Get Out or Die

by Jane Finnis

  “He has access to influential Romans too, through Silvanius,” I agreed. “And there was that sad story he told me earlier today about being misunderstood by all true Romans because of treading the boards with Nero. All the same, Felix is one of the most truly Roman people in this town!”

  “He appears to be. But he’s admitted to being an actor.”

  “Well, yes….” I tried my best to picture Felix as the Shadow of Death. I couldn’t, so I considered the final suspect.

  “TVS. Tiberius Vedius Severus? I wonder why Lucius included him? An old soldier, with a string of military decorations as long as your arm, and living a life of old-fashioned Roman virtue that would have impressed the elder Cato!”

  “He’s got first-class military training,” Quintus said, “and good contacts at Eburacum. Of the five of them, he’d be the most likely to be able to organise the ambush of the pay convoys. But he’s there because of his murky past, of course.”

  “Gods, I can’t imagine Vedius ever doing anything even slightly murky. Wait though…I do remember some bar-room talk about his first wife being murdered, and someone wondering if he’d had a hand in it. People love to make malicious rumours up in a situation like that. And it was a long time ago, before he moved here….He served in the Twentieth Legion, I think. And won some sort of bravery award when they put down Queen Boudicca’s rebellion thirty years ago.”

  “That’s right. By then he was a centurion, and a good one apparently, with just a year to go till he got his discharge. The general respected him, and his men would do anything for him. He had a woman and children, and was all set to marry when he left the army. He must have been looking forward to retiring and living a prosperous life as a respectable hero.”

  “He sounds like my own father. What happened?”

  “His woman fell in love with someone else—one of the young military tribunes. It wasn’t just a discreet flirtation either, it was a full-blown public romance. She abandoned Vedius, which was bad enough, and humiliated him in front of his men, flaunting herself with her new protector. Vedius was devastated, but he couldn’t persuade her to come back to him, and after a month everyone thought he’d accepted it. Then one morning the tribune was found in the woman’s house, which was outside the fort of course. He’d been murdered in the night.”

  “By Vedius?”

  “Everyone assumed so, but it was impossible to prove. His woman had run away, and his two best friends swore he’d been with them all night long, getting roaring drunk in a bar.”

  “Perhaps he had, and then killed the tribune in a drunken rage.”

  “That’s what most people thought at the time. And the tribune wasn’t popular, he was an arrogant little show-off, and everyone felt he’d been asking for trouble, and took Vedius’ side.”

  “So they hushed it all up.”

  Quintus nodded. “He asked for a transfer to another legion, which would have been the sensible solution, as he only had a year to go. But unluckily for him, the tribune had powerful relatives, some of them at Nero’s court, and they wanted Vedius out of the army. So he was discharged a year early, ‘on medical grounds,’ which was a complete invention, and everybody knew it. There was no official stain on his character, but he hated having to slink away under a cloud of suspicion, when he should have been marching out in a blaze of honour.”

  “Yes, he’d have felt the disgrace.” As a centurion’s daughter, I could imagine it only too well.

  “He moved to Oak Bridges, where nobody knew him, so he could start afresh as a retired hero who’d lost his wife in a tragic accident. He built a house, married a local girl, became popular with the settlers…and now he’s an aedile.”

  “How did you find all this out? Did Lucius tell you?”

  “He warned me about the rumour that Vedius might be hiding some kind of ancient scandal. I made contact with some of his former comrades from the Twentieth, and got the full story. After all this time, they’re still saying Vedius was badly treated.”

  “And he could be bearing a grudge against the army, and helping the rebels as a kind of revenge?”

  “Lucius thinks it’s possible, though not very likely. That’s why he’s at the bottom of the list. But you see what I mean, it could be him. It could be any of them.”

  “That’s an awful thought….” I trailed off unhappily. I was realising fully what life would be like now, if I had to go around suspecting everyone—every native and every Roman settler, including my friends. But the alternative, doing nothing and letting the Shadow-men continue their savage campaign, was even worse. Because in that case I might be their next victim.

  As I was digesting this, Albia knocked and came in with bread and cheese, and some wine.

  “I think we need a council of war,” she said. “And Relia hasn’t had breakfast yet.”

  Good old Albia. She always gets her priorities right. I hadn’t the heart to tell her I’d eaten already.

  While she passed me a plate and poured wine for all of us, I told her what Felix had said about the paint, and about Balbus being on visiting terms with the old tribal aristocracy. “You’re right, Albia, we do need a council of war. We’d better include Cousin Junius too.”

  “The young tribune?” Quintus said. “He’s a bit inexperienced for this sort of work, I’d have thought.”

  “Don’t you believe it. Junius is a contact of my brother’s. Lucius specifically asked us to help him.” I explained about the letter, and the recognition code.

  “Aunt Julia and the elephant! I wondered what all that was about yesterday. I should have realised it was an identification signal.”

  “To begin with we thought you were the mystery cousin,” Albia said.

  “No. I’m not a cousin.”

  “But you’re part of the family though?” Yes, I realise I’m not supposed to ask that question direct, ever. Too bad—I wanted to know where we all stood.

  “In a way,” Quintus said. “I’m a colleague of Uncle Titus, if that helps.”

  “Then why didn’t Lucius tell us you were coming?” Albia asked.

  “He didn’t know the exact details. Nobody did. I prefer to keep my movements unpredictable. But to get back to the matter in hand. I’d rather we didn’t involve Junius in our discussions. Planning our tactics is an excellent idea, but the fewer people who are in on it, the better.”

  “But surely,” Albia objected, “anybody Lucius recommends is one of us. We must include Junius.”

  “I agree,” I said. “He’s a soldier, his advice will be useful.”

  Quintus ran a hand through his fair hair. “It seems so. But…I told you we’re investigating the help the Shadow-men are getting from the military.”

  We both nodded, and I said, “Yes. Those two bent investigators.”

  “I also told you those two are small fry who could lead us to a bigger fish. Now supposing….”

  “You can’t mean Junius?” Albia looked like a new bride being informed that the bridegroom is ravishing her sister behind the temple. Her astonishment would have been funny, if it wasn’t so serious.

  “I don’t know, Albia,” Quintus answered. “Probably not, if he’s a contact of your brother’s. But there’s a traitor reasonably high up in the Eburacum garrison, all the evidence points to it. It could be either Junius or Marius. After all, they’re staying here, very conveniently, in the centre of all the unrest. I can’t overlook the possibility.”

  “Junius is no traitor,” Albia declared.

  Quintus said gently, “I can’t rule him out, just because of your personal feelings. I wish I could.”

  “Who’s talking about feelings? I’m talking about facts!” She drained her beaker and thumped it down on the table. “I’ll tell you what I think. We’ve only got your word for who you are, and what you are up to. But Junius—we can be certain of him, because Lucius vouches for him.”

  “You can’t use a word like ‘certain’ when you�
��re talking about treachery,” he answered. “We can’t be certain, and we shouldn’t take risks. So we won’t tell Junius what we’re planning. I must insist on that for now.”

  “Insist?” Suddenly his quiet assumption of authority made me angry. Insist, indeed! “Quintus Antonius, Junius comes recommended by our brother, and he saved my life last night, which to my simple mind indicates that he’s on my side. I accept that we need to be wary of Marius, but Junius will be present at our planning meeting. If that means you don’t want to be present yourself, it’s entirely your decision.”

  His dark blue eyes flashed dangerously, and his mouth was a slit. I returned his stare, because I wasn’t going to be ordered about in my own house on something as important as this. We paused, confronting each other like dogs sparring over a bone.

  Albia broke the tension, by saying mildly: “She’s right, you know. As our esteemed Councillor Silvanius is fond of saying, ‘She talks very good sense. So refreshing in a woman.’”

  Her impersonation of His Pomposity was so accurate that I had to smile, and suddenly Quintus laughed, and said, “Jupiter! May the gods preserve me from bossy women!”

  “It’s a bit late for that,” Albia commented. “You’ve met Aurelia!”

  So she fetched Junius, and Quintus greeted him politely. Marius, it turned out, had already gone off for the day, leaving a vague message about meeting a friend.

  When we were all seated, Quintus said, “I suggest there’s one important matter we need to settle first.” He looked at me, and then at Albia. “Aurelia…Albia…you’ve had a bad time in the last few days. The indications are that it’ll get even worse. The Shadow-men are trying to terrorise Romans in general, and, because I’m here, your household in particular. You’ve both said you intend to stay and stick it out. If you do, it’ll be unpleasant and frightening, and perhaps very dangerous indeed. But you don’t have to stay here and face the risks if you don’t want to. Nobody will think any the less of you if you decide to leave the Oak Tree for a while, go to Eburacum or even down south, somewhere safe, and wait….”

  “Leave the Oak Tree?” I almost shouted. “Never. Never. This is my home, it’s where I belong. I’m not leaving.”

  He nodded. “And you, Albia?”

  “Of course we’re staying. I agree with Relia. Whatever happens, this is our place and it’s worth fighting for.”

  I stood up. “We’ll make this absolutely clear. Come with me, all of you.” I led them into the hallway, to the little shrine that held our household and family gods. The small, familiar statues, with the daily offering of wine and food I always gave them, were suddenly very important, and very precious. I put my hand on the figure of Diana. “I swear,” I said, “by the gods who guard this house, that I will not be forced to leave my home against my will. I will either live here, or I will die here.”

  Albia was beside me, and she repeated the same words. We smiled at each other. It was a sacred and binding oath. We both felt better for it.

  Back in Quintus’ room, we got down to discussing how best to protect the mansio and the outbuildings and livestock from enemies, especially at night. The main building and stables weren’t too difficult to guard, but the problem got worse as you moved further away from the road. The horses in the paddocks were vulnerable, and the slaves in their living-quarters.

  I was pleased to see that Quintus and Junius worked well together. Quintus had obviously put aside his reservations, and they were very much of one mind. They’d both had army training of course, so they knew how to fortify a site quickly. They started talking about building a fence and ditch right around all the main buildings. Their military experience and practical efficiency were comforting and I let them get on with working out how much timber we’d need, and how many men would be required. When the details got too technical I must admit I found it hard to concentrate, because my mind kept filling with sad images: a headless corpse in the forum, a builder spread-eagled in a cart, and a little grey-bearded pedlar with a grey donkey.

  “It boils down to three things,” Quintus said eventually. “Number one, nobody goes out after dark unarmed, and the women should have an armed escort. Have you got weapons for your people, Aurelia?”

  I roused myself to pay attention. “Enough, I think. But most of them are farm boys, they’ve no military training.”

  “We’ll help there,” Junius offered. “Marius and I and our men can give them some basic weapons drill.”

  “Number two, you’ll have to bring all the horses and mules into the stables, or the stable yard, at night. We can’t protect the paddocks properly, and they’re too much at risk out there.”

  “I agree.” Some of the horses were valuable in themselves, and even the scrawniest old mules represented our living, not to mention our lines of communication.

  “The third thing, and the most important, will be to build a stockade and ditch to surround the main house, the slaves’ quarters, and the stables. You’ve got plenty of timber hereabouts, haven’t you?”

  “Oh yes. Oak, beech, ash, alder, and hazel. The woods between the little river and the road are ours for quite some distance.”

  “Excellent. It needn’t be a particularly elegant fence, as long as it’s strong and tall enough to make intruders think twice.”

  “A proper fence? Like in a marching camp?” Albia asked. “Do we have enough men for that?”

  Junius nodded. “Given a dozen of your field-slaves, we could have the job done in two days.”

  “More like three,” Quintus amended. “There’s the timber to cut and carry here.”

  “We can hire in some woodcutters,” I suggested. “There are plenty of lads on the native farms who can handle an axe.”

  “Fine,” Quintus agreed, “as long as they’re properly supervised. But the fence-building must be done by our own people. Men we trust absolutely.”

  We left the two of them tossing dice to see who should be Prefect of Loggers and who should be Prefect of Builders. They were friends now, I could tell, and enjoying themselves like boys building their first den. “Men,” I muttered to Albia. She just giggled, and headed for the kitchen.

  I made for the bar-room, which was empty, and I sat quiet for a little while, giving some thought to Bessus’ funeral. He was part of our household, though only a slave, and he’d died a brave death. He deserved a dignified ceremony, and we’d need a pyre. I must set Taurus and a couple of men on to carry wood to the far field, where the other slaves’ ashes were buried.

  I heard the main door open, and looked up, expecting to welcome a customer. And there, large as life, was a Druid.

  Chapter XVI

  Yes, a Druid! I couldn’t have been more astonished if it had been Caesar and his whole court, dropping in for a quick drink on their way to an orgy, or whatever it is they do all day. (Better erase that bit before you show this to the Governor.)

  Though I’d never seen a Druid in person, there was no doubting what he was. He wasn’t wearing a ceremonial embroidered vestment, but his white hooded robe was adorned with a sprig of oak leaves, and he carried himself with the unfaltering air of authority that you see in senior priests of all gods, who are used to being listened to by deities, and obeyed by men. That, and the way his grey hair and beard were cut—it all said “Druid” as loudly as if a herald had blown a trumpet and announced it. His face was old and lined, with a high forehead and very dark eyes. I was so consumed with curiosity I had a job not to stare outright. But I couldn’t talk to him in full view in the bar.

  “Welcome to the Oak Tree,” I said. “I’m Aurelia Marcella, the innkeeper. Will you come through and take some wine in my study? We won’t be disturbed there.”

  Which in plain Latin meant, “For the gods’ sake let’s get you out of sight of the public.” Everybody knows that Druids are outlaws, put to death if they’re caught. Whether merely having a Druid under my roof could earn me the same fate I didn’t know, and I didn’t wan
t to find out the hard way.

  He smiled, and without a word followed me out of the bar.

  He was unsteady on his legs, limping slightly, and as he walked the few paces to my study, he leaned on a stick to support himself. He sank down into a chair and smiled again.

  “You are most kind.” His voice was beautiful, strong yet controlled, and his Latin was pure, without the usual guttural British accent. “You don’t mind my being here? I’m afraid my calling isn’t highly regarded in Roman circles.”

  No, really? But I said, “We keep open house for any traveller, as long as there’s no trouble.”

  “There will be no trouble, I promise you. One of our ponies has gone lame, and we needed to stop and rest him for a bit. Your new stable-boy is taking a look at him for us.”

  I glanced out of the open window and recognised on the forecourt a familiar group of young men in warrior gear, but only four of them. They were lounging at ease on a wall, chatting together, and looking about curiously.

  “Ah, you’ve noticed my escort. Just a few lads keeping an old man company on the road. These are dangerous times, I fear.”

  And whose fault’s that? But I merely asked whether the escort would like a drink.

  “Thank you, I’m sure they would.”

  I rang for one of the maids, and told her to ask Albia to take some mead out to them. She catches on quickly, my chief of staff, and she’d know I was signalling her to keep an eye on them. I didn’t fancy the idea of those young warriors snooping around unsupervised.

  “May I know your name?” I asked the old man.

  “Caradoc,” he answered.

  “Then welcome, Caradoc. Let me pour you some wine.” I poured some for both of us, and saw that he was looking amused.

  “You’re suspicious of my lads?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I know them. But usually when they come here, they are five. I was just wondering what had happened to Vitalis.”

  “Vitalis? He couldn’t join us today. He has family business, I understand.”

  I watched the old priest as we sipped our drinks. His expression was calm and kindly, not at all the tense fanatical look of a rebel. And yet, from what I knew of their beliefs, there must be an iron heart under that gentle exterior. Maybe if I could get him talking, I’d learn something useful about the way their minds worked.