Get Out or Die

by Jane Finnis

  “Oh dear. Have you two fallen out?”

  He looked contrite. “I’m sorry, that was beastly of me. No, of course we haven’t. It’s just that sometimes….” He hesitated, but this time it wasn’t a contrived dramatic pause.

  “Sometimes?” I prompted.

  “Publius has been very good to me. Generous, understanding. I couldn’t live the life I do if it wasn’t for his friendship. And his money. But—I know this sounds dreadfully ungrateful….”

  I looked at him in his finery. He had a fashionable brick- red cloak and matching sandals, and his hair was as immaculate as always. But his yellow-green eyes were troubled. I thought, this is a Roman from an old aristocratic family, brought up to wealth and privilege at the centre of the world, and now he’s living on the bounty of a friend in a raw new province with barely a denarius to his name.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to have to be grateful all the time,” I suggested.

  He sighed. “That’s it exactly. I’m a Cornelius—our family is an old one, and a rich one. I should be….” He shrugged. “I had to leave Rome in some haste, you see. I couldn’t bring anything with me. Everything that belonged to my branch of the Cornelii was confiscated.” He took a huge sip of wine. He looked close to tears, real tears, not the turned-on waterworks of an actor.

  “Tell me,” I said, “if you want to. I know very little about your life before you came here. Now, of course, you’re one of the leading men in Oak Bridges.”

  “So they say. Three cheers and a fanfare of trumpets. Let’s drink to big fish in small ponds!” He raised his beaker.

  “Better to be a big fish than a little one. So tell me.”

  “Our family were at the court of the Emperor Nero. Oh, don’t say it, I know he’s regarded as a monster now, and he did go to pieces at the end. But he loved the arts. Especially the theatre and music. He tried to make Rome more civilised, more Greek. And all of us who loved the arts, loved him, too.”

  “Some of his courtiers used to perform with him on stage. Did you?”

  “I did a bit of acting, yes. And wrote some plays. It was wonderful.” Then the old mischievous Felix reasserted himself. “Mind you, most of us were pretty dreadful. We’d have got pelted with rotten fruit if we hadn’t had the Emperor in the company.”

  “Was Nero himself good? I’ve always understood he was nothing special.”

  “He could have been brilliant. He had talent, and to start with he made a terrific effort. He wrote songs, he rehearsed them day and night. He did all sorts of exercises to improve his breathing, and strengthen his voice. Then he realised that everyone would applaud him like mad whether he was good or not. So he stopped trying. And then, at the very end, I think he was just plain mad. Power can do that to a man.” He had regained his teasing smile. “It wouldn’t to me, though. Give me imperial power, I’d say thank you very much, and live happy ever after.”

  I laughed. “With every other building a theatre, and you and your friends in specially created leading roles! But presumably life changed for you after Nero fell. He’d made too many enemies, and you were in line for revenge from everybody who hated him.”

  He shuddered. “Yes. It was a horrible time.”

  I didn’t like to see Felix so upset, even though I doubted if many people would share his regret at the passing of Nero. “But all that is in the past, Felix. Twenty-odd years ago. Surely you could go back to Rome now, if you wanted to?”

  “Well yes, I’d be safe physically, I suppose, but I’d still feel like an outsider, only half a man. Even if I could persuade some distant branch of my family, which managed to hang onto its lands, to help me out, everyone would start telling the old stories again. That I ran away, that I….Anyway, Nero’s friends are no better loved now, a generation later, even though we’ve got another tyrant on our glorious imperial throne these days. And this one’s got no redeeming features whatever!”

  Gods alive, first I get Felix’s life story, then he starts spouting high treason! Just pretend you didn’t hear it.

  “You’re too sensitive. These things blow over. Everyone will have forgotten.”

  “Perhaps. But I can’t forget. When they destroyed Nero, they made the arts seem somehow contaminated, defiled, just because he had championed them. A city which does that is no place for me.”

  “So here you are in Britannia, bringing Roman arts to people who’ll appreciate them better. That’s why you’re trying to get a theatre built in Oak Bridges?”

  “It would be wonderful. I think Publius is quite keen, but of course it would need a great deal of money.”

  “How about the other big fish in the Oak Bridges pond? Wouldn’t some of them chip in a few aurei in the name of culture? Balbus, maybe?”

  “Balbus spend his hard-earned gold on a theatre?” He laughed. “Balbus wouldn’t recognise a good play if it jumped up and bit him! But listen, Aurelia, that’s reminded me of something I noticed outside just now. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the servants, but….” The dramatic pause was irresistible.

  “Go on, what?”

  “That graffito on your stable wall. It gave me quite a shock, and I don’t just mean because of the horrid message. Do you know who did it?”

  “The Shadow-men, presumably.”

  “Yes, but who? You haven’t seen that particular shade of green paint before?”

  Something in his excited semi-whisper made me look at him keenly. His eyes glittered and he sat forward, tense as a cithara-string.

  “You mean you have?”

  “Yes. In Balbus’ shop.”

  “Balbus’?” No wonder he was so excited. “Are you sure?”

  “Dead certain. Oh dear, an unhappy phrase. Quite certain, yes. I complimented him on it.”

  “But look, who’d use the kind of paint you decorate pots with for daubing words on a wall?”

  “Ah no, it’s not his special pigment for making glazes. It’s the colour of his big display alcove, the walls and shelving. Don’t you remember? He had a whole new tier of shelves built and everything painted pale green, to show off that lovely dinner-ware he imported from Gaul, the white with the vine-leaf design.”

  I did remember, and I thought he was right. “It’s very similar….It would be easy enough to check. But I can’t believe Balbus would help barbarian rebels. Can you? He lives for his business, and his business needs peace and prosperity. I know you’re not one of his bosom pals, but….”

  “Perhaps it’s not him personally, but one of his workers.” Felix scratched his head. “He employs a lot of natives, of course, including his foreman, who lives behind the shop now. And then you see, there’s something else. It may be too trivial to bother with. I wouldn’t even have thought of mentioning it, if it wasn’t for the paint.”

  “Well now you have thought of mentioning it, spit it out!”

  “I’ve heard our dear potter is on rather good terms with some of the Brigantian aristocracy. The anti-Roman ones, I mean. Especially the older generation, who, as Publius puts it, haven’t accepted the finality of the Roman conquest. He visits them at home, that sort of thing.”

  “Does he? How in Hades do you know that?”

  He smiled slyly. “I pick up snippets of gossip here and there. From my friends, and my theatre chums at Eburacum.”

  True, he had plenty of friends everywhere, and he made no secret of his love of gossip.

  “But still….No, Felix, you can’t assume that just because he sells pots to natives, he sympathises with the Shadow-men. I agree he’ll trade with anyone, because he’s a businessman first and last, and he might not be too choosy about who he deals with. But he’s a Roman citizen. Which means he’s at risk like the rest of us.”

  “Except that if he’s in league with the rebels, he’s at no risk at all, is he?”

  “I can’t fault the logic, I suppose, but…surely not Balbus! I’d as soon believe it was Silvanius. Or you.”

  F
elix laughed and finished his beaker. “Yes. Of course you’re right as ever, my dear. I mustn’t let my prejudices get the better of me, must I?”

  He departed soon after, leaving me with some unpleasant thinking to do. Prejudiced or not, he could have stumbled on something important.

  I found Quintus Antonius in the garden, bathed and dressed, and looking almost back to normal, except that his bruises would still need a few days to disappear completely.

  “Albia brought me breakfast in my room,” he explained. “Now I’ve had a breath of fresh air, and I’m ready for anything. Shall we walk around the garden?”

  “Why not? I need something to calm me down. The morning hasn’t started well.”

  I gave him the latest bad news, and when I told him about the torn-up bloodied remains of my cloak, he repeated Hippon’s question, “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll survive. It’s getting a bit too personal, though.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “I’ve got you into this mess. I wish there was more I could do to get you out of it.”

  “The words on the wall were painted.” I described them, and added Felix’s theory about Balbus.

  “The pottery shop?” Quintus said. “I’ll maybe ride into town and buy a nice tasteful jug for my aged grandmother in Lindum. But as your young lad said, someone else could be using the paint to throw suspicion onto Balbus.”

  “I’ll find an excuse to visit his shop soon, if I can. It needs checking. But I still find it a pretty unlikely thought.”

  “As I’ve said before, there’s no such concept as ‘unlikely’ when you’re looking for traitors. Who else was at your meeting yesterday?” With everything that had happened since, I hadn’t had time to tell him.

  “I’m under oath of secrecy,” I said. “Will you swear not to pass any of this on?”

  “I swear.”

  I tried to give him quick sketches of the five people: Silvanius the ambitious chief councillor, desperately worried about any threat to Roman people or property. Vedius the old soldier, organising night patrols even if he had to do it on crutches. Balbus the rich businessman, anxious about what would happen to trade. Felix the dandy, declaiming Virgil and lamenting the death of Nero. And of course Vitalis, envying his wild Brigantian relatives and yearning for the good old days. I told him as much as I could remember of the conversation, including my chat with Vitalis over dinner.

  “An interesting group,” he remarked. “Leaving aside Vitalis, who wasn’t at the meeting, Silvanius presumably chose you all because you’re the most prominent Romans in Oak Bridges. You have most to lose if the Romans are expelled from this area, so you can be trusted to take strong measures.”

  “That’s about it. He probably wouldn’t have included me in the group, but as the meeting was my idea, he couldn’t very well keep me out.”

  “I imagine he didn’t dare try.” He smiled at me.

  “Vitalis was the one person in the house who was openly anti-Roman. At the temple site he came fairly close to blasphemy, and then fairly close to treason over dinner.”

  “And he spent the afternoon out riding. Had he come back by the time you left Silvanius’ villa?”

  “He could have done. I don’t remember actually seeing him, but it’s a huge place.”

  “You told me last night that the leader of the ambush party called you by name.”

  I nodded. “But I didn’t recognise him.”

  “It means the men were waiting for you, though, doesn’t it? Not just any unfortunate traveller. You personally. So who knew you were going to Silvanius’ house? Everyone at the Oak Tree?”

  “Hardly anyone. Albia knew, and of course Titch and the two slaves who came with me. Nobody else. I come and go as I like here, and quite often drive into town, so it wouldn’t cause comment.”

  “Did all the people at the meeting know beforehand you were going to be there?”

  “Vedius certainly didn’t, and probably not Balbus either. Felix did, because he was there when Silvanius asked me.”

  “But once you were there, they all knew, and all their servants did too. Did everyone leave for home at the same time?”

  “No, Felix stayed on a while. Balbus and Vedius and I all left in a group. Balbus lives quite close to Silvanius. Vedius and I travelled through Oak Bridges together. The old fool offered to escort me all the way to the mansio. Gods, I wish I’d let him….”

  “So do I. It was reckless of you to be out in the dark like that….”

  “I know, I know. I don’t need a lecture. You’re saying that someone at the villa arranged to have me ambushed as I went home?”

  “I don’t see how else it could have been done. Do you?”

  “Then Vitalis must have been there, I suppose.”

  Our pacing about had brought us round to the door into Quintus’ room, and we went in and sat down on the couch. “This Shadow of Death,” Quintus mused, “must be a master of disguise. It could be Vitalis, but any of the people at the house, especially the ones at the meeting, could be just as anti-Roman, only concealing it better. Look, there’s something I want to show you. If I do, can you promise to keep it just between the two of us?”

  “Of course. Only, if I need to, can I tell Albia? You’re going to need her help as well as mine, if you’re here for long.”

  “Well…I suppose as she’s your housekeeper….”

  “She’s my sister, more to the point. We’re very close, which is why we make a good job of running this place.”

  “Your sister? I thought she was just your assistant.”

  “She’s both! Father used to say that I was a centurion, and Albia was my optio, my second-in-command. It’s not a bad description. She’s a brilliant organiser, and I’m afraid I take her for granted sometimes. And if we’re in for trouble, she must know everything there is to know.”

  “Does she mind you being her centurion?” he asked, amused.

  “No, she’s happy having someone else to make the big decisions. And she doesn’t see herself spending the rest of her life running a mansio. If you want to bet on whether she or I will be first to marry and start having babies, don’t bother wasting your money on me. She’ll win hands down.”

  “Don’t you want to get married?”

  “Perhaps, one day. But it’s Albia we’re talking about, not me. Take my word, she’s one of those people who’s a born second-in-command.”

  “Whereas you’re a born dictator!” He smiled. “All right. You can tell Albia if necessary, but nobody else.”

  “I promise.”

  “Then could you fetch my money-belt from your strong box, please?”

  I went to get it from my study, and I felt a thrill of excitement as I thought of its contents, especially the papyrus and its puzzling coded list. Now I was going to find out what it meant. But more important, at last, at long last, Quintus was taking me into his confidence.

  Chapter XV

  He held out the papyrus for me to see, and I gazed at its confusion of jumbled letters.

  L’s list

  PGATT

  SSFCV

  CVBFS

  “L’s list,” I read. “Does L stand for my brother Lucius, by any chance? “

  “It does.”

  “But I can’t make anything of the rest. Is it in code?”

  “Just sleight-of-hand really. Try reading the letters from top to bottom, not left to right.”

  I spelled them out, mentally re-arranging them on the page. They still didn’t make words, just five groups of three letters.

  PSC

  GSV

  AFB

  TCF

  TVS

  Groups of three letters. What can you list using just three letters? Of course! “Initials!” I exclaimed. “Each group stands for someone’s full name. So it’s a list of five people.”

  “Five suspects, yes. Your brother sent me the list when he heard I was coming up h
ere. He said, if he was asked to put money on who would make a good rebel leader, these would be his choice.”

  “So they’re people I know.” I looked at the first name. “PSC. Publius Silvanius Clarus?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s why you were so insistent that Silvanius could be the Shadow of Death—because Lucius put him top of the list.”

  “And I haven’t changed my mind. I still think he’s ideally placed. He has money, power, easy access to Roman government circles, and yet good contacts with the natives.”

  “But his foreman was killed yesterday,” I objected. “Would he kill the man he was relying on to get the temple finished for the inauguration ceremony? It’s only four days away now. Without Casticus, there must be a risk it won’t be ready in time.”

  “Suppose Casticus found out somehow what Silvanius is up to? But let’s go through the whole list first. You’ll agree with the second name, I think.”

  “GSV, Gnaeus Silvanius Vitalis. Oh yes, I do. The only problem is that Vitalis is so open about his anti-Roman feelings. From what you’ve said already, I expected someone more devious.”

  He laughed. “Spoken like a true investigator!”

  “Number three,” I said, “is AFB—Aulus Fannius Balbus. This business of the green paint—but he’s no fool. He wouldn’t use a colour that everyone knows he possesses.”

  “Not even as a sort of double bluff?” Quintus smiled. “Or would you consider that theory too devious even for me?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything that’s too devious for you. But more likely one of his household might have used it from sheer thoughtlessness. Or as Titch suggested, somebody could be trying to incriminate him.”

  “And he certainly has the wealth, and the good contacts everywhere.”

  “Who’s the fourth name? TCF. Well, that must be Titus Cornelius Felix. Can you see Felix master-minding a gang of murderers?”

  “Stranger things have happened. He’s not rich, and maybe that’s why the first rebel ambushes weren’t aimed at individuals, but at the pay convoys. He travels a lot, going to theatres all over the place.”