by Ruso
She took a couple of deep breaths, then moved forward again. On the left of the garden was an expanse of water and beyond it, the dark hulk of a house. She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. The Medicus had not bothered to tell her why he thought the false investigators were here or what they might be looking for. All he had said was that he wanted to make sure the old wife was safe. That would be interesting. How much danger should a woman leave an old wife in before it was necessary to help her?
It was a question she would have liked to debate around the fire late one night with her own people. Instead, she had a more pressing problem. The wife would be in the house. The house was reached by the paths, and the paths were deep gravel.
She could walk quickly towards the house, or she could walk quietly. Since she needed to do both, there was only one way to do it. Tilla veered sideways, lifted her skirt above her knees and sank one foot into the soil of a flowerbed. The scent of crushed rosemary wafted around her. She smiled to herself as she marched past the pond. The old wife would not be able to complain: the barbarian was here on the orders of the Medicus, and they were coming to save her from the murderers who called themselves Calvus and Stilo. Although why he thought they would be here was a mystery.
She crept across the gravel that separated the last flowerbed from the house, and tried to peer round the shutters of a side window. Everything inside was dark. The next window was the same, and the third. It did not seem right. There should have been servants moving about. Lamps being lit.
When she returned, the Medicus had laid the gatekeeper on his side. She whispered, ‘There is nobody there. Will he live?’
‘I think so. Are you sure?’
‘No. I cannot see through walls. Do you want to go in?’
‘Not yet.’
When he did not suggest anything else, she said, ‘What is happening?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘I am not going to stand here all night. What are this Calvus and Stilo looking for?’
‘Money.’
‘There is plenty of money to steal back in Arelate,’ she pointed out. ‘Why come here?’
‘They’d already stolen it,’ he said. ‘Or rather, Severus stole it for them.’
This did not make a great deal of sense, but he seemed to have lost interest in explaining. He was pointing to the shapes of what must be farm buildings looming on the far side of the garden. ‘I thought I heard something over there.’
‘Walk through the flowers,’ she told him. ‘Not on the path.’
‘What?’
‘Otherwise you might as well shout hello, here we come.’
The Medicus followed her, lifting the crutches, plunging them down through the plants and swinging his feet to land heavily further forward. There would be a fine mess in the morning, and it would be obvious who had made it.
The gate that led through the garden wall to the farmyard had been left open. Trying to peer ahead without being seen, she could make out an empty cart and the complicated shape of some sort of wooden harvesting machine under a shelter on the far side. She held her breath as something moved in the machinery, then the sleek black shape of a cat jumped down into the yard and melted away into the shadows. Somewhere, an animal snorted and stamped.
The Medicus was about to go through the gateway when there was a muffled burst of laughter from inside one of the buildings that opened on to the yard. Tilla pulled at his tunic to drag him back. ‘Was that what you heard?’
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘That’s just the slaves in the bunkhouse.’
The slaves did not sound as though they knew there were murderers about. Nor did they yet know that there was another pair of intruders sneaking around the yard in the dark. Once they found out, they would have no trouble catching the one on crutches and beating him up in the name of the Senator.
‘This is not a good idea,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ he agreed, ‘but I haven’t got any others.’
‘If we do find those men, what are we going to do?’
‘I’m glad you said “we”.’
‘I have to. You are not much use on your own.’ She pushed past him and slipped in through the gateway. ‘Stay there.’
She heard the crutches tap on the cobbles as he hissed, ‘Wait for me!’
She was waving a hand to tell him to stay where he was when she heard the scream. Then a man’s voice. Then some sort of muffled thump.
‘In that building over there.’ She jumped when she realized that the Medicus had moved close enough to whisper in her ear without her noticing.
After what seemed an age keeping lookout with her back against the warm stone of the building while the Medicus peered through a gap by the door hinge, Tilla began to wonder if they had been mistaken. The sounds she could make out from inside the building sounded more like work than murder. The sharp crunch and rattle of earth being dug and shovelled away. Indistinct murmurs of conversation. Then a hollow clunk as if something were being smashed, the slosh of liquid and, seconds later, the rich smell of grape juice. This must be the estate winery.
Beside her, the Medicus crouched down, trying to get a better view.
She slid down the wall to breathe in his ear, ‘What can you see?’
He did not seem to have heard. When she repeated the question he took her arm, pointed to the narrow gap between the door and the wall and eased himself back to his feet.
Tilla closed one eye and pressed her face against the gap. For a moment she could make no sense of what she was looking at. She had expected an ordered winery like the one back at the Medicus’ house: rows of buried jars brimming with sparkling foam. Instead she was watching an unlikely bunch of people deliberately and silently wrecking the place. As far as she could make out in the lamplight, jars had been dug up and smashed. Piles of earth and broken pottery had been dumped against the walls and inside the juice vats. The wreckers, several men and a bedraggled woman with smeared make-up and short, strangely coloured hair, were squelching about in a quagmire of mud mixed with fermenting juice. It was hard to see why they were doing it, since they did not seem to be enjoying themselves. As she watched, one of the men picked up his shovel and deliberately shattered the shoulder of the closest jar. The woman stepped aside to avoid the juice that was forming a glistening pool around her feet and glanced towards the door. For a moment Tilla thought she had sensed there was someone watching her. Then she realized the woman was looking at something inside the winery.
‘Who said you could take a rest?’ The voice was familiar, and alarmingly close.
Tilla grabbed the nearest part of the Medicus, which turned out to be his knee. She was about to whisper, ‘Stilo!’ when the woman aimed her shovel at the next jar, missed, slipped in the mud and landed on her backside. As the woman put her head in her hands and began to sob, something moved and blocked Tilla’s line of vision – but not before she had recognized the one who called himself Calvus stepping forward across the mud.
The slap and the order to shut up were followed by a third, oddly strangled-sounding voice: a girl, who seemed to be standing just behind the door where Tilla was listening. ‘Please!’ she whimpered. ‘Please, just do what they want!’
‘I can’t!’ wailed the woman.
‘You can!’ insisted the girl.
Tilla, still unable to see, straightened up. From inside the winery she heard Calvus say, ‘All right. Put your shovel down and get back in the corner. You – yes, you – move across and take over.’
‘Can I make a suggestion?’ It was a thin, officious voice.
‘No,’ said Stilo. ‘Shut up and dig.’
‘Only it would be more efficient if we –’
His suggestion was drowned by a squeal of pain from close by the door. Tilla winced.
‘See?’ said Stilo. ‘That’s what happens when you make suggestions. Just find the money. Then nobody gets hurt.’
Tilla felt the warmth of the Medicus’ breath on her cheek. ‘They�
��ve already got the steward in there,’ he whispered. ‘Go across to the bunkhouse, find out who’s in charge and get them to send a couple of sensible men into town to tell Fuscus what’s going on, and fetch Probus.’
‘Will they send help?’
‘I doubt they’ll get here in time. Tell the rest of the men to round up every sort of weapon they can think of – there should be plenty of scythes and things in the barns – and come over here and surround the exit to the building without making any noise.’
‘What if the slaves are all locked in for the night?’
‘You’ll think of something.’
‘What are you going to do?’
The Medicus straightened his crutches and hitched himself forward. ‘I’m going in for a chat with our so-called investigators,’ he said.
81
Ruso had intended to wait until the farm slaves were armed and in position before making a move, but a long wait followed by a reverberating crash loud enough to wake the spirit of Severus and all the Senator’s illustrious ancestors told him that the slaves had indeed been locked in, and that Tilla had thought of something.
He hopped back out of the way just as the heavy door creaked open and a head appeared.
‘Calvus!’ he said, guessing in the poor light.
The head swivelled round to face him.
‘Sorry about all the racket,’ he continued. ‘Mind if I come in?’
‘Ruso? What are you doing here?’
‘Bloody crutches,’ said Ruso, ignoring the question. ‘Knocked over some old piece of farm junk out here, sorry. I’ll have to apologize to them in the morning. Can I come in and sit down? This wretched foot’s playing up again.’
Calvus stared at him for a moment, then stepped back. The door opened wider, and Ruso swung in. Calvus closed the door and gave him a shove that nearly sent him flat in the mud.
‘Get over there with the others.’
For the first time, Ruso was able to see what was going on in the parts of the winery that had not been visible through the crack in the door. As he picked his way across the slippery upheaval of the floor he could make out frightened faces watching him from the far wall, lined up behind a pair of looming winepresses very much like the one at home. One of the faces belonged to Flaccus the kitchen-boy. The one that cried out ‘Gaius!’ as he approached was Claudia.
‘You must do something, Gaius!’ she urged. ‘They’re going to murder us one by one if we don’t find Severus’ money!’
Ruso seated himself on the corner of the tank surrounding the first winepress. As he had guessed, Stilo had repeated this afternoon’s hostage trick and was now standing behind the door with a wide-eyed Ennia clutched up against him. A knife glinted at her throat. In front of them, he recognized the slender figure of Zosimus amongst the half-dozen wretched diggers struggling to unearth the money that Calvus and Stilo evidently believed was buried under one of the wine-jars.
‘Don’t just sit there, Gaius!’
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘I don’t know! Think of something.’
‘Well,’ he said casually, ‘I have got the building surrounded by armed men.’
Stilo gave a snort of contempt.
‘For goodness’ sake, Gaius! This is no time for your silly jokes.’
‘Take a look,’ suggested Ruso mildly, wondering if Tilla had them organized yet.
Calvus and Stilo glanced at each other. Before Calvus could take up his suggestion, he added, ‘I’ll order them to let you get away if you give up and release Ennia now.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Stilo.
Calvus’ hand was moving towards the door.
‘Carefully,’ said Ruso. ‘Don’t stick your head out. A slice with a scythe is very hard to stitch up.’
‘He’s bluffing,’ said Stilo.
Ruso grinned. ‘Am I?’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ said Calvus, reaching for the bar and swinging it down to drop into the slot on the far side of the door. ‘When we’re ready to leave, we’ll have plenty of hostages to choose from.’
Stilo smirked at Ruso over Ennia’s shoulder. ‘Didn’t think of that, did you, smartarse?’
Ennia whimpered as he jerked her back towards him.
‘Get on with it, you lot! Keep digging!’
‘They don’t believe you, Gaius!’ hissed Claudia. ‘Think of something else!’
‘Find the money,’ he suggested. ‘Then they’ll go away.’
‘How do we know it’s even here?’ demanded Claudia.
‘Good question,’ agreed Ruso, turning to Calvus. ‘How do you know it’s here?’
‘None of your business,’ said Calvus.
‘You know something?’ said Stilo to Calvus. ‘I never liked that one. Big mouth. Always asking questions.’
‘This isn’t a question,’ said Ruso, hoping Tilla really would have the slaves in position soon. ‘This is a statement. Claudia did not kill Severus. Did she, Ennia?’
‘You know she did!’ gasped Ennia, her voice sounding strangled by the effort of leaning away from the knife. ‘You covered up for her – ow!’ Stilo had shifted his grip again.
‘Keep up the digging, boys,’ urged Calvus as if he were encouraging them in a genteel sport. ‘The sooner you find it, the sooner we’re off.’
‘Yes, keep digging,’ agreed Ruso. ‘After all, Severus did owe these two a large share of it. By the way, what did happen to Justinus on that ship?’
From behind him, Claudia demanded to know what on earth they were talking about.
‘Justinus had an accident,’ said Stilo.
‘What sort of accident?’
By way of answer, Calvus snatched a spade from the nearest digger, stepped across to Ruso and rammed the blade up against his throat. ‘The sort you’re going to have if you don’t shut up.’
‘Don’t hurt him!’ shrieked Claudia.
Ruso leaned away from the cold metal. The mud trickling down his neck smelled of grape juice. ‘I can see why you’re annoyed,’ he said, desperately trying to think what to do next. ‘You went to a lot of bother to earn that money.’ He raised one hand to indicate Ennia. ‘Are you absolutely sure she doesn’t know which pot it’s under?’
He felt a fractional easing of the pressure on his throat. Calvus was looking at him oddly, as if trying to work out how much he knew.
‘You can’t trust her, you know,’ continued Ruso, silently praying that Calvus would be sufficiently intrigued not to finish him off with an angry thrust of the spade. ‘Did you know she poisoned her brother?’
‘I didn’t!’ gasped Ennia.
The spade moved away from Ruso’s throat. As Calvus turned his attention to Ennia, Ruso let out a quiet breath of relief and straightened up, wiping the mud with the back of his hand. He ignored Claudia’s whispered, ‘I knew it. I knew it was her.’
Calvus positioned himself beside Ennia with his back to the wall, keeping the rest of the prisoners in sight, while he said to her, ‘You told me the wife did it.’
‘She did!’
‘Don’t trust her, Calvus,’ warned Ruso, hoping this did not sound as improvised as it felt. ‘She’s a good actress. You should have seen her weeping over the body. She had me fooled for a long time.’ He turned to the diggers. ‘Do keep working, please, gentlemen. I’m sorry I can’t help, I’ve broken a bone in my foot. But the sooner you find the cash that Severus was planning to share with these two, the sooner this will be over and we can all go home to bed.’ He turned back to Ennia. ‘You’re absolutely sure this is where he hid it?’
‘Yes!’ squeaked Ennia. ‘Somewhere in here. He said if anything ever happened to him, to look in the winery.’
‘You knew he had money?’ demanded Claudia. ‘Why didn’t he tell me? I had a right to know. I’m his wife!’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ insisted Ennia. ‘She did.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ruso mildly, addressing Calvus and ignoring Claudia’s protests. ‘I suppose
that’s what Ennia told you, isn’t it? She told you she’d overheard me talking to Claudia, and Claudia had been seen buying poisonous honey. If you’d bothered to go and check with the stallholder –’
‘No point,’ said Calvus, throwing the spade across to the digger he had taken it from, who was trying to sneak back to join the others behind the winepress. ‘Oi! Back to work!’
‘No,’ said Ruso. ‘I didn’t think you had.’
‘Never mind him,’ said Stilo, for once quicker than his partner. ‘We’re here for the money. We don’t care who killed Severus.’
‘Right,’ agreed Calvus. ‘Shut up, Ruso.’
For a moment there was no sound in the winery but the crunch of shovels and the steady trickle of something leaking.
Ruso glanced around him, wondering what to do next. Nothing had changed as a result of his intervention. Ennia was still held with a knife to her throat. The diggers were still struggling on, weary and filthy and clearly distraught at ruining the precious vintage the farm slaves had worked so hard to produce. A call for help had – he hoped – been sent to town, but the impostors would be long gone before anyone could get here. Besides, Stilo was right: nobody would dare to attack them on the way out if they were holding hostages. All Ruso had managed to do was add himself to their list of potential choices.
What the hell had Gnostus put in that medicine? What had he been thinking? Had he really imagined that, just because he had finally begun to understand something of what was going on, Calvus and Stilo would kneel in surrender? It was difficult to see what he could do to salvage the situation, except to distract them and hope they made some sort of mistake.
‘It wasn’t Claudia who bought the honey, though,’ he said, hoping Calvus would not repeat his threat with the spade. ‘It was Ennia wearing one of Claudia’s wigs, and her pink shoes. I didn’t mention the colour of the shoes when I talked to Claudia, but when you told Fuscus, you knew they were pink. You haven’t spoken to the trader, so you must have got that from Ennia. She knew because she was the one wearing them. She even made sure she drew the stallholder’s attention to them. If we take both women down there, I daresay he’ll pick her out.’