by Jane Finnis
“Balbus must be mortified,” Felix murmured. “So bad for business, something like that! Has he offered to sell you an urn for the man’s ashes?”
“Now do be serious, Felix,” Silvanius said. “This really isn’t a joking matter. We’ve had two brutal murders committed in our town, and another attack which might easily have resulted in a murder. Most distressing.”
I told him how I’d found our unconscious guest, and described how the dog had led me to his horse. I didn’t mention Hawk.
“May I see the, ah, threatening message?”
I showed him the disc. He looked even graver as he read it, then passed it to Felix, who examined it intently.
Silvanius said, “I feared as much. The man in the forum had one exactly like this, pinned to the front of his tunic.” He drew a disc from his belt-pouch and held it out to me. Sure enough, the discs were twins.
I asked, but knowing the answer already, “What about the third man, on the road to Eburacum?”
“Yes, he had a similar one. I haven’t got it with me. I left it with Vedius Severus.”
Vedius was the aedile in charge of the town watch, which in plain Latin meant the two men and a mule-cart that made up the Oak Bridges fire brigade. He was an old soldier, seventy-five if he was a day, and he could just about handle being fire chief—there are very few fires in our district. But I reckoned that faced with a series of savage nocturnal attacks, he’d be as much use as a wax fire-bucket.
I handed Silvanius back his disc. “When I found the wounded man this morning, I thought it was just a single horrible incident. But this has the feel of something organised, almost professional, doesn’t it? Three attacks in the area, one this side of town, one the other side, and one in the forum. It looks too well planned to be just a casual band of outlaws. And cutting off the heads of two of them…like in the old days, when the warriors collected heads as trophies from enemies they killed in battle.”
He nodded. “Someone is threatening us, and making it as frightening for us as they can. It’s like a military campaign, yet not fought on a battlefield. Waged in secret, through fear. A campaign of terror.”
“A campaign of terror,” I repeated. “A good phrase. And a campaign implies several engagements, not just one night’s work. You think we’re in for more attacks then?”
“I fear so,” he said gloomily. “One has heard rumours. Discontent among some of the more hot-blooded young men….As we all know, there are still elements of the native population who haven’t accepted the finality of the Roman conquest.” He sipped more wine. “But from what you say, your man will survive. Have you found out anything about him?”
I’d have to watch my step here. If Quintus Antonius was who we suspected he was, he wouldn’t want anyone drawing attention to him. “Not much, no. He’s got well-made Roman clothes, and his horse was a good one. So a reasonably rich traveller. And he called out for someone named Burrus, so he may have had a servant with him. That’s about all I can tell you. We’ll just have to wait and see when he wakes up properly. Have either of the other two been identified?”
“Not yet. The one in the forum was a servant, from his clothing, and young and strong. From the injuries he received, he had put up quite a fight. The body on the Eburacum road looks more eastern, from his clothes, and older; perhaps a trader or a contractor.”
I sipped my wine, wondering what was coming next.
“As head of the Oak Bridges Town Council,” Silvanius mused, “I feel I ought to do something. People will look to me, I know. But I’m unsure of the best course to take. That’s why I thought….You always talk good sense, Aurelia. So refreshing in a woman.”
I’d have to let that go with a smile; there were more important battles to fight just now.
He went on, “We’re being threatened by, well, we don’t know by whom….”
“We can make a shrewd guess,” I interrupted. “The Druids and their followers, the believers in the old religion.”
“Oh, I hope not! We’ve all had enough bloodshed. What we need now is peace. Peace and prosperity.”
“And some of the Druids’ rituals are so uncivilised,” Felix remarked. “Human sacrifice, for example. Quite disgusting!”
“All the same, if there’s trouble, I’d bet any money they’re involved. Even though they’re outlawed now, they still have their followers. You can’t just abolish a religion by a stroke of the Emperor’s pen. In fact just trying to abolish it makes the believers more determined.”
“How can they be such fools!” Silvanius exclaimed. “Can’t they see this province of ours must go forward with Rome, not backward into the ancient past? Somehow we’ve got to stop them!” He stared at nothing in particular for a while, thinking hard. Felix and I exchanged a glance, but we both kept quiet. Finally he said, “I think I shall call a meeting of the Town Council.”
“That’s a terrible idea.” Oh, me and my big mouth! When will I remember how seriously these new citizens take their town councils?
Silvanius looked quite hurt, but Felix smiled slyly. “Your view couldn’t be coloured by the fact that you aren’t a member of the council, so you wouldn’t be able to attend, Aurelia dear?”
I couldn’t deny it. “I’ll admit I’d like to be in on it, but that’s not the main reason. I think we must act quickly, and we must act in secret. The council, any council, can’t do either. Too public, too slow, too many people involved, and anything it did decide, however secret, would be all over Oak Bridges in a day.”
“More like an afternoon,” Felix agreed.
Silvanius said, “But is our council so very incompetent?”
The straight answer was “Yes,” but I gave the tactful one. “Of course not, for most of the town’s affairs it’s excellent. But it’s not a war council. You said yourself this is a kind of war. It needs a different sort of leadership.”
“Then if not a council meeting, what do you suggest?”
“A small secret meeting. Half a dozen people you can trust, to work together quietly and quickly. The people who have most to lose if peace breaks down. You two…Vedius, as head of law and order…Balbus, as the leading businessman in the area…me, if I’m invited. Meeting behind closed doors, we can discuss and plan without anyone else knowing, friend or enemy.”
He sat up straight and drained his wine-beaker. “Yes, of course. That is what I shall do. Call a private meeting of the most prominent Roman citizens. There! I knew I’d come up with the right plan in the end.”
“You always do, Publius,” Felix said, catching my eye.
“We’ll meet at my new villa,” Silvanius decided. “You’ll come of course, Aurelia, won’t you? I know that traditionally this sort of thing isn’t women’s business, but….”
Try and stop me, I thought. “Thank you, Councillor. I’ll be representing my brother, naturally.”
“Relia!” I turned as Albia came hurrying towards us from the house, looking agitated. “Sorry to interrupt, but…Councillor Silvanius, please don’t think I’m ungrateful, but I’m a little concerned. This doctor you’ve kindly sent to look after our sick man. I’m sure he’s very learned, but….”
“What doctor?” Silvanius asked, surprised. “I’ve sent no doctor.”
“He says he’s your personal physician, Lykos of Cos.”
“That’s the right name, but my physician is away at present, in Isurium, attending my sister.”
“I thought there was something fishy about him,” she said. “He was insistent that you’d ordered him to treat our wounded traveller, and even stay with him if necessary. But there was just something wrong….”
I jumped up, forgetting my social manners. “Where is he now?”
“Don’t worry. I left him in the bar-room with a beaker of wine. And I put Taurus outside the sick-room door and told him not to let anyone in there.”
Albia and I ran for the house, the others following at as fast a walk as Silvanius’ dignity would allow. But when we got there, n
one of us was surprised to find that the mysterious doctor had vanished into thin air.
I thought again about Taurus’ comment this morning. Somebody didn’t like Quintus Antonius very much.
Silvanius was red-faced and fuming. “This is appalling,” he almost shouted. “How dare they? How dare they use my name! Use my name to try to trick you…to commit Jupiter knows what crimes in my name….By the gods, Aurelia, this is too much!”
“Call your meeting, Councillor, and the sooner the better,” I said.
“Tomorrow. No wait, tomorrow won’t do. I shall want Felix there, and he’s going to a play in Eburacum tomorrow, aren’t you, Titus? Well then, the day after tomorrow. Dinner at my humble abode. I know! Perhaps you’d like to come and see the latest work on my new temple first? If we all meet there about noon, we can go to my new house, have an early dinner, and then get down to our meeting afterwards. That will make the whole thing look like an ordinary social gathering.”
“Excellent. Thank you, I’ll be there.” Dinner with the Chief Councillor wouldn’t be just an “ordinary social gathering.” Silvanius had the best chef north of the Humber.
“I shall count the hours.” Felix clasped my hand. “And meantime, my dear, you must all take care of yourselves here. These are dangerous times. Don’t run any risks.”
I could have done without another well-meaning friend reminding me how vulnerable we were.
After they rode away, I went the rounds inside and out. The evening meal was well in hand; the olive oil delivery had arrived finally, with the correct number of amphorae for a change. In the stables and the horse-paddocks, I found everything in order. It was the usual quiet spell before the evening’s customers started piling in.
But the calm was abruptly shattered by an unexpected sound, a cavalry bugle call. Who in Hades could it be at this hour? Not our hunting tribunes returning from the woods, surely? Perhaps a guest just arriving, demanding attention, but then why was he blowing “Prepare to advance”?
I didn’t have far to search for the answer. Young Titch was in the stable yard, blowing a brass bugle before the admiring eyes, and ears, of the other stable-lads.
He paused for breath, and held up the battered instrument proudly. “Me dad gave me this. I know all the cavalry calls. Listen, this one’s the Rally….” He demonstrated it, and several more. Then the other lads tried to blow it; most of them got no noise at all from it, and Milo managed a sound like a dying duck.
“Useful thing, a bugle,” Titch said importantly. “I once saw a feller being attacked, and I blew me bugle and the men ran off, thinking I was the cavalry coming.”
The other boys scoffed, and I doubted it myself, but it made a good tale.
He grinned at me. “Would you like a go, Mistress?” He offered me the bugle. I couldn’t work out whether he was paying me a compliment, or being exceedingly cheeky. Probably the latter, but I thought, why not? Let’s show them! I wiped the mouthpiece on my sleeve, and blew a couple of calls, the way my father had taught me: a quite creditable “Form up,” and then “Return to camp.” By this time I was enjoying myself, and I blew “Charge” till the buildings echoed.
The lads looked at me open-mouthed, and Titch said, “Wow! Where did you learn that?”
“My father was an army man,” I answered, “and so’s my brother. I probably know more calls than you’ve had hot dinners.”
“That’s brilliant!” Milo said. “Do some more.”
I shook my head and handed the treasure back to its proud owner. “One bugler in the place is more than enough. I’d better warn you though….”
“Yes?”
“I’m aware that blowing bugles isn’t considered a very ladylike accomplishment. So if Councillor Silvanius ever gets to hear about this, I’ll skin you all alive! Understand?”
As I turned away it was good to hear their laughter. There hadn’t been much to laugh about all day.
Chapter VII
Darkness came, and Quintus Antonius grew fire-hot and talked almost continuously as he tossed about in his sleep, but none of it made any real sense. He kept calling for Burrus, for Lucius—our Lucius? Who could say?—and in between whiles he babbled about urgent messages. I wished we did indeed have a doctor, but Albia and I did what we could for him. I bathed his face with feverfew water and tried to get him to drink some watered wine, but he spilt most of it, and Albia bandaged a small bag of dried arnica and violet petals over the bruise on his head.
The tribunes came in at dusk, disappointed and grumpy after a poor day in the woods; two small wild pigs and a geriatric hare were all they’d managed to catch in their nets. There was only one other guest staying, a quiet elderly contractor buying hides for the army, so Albia and I joined the three of them for supper, leaving the maids to run the bar. I lighted all the bronze candelabra in the dining-room to brighten the place up, and everyone enjoyed the venison. Cook roasted a haunch and served it with a damson sauce, and leeks and carrots from our own garden. I looked out some good Campanian red to go with it, and certainly the atmosphere needed lightening, because the tribunes were in a foul mood.
“Our trackers were useless,” Marius complained. “Couldn’t find any decent game at all, and they were surly and uncooperative all day long. I don’t understand it. Yesterday they were full of the joys, and we caught this brilliant deer.” He cut himself another slice of it, and drank his beaker of wine in one go. “And you didn’t help matters, Junius,” he grumbled.
“Me? What did I do?”
“You upset them, losing your temper like that when we got separated.” Marius poured himself more wine. “I know it was annoying when they got you lost like that, but….”
“Annoying! Totally pathetic, more like! How can men who call themselves huntsmen get lost in their own woods, I ask you?” He spooned more sauce onto his plate, and chewed thoughtfully in silence for a while. “Actually, I don’t think they did get lost. I had the feeling it was deliberate, some sort of trick to keep us separated, but I can’t think why.”
“Perhaps,” the army contractor suggested, “there’s some particularly good hunting, an old wild boar or a wolf with cubs, and they want to save it for themselves instead of letting you go after it.”
“Yes, that’s probably it,” Junius agreed. “Or maybe they think we’re not paying them enough. If we upped their wages a bit…”
Marius shook his head. “Not likely! Give natives an inch, they’ll take a mile. If they don’t start doing better, we’ll pay them less, not more.”
They bickered on for a while, and I thought, if they’ve been squabbling all day, I expect their mood will have infected the natives. But gradually the wine relaxed them. Unfortunately before they had completely cheered up, we had to tell them of the two corpses found after last night’s attacks.
Junius suggested we should post a guard outside overnight, and we agreed Taurus would share the sentry duty with the tribunes’ men. Albia and I agreed to take watches by Quintus Antonius’ bedside. I thought this was pretty good of Albia, as I could guess which bedside she’d rather be heading for.
Marius left the dining-room straight after the meal; according to Junius he had an assignation with one of the slave-boys. Albia went off to the sick-room, and I went to bed, but I hardly slept. Every little sound had me wide awake and jumpy, and I was dressed and ready when Albia came to call me about halfway through the night.
I found Quintus Antonius still restless, but a little less noisy. I sat quietly with him through the dark dead hours, and managed to doze fitfully, but even in my sleep I could hear his ragged breathing and incoherent muttering. Then just before dawn I woke up fully when he started moving around in the bed. As I looked at him he turned onto his back, stretched his arms above his head, and opened his eyes.
“What day is it?” I don’t know what I’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
“The Nones of August,” I answered.
He looked stricken. “Then it’s started. It sta
rted two days ago! And I should have been picking up reactions, watching what they did….”
He tried to get into a sitting position, but couldn’t make it, and sank back onto the pillows. The bedclothes and his tunic were damp with sweat, and he was still flushed-looking; his eyes had lost their glazed stare, but they didn’t seem to focus properly.
“What happened two days ago?” I asked, automatically tidying up the blankets.
“The eclipse, of course. You did see the eclipse?”
“Eclipse? No. What eclipse?”
“An eclipse of the sun. You must have seen it! The third day of August, late afternoon. A partial eclipse, not total, but the astronomers said it’d be quite a spectacular one. You can’t have missed it, surely.”
“We must have done.” I tried to remember; but I mean, who remembers the weather two days ago, unless it’s been blowing a gale or raining frogs? “It was cloudy all day, I think. It did get a bit dark in the afternoon, but that’s hardly a novelty in Britannia in August. Did you see it yourself?”
“No, I didn’t.” Suddenly he smiled. “It was cloudy with us too. Perhaps it was cloudy all over Brigantia, so the natives wouldn’t have seen it.”
“But what’s the difference if they did see it?” It seemed no great matter to me, but he was getting excited enough for both of us.
“Because they’ll think it was a sign from their gods, or the Druids will tell them it was. I was supposed to be watching their reaction….And now I don’t know what to do for the best. I’m helpless here. I must get up. I must….Help me up, please.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.
“Just do it!” he barked. “I’ve got to try. If I could get to Eburacum today, perhaps I could make a difference.”
He sat up slowly, then he gritted his teeth and swung his legs out of bed. He put his arm across my shoulders to steady himself, and I supported him as best I could, though he was clumsy and heavy. He managed to stand on his feet for about five heartbeats; then he gave a little moan, put both hands to his head, and fell backwards. I stopped him sliding to the floor, and got him back into bed. He was unconscious again.