Waking the Beast

By Francis Jarman

CAN THE EMPIRE SURVIVE?

The invasion of the Blood-Drinkers has begun, but the Empire is also under attack from within, as the Sleepless Ones scheme to Wake the Beast After the deadly attack on Manasa, the travelers part company: Decimus to bring a warning to the General, Thomasius to escort a capricious Senator’s daughter to safety. Mara, abused and dishonored, must face the judgement of the Horse People, while Aulus, if he is to help her, must cast off his fear and become a man. And the eunuch Florianus, offered a remarkable chance to enter the history books, must now choose between the light and the dark...

Part four of The Gardens of the West.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667682754

Book preview

Table of Contents

WAKING THE BEAST

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

ALSO BY FRANCIS JARMAN

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

WAKING THE BEAST

Francis Jarman

The Gardens of the West, Part FoUR

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Francis Jarman.

All rights reserved.

The website for the series, including a map, a glossary,

and a full list of characters, can be found at thegardensofthewest.com

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com

ALSO BY FRANCIS JARMAN

THE GARDENS OF THE WEST SERIES

The Eagle’s Wing

The Hour of the Fox

What the Hawk Sees

THE LEMNOS SERIES

The Gate of Lemnos

The Call of Lemnos

The Curse of Lemnos

OTHER WORKS

A Star Fell: A Play

Cold from Your Breath

Culture and Identity

Encountering the Other

Girls Will Be Girls: A Play

Intercultural Communication in Action

Invictus: A Play

Lip Service: A Play

White Skin, Dark Skin, Power, Dream

CHAPTER 1

MARA IS SUMMONED TO A MEETING

 On the Plain, not far from the camp of the Speaking Bird clan.

No! Mara said.

By signs and gestures, Thea had offered to cut her hair, so as to repair at least some of the damage that Gisso had done. It looked terrible. After he and Dirty Fingers had raped her, he had hacked off her plaits.

Yes, it looked terrible, Mara believed that, though not for the reason that Thea probably thought.

The damage to her hair could be repaired, but not the damage done to Mara herself. Her father would see it at once. Her grandfather, too. Her family, and all the members of her clan, gathered to greet and honor the emissaries from the East, would see it. They would know that she had been shamed, and they would recoil from her.

Then let them at least see and understand that it had been done with violence!

She must tell them who had done it, not in any hope that they would punish him, but to warn them that they were harboring a traitor among the warriors of the Speaking Bird clan, a man without honor. She owed that much to her clan, even though her clan would now cast her out.

Whoever had done it, they would still cast her out as unwanted, shamed, and unmarriageable. How it had come to this didn’t matter, and in any case she had no proof that it was Gisso who had shamed her.

It was the word of a warrior against that of… a slut. A warrior’s oath, he had said, showing that he would even be willing to swear a false oath to cover his lies. It would therefore be his word against hers, a rock in one of the weighing-baskets of truth, a pebble in the other. Indeed, as a young unmarried girl who had dishonored her family, she might not even be allowed to sully the name of a god by taking the oath.

Her innocence was gone, but why should it be Gisso, they would say, a respected married man with battle scars, who had taken it? She had been riding for days with a company of men from distant lands, teasing and mocking them, behaving like a willful boy, and not as a modest young woman should. Why should anybody be surprised if, last night, one of them had used the final opportunity, before she rejoined her clan, to have his way with her?

Afterwards she had ripped off her plaits in despair. Was that not the true story?

Besides, if she spoke up in front of her clan she would be useless to Aulus and Lord Syrus. Far better for them, better for the cause she had agreed to serve, if she were not to be seen.

Yet how could she not go to her clan? Syrus had proudly announced that she was with them. Her family would be waiting, eager to welcome her.

So whatever she chose to do, her life was finished. When they found out, her people would expect her to end it herself, alone and in shame. Or, more likely, show her true character by taking refuge in the brothels of Cascantum and becoming a soldiers’ whore.

Where else could she go?

Perhaps Aulus would accept her as a slave after all?

Or Syrus (she could work in his stables, with Thea)?

Soon, he and the others would know. She would have to tell them, although at this moment all she wanted to do was to die.

Sounds broke into her troubled thoughts. The camp was now awake, and the men were up and noisily preparing their breakfasts. She heard a man’s voice. Beltran was there—he had come to bring her to his master.

Ooo, look at you! He grinned at her. Had a rough night, did you, ladies? That haircut doesn’t suit you though, Mara. Next time, let me do it.

Thea snapped at him. She may not have understood his words, but she was obviously telling him to shut up (there were some matters that really didn’t concern him).

Oh, why bother, Mara thought to herself, when soon everyone will hear about it anyway?

Thea accompanied her to Aulus’s tent, where they found only Perfectus, the Senator’s slave. Master Aulus was with Lord Syrus, he told them, making plans for the coming encounter with the Horse People. They had gone off a small distance beyond the camp, away from the breakfast clatter, to where it was quieter. He would take her there; Thea need not come with them.

When Thea indicated that it would be better if she did, Perfectus gave her a strange look. Very well, if she thought so.

They found the two men hunkered down on cloaks spread out over the grass, which was wet with morning dew. Morning dew: sweat from the flanks of the Sacred Mother of Horses. There were crumbs and spilled wine on the cloaks, and a flask and empty goblets.

Syrus greeted her and began to explain something about what would be expected of her at the coming meeting.

Please, master, Thea interrupted him, talking rapidly and gesturing in Mara’s direction.

Syrus stared at them both in irritation.

We know that she has been working hard to improve her command of the Citizens’ Tongue, with your help no doubt, Mara, but there is no call for her to talk non-stop!

Thea bowed her head. (Master, forgive me.)

Nevertheless, he asked Mara to tell him what had happened.

Her story was quickly told, and without tears. The moment for tears was past. It was Aulus who seemed to be closer to tears. What a strange, unmanly man he was!

She could no longer serve them, she said. Her presence at the meeting would harm, not help them. But Syrus had mastered the Tongue of the Horse People superbly. Aulus could also speak well, with few mistakes. And after the opening greetings, the words of welcome offered and graciously accepted, they would be able to use the Citizens’ Tongue for whatever followed.

No, Syrus said. You will come with us, Mara, because you must have justice. You have been badly wronged. He paused. The Horse People have a system of justice, surely?

During the journey she had taught the two men to speak her tongue, and she had tried to explain the ways of the Horse People to them. But—a system of justice?

Aulus tried to help.

You know, Mara, like the magistrate in Cestae, you remember him? The place you call ‘Kesta’! Do you have magistrates among the Horse People?

No, Aulus, she answered slowly. Our ‘justice’ is given by the people of the clan. The clan chieftain, my father, speaks for everyone—

Like a magistrate? Aulus broke in eagerly. And since he’s your father… well, that’s pretty good! He’ll give his daughter justice, won’t he?

No, Aulus. He is bound by our traditions, as a rope tethers a horse. If he forgets them, the wise women will remind him. And if it is a free man, a warrior, who stands accused, the matter is brought to the Council of the Horse People. But they too act only in accordance with our ways.

Then you must appeal to the Council! Your grandfather is the eldest of the Council, isn’t he? And he will be present today?

Aulus was trying his best to help her, but there was no point.

I am only an unmarried girl who has brought dishonor on her family. How can I appeal to the Council? Only a free man can appeal—not women, or children, or slaves.

Her head sank.

She heard Syrus ask her to look at him, and to listen carefully to his words.

"Mara, your world is not my world, and your gods are not my gods, but there is no world in which good men would deny that you have been wronged. This man has dishonored himself, not you or your family. In Neopolis, I am a magistrate as well as a Senator. There must be some way in which you can expose his wrongdoing. Were there witnesses, for example?"

The slave-trader Thrasyllus, she said, who had also abused her.

But you will never find him, she added. "And even if you do, Syrus, it will not help. Because I am only a woman, and therefore nothing without a man, I must offer the word of two free men, freely given, without threat or torture, to support my own word. His word stands on its own feet, as a warrior stands, unsupported."

That is not just, Mara.

"Yes, Syrus, it is not just—in your world. But that is our way, and it is good so. Do you suppose that it never happens among the Horse People that a girl cries out that some man has touched her against her will? Young girls cry out like that all the time! For that reason, what they say must be supported by the word of two free men, because otherwise no warrior would ever be safe from the accusations of crazed young girls."

It is therefore solely your word—that he came to your tent in the night and abused you—against his word—that he did not?

Yes.

"Is there at least some way to prove that he was in your tent? Some evidence. Do you know that word, Mara?"

Yes, Syrus, I know that word. The evidence is what those men did to my body, which no-one can see, and what they did to my hair, which everybody can.

"That is evidence against an unknown attacker, not evidence against him. He will merely claim that another man did it. Someone here in the camp. One of the mule-drivers perhaps."

Yes. He was right.

Her head sank again. She had no chance. She could only hope that the gods would be so outraged that the thread of Gisso’s life would soon be cut, by a spear-thrust or a Blood-Drinker’s arrow, and that the Dark One would claim him for the pit of Esbus, where all evil-doers belonged; in this world, though, there would be no retribution for what he had done to her.

Please, Syrus, Mara said. Forget about me. Go to the meeting. All the clan will be assembled and waiting for you, not just my father and my grandfather—the elders and warriors, their wives, their sons. Even the young girls and the slaves will be there, to see the great men from the East. I shall hide among the servants until after the meeting has ended, and only then will I speak to my father and beg him for forgiveness.

She realized that she had said great men without any hint of scorn or irony. But it was somehow true. Syrus was wise, and he was a fine horseman. And Aulus was maybe not great, yet he was kind and good.

Thea, who was crouched beside Perfectus, spoke up.

Master?

"Really, Thea, again! And to Mara: Your friend here is surprisingly talkative today! Someone please tell her that I am not one of her horses, to be talked to all the time! Is there anything still to be said that is pertinent?" (What did that word mean?) If so, let me now hear it, because we must soon be leaving for the meeting with your father, and we don’t have much time—

Thea spoke once more, but in the Eto. At first, Syrus looked angry and Mara, who had no wish for her to get into trouble, broke in.

Syrus, I don’t know what she is saying, but please let her speak, and don’t punish her. She is only trying to help me.

Syrus nodded, and listened, although she spoke at length. When she had finished, he turned to Mara.

"Something that might be pertinent… perhaps. The girl says that there is evidence that the two men came to your tent. They bound and gagged you, tying your hands with a colored cloth like a scarf. Did they find it in your tent? The cloth doesn’t belong to her, and she has never seen you wearing it. Is it yours by any chance? Or did the men bring it with them?"

Mara’s heart leaped.

Is it gray and red?

And Thea, who had understood her words, said, Yes, Mara.

Syrus gave Thea some instructions, and then explained to Mara that he had told her to go back to their tent and fetch the scarf. But after that they really must prepare to leave.

Why is the color of this scarf so important? Aulus asked.

Because, Mara said, such a bright scarf was most unusual among the Horse People, who preferred plain colors. Colors that, when you were riding out on the Plain, would not make it easier for your enemy to spot you.

Some would even say that it was womanish, and wrong for a warrior, to wear bright things.

(She remembered too late the flashing costume that Aulus had worn in Neopolis, and hoped that he didn’t feel offended—but he was not a warrior, of course, and he had never claimed to be one.)

There was surely someone in the clan who had seen him wearing it, who knew that it was his scarf?

Yes, Syrus said, the two warriors who rode out to greet us were wearing such scarves: the first man who spoke—

Remulo of the Dark Wolf clan. He is kinsman to my mother. She has spoken of him many times.

—he was wearing a plain scarf. But the other man—

Gisso.

How she hated to say that name!

—wore just such a colored scarf.

And it was gray and red, master, Perfectus added. I saw it most clearly.

Mara, speaking now as a magistrate I have to say that this unfortunately proves very little. There may be several other warriors in your clan who own such a scarf. It might even be some kind of fashion. Perhaps a traveling merchant came by and had scarves like this to sell or to offer as gifts. But… it is a start, Mara, and you will come with us. I have argued more hopeless cases than this and won.

Aulus blurted out, He mustn’t be allowed to get away with it. I’ll kill this man!

Poor Aulus, had he now gone completely mad? Syrus ignored him.

I might also add, Mara, that the goodwill already shown by your grandfather and by your father, in agreeing to meet with us to discuss an alliance, will create a favorable atmosphere in which to bring up your case.

Mara nodded—and smiled grimly. Syrus was wrong, her case was hopeless. Yet strangely she felt better now.

Was it because a great magistrate and Senator was going to speak for her? No. Because the ways of the Citizens were not the ways of the Horse People. His words would be listened to respectfully, but that was all.

And it was certainly not because a well-meaning friend, a weak-limbed wearer of ridiculous multicolored tunics, was willing to fight for her!

No, it was because a fearsome goddess, one who could not be named, had smiled again, whispering deep into her heart that, though men might fail her, the gods were listening to her. There was a perilous weapon with which she might yet destroy Gisso, but if she chose to use it there would be no turning back.

Would she be able to find the courage?

CHAPTER 2

DECIMUS HAS NO FEWER THAN FOUR WOMEN TO WORRY ABOUT, TWO OF WHOM ARE RATHER UPSET

 On the road.

In the murky light, Decimus stared grimly at the scene of carnage in front of him. Victor had struck hard. There was a badly wounded officer. There was a dead slave-girl. And two of the Sueni cavalrymen had tripped and hurt themselves in the frantic dash through the trees.

Swampies were useless on horseback, and it seemed they were not much better on foot.

That one will live, the officer said, pointing at Thomasius, and Decimus agreed with him. Yes, he had taken a knock, or a cut, to the side of the head, and there was quite a lot of blood, but he was moving slightly and groaning. Thomasius would live—and he would have an impressive new scar that he could show his children and his grandchildren, unlike the embarrassing one he had received earlier at Victor’s hands…

Decimus called for someone to fetch the wise woman, and quickly! She would know best how to dress the wound.

But Ja-neh the wise woman was already there, one of the Sueni said.

Then what in Sol’s name is she doing? he shouted, without turning to look. "Bring her over here, there is a wounded officer to be treated!"

When nothing happened, he turned—and saw Ja-neh. She was resisting the cavalryman who was trying to prize her away from whatever it was she was doing. In fact, one fierce look was enough to make the soldier step back.

And then Decimus saw what it was she was doing. She was tending to Manasa, pressing on her wound with leaves, and muttering prayers or spells.

This was ridiculous, he thought: he had seen a fair number of dead bodies in his time, some of them of people he himself had killed, and in the gloom Manasa looked distinctly dead. Thomasius had obviously been fond of her, and he would want her body to be dealt with honorably, but that was the most they could do for her.

Now the old woman was signaling to the cavalrymen. She was telling them to pick the body up.

Really, enough was enough! Decimus told the officer to order his men to desist, but he merely shrugged and turned away. His meaning was clear, even to Decimus: the Swampies had wise women of their own, and if a wise women wanted you to do something, you did it.

I missed. It was Turgulo, the Javelin-boy. I didn’t hit him. But I will, next time, I swear it.

"Can’t you speak to them? Look, this is pointless, she’s dead."

The wise woman had been collecting herbs, Turgulo said. She had gathered a whole basketful, and she must want the men to carry Manasa out of the wood to where Lady Flavia and the others were waiting for them, and where she would have left her basket.

Perhaps she believes she can use her herbs to treat her?

Oh, certainly, Decimus snorted. Raising the dead, eh? If you believe that you’ll believe anything. Or is the old crone a necromancer as well?

Yet this old woman did have a gift, Turgulo replied. Why had they all rushed into the wood like that, without a second thought? Because the old woman had suddenly become agitated and had started wailing and pointing to the line of trees. She had sensed an evil presence there. Victor.

Very well, Decimus conceded. Two of the men could carry Manasa’s body out of the wood, and two other cavalrymen could see to Thomasius. Everyone else should scour the area for signs of Victor.

No no, he’s gone, Turgulo contradicted him once more—the boy was getting quite cocky. If he was still here, the wise woman would warn us.

Thomasius had now been helped to his feet. With the support of two of the cavalrymen he would be able to stagger back to the road.

He was visibly upset. The tough acting Company-commander was actually weeping! Had he heard Decimus or one of the others say that Manasa was dead?

Decimus walked on ahead of them, as quickly as the slippery carpet of moldering leaves and damp twigs underfoot allowed. He must prepare those who had stayed by the roadside and not gone into the wood, Julia, her brother, Lady Flavia, for a nasty shock.

Some decisions would need to be made.

When Thomasius arrived, he would assess his friend’s injury. Was he in any condition to lead the soldiers, or should the cavalry officer assume command? Thomasius had been given specific marching orders, and the officer had presumably been informed of what those were. They should not allow themselves to be held up for too long by the need to arrange a funeral for a dead slave-girl.

As for himself, he had the urgent task of bringing the two young Placidi to the General and briefing him on what had occurred in the City. It was conceivable that one or two Senatorial refugees might reach Ogilo first, terror having lent wings to their flight; none of them, however, would be able to tell the General as much about the coup as he could.

Shock was the right word for how his traveling companions reacted.

Lady Flavia began shuddering and groaning. He had terrorized her, and now the Monster had done it again! Who was safe? Who would be next? He would come back for her, she knew it.

Hearing the fell creature named, the litter-slaves huddled together, shaking, praying, and calling upon their different gods. The Monster would return to pick them off, one by one. To eat them. To drag them all down to Esbus.

Anthea the maid was scuttling backwards and forwards, weeping, and begging for her and her mistress to be spared.

Even in the poor light, he could see that Julia Placida had blanched with fear. She was whispering to her brother, but Sextus said nothing.

They must hold a short conference—immediately. He, the Sueni officer, and Thomasius. Did Thomasius feel well enough to take part?

Yes, of course, I’m the ranking officer here.

There was a firmness in his voice. The tears had gone.

And Lady Flavia joined them as well, uninvited. Now more composed, and with a glint in her eye.

When Decimus tried to shoo her away, she said, You talk about rank. I am the person of highest rank here, freedman, and you will do well to remember that!

He couldn’t find the strength to object.

They must press on quickly, he said, to get to wherever the General was now encamped. Believing that he had settled his personal score, Victor would probably be on his way there too, to find and kill Ogilo. They must warn him!

Their first stop would be the next inn, which with a great effort they could still reach not long after nightfall. Arriving at a remote country inn in the middle of the night, with the doors double barred and maybe not even a watchman still awake, was not generally a good idea. The slaves might be too frightened to open up for them, or they might rush out with clubs to drive the intruders away; there would be a lot of commotion at the very least.

Victor would be taking the same route, though he would be several hours ahead of them. Would he too be using the inns? Decimus doubted it, but they would still need to be careful.

While he was talking, Turgulo approached and indicated that he had something important he needed to tell him. What was it? They didn’t have time to waste!

Well, Lord Thomasius here wouldn’t agree with you on that! Why don’t you listen, just for once?

What?!

Decimus raised his arm to strike him but found Thomasius holding him back.

No, let him speak, Thomasius said.

Manasa was alive! The wise woman had dressed her wound, and put her mouth to hers, and she was breathing. She might still die, but—

Thomasius had already thrown his arms around him in joy.

Decimus knew when he was beaten. And he was happy that she had survived, at least for the moment.

Turgulo led them to where she lay. Her eyes were shut, she looked deathly white, and sweat pearled the dark skin of her forehead and her tattoos. Yet she was breathing. Barely.

Thomasius grasped her hand and kissed it. Decimus looked away in embarrassment.

We can’t leave her here.

No, Decimus said. We’ll take her with us. In the litter. With the maid. Lady Flavia is such a fine horsewoman that she can get on her horse again—

"No! No!"

Which of them was it? Or was it both? The two women had come up behind him and seemed not to like what he was suggesting.

I’m not riding in the litter with a corpse!

That was Anthea, the maid.

Then you’ll bloody well have to ride on a mule, woman! Both of them protested loudly. And whatever you ladies graciously decide, we are leaving this place as soon as Manasa has been moved to the litter. Thomasius?

The soldier nodded in agreement. Lady Flavia was not done with them, however.

You say that the ‘Monster’ will be going in the same direction, and taking the same route?

Yes. Probably.

"Well then, that is not a route that I am prepared to take!"

Look, he remonstrated, I have to bring Sextus Placidus and his sister to the General, and warn him of the danger he is in. I have no choice.

Fine. Do as you wish, freedman. She turned to Thomasius. "Tell us what your instructions were."

Thomasius looked startled but told her. His orders had been to travel to the City, by way of Maidunum, and to meet Decimus there. Decimus, who represented the General’s interests.

There were no specific instructions as to what I should do afterwards.

And what were your orders from my father? From Lord Governor Flavius Probus, in case you had forgotten? Who could have you crucified for disobeying them!

To deliver you safely to your friends in the City. To your friend’s uncle, Senator Terebinthian.

Indeed, she said, that was correct. And hadn’t Decimus himself told her that the Green Senators would all have fled, or been lynched? He had been ordered to bring her to safety, and where might that be?

It would not be in the City!

Nor would it be in Ogilo’s camp, with all those vulgar soldiers intent on raping her.

And me too! squeaked the maid Anthea.

With the Monster lurking about, looking for people to kill.

And with hordes of Blood-Drinkers gathering to attack them.

But her father, the Lord Governor, would probably also be there, Decimus pointed out.

Yes, and it was my stupid father who sent me away in the first place, you may remember. So, why should he be pleased to see me again? And what a bore it would be, too.

Decimus had been impatient. Now he was exasperated.

"We don’t have time for this! Where in Sol’s name does Milady, in her great wisdom, think that she would be safe then?"

He immediately knew that he had overstepped the mark. A freedman simply didn’t talk like that to a Senator’s daughter, however annoying the wretched woman was. Yet instead of becoming indignant, Lady Flavia seemed almost pleased. He was apparently inviting her to choose.

Good that you now see it my way! We shall go to wherever the Senators have gone, of course. To where the Emperor has gone. The Green Senators will be there, won’t they? Terebinthian will certainly be there; he won’t be roughing it with the soldiers, will he? There’ll be a proper court, and it’ll be much more fun than sleeping in a tent in a military camp, surrounded by the unwashed, eating the pigswill you call rations, and having to shit in a ditch!

Decimus had to admit that she was right. He asked Thomasius and