"Hmmm. Anyway, you are safe for now. They will not look for you here."
"No? I'm not so sure, Tonius. If they search and ask questions, they'll find out about me — where I work, where I live."
He stood up abruptly. "That has been taken care of. They will find you and they will dismiss you. You were brought here unconscious in a covered cart under escort. The escort were all men trusted by Plautus. They will keep quiet. Nobody else saw you. Your partner at the smithy has been forewarned to send the searchers to your house. There they will find Publius Varrus. They will question him, and they will leave him alone."
"What? How?"
He smiled for the first time. "Have you ever met Leo, my major-domo?" I shook my head, mystified. He smiled. "You will. He has been with me since I was born. Before that, he served my father all his life. He is an old man — grey-haired, grey-bearded and crippled in his left leg, just like you. But he is too old now, and too feeble, to be capable of the crime you are being sought for. Today he is being Publius Varrus, in your house."
I was amazed. "Why?" It was the only question I could frame, and it covered a hundred things.
He smiled again. "As you said, a man would have to be insane to do what you are accused of doing, without provocation. I know you. And I know Plautus. I do not know young Seneca, but from all I have heard of him, he is insane, and he is an animal."
"Let's not malign animals. That man's a monster."
"Exactly. So, he will not find you, nor will he find Plautus, and he will soon have to take his monstrous anger and his power back, all unsatisfied, whence he came. He is on a mission for the Emperor, apparently, and that means he has little time for seeking personal vengeance. In the meantime, you will have to stay here for a week or so."
"A week?"
"At least. Until this nonsense is over and forgotten. I'm sorry about your head, but I had little choice. No way of knowing who else is in the streets out there, spying for Seneca. He has offered gold for your capture. There was no time to tell you anything, or to argue with you. I wanted to get you here unseen. That seemed to be the quickest and safest way."
I shook my head carefully. "So be it. I'm grateful, and deeply in your debt, Antonius Cicero. What now?"
He grinned at me this time. "Now you will meet a woman I know. She does magical things for women, and she is going to do the same for you."
I squinted at him warily. "What kind of things?"
''She will transform you. She will change the colour of your hair and your beard to blond, then shave off most of your beard, leaving you with long Celtic moustaches. She will also darken your skin. By the time she has finished with you, not even Equus will recognize you."
I rose to my feet and began to move around the room, my aching head forgotten in the urgency of the situation. "No," I said. "No, Tonius, it won't work. The younger Seneca may not know me, but his eldest brother does, and he is the fox of the family. I have to leave Colchester. I have to get away from here."
"Why? That is ludicrous. My friend will transform you, believe me, Varrus. You will be safe. No one will discover you. She will turn your hair blond, shave off your beard, darken your skin, and we'll bandage your leg. You'll be a veteran officer, a German mercenary, wounded in the northern campaign."
My response was low-pitched as I thought aloud. "Yes, and the trick will be successful for a while. Until they can't find me. And until Primus Seneca remembers that one man who fits the description perfectly is a close comrade of Caius Britannicus, and that he last saw him here in Colchester, with Britannicus, on the occasion when Britannicus accused Seneca publicly of using hirelings to do his killing for him." I felt bitterness welling up in me as I realized the futility of my situation. "No, Tonius," I continued, "your initial evaluation was correct. I have endangered Caius, and my only hope of salvaging anything from this morass is to remove myself. The Household Troops may be duped by your man Leo, but the ruse will hang together only if I am gone. If Primus Seneca comes back here and finds me, then everything is finished."
He was staring at me in concern. "Then where will you go, Varrus? Where could you go to be safe from the spies of the Senecas?"
I grinned at him, for I had just answered the same question in my mind. "To the west. Britannicus has been forever nagging me to move to his part of the world, to help him start up his Colony when he retires. He has been almost five years in Africa. He should be home soon. When he arrives I shall be there, installed and waiting. In the meantime, no one would suspect that I'd go there in his absence."
Cicero raised his eyebrows and dipped his head to the side in a gesture of acknowledgement. "Well, I suppose you could be right. It seems reasonable. But what about your business? Your smithy?"
"Equus can run it without me. He does that now, most of the time. But you have a point. How long does a man have to be missing to be declared legally dead?"
He was frowning. "That is a strange question. Why do you ask?"
"I think I should die," I said. "How can we arrange that?"
His face went blank as he understood what I was saying, and he remained silent, deep in thought for a long time. "It can be done," he said at last. "Corpses are found from time to time, and some of them are unrecognizable. I assume that is what you mean?"
I nodded. "If I were to leave you, as a friend, in possession of my will, you would be bound to produce the document upon my death, would you not?" He nodded slowly. "Good. Then I shall write my testament, bequeathing all that I own to Equus as my only heir and my partner. The smithy will then become his in all legality and may not be taken from him. I could also leave you something recognizably mine that could be placed in the possession of a suitable corpse."
He cleared his throat. "Like what?"
"Who knows?" I shrugged. "I haven't even thought about it yet, but we'll find something."
"Varrus, this is highly irregular..."
"Yes, Tonius, and so are the Senecas. This will work. I will disappear, presumed dead. You will find a suitably decomposed body from somewhere and declare my death to be official. It might take months, but that won't matter. Equus, in the meantime, will look after our mutual concerns and join me if he wishes to at a later date when it is safe to do so. In any event, Caius Britannicus will be safe from the calumnies of the Senecas, at least on my account."
"You trust him that much? Equus?"
I smiled. "Implicitly. Until today there were only three men in whom I would ever have dreamed of placing complete trust: Equus, Plautus and Caius Britannicus. Now you have made it four."
"Hmmm. You place me in fine company. Thank you. When will you go?"
"Soon, but not too soon. The hunt is at its height right now. I'll wait for it to die down. Perhaps two weeks, no more. Much less, if Primus Seneca comes here. If he does, I'll leave immediately."
He made a coughing sound deep in his throat. "Very well, then, you shall stay here in the fort until the Household Troops leave Colchester. That should be by tomorrow or the following day, since they will hunt for you in vain. Stay here in my personal quarters. I'll have Plautus fix up a campaign cot for you in the other room. But you'll have to stay out of sight until I give you the word to emerge, and Leo will remain at your house until then, too."
I bent my head to him in agreement and acknowledgement of his generosity.
I spent only one night in his quarters, for the Emperor's Household Troops left the following morning. Tonius informed me that they had visited my house and had accepted Leo as me, and as too old and feeble to be their man. They had also dismissed Equus as a potential culprit because he was too big and fair-haired to fit the description of the second man they sought.
I spent the next two weeks making preparations for my journey to the west, and left a small bar of silver with my name on it in Cicero's possession so that he could use it to substantiate my death if and when his men ever found a suitable corpse My last will and testament was brief and to the point, and this, too, I left in his possessio
n. It read:
Since the occasion of the night attack on Caius Britannicus, when I could have lost my life without preparation or warning, I have thought much about dying. I am aware that, in the event of my death, my friend and partner, who is known to the world as Equus, would have no way of demonstrating that the smithy we operate together is rightfully and legally his property, since I would have no further use for it and am without heirs. If and when I die, if Equus remains alive, the smithy and all it contains belong to him, to deal with as he sees fit.
/ leave this document for safekeeping in the hands of my noble friend Antonius Cicero, Military Governor of this District.
Gaius Publius Varrus
Three days before I was due to leave, I went into my weapons room and took down my grandfather's great African bow from the wall. It measured five and a half feet from tip to tip unstrung.
I had made several strings of gut for it, and a sheaf of arrows from the straight stems of young spruce trees. These I had shaved and then dried in the forge, tying them first tightly together in bundles so that they would not warp in the process of drying. Equus had been surprisingly knowledgeable about the art of flighting arrows, and had spent hours working on them, lovingly splitting the ends of the shafts and gluing lengths of eagle pinions into place. The finished arrows were just about a full arm's length long and were tipped with the finest iron barbs, made in my own forge.
The bow itself was a composite of three layers of wood, horn and sinew, with the wood in the middle and the sinew on the outer curve. At first, in spite of my smith's arms, I had been unable to pull it, but Equus had shown me the trick of how it was done, and my arms had soon adapted to the unusual muscular tensions required. Once I had mastered the knack of controlling it, I found that the weapon could throw an arrow hard enough to pierce a tree at almost two hundred paces.
In the two weeks since the Seneca incident I had not drawn the bow, but I decided to take it with me on the road — the bow, my skystone dagger and a serviceable sword made by my own hand.
I bought three fine horses from the garrison, two for riding and the third for packing my gear. The sale was strictly illegal, of course, but my friends in the fort, Cicero and Plautus, agreed that, as a former primus pilus and a valued supplier, I was entitled to arrange a long-term "rental."
Finally, on a beautiful day in late autumn, I was ready to set out on my journey. A squadron of light cavalry would escort me for the first third of the way, from Colchester to Verulamium, where they were to relieve a detachment who had been on extended duty in that town. Equus bade me farewell at the smithy, and Plautus met me there and rode back with me to the fort to pick up my escort. As he wished me Godspeed he grinned, more to himself than to me, and I was intrigued.
"What are you grinning about?"
Plautus's grin grew wider. "Oh, mere passing thoughts," he said. "Give my love to Phoebe."
"Phoebe? What is that supposed to mean?"
"You'll be going through Verulamium, won't you? Give her a stab for me."
I did not know whether to laugh or be angry. "Plautus," I said, "you're a pig. I've told you that before."
"Aye." He laughed that dirty laugh of his. "And Phoebe is a pigeon, plump and waiting to be savoured, and your journey to the west will be a long one. A soft pillow on the road will be a pleasure, at least for one night."
I frowned. "I'll stay with Alaric in Verulamium."
"Of course you will, and I will respect your chastity forever. But if you should see Phoebe, remember my request."
I smiled and embraced him and then left, riding at the head of the column with the young Commander.
The first stage of the journey passed quickly and pleasantly, although we camped each night in fields and clearings by the side of the road. I could never get used to sleeping in a military camp that was not surrounded by a wall and a ditch. It bothered me deeply, although no one else appeared to give it a thought. Britannicus and his ideas might have made me over-critical, I was prepared to admit, but there was logic behind my misgivings, too. The walled, ditch-surrounded marching camp had been the saving strength of Roman soldiers on the move for almost 1, 200 years. Only within the past century had the practice been abandoned, especially here in Britain, where peace had existed for over three hundred years. The relaxation in regulations had its roots in the general, poisonous relaxation of discipline: it was deemed, nowadays, to be demeaning to the rights of the modern soldier that he should be expected to dig a ditch and erect fortifications around an overnight camp in time of peace! My mind swept me back to the high moor, on the first day of the Invasion. The fortifications around our camp had saved a thousand lives, right there. Thank God for Caius Britannicus and his stubborn refusal to accept anything less than the highest standards in anything he did! I looked around me, at the open country in which we were lying, and decided to keep my mouth shut and make no comment.
Light cavalry squadrons were no more than mounted archers, so my great African bow was a sensational success among the men. Each night after the evening meal, in the hour or so that remained before darkness fell, we set up targets by the roadside and held archery contests. I am happy to be able to say in all modesty that my bow was to theirs what a ballista is to a boy's slingshot.
Phoebe was happy to see me. She left me in no doubt of the fact when I turned up without warning at her place of employment. She was busy at the time, I was told, manicuring the hands of the wife of one of the town magistrates, but she left her charge when they told her I was there. She came running to greet me, throwing herself into my arms and kissing me in a way that threatened to draw the soul right out of me. I told her that I was in the city for one night only and that I had come to visit Bishop Alaric, and I arranged to meet her later in the day, when she was free.
In fact, I knew that Alaric was not in Verulamium. I had gone to his home on arriving, only to find that he was out about his Master's business. The news had not surprised me, for Alaric spent but little time in Verulamium. What did surprise me was my reaction — a mixture of relief and release. I had left my respects with Alaric's housekeeper and gone directly in search of Phoebe.
I did not know why I had lied to Phoebe, but I had the whole afternoon to myself to think about it. I bought some fresh bread, cheese and a small jug of wine from a merchant and rode out of town to be alone and think. I found a comfortable bank beneath a tree and turned my horse loose to graze, and as I ate I allowed myself to deliberate upon my feelings for and about Phoebe. My lust for her was as strong as ever; I saw little point in trying to deceive myself about that. When she had thrown herself into my arms earlier that day the arousal I had experienced was urgent and demanding. More than that, however, Phoebe was a friend. More than that? I had to smile even as I thought it. There is nothing more demanding than an upstanding phallus, and in the arms of a willing woman few other considerations can coexist with the need to achieve and prolong copulation. Phoebe was my friend, that was true — a tried and loyal, loving friend. Too loving. There was my dilemma. I was a fugitive and, if I were caught, I would be a dead man. Knowing that, Phoebe, being the woman she was, would wish to share my odyssey, my roadside bed and my danger. That I could not allow in conscience, because, for at least two reasons — her station in life, and her marriage to Cuno — I could not think of Phoebe as a wife and therefore I could not expose her to risk for mere gratification of my fleshly urges.
All of this was highly philosophical, of course, and I enjoyed the debate thoroughly, but by the time I rose to leave, I had decided firmly that I would say nothing to her of the reasons for my journey, or of my destination.
When I met her again at the appointed time and place, Phoebe was almost dancing up and down with excitement. There was a drama at the amphitheatre that evening, she told me, and she had never seen a performance. Naturally, we attended it together.
The amphitheatre, which had been built just a few decades before on the outskirts of the town, was enormous. I cannot re
call the name of the play we saw, for I spent most of my time enjoying Phoebe's pleasure in the spectacle, but I remember being impressed by the number of people the place would hold, and by the ease with which I heard the voices from the stage, even though we were seated far up on the raked terraces.
Someone told me that the place held upwards of seven thousand seated spectators.
At the end of the performance, as we were leaving, a loud argument broke out close by me and I heard the word "Thief!" being shouted. I glanced to my right and saw the thief, a cutpurse, his bare blade still in his hand, coming towards me. He saw me notice him and dived backwards into the crowd before I could think to lay hands on him. The crowd was too dense for me to chase him, anyway, so I let him go. I turned my attention instead to Phoebe's prattling and thought no more about him.
There was a profusion of public shops close to the amphitheatre, catering to the appetites of the crowds who thronged to the performances, and Phoebe and I managed to find one where the food, according to others, was very good. There, during the course of our meal and after her chatter about the performance was exhausted, I told her I was leaving on an extended journey and that we would probably never meet again. I begged her not to question me about my reasons, and then I relented and told her what had happened. I told her everything except my destination, and I told her, in answer to her entreaties, that I would not, could not, take her with me.
She was subdued for a while after that, and I fell silent, leaving her with her thoughts; for once in my life I had the acuity to do the correct thing. I sat and sipped my wine, trying not to be obvious in watching the expression on her face. Was there pain there? Disappointment? Resentment? I could not tell. Her face gave away absolutely nothing of what was going on in her mind. Only her silence told me that she was thinking deeply.
As we strolled the short distance to her home, she held my hand in hers and made no further reference to my journey. Instead, she talked again about the evening's performance and about the pleasure she had had. Had I not suspected differently, I would have sworn she was the same merry, wild-eyed sylph who had thrown herself into my arms that morning.
[A Dream of Eagles 01] - The Skystone Page 22
