‘How did you know where we were?’
‘Oh, I just listened at the door when Julia told Britta where she was going. What with poor Tertius dying, and Anicius and the Sisters coming and going, no-one was taking any notice of me.’
‘Well, you’ve put me in a right hole, my girl. We’re expecting serious bother round here soon enough. It’s not safe. You’ll have to go back to Aquae Sulis straight away.’
Tiro expected tears and resistance. He didn’t know how to deal with a teasing face and wheedling tone.
‘But, Tiro if it isn’t safe for me to be round here, surely it isn’t safe for me to go home through this dangerous countryside on my own, either.’
Curse the girl. She has me there.
He scratched his chin, thinking.
‘See here, miss, you want to come with us? Then you keep completely quiet, pull your hood well down, keep alongside of me. And do exactly what I tell you. Any trouble, I’ll tell your mother and your—‘
‘My what?’
Oh Gods, Tiro, now you’ve done it!
He held Milo’s reins steady in his hand and held the girl’s gaze. ‘I will make a deal with you, Aurelia. Here’s what I’ll do. I will ask your aunt to tell you what you need to know, when this is all over. On one condition.’
‘Yes, yes of course.’ She spoke so quickly she nearly swallowed the words. I wonder… I think she may already know. I wish Britta was here. She’d be able to handle this. What am I supposed to do?
‘You must promise me, by the most solemn oath you know, that you will do exactly what I say, when I say it, no ifs or buts.’
The girl reached for the bronze owl brooch pinned on the shoulder of her cloak, and rubbed it. ‘Yes, Tiro. I swear by the Goddess Sulis Minerva, she of the wise owl, that I will do exactly as you say. And then you will tell me what you meant by “your mother and your…”
‘Only when we’ve got this sorted.’
‘All right, then.’
Corinium was a fine town, Tiro had to concede. A proper city really, not far off the size of Londinium. A mighty wall bounded it, pierced by four cardinal gates. The north-east boundary was paralleled by the River Churn, bridged just outside the towered north gate. Not far beyond the south gatehouse was their destination, a large handsome amphitheatre.
Tiro took Agrippa Sorio into his confidence. The round-bellied decurion was taken aback at first. ‘The little minx. She needs a good sorting out.’ Then his expression softened. ‘I feel sorry for the poor thing all the same, just lost her father, Bo Gwelt all burnt down. I suppose I can see why she’s followed her aunt here. You’re right, Tiro, we can’t send her away now, wouldn’t be safe at all.’
He thought for a moment, then laughed and nodded.
‘Let me have care of her. You’ve got your own duties. I’ll engage to keep the girl safe. I have acquaintance here in Corinium, and I’ll find a suitable billet for her. Are you sure you shouldn’t tell her aunt, though?’
Tiro was at a complete loss. All these secrets, none of them his to tell. On the one hand, Sorio was perfectly right that Julia should know her recalcitrant daughter had disobeyed her and turned up here. As should Quintus. But Sorio had no notion of their true relationships to Aurelia. Tiro simply didn’t feel up to negotiating his way through that on the verge of a major battle. Knowing himself to be a bad liar, he took refuge in a partial truth.
’Lady Julia has business in Corinium, delicate negotiations with the town council from what I can tell. It would be best to keep Aurelia with you for now, and as you suggest find her somewhere safe to stay.’
Sorio soon had Aurelia riding with him, entertaining her with tall tales of his long-ago military service. By the time they entered the amphitheatre, Drusus, usually inclined to be shy round Aurelia, had joined in and was telling her jokes and sharing his slight knowledge of classical battles with her. Tiro sighed, sagging slightly as he dismounted and secured the tall gates behind them.
The men had set up their contubernium tents on the steeply-tiered sides of the amphitheatre as best they could. It was a vast auditorium, fortunately, and there was plenty of room for them all. Plus picketing for the horses and space in the centre for the command tent. One side had been left spare for the Summer Country men, and the troopers good-naturedly helped the tribesmen settle in. Tiro left Aurelia with Sorio and went to the Principia tent to report to Quintus.
’Durotriges all present and settled, sir. Being fed and watered right now.’
‘Good.’ Quintus lifted his head as the tent flaps opened, and Julia came in, lifting her hood away from her head.
‘Sorted?’
‘Yes. The Sisterhood of Aquae Sulis had sent word. I spoke to the Elder Wise Women of the Corinium Sisterhood. They have liaised with the Town Council to get the word out to all the city families this evening. That should ensure people obey the curfew, the shops are boarded up, and the gates opened and shut precisely as we instruct. There’s more food for us and fodder for the horses being delivered, and tents for the men of Lindinis. The Elder Sister said the townsmen wanted to raise arms and stand with us, but I persuaded her that we had help coming. I told her we don’t wish any harm come to this city. I’ll go now and make final arrangements with Sorio and our people for tomorrow.’
Tiro thought she looked anxious as she left. Quintus grunted by way of response, and Tiro’s heart sank a little.
Marcellus arrived, splashed with mud and looking weary. Quintus passed him a cup of wine wordlessly, and the centurion tossed it down in a single swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
‘It’s all confirmed,’ he said to Quintus. ’Scouts saw the Augusta legion camping for the night about five miles away. They mixed in with a couple of pickets. Word is they still expect to pick up more recruits here. So the legion will march right into the city through the Glevum gate tomorrow, pausing in the forum to add in whatever Corinium men they can add to their ranks. They’ll leave through the Verulamium gate.’
‘And no sense that they expect any resistance?’
‘No, Brother. We are a well-kept secret still.’
’Till dawn tomorrow, then.’
‘Indeed.’
Quintus smiled at his fellow officer. It was a rare sight, that smile, and Tiro was more pleased to see it than he would have thought possible. Their very slim chances rested largely on Quintus, and Tiro hoped the frumentarius would have it in him to lead their little army with spirit when the time came. Or just as likely, he thought gloomily, the Roman would sink back into his usual silent moroseness. And then they’d all make a swift passage to Hades tomorrow.
At dusk Marcellus and Tiro set off on their final camp rounds. Tiro lingered to chat to the Durotriges, as Marcellus went to speak to his section leaders and check the horse lines.
Sorio nodded in greeting. ‘She’s fine, she’s in the tent there. She’s been to look after her pony. Drusus has wagered her a game of latrunculi, and I think he’s being badly beaten. I just hope he hasn’t gambled away all my fortune.’ Tiro glanced into the tent, where two young faces were intent on the game. Aurelia looked up when he said, ’Remember your promise, young lady.’
She nodded. ‘I shall be a model of obedience.’
‘Good. Decurion Sorio has arranged for you to be billeted with a local family first thing in the morning. Be dressed and ready with Milo before dawn.’
She grimaced, and for a moment he feared she would renege on their pact. Then she smiled brilliantly and nodded. ‘Whatever you say, Tiro.’
Well, that was easy. Too easy? By Jupiter, I’ll be glad when tomorrow is over, and Quintus and Julia can sort their daughter out for themselves.
As he approached the command tent he heard raised voices, and flinched. The last thing he wanted was to wander into the middle of another row between the frumentarius and his lady. He was relieved to see Julia leaving the tent. She stopped, looked at him.
‘Um, good evening, my lady,’ She ignored his greeting.
‘Did you know what he’s going to do? Afterwards, I mean?’
Tiro felt horribly uncertain. He cast about for some response, but she rushed on.
‘If he survives — which of course he won’t because he’s got this lunatic sense of responsibility, and he doesn’t value himself, or me, or Aurelia, or — or anyone — ‘
Tiro, feeling useless, stood like a block.
‘—so, even if he does come out of this in one piece, do you know what he has planned?’ This time Julia paused, and seemed to want a reply. Tiro longed to run away. I’m completely out of my depth with this. Women! Gods, what I’d give for Britta to be here instead of me.
‘He’s going to scuttle back to Rome, that’s what!’ She almost spat this out. Tiro saw uneasily that her eyes were wet, her beautiful complexion reddening into splotches and — oh Gods, was she about to start wailing? But Julia dragged a breath in, and composed herself. ’Tiro, your boss is a coward, a cold-hearted bastard, lacking all self-worth and determined to sacrifice himself and everyone who loves him.’
Even to Tiro, these varied epithets didn’t hang together well. But he could see why she might be upset. Come to think, this cosy homecoming plan of the boss would drop him, Tiro, right in the shit too. He was distracted for a moment, trying to work out what the disappearance of Quintus, either into the arms of the Departed, or even worse back to Rome, would mean for Tiro himself. Return to gaol, he supposed. Or a lifetime of scrubbing out the Londinium garrison latrines.
He was jolted out of his introspection by a glare from Julia.
‘You fool!’ She pushed past, nearly knocking him over. She stalked past Marcellus, too, who raised his eyebrows.
‘Don’t ask, sir,’ muttered Tiro, leaving in his turn. No way was he going into that tent. Marcellus could deal with the frumentarius tonight. Tiro headed off to eat with the troopers, promising himself he would avoid his infuriating Italian boss till morning. Maybe things would blow over by then.
It was a short and anxious night. Tiro woke in the dark with sticky eyelids, feeling cold and unrested. He was roused by the watchmen, silently stirring everyone two hours before dawn. After a scratch breakfast of cold bannocks and water, the men moved into pre-arranged groups. Tiro went to check that Aurelia and Milo had left with Drusus for their billet. Agrippa Sorio silently grasped his arm in greeting, and pointed towards the gate out of the amphitheatre, now filled with a steady stream of men moving quietly towards the town. ‘They’ve both gone,’ he whispered. ‘I told Drusus to stay with Aurelia, make sure she was safe with her host family and does as you told her.’ He didn’t sound convinced, but Tiro found a faint grin from somewhere and plastered it on. ‘Time to move our men out?’
‘Yes, Decurion. Straight in through the gate and on to the forum.’
‘Right you are. Just like old times, eh?’
They saluted each other, and Sorio moved off at the head of the Durotriges. It was a simple desperate plan, but after last night Tiro wondered whether Julia would play her part. He joined the other senior officers for the final briefing in the Principia. Marcellus’s specialists had left the amphitheatre at dusk the previous day. Their work was done now. Their messenger confirmed as much to Marcellus, adding they were standing by as commanded, waiting for the signal. The centurion glanced at Quintus, saying, ’I think all is in place then, Brother. The horses have been mustered, as you ordered. The final scouts have left. Time to move out.’
‘Yes indeed.’
Tiro thought that if he’d had a bad night, the Imperial Investigator’s must have been infinitely worse. He looked ashen despite his olive skin, and his face was rigid. That slight but welcome smile of yesterday was long gone. Tiro sighed, and Quintus snapped his head round to stare.
‘Something to say, Stator?’
‘No sir.’ Tiro saw that the bandage just visible from Quintus’s left tunic sleeve was clean and white. Julia had dressed his burns before leaving in high dudgeon. The boss’s gladius was sheathed, and Tiro wished he’d gone back last night to offer to sharpen and polish it. Too late now. Too late for anything, including regrets, fear, and wishes. All that was left was Fate, and a soldier’s death. He checked his own belt with his long dagger. Marcellus looked at Quintus and nodded. It seemed he had ceded command authority for today to the frumentarius.
‘Right. Marcellus, Senecio, you know where to lead your men. Deploy your men well before the road junction, and don’t allow yourselves to be seen. Make sure you’re masked by the trees, but close enough to hear me speak.’ The young centurion and his grim-faced optio both nodded.
‘Silence is essential. Trebonius may have spies even here. Any stray townspeople you come across must be directed swiftly to safety behind locked doors.
‘Tiro?’
’Sir?’
Quintus held out his hand, and Tiro grasped it.
Quintus spoke softly. ‘Look after her, if—just look after both of them. Right, let’s go.’
Quintus took his share of the men first, a few mounted archers. They headed south, making their way in single file round outside the walled city. Marcellus left next, leading fully half their detachment silently in the tracks of the first party. Senecio and his troopers followed. All were intent on keeping as closely as they could to the trail set by the initial party, to mask their numbers. All were silent.
Tiro raised his arm in salute and set off on foot at a jog, entering the city through the Aquae Sulis gate. The adjacent streets were deserted and silent. All the houses and shops, mostly wood-framed with a few newer houses of pale limestone, had closed shutters. He knew water buckets had been placed inside every front door. He devoutly prayed they would not be needed.
Like the amphitheatre, the forum was large, and the few hundred Durotriges gathered in front of the imposing basilica looked a small group indeed. He was relieved to spot Julia on the colonnade. She was talking to Agrippa Sorio, and like him looked the part of the senior tribal noble. She came down into the square, joining three older woman, all in long white robes. They left the forum and turned towards the Glevum Gate.
After that it was a waiting game. The Durotriges, looking apprehensive but proud of their role in proceedings, chatted quietly as the slow dawn crept up the outside of the town wall. The first fingers of sunlight reached the battlements, and hesitated a moment before slanting down across the forum towards the open portico. Thanks to Goddess Aurora, it was a bright morning after all the rain of recent days. The puddles on the street shone silver.
They stiffened at the unmistakeable sound of five thousand feet marching in rhythm, approaching the city gate along Ermin Street from the west. The noise grew as the legion approached, the sound amplified and echoing off the temples and houses lining the main street.
Here it was, then. Tiro knew that Julia and the Sisters of the Corinium Wise Women would be standing at the north gate, welcoming the legion and its leader to Corinium. Soon enough the legion began to file into the big square. They were an imposing sight, a mass of disciplined men all swinging along together, shiny helmets, bright uniforms, their shields bearing the sea-goat Capricornus insignia of the Legio Second Augusta. The legion’s bare-headed aquilifer carried a small round shield strapped to his left arm and bore the eagle standard in both hands. Its upswept wings and cruel hooked beak were the ultimate symbol of Rome. Tiro felt the hairs rise on his arms at the sight. Next came a group of mounted senior officers, six young tribunes, wearing engraved helmets and bronze cuirasses. With them came the man Tiro looked to as the most significant in any legion: the camp prefect.
Tiro’s eyes widened. Surely he knew this man, with his hard experienced face, his cuirass covered with bronze phalerae awards, swinging his red twisted vine stick? The years rolled back. Tiro saw the First Spear, the primus pilus of the Londinium cohort, Felix Antonius. The man who had taken him off the streets and trained him as a raw new recruit. The man who’d fostered the fighting talent in the stocky Londoner and helped him reach champion s
tatus in the army pancratium competitions. The man who had beaten him too many times after he’d got drunk. Who nevertheless believed in him, and encouraged Tiro to keep pushing till he reached optio status. The man who had been like a father, harsh but fair, and who had looked away with disappointed eyes when Tiro was disgraced and thrown out of the cohort.
Here was his hero, Felix Antonius, third in command of the venerable Augusta, marching immediately in front of the usurper Gaius Trebonius.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Julia lingered at the back of the basilica colonnade. Having Sisters nearby should feel more comforting than it did. She had explained the plan to the Corinium Sisterhood, who had whole-heartedly endorsed it. Their interests were in saving their town, and so were hers, along with saving the people she loved. But their success so far in persuading the legion they were among friends was not enough to stop her heart thumping under her breastbone. She told herself there would be another day. And at least Aurelia was safe at home. The thudding inside her chest continued, and she began to feel light-headed. Maybe today would be all there was, for her and Quintus. For all of them.
Pay attention, Julia! she told herself fiercely. The Lady Minerva despises the feeble of spirit. She forced her back straight and head upright, watching carefully now as the Second Augusta turned out of the high street and swept through the colonnade into the large forum square. The soldiers turned on command and lined up in their centuries to face their senior officers. It was an impressive and quelling sight. Tiro was near her, and as the tribunes and the camp prefect of the Augusta dismounted to await their commander, she sensed him stiffen. He was staring at the prefect, a man of obvious experience with a chest full of gallantry awards. A sudden cheer on cue from the Durotriges, masquerading as Dobunni volunteers, switched her attention back. Decurion Sorio and his primed friends were discreetly orchestrating the cheering. At his signal, the Durotriges began to chant: ‘Gaius Trebonius! The British Emperor! Gaius Trebonius! Our Governor for Emperor!’ Governor Gaius Trebonius stood with legs wide apart, arms raised, seeming to bask in the crowd’s loud approval. The soldiers in front called out too, and a few started to bang their javelins against their shields. The crash of the spears on wood was picked up and sent back in waves until it seemed every soldier was yelling in time, and every tribesman was calling, ‘Our British Emperor, Trebonius for Emperor!’ After a while Trebonius waved the noise down and moved forward to speak.
The Governor's Man: A Quintus Valerius Mystery Page 21
