The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley (ed)

  He didn't waste time trying to enter at the front door but went round to the slaves' quarters. Robinia was busy, bending over a vat of washing. He grabbed her from behind and she gave a satisfying squeal, then slapped his arm good-humouredly.

  "Creeping up behind me like that — you nearly made my soul leave my body." Robinia had been captured from the Silurians and enslaved when a baby and had now converted to a peculiar new religion called Christians. She often came out with strange phrases and Antheses played along with her. "Such a terrible day," she sighed now. "He was a good master, as masters go — though I only have one true Master"

  "And a wily old devil when it came to business," Antheses interrupted her, not wanting another lecture on her religion. "Did they tell you it was me who found him or, rather," he lowered his voice and told her in juicy detail of his discovery. She covered her mouth in horror then made the sign of the cross.

  "My poor mistress, how can she bear it?"

  "She doesn't know the full story yet. And you can help her — I've brought her a memento from him that might cheer her up. Do you think you could get me in to see her? It won't be the first time I've carried messages from Faustinius to her."

  Robinia's face brightened. "Oh, if only you could lift her load a little. I'll see what I can do." She gave him a sisterly hug.

  Sahia was lying on a couch, eyelids and lips swollen from weeping. The light had left her dark eyes and she could barely lift her head.

  "What is it, Antheses?"

  He still thought her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

  "I bring you my deepest sympathy, lady, and a gift." She heaved a sigh. "You were a good friend to Fausti. He often said so. What is the gift?"

  Antheses rolled his eyes and she understood, gesturing for the slaves to leave the room. She forced herself upright. He held out his hand, the ring lying in his palm. Her expression softened.

  "His favourite ring." She lifted it up. "Garnet stone with an eagle in full flight and our initials carved on the gold. I identified it yesterday Antheses, I know he was not — whole. Who could do such a thing?"

  "Faustinius was a powerful man," Antheses jumped in quickly before the tears started again. "Other men were jealous. He confided in me, you know." He leaned forwards. "There is another package, yes? I expected there to be one more today."

  "Another package?" Sahia was wary.

  "Yes — you know the sort, looks like an amphora of olive oil buried in straw, but underneath — well, let's just say, special goods. Let me act as your husband's courier once more. You don't want that stuff lying about in case they come back and search your house again. I don't want you getting any awkward questions. It wouldn't be fair."

  "My husband told me you'd been helpful, but not in what way. Sahi, he used to say, you leave the business to me. I take care of you. He was true paterfamilias. But I know he had a special consignment of oil in his office. He said it was a gift to oil the wheels, he said. But you say it's not oil. Maybe I should look."

  "Of course, lady, it's yours — look all you like. Only I'd worry for you. Might be safer to do as Faustinius said and stay ignorant. For the sake of the children. Not that he was up to anything wrong, but you know what these Roman laws are like — anything to send back money to Rome. I say we should keep some of it here. Leave it to me, and I'll make sure there's some more of that," he nodded at the ring, "to come your way."

  She closed her hand on the ring and held it to her heart. "Thank you, Antheses. You only want to help me. I will tell Robinia to have the package transported to your house as a reward for bringing me this ring. And Antheses — there will be more rewards if you find his killer."

  Antheses' blood stirred at the sudden fire in her eyes. He was bowing low to take his leave when they were startled by shouts and hoofbeats in the street outside.

  Huge flies buzzed over the round boat constructed of woven willow laths and tanned animal skin which had been drawn up on the shingle strand. Julius heard their buzzing before he saw them and so prepared himself for the stench.

  "Who found the coracle?" he asked.

  Lucan looked at Centurion Brutus, who replied, "Silurian fishermen, sir. It was a good mile downstream, caught up on some branches."

  Julius approached cautiously. One glance inside was enough to reveal the rest of Faustinius, further dismembered and drained of colour. His head was covered by a cloth.

  "Fishermen covered him up. Said his eyes were staring." Julius glanced at the Silurian fishermen who were watching intently. Their flowing hair and moustaches and rough tunics or trousers were no longer strange to him after his meeting with their leader, Ceryth.

  "Have you looked? Is it definitely Faustinius?"

  "Yes, sir," Brutus said. "I identified him myself."

  "Arrange to have this transported to join his arm at the hospital, will you, and I want the surgeon to tell me how he actually died, if he can. If he was dead before these cuts, as we must hope."

  "Sir — in my opinion his throat was cut and his blood drained. Look how pale he is. His blood was taken from him."

  Stillness settled over the riverbank. Even the horses became motionless. Brutus had said something very significant, but Julius did not know what, so he decided it would be safer to overlook it for now.

  Stepping forwards he spoke through an interpreter, thanking the Silurians for bringing the body to Isca. They were not hostile, yet they seemed stirred up by something, and spoke amongst themselves in their strange lilting tongue.

  "They say they are not to blame. They want your assurance you will tell Prince Ceryth they did not do this."

  "You may give them my assurance."

  As they walked away from the river Julius said, "Well, Lucan, what was that all about?"

  "It's said that that is the way their priests — wild men called Druids — carry out their sacrifices. Others say that they never made human sacrifice but only worshipped trees and rivers."

  "And what do you say?"

  Lucan shrugged. "I've never come across one. In fact, I thought they'd all disappeared up north to some little island called Mona since we outlawed the region."

  "Brutus must have some knowledge of them. He wouldn't have mentioned it unless there was cause for concern."

  "It's the time of year. Yesterday was the longest day. Apparently they need the blood of a man to influence the moon and the sun, or some such nonsense. So I've been told.

  But those days are long gone. Silurians worship Roman gods now."

  "Indeed. And Prince Ceryth gave every sign of wanting to continue our current position when we met yesterday. If it is Druids, they must be acting on their own. We can only hope they don't have many followers." Julius hid his worry. He could not afford to leave Isca exposed when the Emperor's orders were revealed. With only one day to go before then, he must resolve this matter speedily.

  "Julius, did you hear me?" Modestina's voice was concerned rather than accusatory. "Your thoughts must be very full."

  Julius laid his hand over his wife's for an instant. "I can't get the sight of that coracle out of my mind. I've seen plenty of bodies in my time, but the smell — well."

  "But it's more than that," Modestina observed. "Finding the rest of the body has not helped you, has it?"

  "You're right. It's not only having to give the terrible news to his widow but — I've looked at it every way and it's inescapable — I think Brutus may be right. This could be the work of those forbidden priests of nature. The Druids."

  "Which means possible confrontation with Ceryth."

  "He seemed a reasonable man at our first meeting but if it is the Druids, his tribe must have helped them in this to get access to Isca. Either he's going to defend his people, whoever they may be, and risk conflict with me, or he'll listen to me politely then seethe with resentment secretly — or even attack. Whatever he decides, it'll be well thought out. He's a sensible head for a young man — he's about thirty years old, I think — but he could still reac
t with his heart if provoked. It could even be some internal attempt to undermine his leadership that we know nothing about — the timing of it with his arrival here for our first meeting could be significant."

  "Not if it really is the work of Druids. They are operating by the rhythms of nature, not of man. Perhaps it's a secret sect trying to regain power with their own people?"

  "It's possible. Religion comes in many forms — look at the rituals of Isis or Dionysus, and there's this new one, Christianity. Then on the other hand, it could be someone here at the fort trying to implicate the Silurians to lead me away from the truth."

  "It's the attempt to hide the arm in the bathhouse that doesn't make any sense." She gestured to a slave to pour them some more wine mixed with water. "Why?"

  "I know. Lucan suggested that whether it was the Druids or someone else, they killed him and spilled his blood elsewhere and were hiding his body in the bathhouse to throw blame on someone in the fort when they were disturbed by the janitor, so they abandoned the body on the river." He drank some wine. "I am going to have to meet with Ceryth later today. I've sent a messenger ahead to catch up with him before he gets too deep into his own mountainous territory."

  He was grateful for Modestina's quick nod, without complaint or fuss. "I shall oversee your travel requirements." She made to get up but he held her back.

  "What is it that you were trying to tell me, my love?"

  "I don't want to trouble you with this. . ." At his reassuring nod she went on, "The children brought me a very sad tale from their lessons today. They have played with Sahia's children and they learned from them that she is absolutely overcome. She has withdrawn to her room and speaks to no one, not even her own children. They only know their father is dead, not how, and they are so bewildered in their grief." She blinked tears away. "I suggested they stay with us until their mother is feeling better. Was that wise of me?"

  "Very wise," Julius said, kissing his wife, not caring for the slaves or servants nearby. "They could not be in better hands."

  The Silurian encampment was a rough affair by Roman standards. Horses were not tethered in neat lines but allowed to roam in a rough enclosure of hurdles. There were no tents, the men slept on the bare ground, wrapped in their plaid cloaks, even Ceryth. But the campfire was big and cheerful with tasty meat roasting over it and plenty of the sweet and heady honey mead the Silurians drank. Julius felt he and his men were safe enough sharing their hospitality, but he was glad of the stool Modestina had packed for him.

  Smoke from the fire wisped up to a sky crusted with stars and firelight shone on men with plenty of red or black hair and rough clothes and his own smart well-shaven soldiers, alike.

  After half an hour of banter and drinking — Julius found it hard to get used to the Celt's casual way with their leader, for it appeared these argumentative people could all have their say — Ceryth slapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, then," in his passable Latin. His men fell silent and Julius felt his heartbeat quicken. "I don't expect you rode after me because you enjoyed my company so much and couldn't bear to part with me." A handful of his men understood and translated for others, and there was a ripple of laughter. "So perhaps it's the death of your trader, Faustinius."

  "You no doubt heard the rest of his body was found, floating in a coracle."

  "Ah. Then you've come looking for my advice, no doubt. And I'm happy to give it." He grinned, giving Julius's shoulder a firm squeeze, but his eyes were watchful.

  "Your knowledge and experience would be of great service," Julius agreed. "We spoke only briefly about Faustinius before. He traded with you?"

  Ceryth shook his head. "I do not trade — I lead. But some of my people saw fit to exchange our goods for Roman ones. He came and went freely among us."

  "I understand. But it is the nature of his death that — I have been told — has been made to look like a ritual from your olden times. Druidic. No doubt to hide the real identity of the murderer." He gave Ceryth a few details.

  Ceryth waited until the muttering among his men died away then said, "We do not follow those old rituals. But there are some that still do, I've heard. It could be these men — strangers to us here — who have done this. Perhaps they want to undermine my friendship with the Emperor."

  Julius tried not to betray his relief. "Prince Ceryth, if that is the case, I pledge any help I can give to bringing these wrongdoers to justice — to your justice."

  "I pledge likewise." They clasped hands then talking and drinking began again. Yet Julius still felt uneasy. Ceryth had happily passed the blame on to the Druids, promised to find the killers — it had been almost too easy. He felt Ceryth was one step ahead of him — he had been ready for him. Julius knew that he was working in the dark, in an unknown environment. He longed to be able to get back to military matters. There he felt safe and in command. This death threw up too many woolly questions without answers. He wanted to leave it to Ceryth, but his sense of duty still pricked at him, urging caution.

  Sunlight glancing off polished armour, the shouts of men being drilled that morning when he returned to the fort, even the greeting cries of his own children, all conspired to make Julius's headache worse. And now it was going to be the sound of his own voice that would make him wince. The Celts' honey mead should only be drunk in moderation, he thought.

  Squinting into bright sunlight he looked across the parade ground, which lay just outside the ramparts, at the massed ranks of Legio Augustus II. All eyes were expectantly turned to him. The only movements were the occasional stamping of horses, and their tails being fanned by the breeze.

  He raised the scroll he had brought with him, the Imperial seal now broken.

  "Men, your days without purpose are over. Emperor Hadrian has need of your skills, your strengths and your hearts. I have today read his command, as have legates in other forts across Britannicus. We are to march again, shoulder to shoulder, for the might of Rome and to bring civilization to the darkest corners of the Empire.

  "The day after tomorrow not one, not two — not even five vexillations, but all of our legion will be marching North, to Caledonia, leaving a few here to run Isca fort.

  "It is thirty years since we were north of the River Bodotria, and twenty since we were safe north of Vindolanda. Too long have we been plundered and harried by the tribes of Caledonia. The Emperor's visit to Britannicus earlier this year brought him to a decision. We are going to build a wall. The greatest the world has ever seen, with towers and forts all along it to protect our land. It will stretch from one sea to the other, either side of this island and we, men, are going to help build it.

  "And, before we go, I have ordered the best entertainment and games the Isca amphitheatre has ever seen.

  "Hail to Rome, hail to the Emperor."

  The returning hails from the men were reasonably enthusiastic, he thought as he took his throbbing head home. He knew that in their bunkbeds tonight there would be plenty of grumbles. It was a long way to go. Home comforts would be few, though wives and sweethearts would no doubt follow too. It would be cold and wet.

  On the other hand, they would be involved in a magnificent project, and there would be enemy to fight too. Julius was excited at the prospect. He now knew that he was the right man for the job, for hadn't he trained as an engineer when young?

  The arena had been swept clean of animal blood and sprinkled with fresh sand and now, in a twilight enlivened by flickering torches, it was the turn of human performers. Acrobats, jugglers, the exotic and the downright bizarre paraded for the entertainment of the audience.

  Antheses chewed on a snack he'd just bought before swallowing some wine from his own stone jar. The Legate had promised a good games, and had been true to his word. Man and beast alike had fought fiercely and the crowd had screamed and groaned with the thrill of it. Antheses had joined with them, and afterwards had enjoyed joking with the men and families he knew best, but now he felt something was missing: Sahia.

  Of cou
rse she was in mourning. It would not be right for her to attend. But he was used to seeing Faustinius and his wife at the games, or about the small town. They made life interesting with a lifestyle to aspire to. Even more, he admired the way Faustinius managed to smuggle goods, jewels — even people — to and fro behind his legitimate trading. He had long suspected that Faustinius must have a secret cache of money or jewels, and then Faustinius had taken him into his confidence — and now he had the cache, the amphora full of gold nuggets, still intact bar one.

  He finished his hot snack, cheered as the acrobats performed their most complex manoeuvre yet, then thought of Sahia again. She'd be alone now, with everyone at the games — he'd seen Robinia earlier, here with her Christian friends, come for the acrobats. Yes alone, probably lonely. She might be cheered up by his company. Besides, he'd been unable to resist exchanging just one nugget of gold to buy some good leather shoes for himself and a small piece of ladies' jewellery — perhaps she'd like it.

  With a quick glance around, he left his seat and strolled through the encroaching evening towards the villa where he'd so often acted as go-between for Faustinius. Once there it took him some time to wheedle the old and, in his opinion, daft man left as doorkeeper to send to his mistress that Antheses had some information for her. But he knew he was lucky, the usual doorkeeper would have turned him away instantly and had fists he couldn't argue with.

  Antheses fidgeted in the doorway, ignoring the superior gaze of the Nubian slave guarding the inner hallway, till they both heard the old man's returning shuffle.

  "Oh, the Gods — what are we to do?" he cried tremulously. "My mistress is not in her bedchamber — she is not anywhere to be found!"