LITMIR.BIZ

      ‘Well? Is there a decision? What did Alaric say? My lord?’ Berig was hopping from one foot to another as Wulfric emerged from the Basilica where the king had been holding his Council. To one side a depressed-looking group of senators waited their turn for an audience with the invader. Wulfric eyed them curiously. Was one of them Julia’s father? Or her betrothed? They had dispensed with their eastern silks and embroideries and had dressed in pristine white tunics, sweltering under the great weight of their togas as though to emphasise their role and status as Roman patricians. Much good would it do them.

      ‘Lord?’

      ‘Berig, if Alaric wished you to be privy to his councils then he would invite you.’ Wulfric felt hot, irritable and sweaty. He violently disagreed with Alaric’s decision for the next stage of their journey and none of this had been helped by a tendency to think about Julia at inappropriate moments. He had been on his feet for most of the day, arguing his case for them to move north west, into Gaul, into the rich, well-watered lands that lay open and inviting to a farming people. But the king, backed by his inner circle, had other ideas and nothing Alaric and his supporters could say had swayed them.

      Hilderic had come to stand with him, the rest of his kin clustering close. ‘They are wary of you, Alaric’s men,’ the older man had murmured, running a scarred hand through his beard. ‘He knows there are many who would follow you and he is not well.’

      ‘I am Alaric’s man,’ Wulfric had retorted, low-voiced. ‘His man until death.’

      ‘Quite,’ Hilderic said with a sly smile. ‘And until his death, of course. Look at yourself—look who stands at your back and your shoulder. Look at the gold you wear and the gold your kin have gained, following you. And then ask, who should the old men who stand at Alaric’s back fear when he has gone?’

      It had shaken him. It shook him still. His ambition was to lead his kin, as now he did. Beyond that, he wanted to draw into alliance with them as many strong men as he could, for their mutual protection. To be acknowledged as a leader by warriors of Hilderic’s experience and standing was heady, but that was as far as his ambition had led him, despite the whispers that had sometimes come to his ears.

      Now Hilderic, who spoke for most of the men in the loose alliance ranged with him, was hinting openly that he should bid for the throne when Alaric was gone. There was no harm in speculation about what would come, others would argue. Alaric’s health was uncertain, his temper and judgement unsettled. One day, he would no longer lead. One would be a fool not to be ready for that day.

      Wulfric realised he was standing in the middle of the courtyard, hand on sword hilt, a scowl on his face. Poor Berig was visibly quaking.

      ‘We stay one more day. That is all I can tell you. The food is running out.’

      ‘But—will we fight the emperor? March on Ravenna?’

      ‘We stay one more day. When I can tell you what happens next, I will do so. Now, where are the horses?’

      ‘Here, lord.’ Subdued in his best clothes, Berig led the way to where an urchin was holding the reins. He tossed him a small coin and swung up into the saddle as Wulfric followed suit. ‘You look tired,’ he ventured as they rode out of the city.

      ‘I’ve been sitting on my backside in a hot room with a crowd of sweaty men all day. I’ve been up and down like a bucket in a well, talking and arguing, and my throat is raw. My feet ache worse than if I’d been on a two-day route march and in these clothes I feel like a trussed-up chicken. Otherwise I’m fine.’ He pulled irritably at the neck band of his best tunic.

      ‘We could wrestle?’ Berig suggested hopefully. ‘You promised you’d show me that throw you used on Rathar.’

      Wulfric shaded his eyes and looked at where they had got to. Another league into camp. When he got there, there were meetings to hold, men to brief, the whole organisation of breaking camp to set in motion. And that confounded woman to infuriate his mind and inflame his body.

      ‘You’re on. See that grove of trees? Race you.’