Get Out or Die (11 page)

“Silvanius! Not in a thousand years! He’s a second-generation citizen, and he’s more Roman than the Capitol. He wants the whole of Britannia to become indistinguishable from Gaul or Italia. He wants Roman government, towns, temples….”

“That’s what he
says
,” Quintus interrupted.

“And that’s what he does! He’s even building a new temple himself.”

“Which could be the perfect bluff.”

“An enormously expensive one!”

“Well he’s one of the richest men in the district, isn’t he? He also has contacts and clout, with the Romans and with the natives. He’s a Brigantian, isn’t he?”

“He is, from one of the old aristocratic families. But he married a girl from the Parisi tribe, a chieftain’s daughter I think—there’s a lot of intermarriage in a border area like this. She died when Vitalis was born. But you’ve only got to look at him, or talk to him for half an hour, to know how keen he is to be a Roman.”

“So he has family ties with both the Brigantes and the Parisi. It seems to me he’d make an ideal Shadow of Death.”

“Not all the Brigantes are anti-Roman though,” I said. “And the Parisi definitely aren’t. They’ve always been allies of Rome.”

“But you have to consider every man as an individual, not just part of a tribal hierarchy. The more you tell me Silvanius is above suspicion, the more suspicious he seems to me.”

Suddenly the door flew open and Albia burst straight in without knocking, something she’d never normally do. She was pale as ashes, and her eyes were red from crying. She mumbled “Sorry,” and flopped down onto a stool, looking miserably from me to Quintus and back again.

“Relia, it’s awful….”

“What is it?” I went and stood beside her, putting my arm round her. “What’s happened?”

“Another murder.”

“Who?” I felt cold inside. It must be someone we knew well. Not Junius?

“Ulysses.” She started to cry.

“Oh, Albia,
no!
”

“A farmer found his body on the Derventio road. They’d cut off his head, and left one of those messages pinned onto him. They even killed his donkey. How could they? Such a gentle old man…he wouldn’t hurt a beetle on the ground, never mind another person. How
could
they?”

I felt more like cursing than crying. I heard in my head his comment about Druids. “Most of them are evil men, who care more for their own power than anything else.” And I remembered my own words about the warriors: “Take care you don’t cross their path on a dark night.”

“Quintus,” I said, “whatever it takes to stop these Shadow-men, we must do it. I promise I’ll help all I can.”

“Yes,” Albia said. “And so will I.”

He got up and came over to us, and took my hand, and Albia’s hand too. For a few heartbeats we were close together, linked by touch, and it was comforting. But we all knew it was no easy bargain we were making.

Chapter XI

It was only a mile or so to the centre of Oak Bridges where Silvanius’ temple stood. I could easily have walked it, but I wanted to go in style, so I took the medium-sized raeda. Hippon reported that Titch had driven the ponies well yesterday, so I took him as driver, and told him to harness the two best mules and polish the carriage till he could see his face in it. I also ordered two of our brawniest farm slaves to accompany us on horseback as guards. They weren’t exactly legionary trained, but they were tall and strong and handy with their cudgels, and clearly enjoyed the fearsome impression they made as they rode beside the carriage. And I felt safer knowing they were there.

Oak Bridges isn’t much of a town yet. True, it has a forum—well, a very large open space in the middle—and a civic hall where the town council meets, and talks as much hot air as the Senate of Rome. There’s a regular market every eight days, and there are all the basic shops and several taverns, not to mention a statue of the Divine Claudius, and a small triumphal arch commemorating some victory of Governor Agricola’s. But it has no public baths yet, and no amphitheatre, essentials for a proper Roman town. Still, thanks to Silvanius, it would soon have its very own temple to Jupiter and Juno.

The Marble Monster, as we all called it, was on a slight rise of ground just a few paces from the forum. It had been under construction for months, and had become the butt of everyone’s jokes, but in all fairness I must say Silvanius had done a good job, or rather his workmen had. Most of the labour force was shipped all the way from Gaul, as he never tired of reminding us. It was of conventional design: it stood raised on a podium about ten feet high, so we reached it by steps, leading up to a big open court with an altar in the middle. Towards the rear was a white building, the sanctum, with a covered walkway on three sides of it, and its door facing the altar. On either side of the door would stand bronze statues to the two divinities for whom the temple was built. Only Jupiter had arrived so far. Next to the altar, where a small spring ran out, there was a huge pink marble basin to hold the spring water, with a pipe to one side carrying the overflow over a miniature waterfall made of stones and away down a drain. The effect would be pretty, and the basin would in due course receive offerings from devoted worshippers. At present it was empty and covered by a rather dirty sack.

I hadn’t been to the place for perhaps a month, and last time I’d visited, it had looked like a building-site with here and there a glimpse of a finished temple. Now it resembled an almost-complete temple, and I could get a good idea of how it would be in all its final glory. But the site was still strewn with piles of stone and marble, stacks of wood, scaffolding poles and ladders, tools of every shape and size, and the usual builders’ clutter that always seems so completely chaotic you wonder how anything ever gets built at all.

What I could see of the work was excellent. The columns were clad in elegant Italian marble; the carvings were good; and the paintings on the white sanctum’s external walls had been well done, their colours glowing in the summer sunshine. The bronze statue of Jupiter was a beauty. Juno would presumably be just as fine. The whole place was beginning to look impressive.

I couldn’t spot Silvanius, who was probably inside the sanctum, so I just wandered around watching the craftsmen at work. I always enjoy seeing buildings going up. We’ve had several extensions done to the mansio in the last few years, and I never tired of watching the work. I suppose it’s the feeling that here’s something permanent being made, something that will last perhaps for generations. When we’re dead and gone the buildings we created will still be there, for our grandchildren and their grandchildren to see.

The fifty or so workmen looked busy, masons carving, painters finishing off the walls, labourers taking down scaffolding, a carter unloading tubs of ornamental trees, and the foreman yelling and gesticulating and rushing about putting on a good industrious show for his patron. It wasn’t the usual foreman, I noticed, but he appeared to have things well in hand. I knew Silvanius planned to have the formal dedication in a matter of days now, so it was just as well.

I gazed at it all in fascination until a familiar voice beside me broke my concentration.

“Aurelia! Light of my life, say you’ll marry me, or I shall die of a broken heart!”

Felix was wearing peacock-blue today: a brilliant blue cloak, matching sandals with gold and blue studs, and a couple of rings with blue stones in them. As usual, his cheerful clowning made me smile.

“Ask me again after dinner, Felix. I never consider proposals of marriage on an empty stomach.”

“Very wise. And how’s life at the Oak Tree? How’s your not-quite-dead traveller?”

“He’s much better, I’m glad to say.”

He began to steer me towards the pink marble basin. “I hope the plumbers are being careful. That marble cost a fortune….Have you found out anything about him yet?”

“A little, yes. I’ll tell you at the meeting.”

He smiled. “Oh, you
are
coming to the meeting, then?”

“I certainly am. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Our esteemed aedile Vedius Severus,” he answered, with a smile of pure mischief, “would say it wasn’t a woman’s place. In fact he
has
been saying it. So I wondered….”

“Stupid old fart,” I retorted, but quietly. “Still, you can’t teach new steps to an old dancer, as our grandmother used to say.”

“Did she? How sad!”

“I’m sorry?”

“For you, my dear. To have a grandmother who insisted on talking in clichés.”

Just then Silvanius came over to greet us, in a gleaming toga as always, with Vitalis in tow. He was wearing a toga too, and looking the complete young Roman gentleman; I’d hardly have recognised him. But his surly expression told me he’d been made to join the party by his father, and he wasn’t going to let anybody think he was enjoying it.

“You’ve met my son Gnaeus, of course, Aurelia,” Silvanius said. “Though perhaps not for a while. He’s been away, staying with some of our relatives in the hills.”

“Hello, Vitalis,” I said.

He actually smiled. “Good to see you, Aurelia. I hope I and my friends didn’t drink you out of mead yesterday.”

“No danger. Come any time. We keep a good supply of it.”

Silvanius beamed. “You’ve been sampling the hospitality of the Oak Tree, have you, Gnaeus?”

“I have, father. Very pleasant too.”

“That’s excellent!” the fond father said. I made a mental note, when we had a quiet space, to mention to him what sort of company Vitalis had been keeping there.

“The work’s coming on fast,” I said to Silvanius. “It looks as busy as a hive of bees.”

“It’s going tolerably well, I think,” he agreed, “though we have had one or two trifling setbacks. The native labour, you know…and today I’m without Casticus, my foreman. He simply has not appeared for work! I sent to find out if he was ill, and his wife said he never came home last night. She said he’s probably been out drinking somewhere and will turn up in his own good time. I ask you! And he’s a Gaul! I’ve imported the real craftsmen from Gaul. My family has estates there, you know.”

I did know; he mentioned it often enough. Still, it was all credit to him that he was constructing such a grand public building. Some men would dedicate an altar, or maybe put up a small shrine; Silvanius was going the whole hog and providing a complete temple.

Balbus strolled up to join us. He wasn’t wearing a toga; a serviceable dark blue wool cloak was more his style, and his fair hair, with a touch of white now at his temples, was combed back in a plain no-nonsense fashion. But the gold brooches that fastened the cloak and the wide seal-ring on his finger were expensive. He was the richest businessman in the area, what with the pottery he made and the fine glass and ceramics he imported to sell to the more prosperous settlers, but he liked to present himself as the plain honest craftsman and trader who’d hauled his way to riches by his own sandal-straps. Well, fair enough, so he had.

“Hello, Balbus,” I said. “How are you? How’s trade?”

“Oh, not bad, I suppose. I’m thinking of making a new range of pots.”

“Oh?” I knew what was coming, but friendship includes laughing at each other’s favourite jokes.

“Something more fragile. People don’t break them often enough!”

“We’ll have to arrange an orgy where we all throw the crockery about,” Felix suggested. “Aurelia has some soldier-boys staying at the Oak Tree. We could try to get them drunk—I doubt if we’d have to try
too
hard—and they could smash the place up in no time.”

Balbus looked shocked. “Felix, that’s in pretty poor taste!” and turning deliberately away from him, he said to me, “How are you coping, Aurelia? Bad business, all these murders. One victim ended up right outside my shop. And someone was attacked on your doorstep, they tell me.”

“Yes, but at least he survived. How’s Ennia taking it? Not too upset by it all?”

“Well, she’s a bit unsettled, of course. It’s harder on womenfolk, this sort of thing….” He saw the glint in my eye and hastily changed direction. “The temple’s coming on pretty well, all things considered. I hate to think what it’s costing.” He gazed round the site approvingly, then turned to Silvanius. “Nice quality marble, Clarus. Not local, surely?”

“It’s from Italia, naturally.”

“Thought so. It must have cost you an arm and a leg!” From Balbus this was a high compliment, and Silvanius basked in the warmth of it. They discussed quarries and transport costs and problems with shipping. Balbus imported many of the pots he sold, so the state of the shipping industry and the cost of transport generally were topics that never failed to interest him. I knew I should feel the same, because I rely on imported wine and oil for the mansio, but today I was in holiday mood, so I steered the conversation back to the Marble Monster.

“When will it be finished, Councillor? Have you planned a date for the dedication yet?”

“Please, Aurelia,” he smiled at me. “My friends call me Clarus, and I hope I may number you among them?”

“Thank you. I’m honoured, Clarus. And the dedication of the temple?”

“Five days from now. The day before the Ides.”

Gods alive, no wonder the foreman was rushing about like a stampeding chariot-horse. Only five days!

“Excellent!” I said. “A temple to Jupiter and Juno is just what we need in Oak Bridges. Roman gods, Roman ritual, for a Roman town. You’re doing us proud.”

The others nodded in agreement, and Clarus positively glowed. “We Romans have a duty to maintain standards. No, not just to maintain, but to improve them. This province of Britannia may not have centuries of history behind it, but it can be one of the most prosperous in the Empire. We need the gods of Rome to unite us all.” He stood up tall, posing like an orator, and declaimed, “We are citizens of a great Empire, my friends. We must stand together.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. I even managed not to smile, when I thought how Silvanius’ grandfather must have been a blue-painted chieftain with a taste for collecting enemy heads.

“And after the temple, I’m trying to talk him into giving us a theatre,” Felix said. “To put Oak Bridges finally and forever on the artistic map. Imagine, our own centre of acting and musical excellence…culture, real Roman and Greek culture.”

Silvanius smiled, but didn’t, I noticed, commit himself.

“I only wish everyone in Oak Bridges saw the benefits of the Empire as clearly as we do,” he said. “I’m afraid even this small project of mine has attracted some hostility.”

I sensed a real concern under the pompous phrases. “People are always moaning about anything new. Have you had opposition to the temple?”

“Some, yes.”

“Who from?”

“Oh, anonymously. Just muttering and whispering here and there, you know. There’s been no real damage, but we’ve had some unpleasant graffiti here at the site.”

“Recently, you mean?”

“For the last two nights. I’m leaving guards here from now on when the workmen have gone home, so it should stop.” He sighed. “Just some of the local hotheads, I’m sure, but it’s upsetting.”

“Was it the same message that was left with the murdered victims, about all Romans being killed?”

“I’m afraid so.”

We all made sympathetic noises, except Vitalis, who was leaning against a column looking bored. He was obviously following his own line of thought, because he suddenly remarked, “Father, if you had to build a temple, I wish you’d dedicated it to one of our old gods, not imported Roman ones.”

“Gnaeus!” Silvanius said sharply, but Vitalis ignored him.

“I mean why did you have to choose Jupiter? Why not Taranis the Thunderer, he’s a sky god too? You can’t blame our people for wanting to keep faith with the old gods, and the old ways. Not everyone thinks Britannia should become a poor man’s copy of Italia.”

“That’s enough, Gnaeus,” Silvanius warned. “You know perfectly well that the old days are gone forever. The only future for this province is as part of the Roman Empire.”

“Don’t you be so sure,” Vitalis said. “There are gods more powerful than Jupiter, and there are leaders who can command more power in Britannia than the Emperor of Rome.”

“Really, Gnaeus….” But the lad was already striding off, and Silvanius gave an embarrassed little laugh. “Young men, you know! They always have to be rebelling about something.”

Well, yes. But I found myself wondering how far his rebellious feelings would take him. Loud talk, or secret killing? I recalled Quintus’ remarks about how well placed Silvanius was to be a rebel leader, if he chose to betray Rome. I still found it hard to accept this even as a possibility, but Vitalis…now that was a much more likely proposition.

We were all relieved when a distraction appeared, in the shape of Vedius. He came striding up, white-haired but erect, and hardly using the walking-cane he carried. I’d assumed Silvanius would invite him; he was one of the leaders of the town council, the aedile responsible for the fire-cart, and for public order. He’d been a career soldier, serving mostly in Britannia; it was said he’d been in the army at the time of Boudicca’s rebellion over thirty years ago, but the uprising hadn’t put him off settling here when his service ended. He still kept in touch with his old army cronies, and rumour said that his influence had been one of the factors that helped Oak Bridges become a town with its own council, whereas many other settlements near legionary bases stayed under military control. He still managed to assume a soldierly swagger as he greeted us in turn.