Free The Wolves of the North by Harry Sidebottom Page B

share her?’
    The next morning, the Goths were gone not long after first light. By midday, the remainder had gone nowhere. Ballista had allocated the wagons, apart from that already claimed by the
gudja
. The meagre money for ransoms had been divided into two. The soldiers loaded the gold into the carts in which Castricius and Ballista himself would travel. Hordeonius then officiously ordered his auxiliary archers to stand guard over them. It was a rare command of the centurion’s with which his men were perfectly happy. As it transpired, no one seemed to want to trust theSarmatians with handling their property; conquest and cuckoldry were thought to do something to a man. So the tribesmen sat and scratched themselves as seven slaves tried to break camp and manhandle everything into the wagons. Biomasos the interpreter, Porsenna the
haruspex
and the other imperial functionaries, let alone the eunuchs, knew such manual labour to be far beneath their
dignitas
.
    To get somewhat out of the chill north wind, Ballista and the freemen of his
familia
sat in the shelter of some willows. Castricius, Biomasus and the two eunuchs joined them. They talked in a random, inconsequential fashion as they watched the uninspiring scene.
    ‘If I was the sort of man to fuck another man’s wife,’ Maximus said, ‘ideally, I would like to see him disarmed.’
    They all looked at the nearest Sarmatian. He was leaning in the lee of his wagon; a big man, blond, handsome. From his boots to his cap, his clothes were embroidered nomad-style. Everything about him was surprisingly clean. On his hip was a long, straight sword, suitable for a mounted warrior. A long dagger was strapped to his thigh. He had a coiled bullwhip thrust through his belt.
    ‘The Urugundi might have told more than the truth,’ Ballista said.
    ‘It could be a Sarmatian cares more if you take his sword than his wife,’ Hippothous said. ‘His chief god is worshipped as a sword, and he swears his most solemn oaths on his sword. On the other hand, if he comes home to his tent and finds another man’s quiver hanging outside, he wanders off until the stranger has finished with his wife.’
    ‘Marvellous,’ Maximus said. ‘A whole tribe of complaisant husbands.’
    ‘Oh no,’ Hippothous said, ‘no good even for you. You see, nomad women are quite hideous. Because they breathe the damp,thick air of the Steppe, drink water from snow and ice and do no hard work but sit in wagons all the time, their bodies are not hardened. They are heavy and fleshy, their joints covered, watery and relaxed, their cavities very moist. Not being swaddled as children, they are disgustingly flabby. Their very obesity prevents them receiving male seed easily.’
    ‘I do not know, it does not sound too bad,’ Maximus said. ‘I sometimes like my women carrying a bit of weight – warmth in the winter, shade in the summer – moist cavities and little danger of getting them pregnant. Did I ever tell you about the time –’
    ‘Nonsense.’ The interpreter cut him off. ‘The promiscuity of nomads derives from an outdated story in Herodotus about one tribe, the Agathyrsi. The Sarmatians, like their cousins the Alani, are polygamous. Having several wives does not mean they are happy if another man tries to lie with them. Doubtless the Heruli are the same.’
    ‘It is Strabo the geographer who claims that nomad women in general are available,’ Hippothous said. ‘Anyway, they smell, never wash.’ He addressed the latter to Maximus.
    ‘I heard they kept their virginity until they had killed three men in battle,’ Castricius said.
    ‘And cut their right breast off,’ added Ballista.
    ‘Their mothers are said to
burn
them off,’ the interpreter pedantically corrected.
    The wind had got up, whipping the branches above their heads. The sky was dark, threatening rain. Down by the river, bitterns boomed, deep and resonant.
    ‘Gods below, it is getting cold,’ said Maximus.
    ‘Not as cold as it