“My wife just told me,” Herigast said and put his arm around the woman beside him in a gesture of protection, his expression challenging.
Rud turned to Atretes. “Is what he says true?”
“Yes.”
Rud’s face tensed in anger. “We make an alliance against Rome, and you bring one of the murdering dogs among us!”
“He comes in peace.”
“Peace!” a young warrior said and spit on the ground with as much brass and pride as Atretes had ever possessed.
“We want no peace with Rome!” another shouted. “We want blood!”
Men shouted angrily.
“. . . burned our village . . .”
“. . . killed my father . . .”
“. . . took my wife and son for slaves . . .”
Rizpah closed her eyes and prayed as Atretes shouted them down. “I have as much cause to hate Rome as you. More! But I tell you this! If not for Theophilus, I’d be fighting in an arena or hung up on some foul cross for Domitian’s entertainment! Three times he saved my life. He led me home!”
“No Roman can be trusted!”
Others shouted agreement.
“Where is he?”
“Let’s get him and throw him in the bog!”
“Make him a blood sacrifice!”
Herigast’s wife pointed. “The Roman is building a grubenhaus just beyond those longhouses. He intends to make his home among us.”
One of the warriors started in that direction. When Atretes blocked his way, he took a swing at him. Atretes ducked and brought his fist up into his chest, knocking him from his feet. Before the warrior hit the ground, Atretes had his gladius in his hand and at the fallen warrior’s throat.
“Stay down, or by God, you’ll never get up again!”
The maelstrom died as quickly as it had erupted.
The warriors moved back slightly, staring while the young warrior gasped for air. “You will all listen,” Atretes said, glaring down at the young man, whose eyes had widened when he felt the sword beneath his jaw. One swift jerk and his jugular would be laid open. Atretes raised his head enough to look from face to face around him. “Kill my friend and you will answer to me!” He looked down again, the blood pounding hot in his veins. “Do you want to be first to die, boy?”
“Let him up, Atretes!”
The men turned and saw a tall man striding toward them.
Atretes didn’t move, but cursed under his breath.
“Look!” Herigast’s wife said. “The Roman comes, gloating over the trouble he’s brought upon us!”
Theophilus walked toward them calmly, his demeanor one of authority and purpose. “Put your sword away, Atretes. Those who live by it, die by it.”
“As will you, if I listen,” Atretes said, not moving the blade an inch.
Theophilus heard the threatening rumble that went through those gathered. There was no time to dissuade Atretes. He needed to speak now while he still had opportunity. “I’m not here as a Roman or for Rome!” he addressed the men. “I ask your forbearance until I can prove myself trustworthy. If I play you false, do with me as you will.”
“You look like a soldier,” Holt said, measuring him with burning eyes.
Theophilus looked at him squarely, without fear. “I served in the Roman army for twenty-five years and held the rank of centurion.”
A stunned silence fell. Holt gave a surprised laugh of derision. What man would admit to such a thing in the midst of a hundred Chatti warriors? He was either very brave or very stupid. Perhaps both.
Theophilus stood his ground calmly. “I fought here twelve years ago when the German tribes rebelled against Rome.”
“He fought against us!” one of the men shouted for all to hear.
“Roman dog!” Other names far more profane and insulting were hurled at him.
“I know the Chatti to be a valiant people!” Theophilus shouted over them. “But I know this as well: If you rebel against Rome at this time, you will fail. Domitian waits for an opportunity to send the legions north. A tribal alliance for war will give him exactly the excuse he needs to do it.”
“He speaks for Rome!”
Atretes withdrew his gladius and turned slightly.
Theophilus saw doubt flicker in his eyes. “I speak the truth, Atretes. You know the lengths to which Domitian will go to get what he wants. He covets the power and prestige of his father and brother, and the only way to get it is to fight a military campaign and win. This is the only frontier where Domitian had relative success.”
Theophilus’ reminder of the battles eleven years ago didn’t sit well. Atretes put his sword into its scabbard, ignoring the young warrior as he jumped up from the ground.