Get Out or Die (18 page)

He looked relieved. “You’re very perceptive, Aurelia. There is something, in fact there are two things, neither of them very easy.”

“You know I can be discreet.”

“Well then, it’s Balbus. I heard something quite disturbing this morning. He’s been seen consorting with a known anti-Roman sympathiser, one of the old aristocrats. One of the names on our list.”

“Who?”

“Segovax Vericus.”

The name made me start, and Silvanius saw my reaction.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“Not personally. We’ve got some of the Segovax family as neighbours here, but not Vericus. It’s just that the leader of the gang that ambushed me was called Veric.”

“It’s a common enough name, of course. Most of the Segovax clan live further west, in the heart of old Brigantia. They have never, how shall I put it, fully recognised the benefits of Roman rule.”

“They could be rebels, in plain Latin.”

“Yes, they could be. They were war-lords in the old days, and that’s how they think of themselves still. They supported Prince Venutius when he quarrelled with Queen Cartimandua, and a couple of the sons of the house were killed in the fighting when our troops came to the Queen’s rescue.”

“And Balbus has been seen with them? Couldn’t he just be selling them pots? We all know Balbus would sell his wares to the gods of the Underworld if the price was right.”

Silvanius smiled in spite of himself. “Well, perhaps. But it makes it difficult to trust someone when you know he’s keeping company with the enemy, even for quite innocent reasons.”

“Absolutely.” I hoped nobody would tell him I’d recently been entertaining a Druid. “But after all, we only had our meeting and drew up our plans yesterday. So what Balbus did last market day or last month needn’t reflect how he feels now.”

“No, that’s true.”

“Of course,” I added, “there is this business of the paint.” I told him about Felix’s visit, and how he’d been so certain he’d seen the paint before. “I’m going to go down to Balbus’ shop and look for myself when I’ve got a spare couple of hours. While I’m there, I can try and sound him out about his contact with the old Brigantian families. See if he admits it, or denies it, or doesn’t think it’s important. His reaction might tell us quite a lot.”

“Excellent! You do that, Aurelia, and tell me the result. All the same…I can’t believe Balbus is involved with rebels and traitors. Can you?”

“No, Clarus, I can’t. Anybody less like a traitor it would be hard to imagine. But as my brother is fond of saying, the only sure thing about traitors is that they don’t look like traitors.”

“Ah yes. Your brother,” Silvanius said unhappily. “That brings me to…oh dear. The last thing I want to do is cause offence, but….”

“I shan’t take offence,” I reassured him.

“Well, you know I’m calling a meeting of the Town Council tomorrow. So I’ve been spending the morning talking to various of my council colleagues. Some of them feel that your position here, running the Oak Tree, is a little—ah, irregular…and…well….”

“Really? What does that mean?” As if I couldn’t guess.

“A business, especially an official enterprise like a mansio—it’s more usual to have a man in charge.”

“Have your colleagues got some fault to find with the way I run things here?” Attack was the best form of defence.

“Oh not at all, not at all.”

“Well then?”

“Oh Aurelia, I fear I have offended you. But when your father died it was understood that your brother would take charge at the mansio, with you and Albia assisting him. He is here so rarely though. One or two of the council are beginning to feel that, in these dangerous times, the mansio should be in the strong hands of a man.”

“Let me guess. Vedius Severus for one?”

He nodded.

“Is that what you think too, Clarus? That I can’t protect my home properly?”

He considered seriously. “No, it is not. I believe that you do an excellent job, and I think you are capable of protecting it as well as anyone else. However I’m bound to be worried. You are vulnerable here, and even with your new fence….Will your brother be visiting you soon? Then perhaps….”

“On the first of next month, if not sooner. I heard from him a few days ago.”

“Ah, that’s good. Because I should hate anything to happen to you, or the Oak Tree, which would give others the excuse to….”

He was having trouble finishing his sentences today, but he didn’t need to finish that one. Some of the charmers on the council would be happy to take over running the mansio if they could prove I couldn’t look after the place properly. I was angry, and then suddenly I saw what it meant, and I laughed.

“What is the joke?” He looked at me warily, as if I might be going mad.

“Tell your council friends, Clarus, that I shall keep the Oak Tree safe, both from the rebels, and also from any business rivals who might be wishing me to fail. I’m glad to find that my family have made this mansio so successful that now some of the council want to try and take it over. They’ll be disappointed, though. I’m here to stay. They can like it or lump it. Is that clear?”

He smiled and took my hand. “Absolutely clear, and absolutely right. And whatever happens, you have my full support.”

For what that’s worth, I thought, and then hated myself for such a mean-spirited reaction. It was horrible finding oneself suspecting everyone, even good friends.

At last he left, and I could get some work done. The logging and fence-building were going at a good pace, and there weren’t many bar customers, so I went into my study to face the pile of jobs waiting on my desk. The most urgent were filing a report about the destruction of an official vehicle and animals, and making out the order for replacements from Eburacum. There was no escaping this tedious paperwork. I’m sure that if
I’d
been killed but the transport had survived unharmed, there’d have been a lot less of it.

Then I proceeded to checking orders, and paying bills. Among the bills I was pleased to find a small one from Balbus, which would give me the perfect excuse to go down to his shop. I consulted Albia about what crockery we needed to buy; there was quite a bit. Even when the maids don’t drop trays of beakers, it’s amazing the rate of breakages, and we’re quite a respectable house, not one of those rowdy wine-shops in a garrison town where the patrons throw the mugs over their shoulders every night at going-home time.

During the afternoon I snatched a few breaths of fresh air, taking a stroll round the horse paddocks. I said hello to Merula and her foal, and several of the other mares and their young. I was soon joined by Titch, bringing some pieces of carrot to feed the mares.

“Mistress, I wanted to ask you about that old Druid,” he began excitedly.

“He wasn’t a Druid, Titch.” I looked at him sternly. “Druids are illegal, as I’m sure you know. If I had a Druid in the house, I’d be in all sorts of trouble. That old man was a bard. A singer of ancient songs.”

“Oh aye? But I got a good look at him, and I could see he was….”

“…a bard. Of course you could. So could I. What about him?”

He grinned. “Well that bard, then. I’ve never seen him before, but he says to me, ‘You’re new here, aren’t you, lad?’ How did he know that?”

“Good question. We’re being watched for sure, but who by, I don’t know. Now here’s a question for you. Was there really a lame pony?”

“Nah. It wasn’t even limping. One of them warrior lads made a performance of getting a stone from out of its offside rear hoof, but he could just as easily have had the stone hid in his palm. You know, like the cavalry boys do sometimes, when they want an excuse to stop.”

“I thought so. The old man came to warn me that the spot where the Oak Tree stands now used to be a Druid holy place years ago. Some of them want it back.”

“I don’t like the sound of Druids. They have human sacrifices, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s hope we never meet one then, eh?” He winked, and went back to his work.

As I was heading inside again, a tall figure marched down the track towards me. He was an ex-soldier, I could tell at once by his bearing and his confident stride, not to mention the good sword he carried. He looked vaguely familiar, but then we see a lot of ex-soldiers in the bar-room. When he caught sight of me he came straight up and held out his hand. “Mistress Aurelia? I’m Flavius Brutus, at your service. The Chief Councillor was saying you might be glad of an extra pair of hands for a day or two, till these barbarians settle down. So I said I’d come and see if I can help. I can even stay if you like. Oh—I was to tell you it’s all right with Messapus.”

Gods, I thought, is Silvanius doing me a real kindness, or has the Trojan horse come uninvited? I can’t have a total stranger staying here. How am I going to get out of this?

“That’s very kind, Flavius Brutus, and I appreciate Silvanius sending you, but….”

“Oh, he didn’t send me. I offered. You don’t remember me, do you?” Before I could answer he smiled. “Well, it was a while ago. I served with your father. I came to stay with you once at Pompeii. You were only a child then. He was a fine man, and I haven’t forgotten him. So when I heard what’s been happening here, I thought I’d like to help if I can.”

My spirits lifted; I was overjoyed. “Of course! I remember you now! You took me and Lucius and Albia out in a boat on the bay….” We reminisced a little, and I accepted his help gratefully. An extra man, especially someone with solid military experience, was as welcome as a gift from the gods. I introduced him to Albia, who of course remembered him immediately, and to Junius and Quintus. Then he went to help the tribunes’ men give weapons drill to some of our slaves.

We held a short funeral for Bessus just before dark. All the slaves turned out, indoor servants and farm-hands. I left one of the maids to mind the bar, and the tribunes’ two men on guard outside at the front. As I made these defensive arrangements, I reflected how quickly I was learning the attitude of mind of someone under siege. It was a depressing thought, but then funerals are depressing anyway.

Supper was cheerful; no overnight guests, thank the gods—just Albia and me, the tribunes and Quintus, and Brutus. Marius had come back in good spirits, dropping hints about amorous adventures, and he promised to help with the stockade tomorrow. The work was progressing well, and I longed for it to be finished.

The tribunes and Brutus went into the bar after the meal, which gave me and Albia the chance to tell Quintus about my various visitors—Felix, Silvanius, and of course the Druid and his escort, which made him laugh.

“Aurelia, there’s no doubt that a talent for spying runs in your family! What did you manage to get out of him?”

When I told him, he said thoughtfully, “You did well to get even that much. Love turning to hate…very cryptic. So the Shadow of Death is a Roman who bears some kind of grudge against Rome?…That needs thinking about. Meantime, the most important thing is to find out when and where their ceremony will be. Then we’ll know how long we’ve got before they attack.”

Before they attack…what a horrible thought. I was frankly relieved when there was a tap at the door, and Carina appeared. “Mistress, the huntsman with the big dog wants to see you—his son works here sometimes. He says you promised him some cough-medicine for his little boy. He says it’s important, but I can send him packing if you like.”

Whatever Hawk wanted, it must be urgent, to make him come calling after dark.

“I’ll see him, Carina. Where is he?”

“Outside, under the oak tree. Taurus is with him.”

“Right, I’m on my way. Albia, have we got some of that syrup with the scilla powder in it?”

She fetched an earthenware bottle from the store-room, and I was about to go out of the kitchen door when Quintus appeared.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “Remember what we agreed this morning, no ladies to go out after dark without an armed escort.”

“I’m only going a few yards from the front door. Taurus is there, so I’ll be safe enough, and whatever Hawk wants, he’ll be wary of strangers.”

“Then you’ll just have to introduce me to him so I’m not a stranger any more.”

“But—”

“Aurelia,” he smiled suddenly. “I hesitate to use the word ‘insist’ after this morning, but I’ll think of another word if I have to. You’re not going out alone.”

“Oh, all right. It’s probably time you met him anyway.” I pulled on a woollen cloak as we went outside; the wind had got up, and it was blowing quite hard as we walked across to the big oak. It stood out clearly in the faint starlight, but clouds kept racing across the sky now and then, making everything dark and uncertain. Under its shelter, Taurus and Hawk were chatting comfortably, oblivious to the moaning of the night wind.

Hawk got up as we approached, and he and Quintus looked each other over warily. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered, but whatever the problem was, I hadn’t time for it. They’d have to learn to co-operate, and like it or lump it.

I started to introduce the tracker and the bridge builder, but Hawk cut me short.

“I know. You’re the man who was nearly killed the other night. I’ve seen you around, and I recognised your tracks.”

“That’s right,” Quintus smiled. “You helped Aurelia piece together what happened to me. And I’ve seen you around too.” I remember it was the first time I’d heard him speak in British, and his accent was pretty terrible, but Hawk understood him well enough.

“You’ve seen me? I doubt it,” Hawk said. “I haven’t been around to see.”

“I noticed you in the woods this morning, when we were logging. You and your dog were watching us, or perhaps you were watching that Druid and his lads?”

Hawk laughed. “I must be slipping up. I prefer to be invisible unless I choose.”

Quintus laughed too, and I was relieved that the ice was broken between them.

“Actually I was looking at your fence-building,” Hawk said. “Get it finished as soon as ever you can, because I’ve got bad news for you. Some of the Shadow-men are planning a full-scale attack here any day now, or I should say any night. They say they won’t leave a building standing or a person or beast alive.”