Get Out or Die

by Jane Finnis

  Silvanius spent the next quarter of an hour showing us around the site in detail. Felix was the most knowledgeable on the subjects of sculpture and painting, and had been mainly responsible for designing the temple, and finding the workmen to build it. He and Silvanius went into a lot of technical detail which was beyond me. Balbus and Vedius and I admired the craftsmanship and complimented Silvanius. Yet I felt, I think we all did, that there was a tension in the air; we were impatient to get to Silvanius’ house, where the real business of the day would begin: an excellent dinner, followed by some serious talking.

  Just as we were about to leave, the foreman came running up, looking more harassed than ever. Ignoring Silvanius’ disapproving frown, he planted himself in front of his master.

  “My lord, there’s a bit of a crisis. Would you please come and sort it out, my lord? It’s very urgent.”

  “What sort of crisis?” Silvanius growled.

  “Well…just some trouble with the latest delivery.”

  “You’re paid to control deliveries, Lentus. So control them. I’m busy.”

  Lentus looked fit to explode, but he kept his voice respectful. “Please, my lord, it is very important, otherwise I wouldn’t presume….If you could just step this way….”

  Silvanius sighed. “You see what I have to put up with, my friends. Please bear with me, I’m sure this won’t take long.”

  He turned back to Lentus, who led him at a fast pace across to the far side of the site. There was a gate there, from which a broad ramp led down to street level, so that heavy materials could be brought up on wheels. A cart had just been hauled up the ramp and stood inside the gate, its oxen still panting in the shafts. There was a cover over it, and we watched as Lentus talked earnestly, and then lifted one corner of it to let Silvanius look underneath.

  “Somebody’s going to get bawled out for poor materials, or maybe…” but Balbus never finished his sentence, because Silvanius recoiled from the cart as if a snake had bitten him. Then he approached it again, very cautiously, and took a second look.

  “My dears, don’t tell me it’s another corpse!” Felix exclaimed.

  “Shut up, Felix,” Balbus and I said in unison.

  But that’s just what it was.

  The missing foreman Casticus lay face down in the cart, except there was no face, because there was no head. He’d been a tall, deep-chested man, with hands like shovels and legs like tree-trunks. He was wearing a homespun work tunic, and we could see clearly how he’d been stabbed, from the dried blood all down his back.

  We stood around, not quite knowing what to do or say, but presumably all thinking one thought: “This is part of the same pattern. ‘All Romans will be killed….’”

  Balbus eventually spoke the unpleasant question out loud. “Was he a citizen, Clarus?”

  “He was,” Silvanius said bleakly. “I gave him his freedom last year.”

  “Is he carrying the same message?” I wondered. “Well, I suppose there’s only one way to be sure.” I bent over the body. “Help me turn him over, Balbus, will you?”

  In fact Vedius helped Balbus with the gruesome task, and just for once I didn’t insist on my right to do a man’s job. Sure enough, there was a bone disc pinned to the front of the brown tunic. Vedius studied it closely. “Same as the others,” he muttered. “That makes seven.”

  Chapter XII

  We headed in a rather subdued convoy for Silvanius’ “humble abode.” This, as you’ll have gathered from what I’ve said about its owner, was actually a very sumptuous villa standing in grounds the size of a small village, on the winding native road that runs north from Oak Bridges and then east, eventually connecting with the main Roman road to Derventio. The house was enormous, and had taken even longer to build than the Marble Monster, but now Silvanius was in residence, and he and Vitalis and their slaves must rattle around in it like peas in a drum. But he felt his position called for a large place, as like as possible to the kind of villa he’d have owned if he’d lived in Italia. There’d been no woman’s touch in its construction or furnishing; he had never re-married after his wife died bearing Vitalis. But as we approached it, I knew, if I hadn’t known it before, that it was the grandest house for miles around, and the absolute best that money could buy.

  We turned off the road and trotted up a long paved drive through colourful gardens, opening out for what appeared to be miles on either side, but cleverly designed to focus attention on the house itself. There were some lovely ornamental trees, and a veritable maze of criss-crossing paved walkways bordered by small box hedges, with ever-such-tasteful statuary dotted about. I shouldn’t mock, most of it was very good. Further away was an orchard of fruit trees, and we could see some beehives near them. Next to the house were beds of lovely roses, and stone tubs bright with lilies and poppies. He must have a cohort of well-trained garden slaves, and they’d done their work well.

  We drew up on a wide paved circle outside the house, and before I dismissed Titch and the farm boys, I beckoned them close to me. “If any of you get drunk,” I warned, “you’re headed for a flogging that’ll take the hides off you. We’ll be driving home when it’s nearly dark, and I want all three of you sober and ready for anything. Understood?”

  They nodded, and Titch said, “I never drink on duty, Mistress. They say the great Julius Caesar never let his legates drink on the march.”

  “Very sensible of him.” As I turned towards the house, I heard one of the farm lads suppress a groan; I gathered they’d been told more than they wanted to know about the Divine Julius and his military style. Still, as our grandmother used to say, a bit of education doesn’t hurt, and sometimes is actually quite useful.

  Vitalis met me and the others at the door, and escorted us into a beautifully painted large hallway, with rooms and corridors leading from it and a wonderful mosaic floor with swirling patterns of red, yellow, cream, and black. He was in a happy mood now, playing his part as the son of the house, and when he chose, he had real charm. “Welcome to our new home. May this be the first of many visits! Do come through and enjoy the sun on the terrace.”

  The villa had a paved terrace all along its south-west side; a shade optimistic for northern Britannia, but very fashionable of course, and today it was certainly warm enough to sit there and enjoy a beaker of excellent wine. We could see yet more gorgeous gardens, flower-beds and statues, a small summer-house surrounded by low-growing trees, and a stream flowing down through a couple of little pools, making a miniature cascade.

  “This is lovely, Clarus,” I said, as he came up to greet me. He looked as if he’d recovered from his shock at the temple site, but all the same I decided to start with a neutral subject. “I love pretty gardens. I just never seem to have the time to organise ours.”

  “You have fine fruit and vegetables at the Oak Tree,” he answered.

  “We do, but they’re not very decorative. Something like those little ponds there….That’s so attractive. Did you have an Italian architect to design it?”

  “Felix did the design. He’s so talented, so artistic.”

  “Yes, he is.” I glanced round us; Felix and the others were safely out of earshot. “Look, Clarus. Before we go inside, I wondered…may I speak frankly?”

  “Of course, Aurelia. You know how I value your opinion.”

  “It’s about Vitalis. He mentioned that he’s visited us at the Oak Tree.”

  “Yes. I’m glad. I’d sooner he came and had a drink with you, rather than frequenting some disreputable wine-shop in town.” He looked worried suddenly. “He’s not been making trouble, has he?”

  “Not at all, no. He’s welcome. But he’s been with a group of young Brigantian lads, all dressed up like old-style warriors, though without weapons of course. I thought….I mean I wondered….”

  “You wondered if I knew,” he smiled. “Yes, I was aware of it, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure it’s just a phase he’s going through, you k
now what young men are like. Ever since he visited his cousins in the hills, he’s been asking and talking about our family history, and this is his way of showing that he isn’t ashamed of it. Neither am I, as you know. I should hate him to lose contact with our Brigantian relatives, even the ones in the hill country, although they are a little—ah—wild in their ways.”

  “Oh, quite,” I said hastily. “It’s just, seeing them all dressed up like that….But you don’t think he’s seriously anti-Roman?”

  “No, of course not. There’s a fashion among the young just now, a yearning for the old days, when lads proved their manhood by fighting, and gained advancement in war, not by a political career. I fear Vitalis and some of the other youths of his age regret that they’re growing up in a time of peace. When they are grown up, they’ll be glad of it. Vitalis will soon settle down and come to realise the importance of peace for all of us.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I agreed, though I wasn’t.

  At dinner, as I’d expected, I was the only woman present—a situation I’m quite happy with. But in the interests of truth, I must confess that I was up-staged. Not by another person, but by the decorations of the dining-room, which were truly stunning. The handsome wall-paintings were on the theme of Theseus and the Minotaur, and a marvellous floor mosaic showed Cretan bulls, and bull-dancers jumping and twisting and grasping the horns to swing onto the bulls’ backs. I’d never seen a floor so intricate and with so many colours in it, and neither had any of the other guests. More of Felix’s design ideas, we were told; they’d used the services of a pavement-maker from Africa, and the result was marvellous.

  The meal was superb, naturally. We started with oysters, quails’ eggs, and shrimps, with a salad of lettuce, sorrel, and olives; then there was a whole roast pig, with the most mouth-watering stuffing made with peaches and wine; and there were swans, and ducks with plum sauce. All sorts of vegetables went with the meat—the artichoke hearts were especially good, and the fish sauce was from Spain, the very best. There was Italian white wine, and Gaulish red. We finished with some wonderful soft cow’s milk cheese, and fresh figs, and several sorts of sweetmeat; my favourite were the dates stuffed with almonds and preserved cherries. It was all quite delicious, and I noticed—as I’m sure I was meant to—how much of it was imported. It isn’t just buildings that show off a man’s status.

  The conversation was general at first, and we all made a determined effort to be cheerful. Mostly we talked about Eburacum, because it turned out that Silvanius, Balbus, and Felix had each been there recently, and been impressed by the way the place was changing; it was developing from a raw military base into a civilised town. Silvanius had heard a rumour that it would soon have a smart new amphitheatre, replacing the primitive semi-permanent arrangement there now, and the prospect of regular good-quality gladiator shows only a few miles away pleased all of us. Everyone loves a day out at the arena, enjoying traditional Roman sport. Felix said he’d heard there was also to be a permanent theatre, but I suspected this was wishful thinking on his part. Balbus was impressed by how quickly the warehousing and dock facilities were coming on. Listening to it all, I realised I hadn’t been to our nearest big town for months, and it was high time I took a trip there.

  I shared a dining-couch with Vitalis, and when the main course came and general talk changed to conversation between dining-partners I wondered what in Hades we’d find to say. Then I remembered he’d been away visiting his relations in western Brigantia. He chatted enthusiastically about the wild Pennine country, remote valleys, rivers teeming with fish, and vast impenetrable oak forests full of game. Then he began telling me about his cousins’ way of life.

  “They’re much freer than we are, up in the north-west of Brigantia,” he said, signalling a slave to bring us more meat. “There’s far less interference from the Roman authorities—well, it’s pretty remote—and the Romans seem happy to let the chiefs govern the people, as long as there’s no trouble and the taxes get paid. So men like my uncles, the old tribal chiefs, still have a lot of power, and can make a real difference, a proper contribution to the government.” I stole a glance at his father, but Silvanius was discussing mosaic styles with Balbus.

  “You sound almost envious,” I said cautiously.

  “Oh, I am. Very much so. My cousins still have their proper standing in the tribe. They’re only in their twenties, my age, but they’re respected as leaders because they come from a chieftain’s family. They’ve had to prove themselves of course, hunting and fighting, but they’re real men. Whereas I’m just….” He paused, and lowered his voice. “One of my cousins said to me, ‘Vitalis, you should be a chief among warriors, but the Romans have stolen your birthright. Watch out they don’t turn you into a eunuch.’”

  This felt like dangerous ground. Time to change the subject. “And what did you get up to while you were there? Some good hunting, I expect.”

  “Oh yes. Wolves, and stags, and wild boar. The woods are overflowing with game, and they breed superb hunting-dogs there. I killed a big wild boar by myself—I had to show my cousins I’m as good a hunter as they are.” He sipped some wine. “Once we went after a bear. She had her den in a cave—it was brilliant. And we spent a lot of our time exercising, training ourselves and our men and horses, to keep ourselves fit and ready.”

  “Ready? For what?”

  He looked abashed, as if he’d said too much. “Why—ready for anything!” he finished with his winning smile, and rushed on to tell me about the bear hunt.

  When the meal was over, Vitalis stretched and stood up and declared he needed some exercise, and was going out riding with his friends, so he hoped we’d excuse him. I for one was glad to; after the suspicions I’d been mulling over about his anti-Roman activities, I’d have been very uneasy discussing the native unrest in his presence.

  Silvanius suggested we move next door to one of his sitting-rooms. Yes, he did actually say “one of my sitting-rooms.” Nobody asked how many there were altogether. As we seated ourselves on ornate chairs round a citrus-wood table that must have cost a consul’s ransom, I saw Vedius looking at me doubtfully.

  “Is Aurelia staying for the meeting too?” he asked.

  Silvanius nodded. “Yes, of course. Why should she not?”

  “Well, it’s just….” He turned to me. “You know, this isn’t really women’s business, is it? Planning how to stop a band of barbarians murdering our citizens—too upsetting for the fair sex, surely. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”

  “I am concerned, whether I want to be or not. One of the victims, the only one to survive, appeared on my doorstep.”

  “Yes, and it must have been very unpleasant for you. But you can leave matters to us men now.”

  I bit back my instinctive comment; this wasn’t the bar-room at the Oak Tree. I saw Felix wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, hiding a smile. Dear gods, I should be used to this sort of nonsense by now. But however often it happens, it always infuriates me. Well, this time I’d show the old idiot. I’d got something to tell the meeting that would make them all sit up and take notice. I had a government investigator under my roof, looking into the devious depths of Roman treachery.

  “I think you’ll find, Vedius Severus,” I said, in what Albia is pleased to call my “honey-sweet” tone, “that it’s worth including me in your discussions. I’ve got some important information to impart. Still, if you want me to leave….” I half-rose.

  “Of course we don’t,” Silvanius interrupted. “I’m sure your information is extremely valuable, and we all want to hear it. Don’t we, Severus?”

  “It’s a bit irregular,” Vedius muttered, but not very loudly.

  “Being irregular won’t hurt for once,” Balbus commented. “Aurelia’s got her head screwed on.”

  “She certainly has,” Felix added. “Of course she must stay.”

  Oh, me and my big mouth! What had I been thinking of, boasting like that? I couldn
’t tell them about Quintus Antonius, could I? For one thing, I’d promised not to, and for another, he was investigating Roman treachery, and had made it abundantly clear he needed to remain incognito.

  You idiot, Aurelia, you complete fool. What are you going to do now? You’ve told them you have important information. So think of something!

  Silvanius said, “Before we discuss anything in detail, let me make one point. Our discussions here today must be kept absolutely private, just between us five. I assume we’re all agreed on that?” He surveyed each of us in turn.

  “We should take an oath of secrecy,” Vedius suggested, “just to be on the safe side.”

  “Surely that’s going a bit far,” Felix objected. “We’re all friends here.”

  “I think it’s a good precaution,” Balbus said. “We don’t want any tittle-tattle.”

  “It can’t do any harm,” Silvanius put in, “as we’ll be discussing weighty matters.”

  “Oh well, if you all insist on playing cloak-and-dagger!” Felix suddenly sprang up from the table, ran over to the door, and pulled it open with a flourish. “Pssst! Anyone listening out there?” he asked in a loud stage whisper, and stuck his head into the corridor.

  “Empty as a beggar’s purse,” he cried, retracting his head and closing the door. “How disappointing! So we really don’t need to take an oath now.” He sat down at the table again.

  Typical Felix! Silly, childish, but it broke the tension and it made me smile, and Silvanius and Balbus were amused too; not Vedius though. “I wish you’d all take this seriously,” he complained. “Men are being murdered. Secrecy here may be a matter of life and death.”

  That sobered us, and Silvanius went out to fetch from the family shrine the statues of his household gods to witness our oath. The other three began a desultory discussion about the beauties of the citrus-wood table we were sitting at, but I wasn’t listening. My mind was racing, trying to come up with something I could use to impress this high-powered meeting. I’d boasted that I had something important to contribute. If I couldn’t produce anything, I’d never hear the end of it.