There were ten of them, each drawn by eight bullocks. Slowly and very noisily, half hidden by the dust raised, they pulled into a wide circle. The drivers unspanned the beasts and began to herd them down to water in the river. There seemed no end to the animals. ‘Ho, Sarmatians, where are your women?’ one of the Urugundi called. From under their caps, the drivers cast dark looks at the Goth. ‘Driving wagons is women’s work,’ the Urugundi said to Ballista in the language of the north. ‘Once, the Sarmatians were lords here. Now they are our skalks. These Sarmatian slaves try to keep their women away from us.’ He laughed. ‘They are right to. Their women are a good ride – big tits, good fat arses. They have no interest in their husbands when they have had a Goth between their thighs.’ The gudja silenced the warrior with a curt gesture then spoke to the drivers in a language Ballista did not know, presumably Sarmatian.
