“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.
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 started 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.
I went in search of Albia, and found her in the kitchen organising breakfast. “Holy Diana, Relia, you look as sick as Cousin Quintus! Is he any better?”
“He woke up for a short while, but he’s passed out again. He was fretting about some eclipse of the sun that happened two days ago. Only we missed it.”
“Yes, Junius was telling me about it. Shame it was cloudy. Junius says it would have been quite dramatic. He knows all about the stars.” She smiled fondly. Gods, I thought, she’s really got it badly for that young man. Oh well, she’s a big girl now.
She helped me change Quintus’ blankets, and dress him in a fresh tunic. He didn’t stir, and his breathing was still uneven and noisy. I found Baca and told her to take up sick-room watching again for the morning. The pile of mending in the sewing basket was going down nicely.
I went and unbarred the main door. No golden dawn today, and no inert body on the forecourt either; just a mist with a clammy drizzle in it, and under the oak-tree the comforting, bulky figure of Taurus on watch.
“’Morning, Taurus,” I called. “All well?”
“All fine, Mistress.” He shook his wet cloak as he came towards me. “Nothing and nobody stirring anywhere.”
He was right, there wasn’t a single person or vehicle on the main road. It wasn’t a market day, so there’d be much less early traffic. The first two couriers came through just after breakfast, heading for the coast. Unusually they were riding together instead of racing each other for a bet, which is the normal messengers’ game. We soon discovered why: there had been two more murders overnight.
A headless body had been found in the forum before first light; another, headless also, had been discovered outside town on the road near Silvanius’ new villa. Both carried bone discs with their sinister message.
“Get out or die….You know yesterday,” I said to Albia, “that was just a wild threat, unpleasant but not seriously believable. Now it starts to feel real.”
“I know.” Her usually cheerful face looked grim. “Are we going to wake up every morning to find more and more of our people killed?”
“I wish I could answer no, but…it’s scary.”
“Yes, it is. But whoever the bastards are, Relia, they’re not getting
me
out. I belong here, and I’m staying.”
“So am I. Father brought us here to give us a chance of a good life, a stake in a new province. We’ve worked hard for those things. We’re not giving them up. We’re Romans, and Romans can’t be frightened off by a pack of barbarians.”
Brave words, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The next traveller to come by with news, a wagoner, told us both the victims had been identified. The one in the forum was Gaius Terentius, the innkeeper of the Kingfisher Mansio in Eburacum. He’d been in Oak Bridges visiting friends, and was caught on his way home. It hit us like a physical blow. I mean all the murders were horrible, but the death of another mansio keeper, a friend, someone we knew well, and a Roman from Italia, made me feel close to panic.
The tribunes’ mood was sour too, because the other victim was an old soldier, retired and settled near town on a smallholding. But though it sounds dreadful, I was almost relieved to hear about it. Now, I thought, the army will take some notice, and start patrolling the district properly.
Hippon came to see me. I noticed he was limping slightly; hard knocks were an occasional part of his job as a horse-trainer. He was grumbling because some harness that was being made up for us in town hadn’t been delivered. “It was promised last month, and we do need it. I ought to go in myself and give the fellow a piece of my mind. I think I’ll take the small carriage, then I can bring back whatever he’s got ready. If anything.”
Normally he’d prefer to ride. I looked him up and down. “What is it? Feeling under the weather?”
“No fooling you, is there? I bruised my leg, coming off the black stallion with a thump yesterday. That animal can be a real bastard.” His words were softened by his smile; I don’t think there ever was a horse he couldn’t love. He rubbed his left knee gingerly. “I’m getting too old for this job, Aurelia.”
“Nonsense! But take the raeda, by all means. You could try out those new ponies you were training yesterday. They look about ready for some road-work.”
He cheered up at once; he always enjoys training horses. “Yes, I will. And I think I’ll take young Victor along, and give him a try as driver. See if he’s as good as he says he is.”
“If he’s
that
good, then I’m the Queen of Brigantia!”
Hippon smiled. “The best ones tend to be cocky at his age. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a good eye. We’ll be off in about an hour, when the morning chores are done.”
As he left us, little Baca came scurrying in, all smiles. “Mistress, the man in the bed is awake again, and he’s got his wits back. I asked him if he felt better, and he said yes, and I said I hoped so, because then he wouldn’t be so grumpy today.”
“That wasn’t very polite to a guest, Baca.”
“That’s what he said,” she nodded, “but in a sort of smiley way.”
Quintus was still smiling when I got to his room, and his smile widened when he saw me.
“Aurelia!” he exclaimed. “Aurelia Marcella. It is you, isn’t it? I’ve had some weird dreams, with practically everybody I know appearing in them. But you’re real, aren’t you?”
“I’m real, Quintus Antonius, and I’m delighted you’re back to your proper self again. You’ve given us all quite a fright.”
He looked at me sharply. “Why do you call me that? Quintus Antonius…that’s not my name.”
“But…oh, I’m sorry.” I must tread carefully here. “My sister recognised you, or thought she did. She was sure she’d met you before, but she must be mistaken.” Well, I could hardly tell him I’d seen his high-powered official papers, after he’d made such a song and dance about keeping them secret. “What is your name, then?”
“I’m Quintus Valerius Longinus.” He sat up and held out his hand. “And I’m afraid I’ve been poor company so far. According to your little sewing-girl, anyway.”
I took his hand. “Never mind, I’m delighted to meet you. And I’m sorry you’ve had a rather rough welcome to the Oak Tree. How do you feel now?”
“I’ve felt better, but I’m on the mend. Could I possibly have a drink of water? I’ve got a thirst like a camel, and this jug’s empty.”
I fetched him some and he drank thirstily. Then he asked for a cloth, and rubbed his face with it, going carefully as he touched the bruises.
“Ouch! I seem to have been in a bit of a scrap.”
“I expect you gave as good as you got.”
“I hope so.” He stretched his arms above his head, and smiled again. “I still ache all over, but I’m feeling decidedly better. I wonder….If I remember rightly, Lucius said you have a bath-house here.”
“Yes, we have. You’ve met my brother, then. Is that why you’re here? Did Lucius send you?”
“Not directly. But he’s talked about you often. And this place. I was on my way here when we were attacked.”
“If you’re a friend of Lucius, are you a friend of Aunt Julia as well, by any chance?” I asked.
“Aunt Julia? No. The only one of Lucius’ relatives I’ve ever met is his Uncle Paullus from Cyprus.”
“Oh well, never mind. Now, before your bath, would you like some breakfast? Bread and honey, and some wine?”
“Wonderful. I could eat a horse.”
“Or an elephant?” I suggested.
“I think I’ll just stick to bread and honey.”
So he hadn’t picked up the identification code. Did that mean he wasn’t the man Lucius had mentioned in his letter, or was it just the effect of his bang on the head?
As I crossed the courtyard to the kitchen, Taurus appeared through the back archway. “Is he better, Mistress? The man who was under the tree?”
“Yes, he is. Awake and asking for breakfast.”
“That’s good.” He gave his slow smile. “You were worried for him.”
“Well, of course I’d worry about a wounded guest, Taurus.”