Thus we heard of the bitter victory at Mons Gessax in Thracia, where the Romans had encircled the last of the fleeing Goths. But the ineptitude of the commander, who had not had the wit to use his heavy cavalry to press his advantage, had cost many lives. Aurelian was now continuing his operations against the Vandals in Dacia. At least it appeared that the barbarian threat had been dealt with, for a time.
By the time we boarded our boat once more a new passenger had joined us. He was called Father Clemens, a round little priest of the Christian cult who had been sent by the Bishop of Rome to visit the congregations in the western lands. I observed him with some curiosity, for apart from the monks of Inis Witrin, he was the first priest of his faith whom I had seen.
“Oh yes, there are Christians in Eburacum,” he assured us when Constantius mentioned our point of departure. “A small congregation, to be sure, meeting in a house-church belonging to a virtuous widow, but they are strong in the faith.” Father Clemens eyed us hopefully, reminding me painfully of Eldri when she thought I might throw her a scrap.
Constantius shook his head, smiling. “Nay, I serve the Soldiers’ God, and the eternal light of the sun, but there is much good to be found in your belief. Your churches care for the unfortunate and the needy, I have heard.”
“God has so commanded us,” he said simply. “And what of you, lady? Have you heard the good Word?”
“There was a community of Christians near the place where I grew up,” I said carefully. “But I follow Elen of the Ways.”
Father Clemens shook his head. “It is the Christos who is the Truth, the Way and the Life,” he said gently. “All others lead to damnation. I will pray for you.”
I stiffened, but Constantius smiled. “The prayers of a man of good will are always welcome.” He took my arm and drew me away.
“I am a priestess of the Goddess!” I hissed when we had reached the prow. “Why should he pray for me?”
“He means well,” answered Constantius. “Some of his fellow-believers would damn us both, without waiting for their god to take a hand.”
I shook my head. The monk, whoever he had been, who had appeared to me at Inis Witrin, had spoken otherwise. Still, in Eburacum I had met many pagans who dealt only in the forms and ceremonies of their religion. I wondered if among the Christians, there was also a difference between the common folk and those who understood the Mysteries.
Constantius put his arm around me and I leaned against him, watching the long vistas of plain and forest, edged by marsh or mudflat or sandy strand, slide by. One side was Roman, the other, German, but I could not see much difference between them. I had looked at the maps the Romans made in an attempt to define their territory, but the land knew no such divisions. For a moment I hovered on the edge of some crucial understanding. Then Constantius turned his head and kissed me, and in the flood of sensation that followed, the moment was lost.
Our journey halted again at Colonia Agrippinensis, a flourishing city built on an eminence above the Rhenus. There was more news here—the Emperor had pursued the Goths all the way across the Danuvius and destroyed them in another great battle, killing their king, Cannabaudes, and five thousand of their warriors. The Senate had voted him the title of Gothicus Maximus and a Triumph. But despite his victory, Aurelian had apparently decided that Dacia north of the river was indefensible, and was pulling the limits of the Empire back to the Danuvius.
“And I can’t say but that he has good reason,” said the centurion we were talking to, “just as when he abandoned the agri decumates south of here and withdrew all the troops back to the Rhenus. Rivers make nice clear borders. Maybe Aurelian thinks the barbarians will be too busy fighting each other to trouble us. But it galls, just the same, when I think of all the blood we shed to hold that land.”