by Ben Kane
‘Sir?’ The jeweller’s confused voice carried after Tullus as he shoved his way across the busy street. A carter who had to wrench on his oxen’s traces to avoid striking Tullus cursed, then realised he was an army officer and somehow converted the oath into a strangled mutter.
Degmar was already a dark shadow, far down the alley, and Tullus swore to himself. The warrior had a head start and twenty years on him. There was not a chance that he’d catch up, let alone find Degmar in the maze of back streets. All the same, Tullus took a few steps into the alleyway. The stink of human waste, thick and cloying, brought him to an abrupt halt. He spat in frustration. Degmar was gone, and covering his boots in shit and piss would do nothing but annoy him further.
Gripping Sirona’s present, he made for the Ox and Plough. His good mood remained, but it was tinged now with unease. What purpose had Degmar in Vetera, and why had he run?
Chapter II
SIRONA WAS WELL pleased with her bracelet, which relieved and delighted Tullus in equal measure. Her manner towards him warmed by a considerable amount, and she had allowed him to peck her on the cheek before he left that evening. Cocky as a stripling youth after his first kiss, Tullus marched back to the camp, all thoughts of Degmar forgotten. The following morning, real life and his duties brought him down to earth, and he recalled the chance sighting of his former servant.
During spring the previous year, Tullus had helped to rescue Degmar’s family prior to their village being destroyed by the legions. The dangerous mission had been a success, but Tullus and Degmar had parted on strained terms. He hadn’t ever expected to see the Marsi warrior again – Degmar hated Rome and all it stood for – which made his presence in the settlement even odder. Keen for another opinion, Tullus decided to confide in Fenestela. The pair had served together for half their lives, and trusted each other inside and out.
Their adjoining quarters made frequent meetings easy. Orders from on high had to be passed on daily; problems that one or other had encountered with the quartermaster or senior officers often had to be discussed. The pair convened to share camp news and gossip; sometimes it was just for a bite to eat, or a cup of wine. ‘We’re like an old married couple,’ Tullus was wont to mutter. Fenestela’s sarcastic response was always, ‘Without any fun under the blankets.’
Tullus went to Fenestela’s door at the earliest opportunity the next morning, a short time after the men had been up. This initial period involved Fenestela hounding the soldiers from their beds with dire threats, and was followed by a hiatus for ablutions and the day’s first meal. Fenestela often breakfasted with the other junior officers, while Tullus tended to eat on his own. If he’s not alone now, thought Tullus, hammering on the door, I’ll tell him on the threshold.
Fenestela smiled as he saw who his visitor was. ‘Come in,’ he said, stepping aside.
‘You alone?’
‘Aye,’ said Fenestela, frowning. ‘Why?’
Tullus strode in without answering, his eyes raking the room, but there was no one else present. Like him, Fenestela had simple tastes. A plain table with a gaming board atop it and four chairs filled the chamber’s central area. The other items of furniture were a couple of wooden chests and a stand for Fenestela’s armour. Tullus’ bedroom was just as plain.
‘D’you not believe me, sir?’ Fenestela’s tone was irritated. Long comradeship and mutual respect meant that he only ever used the term when others were about, or when he was annoyed with Tullus.
‘I do.’
‘What’s going on then?’
‘I saw Degmar yesterday.’
‘Degmar?’ Fenestela’s face now registered shock. ‘Where?’
‘In the settlement.’
‘Did you speak with him?’
‘He took off like a scalded cat the instant he saw me.’
‘How strange.’ Despite the early hour, Fenestela poured a measure of wine into two cups and handed one to Tullus, who didn’t refuse.
‘He’s up to no good,’ said Fenestela. ‘What else can explain such behaviour?’
‘We need to talk to him.’ Tullus was unhappy that his suspicions had been confirmed.
‘Easier said than done,’ said Fenestela, his customary scowl returning. ‘He’ll be lying low somewhere, or already headed over the river.’
‘There’s no point in going to the legate, or anyone else – a chance sighting of one tribesman is proof of nothing.’ Tullus threw back the wine.
‘Where were you when you saw him?’
Tullus hesitated, and then admitted, ‘In a jeweller’s.’
‘A jeweller’s?’ It was galling how much surprise, amusement and sarcasm Fenestela could pack into two words.
‘What of it?’ snapped Tullus.
Fenestela’s lips twitched. ‘So you were in this jeweller’s, and Degmar was on the street.’
‘Aye. That’s why he didn’t see me straight away, and how he got a head start when I called out.’
‘Sure it wasn’t because you had to finish buying whatever it was you’d chosen for Sirona?’ A tiny chortle escaped Fenestela.
‘I’d paid for it already!’ cried Tullus, angry to feel so embarrassed.
‘It?’ asked Fenestela, innocent-faced.
‘A bracelet – as if it’s any of your cursed business!’ Tullus retorted. ‘Have you heard all you want yet, or can we talk about Degmar?’
‘Best return to serious matters. I can weasel more information about Sirona out of you later,’ said Fenestela with a wink.
‘If you ever find a woman – not that that’s likely, you dog – know that I’ll never let you hear the end of it,’ threatened Tullus.
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less,’ said Fenestela, laughing. ‘Now, back to Degmar. As you said, there’s no point going to anyone more senior.’
‘Aye. As usual, it’s us who must keep our eyes peeled and our ears pricked.’ The situation was depressing, and familiar. Before the fateful ambush six years before, the general Varus had refused to listen to Tullus’ suspicions about Arminius, and the subsequent massacre had seen three legions annihilated. More recently, Tullus’ former cohort commander had rubbished his fears of mutiny among the local troops. Within days, four legions had risen up in rebellion.
‘I’ll have Piso and the old guard stay alert too.’
Tullus nodded, pleased. Piso and most of the men he’d saved during Arminius’ ambush were in his new century. It had gone against army regulations for them to move with him, but Tullus had enough high-ranking people who were well disposed to him, or friends – Germanicus and the camp prefect Caedicius among them – to ask that it be done. Truth be told, Tullus wouldn’t have wanted his new command without Fenestela and the rest also transferring units. By this point Piso, Metilius and their comrades were as dear to Tullus as family.
He waved away Fenestela’s jug, which was hovering over his cup. ‘Later. There’s a day to get through first.’
‘I suppose,’ said Fenestela, sounding disappointed. ‘Best not to be drunk on duty. Doesn’t look good to the men.’
‘We can have a drop later, and a talk about Degmar.’
Tullus’ jovial tone belied his concerns, which had been multiplied by Fenestela’s reaction.
A warrior and hunter, and someone who hated Rome and everything it stood for, Degmar wasn’t in the settlement to trade. Tullus’ fears crystallised. Degmar was here to do ill.
Despite Tullus’ worries, nothing untoward happened. His men drilled and marched, and grumbled their way through unpopular tasks such as sentry duty, and felling and hauling trees for firewood. No one – not Tullus, Fenestela or the soldiers who’d been alerted – saw hide nor hair of Degmar in the settlement. The various inn- and brothel-keepers who had been slipped coins swore on their mothers’ lives that they hadn’t spotted him either. Even Twig Limbs, a willing recruit to Tullus’ cause, found no sign of the warrior.
If he had been seeking anyone else, Tullus might have decided he had imagined the encou
nter, but Degmar was the spitting image of a legionary whom he’d had to abandon during a vicious ambush in Illyricum years before. The man’s terrified face and the sound of his anguished cries were burned deep into Tullus’ memory. It had to have been Degmar. Several more days passed without incident, however. There had been no upsets in the settlement, no attacks on soldiers. Patrols returning from the east bank had reported nothing out of the ordinary. Arminius had to be plotting away, it was true, but he was hundreds of miles away in Cherusci territory. Life was moving on.
On the sixth afternoon, with his duties completed, Tullus decided he’d had enough. There was no way of discovering Degmar’s purpose and in the absence of further evidence, no leads to follow. Whatever the warrior had been up to, it was done, like as not. To help clear his mind of the matter, Tullus determined to visit the jeweller’s for a second time. His potential embarrassment was now outweighed by his desire to work his way further into Sirona’s affections. One of these days, she had to allow him into her bed, and despite Tullus’ inexperience at courting, another trinket wouldn’t harm his chances.
Before leaving for the settlement, he vacillated briefly over removing his mail. The old jeweller was no longer a factor, knowing Tullus’ rank, but remaining as he was – a cloak couldn’t quite hide his armour from the front – meant he ran a greater risk of being spotted entering or leaving the shop. In the end, Tullus’ further evening duties swayed him. It was more practical not to shed the cumbersome mail.
Checking his purse was full, he made for the door, vine stick in hand. Sirona would love today’s gift, he decided, which would be more expensive than the silver bracelet. The thought of her pleased reaction almost made him whistle, before he remembered that he was still within the fort, and that high-ranking centurions had to maintain a certain public air. Besides, he thought darkly, if Fenestela heard, he’d intuit Tullus’ reason, and the jokes about Sirona would never end.
Tullus was pleased to make it to the settlement without recognising many soldiers. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t been seen of course – he was well known – but there wasn’t anything to do about that. The weather was on his side at least. A cutting wind and heavy flurries of snow had driven people indoors and reduced visibility to less than twenty paces. Daylight was fading fast and even the main avenue, often jammed with pedestrians and wagons, was almost empty.
Tullus was unsurprised when Twig Limbs appeared before him, his feet encased in a pair of cheap leather sandals. Showing off his worn cloak – he’d got both for a low price, he told Tullus with great pride – he again offered his help should it ever be needed. Touched, Tullus slipped him a handful of low-denomination coins. With Twig Limbs’ thanks ringing in his ears, he made for the jeweller’s shop, which lay on a side street not far from the new forum and the bridge over the Rhenus. Not a soul – in particular, another soldier or officer – was to be seen as he reached it, which pleased Tullus.
The jeweller’s smile grew broad as he entered. ‘Terrible weather out there, sir.’
‘It’s not good,’ agreed Tullus, taking off his helmet.
Now recognising Tullus, the jeweller’s face lit up. ‘You’ve come back, sir!’
‘I have.’ Tullus set his helmet on a table.
‘May I assume that the lady was pleased with your gift, sir?’
‘Aye,’ said Tullus, already feeling uncomfortable.
‘And you wish to buy her another, sir?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Something …’ The jeweller trailed his fingers along the counter before him, stopping at the bracelets. ‘… like these, sir?’
‘No. I want a necklace this time, or some earrings.’ Tullus almost said, ‘Or both,’ but managed to bite his tongue. Better to keep the devious old goat guessing his intentions as long as possible.
‘One of my craftsmen has just finished this piece,’ the jeweller said, reaching behind him and lifting up a shimmering necklace of silver decorated with dozens of little garnets. ‘It’s quite beautiful, sir.’
Tullus was no judge of jewellery – Hades, he’d only been in this place once – but the necklace was stunning. The garnets would match Sirona’s dark brown eyes too, he thought. ‘How much?’
‘To you, sir, only fifty denarii.’
Tullus pulled his hand back. ‘Fifty?’
‘The garnets are of the finest quality, sir. A great deal of time and expertise went into its making.’ He held out the piece again. ‘See for yourself.’
‘Fifty is too much,’ protested Tullus.
‘I’m sure we could come to an agreement.’ The necklace moved until it was under Tullus’ nose.
‘It is lovely,’ admitted Tullus, taking it from the jeweller’s grasp.
The unmistakeable tramp of hobnails drew Tullus’ attention to the street outside. He watched in some surprise as two Praetorian guardsmen marched past at pace. To his astonishment, they were followed by Germanicus himself. The governor was cloaked and hooded, but given away by his commanding profile and great height – and the protection he had. Another pair of guardsmen took up the rear, and then the party had passed the shop’s narrow window. ‘What’s he doing?’ Tullus muttered to himself.
The jeweller’s ears were long. ‘It’s not the first time I have seen the governor, sir. He visits the wine merchant a short distance down the street – the best for a hundred miles in any direction, or so the owner swears. Germanicus must like the stock there – he tends to come by once a month at least.’
Tullus chuckled. The notion that Germanicus went in person to taste wine would never have occurred to him. The governor had dozens of servants, flunkeys and staff officers – why not send one of them, or have samples brought to his quarters in the fort? Tullus had answered the question before he’d finished thinking it. Germanicus’ workload had to be staggering, his responsibilities onerous. A secret visit now and again to a wine merchant was an escape, a slice of normal life denied to a man in his position. Good luck to him, thought Tullus. Still amused, he returned his attention to the necklace. ‘It’s a beautiful piece, but fifty denarii is too expensive.’
‘What price would suit you, sir?’ the jeweller asked, his eyes narrowing.
‘Twenty.’ The figure was insulting, but Tullus wanted to see his reaction.
‘I couldn’t sell it for that, sir!’ The jeweller’s hands reached out as if to take it back before, a little embarrassed, he smoothed them down by his sides. ‘There’s the cost of the silver and garnets, and paying the craftsman to consider – that price would leave me with no profit at all. I have to make a living, sir.’
‘Of course you do. Twenty-five.’
‘Forty-five is as low as I could go, sir, and that’s being generous.’ The old man’s expression was pained.
‘Thirty.’
‘Forty-two, sir.’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘You’re robbing me, sir! Forty.’
‘Thirty-four, and that’s my final offer.’
‘No, sir.’
Tullus handed back the necklace to a startled Silver Beard. ‘My thanks,’ he said and made for the door. He had gone perhaps three-quarters of the distance when the jeweller cracked.
‘Sir!’
Tullus turned, feigning surprise. ‘Yes?’
‘Will you take it for thirty-eight, sir?’
‘Thirty-four, and I’ll pay you right now.’
‘You’re merciless, sir.’ He let out a loud sigh. ‘Very well.’
Tullus hid his satisfaction. The jeweller put on a good act, but he wasn’t dissatisfied with the price either. Tullus reached for his purse.
A loud sneeze outside followed by an angry rebuke from a second person attracted his attention again. Feet crunched in the snow. The sounds were too soft to be military hobnails, and they were being made by men moving with care. Tullus’ suspicions were roused, and he moved further into the shop, making it harder to be seen should anyone glance inside. ‘Down!’ he hissed at the jeweller.
‘Sir?’ came the confused reply.
‘Get down, below the counter. Do as I say!’ ordered Tullus in a quieter version of his parade-ground voice.
Looking worried, the jeweller obeyed.
Deep in shadow, Tullus looked through the shop’s window. Outside snow continued to fall hard, almost blotting out the shop opposite, which had shut its doors. The ready spears in the hands of the nine cloaked figures who came creeping past were plain enough, however. Bearded, some with plaited hair, and wilder-looking than the local tribespeople, they were German warriors, or he was no judge. Spying Degmar at the rear was proof of their identity – and their malign purpose.
The realisation of Degmar’s intention in the settlement hit Tullus like a lightning bolt. He had been scouting out the wine merchant’s premises, and the warriors – Marsi, surely – were here to assassinate Germanicus. They must have waited days for the governor to visit. Their presence implied the existence of an informant in the shop. Worry about that later, Tullus told himself. Think. Think, or Germanicus will be dead.
‘Have you a spear?’ he hissed at the jeweller.
‘A spear, sir?’
‘A group of armed men has just gone by,’ explained Tullus with growing impatience. ‘Unless I’m a fool, they’re about to murder Germanicus. I haven’t got time to go for help, and I can’t stand by and do nothing. Now, have you got a cursed spear or not?’
‘I – A spear. No, sir.’ The jeweller’s voice was apologetic. ‘Would a knife serve?’
‘I’ve got one of my own,’ snarled Tullus. ‘A broom then. You must have one of those.’
Sensing his urgency at last, the old man hurried to the back of the shop, returning with a well-used twig broom. Snatching it, Tullus stood on its end and with a mighty wrench turned it into a staff. ‘Go to the main street. Find a soldier – any soldier – and say that Centurion Tullus of the First Cohort, Fifth Legion, commands them to the wine merchant’s premises. Give them directions. Tell them if they love Germanicus their general, they are to come with all speed.’