by Jane Finnis
We each took a strong oath of secrecy, and Silvanius then made a short and pompous speech about Romans standing together to resist a Campaign of Terror, which I won’t bore you with.
“Now,” he continued, “we should try to establish the facts of this very unpleasant situation. There have been seven attacks so far. Can we identify the victims?”
Between us we could. Of that day’s casualties, we’d all seen Casticus the foreman, and they’d heard the sad news about old Ulysses. Of yesterday’s victims, we all knew Marcus Terentius, the innkeeper at the Kingfisher, and Vedius had recognised Flavius Nepos, the retired soldier. When it came to the corpses found the day before, the man on the Eburacum road was apparently a naval contractor called Hirtius, carrying papers about harbour construction. That left Quintus, and his servant Burrus. They accepted my explanation that Quintus Valerius Longinus, bridge builder and surveyor, and his German servant had been attacked; the servant was killed and his master was recuperating at the Oak Tree.
“Good,” Silvanius said. “Now can we work out what the victims had in common?”
“Being Roman, of course,” Felix commented. “Yes, my dears, I know it’s obvious, but in view of the horrid messages….”
“But all from such different walks of life,” Silvanius pointed out. “A freedman, an old soldier, an innkeeper, a pedlar…a naval contractor, a bridge surveyor, and his servant. What could such a mixture of people possibly have in common?”
“Perhaps Aurelia can suggest something,” Vedius challenged. “Does your important piece of information help us here, perhaps?”
I looked the old fool straight in the eye. “It does, yes. They all have one very obvious thing in common.”
“Indeed?” Vedius sounded sceptical.
“They were all on the roads.”
“Well, as it happens, yes, but….”
“No, Vedius, it’s not a case of ‘as it happens.’ That’s the point. I believe this Campaign of Terror is aimed at travellers. To scare us all off the roads, and make everyone feel it’s not safe to go on a journey.”
They were impressed. There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Silvanius said, “Of course!” and even Vedius conceded, “It’s possible.”
“More than possible,” Balbus answered. “It makes good sense.”
“The road system,” Silvanius declared, “is one of the great civilising influences that we Romans bring to the provinces. It makes military conquest possible, and then it encourages the founding of new settlements, the spread of Roman culture….”
“And trade,” Balbus added. “Don’t forget trade. Trade unites a province like mortar holding together a wall.”
“A good phrase, Balbus,” Silvanius smiled. It was, and it would probably re-appear in a future Romans-standing-together speech.
“So if you want to disrupt Roman rule,” Vedius said, “and you haven’t the military force to take on the legions in battle, you destroy communications.”
“Civilised life would be impossible without road transport,” Felix put in. “Imagine, not being able to visit friends, or go to the theatre. Not being able to buy imported wine or food. What an appalling prospect!”
“Roads are our life-line,” I agreed. “In my particular business, catering for travellers, they’re our life-blood.”
There was more of the same, but you and the Governor don’t need anyone to tell you how important the road network is.
While I had everyone’s full attention, I reported the scraps of information I’d collected about the Shadow-men and their leader. All the others admitted they’d heard the war-band mentioned, but had not, until now, taken it very seriously.
“Their leader, this Shadow of Death, is presumably an outsider,” Felix said. “Not from this district. I mean. If he were local, we’d surely have an inkling who he is.”
“Not necessarily,” Vedius countered. “The man must be a Briton, obviously, as he’s attacking Romans. And some of the older families keep themselves very much to themselves.”
“Even so—” Balbus drained his wine—“whoever the leader is, if he’s powerful enough to run a war-band, he couldn’t conceal the fact for long. He can’t be anyone we know.”
“But the war-band itself, the Shadow-men—they are presumably from hereabouts,” Silvanius mused. “If there had been any large influx of natives into our area, we should have heard of that.”
“Not necessarily,” Vedius said again. “The countryside is full of small settlements, just hamlets with a handful of houses. If some of them acquired a few more tribesmen, would we notice?”
“Let’s approach it from the other direction,” Silvanius suggested. “If we don’t know who the Shadow-men are, can we deduce how they choose their victims? Do we assume they’re picking their targets quite carefully? Or do they attack any Roman traveller they find—anyone who just happens to be, so to speak, in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Balbus frowned. “If they’re picking out their victims personally, they must be very well-informed about them, to know how and when to ambush them alone.”
“You’re right,” Vedius said. “Their intelligence network would have to be superb, and very widespread.”
I wanted to add my agreement, when I thought of how Quintus had been deliberately ambushed by men who knew him, but I had to hold my peace.
Balbus’ frown deepened. “And does this war-band have any serious following? Because if so, then most of the natives in the area could be passing them information. Not just the farmers and country people, but our own workmen, our slaves even. I’ve got a pottery workshop full of Brigantian slaves! As far as I know they’re all completely loyal, but…how can we be sure?”
“We can’t,” Vedius said bleakly.
Silvanius fetched the wine-jug, and poured us all a refill. “It’s a most alarming possibility,” he said, “but still only a possibility. It could just as well be that the Shadow-men are killing travellers more or less at random.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting, dear boy?” Felix remarked. “Whether one is deliberately chosen, or murdered at random, one is still decidedly dead.”
Vedius looked round the table. “So the Shadow-men are attacking Roman travellers. Roman roads may no longer be safe. Now what can we do about it?”
There were several suggestions for action, ranging from quite good to completely ludicrous. Silvanius proposed compiling a list of known anti-Roman sympathisers in the area, “so we can be watchful and try to observe if they are involved.” He found a note-tablet and jotted down entries as everyone threw in names of natives who were thought to be anti-Roman, or just very strongly pro-Brigantian, which, as I pointed out, wasn’t necessarily the same thing. We soon had a score of people listed. The only name I contributed was Segovax—in fact the Segovax clan, several of them, one of whom had land adjoining ours. Like the other suggestions, they were men from the old aristocracy. Most of the names meant very little to me, as I’ve never moved in those circles. The same should have been true of Felix, but he was such an inveterate gossip that he knew everyone, and joined in eagerly as Silvanius, Balbus and Vedius enthusiastically named names. I suspected, as the list grew longer, that a few old scores were being paid off.
“I’ll have my secretary make copies of the list,” Silvanius said. “I suggest you all notify me if you have any more names to add, and I’ll circulate up-to-date lists as needed.”
Balbus proposed we should infiltrate observers into some of the suspect households—spies who would report back if anything sinister was going on. There was some rather disjointed discussion about how this could be done, and also the ethics of bribing slaves to inform against their masters. Everyone agreed to think about it.
Next Vedius suggested that he and his town watch should patrol the roads all around Oak Bridges during the hours of darkness. I almost laughed out loud at the silliness of this, but he meant it quite seriously. He actually thought his handful of men and their one fire-cart were
a match for the Campaign of Terror. “I’ll recruit a company of volunteers,” the old man said, sitting up straight on his chair. “They won’t need much training; just to be observant, and to be seen to be everywhere. If the killers know the roads are being patrolled and unusual movements reported, they won’t be so free to travel around themselves.”
“There are miles and miles of roads,” Felix pointed out. “You’d need half a legion!”
“And the Shadow-men seem very professional,” I said. “If the patrols have no military training, the rebels will run rings round them.”
Vedius glared at me, but Silvanius put in, “It might help a little, and any help is welcome. We should need to spread the news of their activities all over the area, and the patrols would need to take different routes every night, so the rebels wouldn’t know their exact whereabouts.”
“It’d be enormously expensive,” Balbus objected.
There was a long and fiercely argued debate. Eventually, Silvanius used his chairman’s clout and put it to the vote. The scheme was carried unanimously, though from the look on Balbus’ face, he was less than overjoyed, and I had serious doubts myself.
But there was one good result: The old aedile finally admitted he was “not in the first flush of youth,” and he offered his son Saturninus, a sensible Roman-educated man of thirty, as captain of the new recruits. So if the patrols surprised any Shadow-men, they’d be able to run after them, not just hobble behind on sticks.
“Now this decision,” Silvanius said, “is the one part of our discussions that should not remain a secret—quite the reverse. What’s the quickest way to make sure everyone, far and near, knows that we are taking defensive measures? Shall I post a notice in the forum? Or send out letters to our friends?”
“Call a meeting of the town council,” I suggested. That made even Vedius smile.
Silvanius nodded. “I shall. And I’ll suggest they vote some money to pay for the new night-patrols.”
“Now you’re talking!” Balbus said approvingly.
Silvanius glanced at the handsome water-clock in the corner. “But now I think we should close our meeting for today. Time is wearing on, and I imagine everyone would prefer to be home by dark.”
“But we must meet again soon,” Vedius said. “Report progress, and keep things moving.”
“Five days from now?” Silvanius offered. “As you know, that’s the day of the inauguration of my new temple. I’ll be entertaining a few people to dinner afterwards, and of course I hope you’ll all be there. If you’d care to stay on after the others leave, we’ll have time for a meeting then.”
We all agreed, and thanked him kindly. Then Vedius said, “Before we break up, there’s one more thing we should settle. If we’re going to be sending confidential messages among ourselves, we need a password. For identification.”
Felix giggled. “Oh, Vedius, don’t we know each other well enough already?”
“You can laugh, Felix, but just use your brains for once, and think! If we do need to send each other messages, they’ll be brought by servants, perhaps men we don’t know by sight. How can we be certain they are genuine? The Shadow-men might easily try to cause confusion by sending us wrong information, or maybe bogus instructions for some course of action. Suppose you got a note asking you to a meeting somewhere, and it was a forgery, and led you straight into a trap.”
“Sensible idea,” Balbus agreed. “I’ll go along with that. What word shall we have?”
“Our enemies are the Shadow-men, so we ought to be the Men of Light,” Silvanius suggested. “And ‘light’ could be our password.”
“Too obvious,” Vedius grumbled, “and too difficult to fit into a message. No, a personal name is best.”
Felix stood up. “How about something from a book? There’s a whole library to choose from over here.” One wall of the room was entirely taken up with square book-pockets, each containing several scrolls neatly rolled and tagged with labels. Our host had all the books a Roman gentleman should possess. The gods alone knew whether he’d read any of them.
Felix stood facing them. “Now, as we haven’t any dice to throw…Vedius, give me a number.”
“A number? Now what are you up to?”
“Just a number, please, Vedius,” Felix repeated.
“Oh very well. Five.”
Felix pointed at the scrolls in the fifth square. “The Aeneid! How splendid! You next, Balbus. Pick another number.”
“Eight.”
“Book Eight, then.” He found the right scroll and unrolled it carefully. “And now Aurelia, a number please.”
This was getting too silly. “Ninety-nine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll be here all day. A sensible number, please.”
“All right, sorry. Three.”
“We’ll use the third name that occurs in Book Eight.” I expected him to read the poem aloud, but instead he began reciting the words from memory like an actor, hardly glancing at the scroll. He had a good voice and declaimed it well, even moving round the room and gesturing. As he passed near me, I reached out and gently took the scroll from his hand, and followed the text as he spoke. Sure enough, he was word perfect.
Book Eight, in case you don’t have Felix’s memory, begins with a description of Prince Turnus and all his warriors, so there’s no shortage of names, and it didn’t take him long to reach the third one, Messapus.
“There!” He smiled triumphantly. “That’s our password. Messapus.”
“Do you know the whole of the Aeneid by heart, Felix?” I couldn’t help asking. “I’m impressed! I mean everyone can do ‘Arms and the man I sing,’ but I couldn’t get through Book One, never mind all the way to Book Eight.”
“Most of it, yes. The Emperor used to set parts of it to music, and we had to listen to him rehearsing so many times, we ended up learning it by heart.”
“The Emperor?” Vedius looked scandalised. “Which Emperor? Not Domitian?”
“Hardly!” Felix laughed. “No, I mean dear Nero. The only truly civilised emperor we’ve ever had.”
Personally I always understood Nero was a monster, and was wondering whether to say so when Silvanius cleared his throat. “We’re getting off the point. Messapus is our password.”
After that the gathering broke up.
“All in all, a very productive meeting,” Silvanius declared, as we trooped out into the hallway, ordering our vehicles and collecting our cloaks. “We’ve made a good start, and we’ve got some plans to put into action. I knew I was right to suggest this sort of small high-powered gathering, Aurelia.”
“You were absolutely right, Clarus,” I agreed solemnly. What else could I say?
Chapter XIII
The sun was low as we set off for the mansio, and it made me uneasy. After all our talk of threats to travellers, I had no wish to be out on the road after sunset.
Silvanius suggested I stay the night at his villa, but of course I couldn’t be away from home that long. Vedius offered to escort me to the mansio, but I didn’t want him thinking I was some timid female too scared to go anywhere without his masculine protection, so I assured him we would be safe. But I wasn’t sorry that his route and ours were the same for part of the journey. We travelled through Oak Bridges together, and to the outskirts of town on our side, where his house and smallholding stood. When we said good-night outside his gate, I remember saying, “It’ll take more than a few barbarians to stop me travelling the roads.”
We hurried the mules along at a canter, the men on horses keeping pace one on either side of the raeda. The sun was setting in a golden haze, but it would be light for some time yet. The summer twilight is long here in the north, and we’d be home before full darkness came. I pulled my wool cloak around me; it was cool now, and I thought longingly of the fire that would be waiting for me at the Oak Tree.
For the first part of the way the road ran through farmland, fields of ripening barley and oats, grass meadows with sheep or cattle in th
em, and a few horse-paddocks too. Pleasant land, prosperous and well looked after.
But then we came to the oak woods, and I grew tense as we entered the thick gloom of the trees. We were still on the native road, and though the surface was good—Silvanius’ council had seen to that—the trees hadn’t been cut back from the road’s edge. I wanted to reach the good wide Roman highway, with its strips of cleared land to either side. You’re a fool to be out here like this, Aurelia, I thought, and I told Titch to use his whip and make the mules go flat out.
The tall old oaks seemed to crowd us in, closer and more threatening as the light faded, looming to left and right in a more or less unbroken line. No other roads crossed ours; there was just the occasional faint track, made by animals or woodcutters. Among the trees the shadows were impenetrable, and anything—or anyone—could be waiting for us unseen. I’m not one of these city folk who panic if they find themselves among a few trees, but when it’s getting dark and you’re feeling apprehensive, there are too many shadows, and too many strange noises. Every creaking branch and call of a night-hunting animal made me jump. Once we heard the faraway howl of a wolf, but it wasn’t wolves I was worried about.
Then the night was split by a loud and horrible scream from the trees on our left. A woman’s scream, fit to curdle our blood.
Titch pulled up the mules, and we all listened, torn between horror, curiosity, and fear. The scream came again, a dreadful sound; no words, just an animal noise, piercing and terrified. Someone was being hurt. Another attack by the Shadow-men? And on a woman this time! Common sense cried out that we should ignore it, but we all knew we couldn’t simply drive on and pretend we hadn’t heard.
I looked at my two guards. “That woman needs help, lads. Better go and see what you can do. I’ll stay here with the animals.”