Nobilissima by Carrie Bedford

their chores and oblivious to the presence of Roman nobility. After a few minutes, the guard brought us to a tiny cottage, which appeared to be the residence of the farmer who had once tended the fields.
    We waited at the door of a small cramped living space where Alaric was giving orders to his men for the protection of the camp during the night. As the soldiers acknowledged their orders and left, he saw us and waved us into the room.
    “Nobilissima,” he said. “I regret the traveling conditions and hope that you have been as comfortable as possible.”
    “The conditions are intolerable,” I retorted, “as you well know.”
    “Yes, a carriage with cushions and shades against the heat of the sun must be most disagreeable,” he answered with a smile.
    “I speak of the hundreds of other hostages, some of whom are being forced to march on foot with little to eat or drink. You should release us all and end this abuse. A noble lady called Justinia died just minutes ago. She killed herself, but you are her murderer, Alaric.”
    “And your commander is not also a murderer?” he asked. “How many have your Roman soldiers killed to enfold a country in the brutal embrace of the Empire?”
    I took a deep breath. I felt drained, incapable of any emotion, even anger. The growling in my stomach made me nauseous. “Just let the hostages go, Alaric. You have enough gold and valuables from your vicious looting of our city to last you a lifetime. You don’t need the ransom money.”
    “Believe me,” he replied. “I would love to let all of you go, every last one of you. There’s not enough food for everyone. But I do need the money. I have plans to save my people, and the more I have to trade with, the better. Have you heard from your brother? Does he plan to pay your ransom soon?”
    I shook my head. “I have no idea. More importantly, we’ve heard nothing of Marcus, our Magister Militum. Do you have any news of him?”
    “Please sit and we can talk,” said Alaric, pointing to chairs grouped around a rough wooden table. “There’s cheese and bread here, and wine.” He hacked at the aged cheese with a dagger that seemed to have dried blood on it. I took a piece of bread but didn’t eat it.
    “My soldiers overran the garrison early in the attack,” said Alaric. “I know that many Romans there were injured or killed but I’m sure that if any harm had come to the Magister I would have heard of it.”
    Aurelia gave a small nod of acknowledgement and I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it hard for me to speak.
    “You spoke of a plan,” I said after a long silence. “I can’t imagine what you intend to do with all these people. There’s no food. How can you sustain them?”
    Alaric chewed on a piece of bread before answering. “There’s no food here, it’s true, but we’ll soon have control of the grain supplies from Africa and then we’ll not only have food for my people but an excellent bargaining chip with which to negotiate with the Emperor for the territories I have asked for.”
    “Africa?” I said in surprise. “Africa is a well-defended province that won’t easily give up its food supply to you. How can you expect to succeed?”
    Alaric took a gulp of wine. “In Sicilia I have more troops waiting with arms that we have secured from previous engagements, and a flotilla of ships that will take us to the north coast of Africa. My men are ready to fight and the stakes are high. I am confident of our success there.”
    I played with a crumb of bread, rolling it between my fingers and looked up at him. His face was scarred from some previous skirmish and there was weariness in the way he held his head, but his clear blue eyes were sparkling like those of a young boy and held no sign of fear or defeat. He had survived years of battles, fighting alongside the great armies of Rome.
    I had many questions for him, but was interrupted by the arrival of several soldiers. I noticed that they saluted