The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  Marcus was just about to speak when there was a sudden commotion behind him and Dylis forced her way into the room and defiantly folded her arms across her chest as she caught sight of Ninian.

  “My lady,” Ninian exclaimed with a wide friendly grin as he stepped towards her and quickly planted two kisses on Dylis’s cheeks. “I have served you and your family for a long time and as always, I am honoured by your presence.”

  “Thank you, Ninian, for coming all this way from Reginorum,” Marcus said clearing his throat and ignoring his sister, “it’s a long journey, I know. You are welcome to stay and dine with us tonight.”

  “That is kind of you Sir,” Ninian replied with a respectful nod. “But I must return at once after I have spoken with you. Business presses I’m afraid.”

  “What news do you have for us,” Dylis asked quietly fixing her steely eyes on Ninian and at the same time giving him a small encouraging smile.

  “Well,” Ninian said carefully glancing from Marcus to Dylis, “I have good news and some not so good news.” Ninian coughed. “The good news is that the merchants and priests in Reginorum are willing to do business with you again if you were to pay a thousand Denarii donative to the Temple of Neptune and Minerva. The priests also wish that you Marcus come to the Temple and pay your respects to the gods. If you do this, they have promised to forget what happened with Priscinus and the priest who was killed.”

  “So, they no longer want us to hand over Petrus for defiling the Temple and for insulting the priests,” Cunomoltus said hastily.

  “It seems that way,” Ninian replied nodding.

  “A thousand denarii, they don’t seem to value the lives of their priests very highly,” Dylis scoffed in an angry, contemptuous voice. “But what about our burned and ruined fields? Who is going to compensate us for that?”

  “And the not so good news,” Marcus snapped ignoring his sister.

  Ninian forced a nervous smile onto his face as he glanced from Dylis to Marcus.

  “The not so good news,” Ninian sighed and raised his eyebrows. “Priscinus’s family are in mourning. Priscinus was most likely murdered by one of his own slaves. That is what his family believe. One of their female slaves vanished straight after his death. She ran away and they suspect that it was this slave who poisoned Priscinus. She had easy access to her master. The family have put out a sizeable reward for the woman’s capture. Notices are going up all over the Province. The family say that the woman has identifying marks, marks that cannot be hidden or destroyed. And there is more,” Ninian held up his hand as Cunomoltus was about to interrupt. “Priscinus was a close friend and ally of the Governor of Britannia. The Governor is said to be deeply troubled by the murder of his friend and has ordered an investigation. I have heard that he is sparing no expense to find the murderer.” Ninian sighed again. “The Governor has appointed an investigator to look into the case, a man called Cunitius. Cunitius is a former tax collector and is said to be an expert at tracking down runaway slaves and fugitives. He and his staff are already at Priscinus’s house gathering evidence.” Ninian paused and then slowly turned to look at Marcus. “Yesterday I heard that Cunitius is planning to speak to you about the murder. He will be here within days. He has questions for you. I thought I should warn you before he arrives.”

  The room fell silent as Ninian took a deep breath.

  “Thank you Ninian,” Marcus said at last in a sombre voice, “You have proved yourself once more a good friend. We are grateful for the warning.”

  Ninian raised his hand to scratch his cheek. “This man, this Cunitius,” he said fixing his eyes on Marcus, “this man is the Governor’s personal representative. Cunitius is not conducting this investigation because he is interested in justice or upholding the law. He is working for the Governor and Priscinus’s family. He will only be interested in furthering their interests. This is not the sort of man who you can meet with a sword in your hand or behind a closed, barricaded wooden wall. You don’t mess with this man, Marcus, he is not in that league. He has the authority of the State behind him. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “I know what you are saying,” Marcus growled, “and don’t worry when he comes here with his questions, we shall give him the reception he deserves.”

  Ninian nodded, giving Marcus a wary look before turning to give Dylis an affectionate smile.

  “This woman, the slave who is suspected of murdering Priscinus,” Marcus asked, “does anyone know where she is? Have there been any sightings?”

  Ninian shook his head.

  “None that I know about,” he replied. “She has vanished but she will be found. How long can a runaway survive without food, money or shelter? The Governor is throwing all the resources of the State behind her capture. As I said, he is sparing no expense. The reward for her capture is significant.”

  “Then maybe it would be best if we found her first,” Marcus replied giving Cunomoltus a quick glance. “If as you say, Cunitius is indeed only interested in furthering the interests of his employers, then if he finds her before we do, he will torture her and force her to implicate us in Priscinus’s murder. The Governor of Britannia is not our friend. I am sure that he would gladly take away our farm and land and give it to one of his allies and friends. We must not provide him with an excuse.” Marcus paused and then slowly turned to look at Dylis. “We can’t allow that to happen. I won’t allow that to happen. We need to find this slave. Would you not agree sister?”

  In the doorway Dylis remained silent as she stonily refused to look at her brother.

  “But how will you find her,” Ninian shrugged glancing at Marcus. “Where do you start looking? You don’t even know what the slave woman looks like.”

  “Please keep your eyes and ears open for us Ninian,” Marcus said with a grateful look as he stepped forwards and placed his hand on the fat broker’s shoulder. “Our family is lucky to count you as a friend.”

  When Ninian had gone, Marcus turned to look at Dylis. His sister was picking at her finger nails in a tense and nervous fashion as she stared out of the window. In the doorway to the dining room Cunomoltus and Jowan, both looking glum, were leaning against the wall waiting for Marcus to speak.

  “If Cunitius finds the slave woman and forces her to talk,” Marcus said in a quiet sombre voice as he addressed Dylis, “the woman will reveal the role that you played in Priscinus’s murder. She will tell him that it was your idea. That it was you who provided the poison and that it was you who paid her to do it. When that truth is revealed, we, all of us here, will be doomed.”

  “So why don’t you just hand me over to Cunitius and say I acted alone,” Dylis hissed, turning to stare at Marcus with a cold, bitter looking face. “Surely you have the balls to sacrifice your own sister for the greater good. And there was no need to lie to Ninian. He has always had our interests at heart.”

  “Dylis,” Jowan interrupted in protest but Dylis rounded on her husband and silenced him with a single furious look.

  “No, we will not be handing you over,” Marcus growled, sizing up his sister. “We are family. We do not give up on each other. That is what Corbulo wanted for us and that is what I want too. We will find another way. We will overcome this. No one is going to take away our farm and land. This is our home and we are going to fight for it like we have done many times in the past. Now come with me, all of you.”

  Silently Marcus led the way out of the dining room, through the hallway with its fine mosaic floor before turning down a narrow corridor that led to the villa’s sleeping quarters. A series of small rectangular bedrooms, their doorways covered by curtains, lined the corridor. Inside the rooms stone beds were built into the walls, upon which lay straw mattresses and scattered personal belongings. At the end of the corridor was another room, this one fitted with a proper wooden door. From his pocket, Marcus produced a key and inserted it into the lock. He turned to glance at Dylis, Jowan and Cunomoltus as he unlocked the door.

  Inside the s
mall rectangular, windowless room a woman was kneeling on the cold stone floor. She looked like she was praying for her eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together whilst a small wooden cross on a chain was wrapped around her fingers. Two torches, fixed to the walls, bathed the room in a reddish flickering light and a plate with some discarded food stood beside the door. Hastily the woman rose to her feet as she caught sight of Marcus.

  “I am sorry that we must keep you like this,” Marcus muttered as he gave the woman an apologetic nod, “But it is for your own safety, and ours, you understand. Priscinus’s family are searching for you everywhere. They have hired a man to track you down, an expert so they say, but we won’t allow him to find you.”

  “I know why I am here, Sir,” the slave woman replied lowering her eyes. “God has sent you to protect me.”

  Chapter Three – We are all agreed

  “So, what are we going to do, Marcus?” Kyna asked looking up at her husband. It was late in the evening and the whole family except for Efa and the four children had gathered at one end of the long dining room and were sitting around the open hearth. Marcus raised his cup of wine to his lips and drank. Then he turned to look at the anxious, tense faces watching him.

  “The woman cannot stay here,” he said, fixing his eyes on Dylis, “She can’t spend the rest of her days hidden in that room and if we allow her to remain and work on the farm it is only a matter of time before someone notices her and goes to collect the reward that is on her head. It has been three weeks since you brought her here, sister. She must go. She must disappear.”

  “Her name is Esther,” Dylis snapped, her eyes blazing. “And if you kick her out you will have to get rid of me as well. I gave Esther my word that I would look after her. That was our deal. That is why she agreed to help me. She has put herself in mortal danger for us.”

  “Why don’t we just kill her and dump her body in the marshes,” Cunomoltus exclaimed with a shrug, “If she is dead she won’t be able to reveal the role that Dylis played in Priscinus’s murder. No one will ever know.”

  “You are an animal,” Dylis hissed.

  “No one is going to kill her,” Marcus said in a tired voice.

  “All right,” Cunomoltus replied ignoring Dylis as his fingers played with the bronze phallic amulet that hung around his neck. “How about we cut out her tongue then? That way she won’t be able to speak if she is ever caught.”

  “No,” Jowan interrupted with a shake of his head. “She will still be able to point at people and write down names, if she knows how to write. Cutting out her tongue won’t silence her.”

  “Then we cut off her hands as well as her tongue,” Cunomoltus retorted.

  Beside the crackling fire a strangled animalistic noise erupted from deep within Dylis’s throat, but before she could turn the noise into words Marcus banged his fist down hard on the table making Kyna jump in fright.

  “Enough brother,” Marcus cried out in an angry voice, rounding on Cunomoltus. “No harm is going to befall Esther. No one is going to touch her. I don’t agree with what Dylis did but now that it has happened we must honour the promise that Dylis made. We have no choice. We cannot go back on that promise, however much I would like to, for that would be dishonourable. Dylis gave that woman her word that she would look after her and because of that Esther has put herself in mortal danger for us. We owe her and we are going to keep our promise. All of us here owe Esther for what she did, misguided as her actions may have been. And we are all honourable people. So, the least we can do is get Esther to somewhere safe where she can start a new life. Where she can start again and be free from the fear of being caught. That is in our interests as well. No one must know about the role that Dylis played in Priscinus’s murder. That is what I mean when I say that she must disappear. We are here to discuss where she should go. Now I want to hear ideas, everyone, come on.”

  “Send her to the marshes,” Cunomoltus grunted in disgust as he reached out for his cup of wine and drained it in one go.

  Marcus ignored his brother and turned to look at the faces around him. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackle and hiss of the flames in the hearth as they feasted on the wooden logs.

  “We could send her to Londinium, Marcus,” Jowan said at last in a careful voice. “You have many friends in the city. They could help us.”

  But Marcus shook his head. “No, not Londinium,” he muttered, “that would be right under the Governor’s nose. It’s too close, too dangerous. Too many ambitious people willing to have a go at getting that reward. No, I am thinking that she must leave Britannia all together.”

  Once again, the room fell silent except for the roar of the flames. Then suddenly Marcus felt a hand touch his own. It was Kyna.

  “Why don’t we ask Esther where she wants to go?” Kyna said quietly. “She should, after all, have a say in what happens to her. It would be our payment for the debt that we owe her.”

  Marcus grunted in surprise. He hadn’t thought about that. Quickly he turned to look at Dylis, Cunomoltus, Petrus and Jowan but the others seemed to have no visible objections.

  “Petrus, go and fetch Esher and bring her here,” Marcus growled tossing the key towards the young man.

  A little later Petrus returned leading the slave woman gently into the dining room and as he did, Marcus rose to his feet and politely gestured for the woman to sit down beside the hearth. Esther was clad in one of Kyna’s dresses and her black hair hung loosely around her shoulders. In her hand, she was tightly clutching her small P shaped wooden cross. Her face still showed the outlines of the bruises that Marcus had first noticed on her when he and Dylis had visited Priscinus’s villa. Nervously and silently Esther shuffled over to the fire and sat down on one of the wooden stools. She looked around forty years old.

  “I see your bruises are still not fully healed,” Marcus said in a gentle voice, “Your master was a cruel man and it is a good thing that he is dead.”

  “If it is God’s will that I remain ugly, then it is God’s will,” Esther muttered, lowering her eyes to the floor.

  Marcus nodded and for a moment he was silent.

  “You and I and this family,” Marcus said at last with a sigh as he looked at Esther, “like it or not, our fate is bound together now. We are good people Esther. We are going to look after you, we owe you that much for what you have done. But you cannot stay here on this farm. Priscinus’s family and the Governor of Britannia have employed a man to find you. They have issued a big reward for your capture. So, you are going to have to disappear. You are not going to be able to stay in Britannia. We have gathered here to discuss where you should go. So,” Marcus sighed, “it is only proper that we ask you first where you would like to go? Maybe you have family in other provinces? Maybe you have relatives who can help us?”

  The room fell silent as all eyes turned to stare at the slave woman sitting on her stool beside the crackling fire. Esther was staring at the floor, her fingers fidgeting tensely with her little wooden cross. Then abruptly she looked up at Marcus and there was a sudden defiance and a surprising strength in her eyes.

  “I was born in Rome,” Esther said slowly, “and I have always dreamed of going back to the city. I suppose it is my home. So, I want to go to Rome.”

  “Rome,” Marcus raised his eyebrows as he stared at the slave woman. “Rome,” he repeated. “Do you still have family in the city?”

  Esther shrugged. “I have always been a slave. I was only a child when I was sold to a man who took me to Britannia. I have never been back. If I have family in Rome, I do not know who they are. My mother died giving birth to me. She was a slave herself. My father,” Esther took a deep breath and looked away, “I never knew my father either. My mistress in Rome, of the family who owned my mother and who raised me in their home, I remember her being kind to me. She told me one thing - that my father was a Christian priest; a trouble maker and that he was crucified in the arena for his heresy. That was just before
I was born, during the reign of the Emperor Nero.”

  “So, you are a follower of the Christian God?” Marcus muttered glancing quickly at Petrus.

  “I am,” Esther replied lifting her head. “I believe what my father believed. Priscinus forbade it of course but I practised in secret, for no one shall stop me from believing in the word of God. It is all that I have in this world.”

  “In this house, you are free to believe in what you like,” Marcus growled, “as long as you do not cause trouble or deny others their beliefs. Did you know that our Petrus here is a Christian like you?”

  “I have spoken with him, master,” Esther replied giving Petrus a quick, grateful look. Then Esther turned to look at Dylis and for the first time a warm affectionate smile appeared on her face. “And I am grateful to you too Dylis, for you have kept your word. May God watch over you.”

  “All right,” Marcus growled irritably raising his hand in the air, “I am not your master, Esther. From now on you should consider yourself a free woman. But we still need to decide on where you should go. Rome may be a good choice. It is the largest city in the world. They say it has over a million inhabitants; that’s nearly thirty times the size of Londinium. It should be easy to disappear in such a vast place and it is far away from your former master’s family, but we do not know anyone who lives in Rome and if you have no family there, then where do we start?”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Petrus suddenly exclaimed raising his finger in the air, “I know someone who lives in Rome. Well, when I say I know him, I have never actually met him but I have a contact. A man, I am reliably informed, who may be able to help us. His name is Abraham. He is a Christian priest and he is reliable, a good man. That’s what my Christian brothers tell me. They have regular contact with our brothers and sisters in Rome.”

  “Can we for fucks sake please stop talking about bloody Christians,” Cunomoltus interrupted, shaking his head in disgust. “Christians are nothing but trouble and if their numbers keep on increasing they are going to cause all sorts of problems. You cannot have one set of people who deny the existence of all the gods and expect the rest of us to be happy with that. At some point, there are going to be riots, civil war.”