; he couldn’t see any daylight. He waited a long time. It might have been hours. It might have been heartbeats! It
When he tried to move he found he had stiffened up; he had been lying curled up, like a baby. He moved as slowly and deliberately as he could, pushing the chunks of frozen earth away as noiselessly as possible. His father’s hasty shovelling had left the earth loosely packed, and it wasn’t difficult.
Soon he was standing, his head and shoulders thrust out of the pit. It was still daylight, but the light was fading under a grey lid of sky. The big house was dark. A fire burned in a corner of the farmyard — he didn’t look at that too closely. There was no wind, and the smoke from the pyre rose straight up to a blank sky. He hoisted himself up, kicking away the last of the debris, and stood, a bit shakily, on the lip of the pit.
‘Told you.’
A hand grabbed the ragged queue of hair at the back of his head. With a cry, he fell to his knees. He felt cold sharpness at his throat, a blade.
Two figures stepped into his sight. It was the priest Palla, his face expressionless, and a soldier, wearing mail and a heavy,dusty cloak. The soldier said, ‘Always a few stragglers. Wily lot, these slaves. Well, let’s get this done.’
Pimpira felt the blade at his neck press harder. He stiffened, determined not to cry out, in case his father should ever hear how he died.
‘No, Zida.’ The priest stayed the man’s arm with his hand. ‘Not like this.’
‘Look at him, he’s lame. He can’t join the March. It’s the law. You know that, priest.’
‘Yes, but have some humanity, man. Look at his face! There was hope there, even if he knows he’s lost his family. Hope now replaced by a despair, so cruelly. What’s your name, boy?’
‘Priest, this is not a good idea-’
‘Your name.’
‘Pimpira,’ the boy said, his voice a croak after so long in the earth. ‘My name is Pimpira.’
‘A Hatti name,’ said the soldier.
‘Given him by his parents’ owners on his birth, no doubt. And where do you come from?’
‘Wilusia district.’ Which was where the farm was, where they stood.
The soldier laughed out loud.
‘Well, if he was born here it’s a correct answer,’ the priest said. ‘I mean your people. Where did they come from, originally?’
Pimpira couldn’t remember the name, of a place neither he nor his parents had ever seen.
‘Which prophet comforts you? Jesus, Mohammed?’
‘The wise Zalmoxis.’
Zida asked, ‘Who?’
‘He’s a Dacian.’ It was the voice of the master. Kassu himself walked up to stand before Pimpira, in mail and cloak and dusty boots. Pimpira tried to drop his head in submission, but the blade at his throat, the hand holding his hair, would not allow it. ‘His people are Dacian.’ Kassu glanced around, at the blood-splashed ground, the pyre of corpses. He glared at Palla. ‘You did this while I was away. To my slaves, on my farm. Your idea, I suppose, priest. Must you meddle in every aspect of my life?’
Palla said firmly, ‘It was Henti. Your wife wanted to spare you the chore.’
‘As I did,’ Zida growled, still holding Pimpira tight. ‘We’re here to help you, Kassu. Anyway, you’re back early.’
‘We’ve been setting up the March. There’s a baggage caravan you wouldn’t believe. . We’re being released in shifts so we can prepare our own families.’
‘Then go to Henti. I’ll finish up here.’ Again Zida tensed for the strike.
But Kassu grabbed the man’s arm, pushed him away. Pimpira, released, slumped to the ground. ‘No. Not this one.’
Palla said warningly, ‘Henti said you would be like this. Sentimental. Not able to do your duty by the Emergency Laws.’
‘Not this one.’
Zida said, ‘Look at his foot. He can’t walk, man. He can’t join the March.’
‘He’s with me. He’s — my nephew.’
Zida stared at him, then laughed. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘My nephew, Zida. That’s what I’m telling you.’
Zida held up his hands. ‘Well, it’s up to you, priest! It’s your lot who announced the Emergency Laws. If you lie, if you help him hide a slave, it’s your crime.’
Kassu faced Palla. ‘You owe me your life. Now you owe me this.’
‘Is it worth it, Kassu?’ Palla asked evenly. ‘For one lame slave boy?’
‘You tell me. You’re the priest.’
Palla stared at Pimpira, and shrugged. ‘Fine. It’s your crime. I will say nothing. Are we even now?’
‘Oh, no,’ Kassu snapped. ‘Never that.’
Palla turned and walked away towards the house.
Zida turned on Kassu. ‘You fool. You idiot. You walnut-brained sack of-’
‘Enough.’
Zida pointed after the priest. ‘That man is your worst enemy. He tried to take your wife. And you spared his life! Whoever forgave a man for doing
Kassu had no more to say. He walked after the priest.
Zida stared at him, muttering under his breath. ‘And
On hands and knees Pimpira scrambled over the broken earth.
29
Barmocar insisted on leaving Etxelur before the midsummer Giving.
Rina knew the Carthaginian hadn’t done this just out of spite for her. He and his colleagues and agents had spent much of the winter planning the trek to Carthage; the earlier in the year they started out on this long journey
