As Marcus’s story came to an end, the room remained silent for a long time, as all tried to digest the momentous journey Marcus had just described.
Then at last Petrus stirred and shook his head in disbelief.
‘That tale, Marcus, is about as good as Jason and the Greek poem Argonautica. But tell me, honestly, when you were in Hyperborea, did you see anyone who was a Christian? Did you see anyone wearing a cross?’
‘Of course we didn’t,’ Cunomoltus interrupted looking annoyed. ‘Why would anyone want to be part of a tiny, insignificant Jewish religious sect. The Hyperborean’s had far more important things to do. They are good people.’
‘Apart from the ones who tried to kill you,’ Petrus retorted sarcastically.
Marcus raised his hand for silence and then, carefully undid the small canister, contained Corbulo’s ashes from around his neck, and placed it on the empty plate. For a moment no one spoke as an anxious, tense mood settled on the people around the table.
‘Emogene, the druid burned his body and kept his ashes inside that canister,’ Marcus said quietly, his eyes finding Efa. ‘The canister was a prison. She intended to keep Corbulo’s spirit trapped inside, her eternal prisoner, never to join our ancestors, never too be free and never to find peace. It was a wicked act but I have freed him. I have honoured my father like I said I would, and our ancestors will approve. When I have sorted out our affairs here on the farm, we will all travel to the battlefield and bury him beside Quintus and his comrades. Then his spirit will finally rest in peace.’
Around the table no one spoke. Then slowly Efa rose to her feet with a little tear in her eye.
‘A toast,’ she muttered. ‘A toast to Marcus and his brother, for the honour they have brought this family and for what they have done for us and my Corbulo.’
Quietly and respectfully all around the table rose to their feet and raised their cups, all except for Dylis, who remained seated, with a sudden flushed, annoyed expression on her face.
‘Oh it’s alright for you Marcus,’ she hissed with sudden anger. ‘You go away for years, you whore, you fight, you do what you like, then you come back and within a few weeks you are off again, leaving us to cope on our own. What have you contributed? What have you done to turn this farm into a prosperous place? Nothing!” Sharply Dylis rose to her feet, her anger growing, as she glared at Marcus. ‘You were never here to help us. You didn’t make the hard decisions about which crops to grow. You didn’t buy the best slaves. You didn’t manage our finances. You didn’t negotiate with the merchants in the forum. You just left us with Elsa and Armin, two extra ungrateful mouths to feed. You were never here to solve our problems or do the hard work, or see my children grow up or even take care of your own wife.’ Bitterness filled Dylis’s voice as she stared at Marcus with a brutal look. ‘But now you have returned, the great man is back and he presumes to tell us what we should do. He presumes to tell us how to run this farm. Who gave you that right?’
A shocked silence engulfed the dining room. Marcus’s face remained unreadable as he glared at his half-sister.
‘I have come home for good this time,’ Marcus replied sternly fixing his eyes on Dylis, ‘and I have plans for us. You may have done a good job in looking after my property but you are not the head of this family.’
‘Dylis,’ Efa snapped as Dylis opened her mouth to interrupt. ‘That’s enough.’
Across the table Dylis closed her mouth but her anger remained, streaming out of her like molten lava flowing from a volcano. Marcus too looked angry, but his anger was tempered and controlled.
‘Marcus,’ Efa said turning to him with a grave expression, “now that you and your brother have returned, you need to be aware that there are some pressing issues that need to be discussed. The first concerns your brother Cunomoltus. Whilst you were away a man came to visit us. I did not like the look of him, a big brute of a man. He wanted to know where Cunomoltus was. How he found us is a mystery, but Jowan and Petrus sent him on his way. But he may come back.’
Across the table Marcus sensed Cunomoltus looking at him.
‘Did he give a name,’ Marcus snapped. “Nectovelius perhaps?”
‘He didn’t give us a name,’ Jowan replied hastily, with a firm shake of his head. ‘But whatever business he has with Cunomoltus, it can’t be good. He was a violent man; no good.’
Marcus grunted and looked down at the table.
‘There is more,’ Efa continued with a weary sigh. ‘Petrus is in trouble with the priests of the temple of Neptune and Minerva in Noviomagus Reginorum. Apparently, he drank too much wine in one of the taverns with his Christian friends and ended up urinating all over the temple floor and over the statue of Minerva. The priests are livid and would have hanged him if I and Kyna had not intervened. Now the priests are trying to get the Town Council to ban Petrus and us from entering Reginorum.”
‘It was a joke,’ Petrus muttered weakly as he raised his hand in the air. ‘I was drunk. I needed a place to piss and their temple seemed convenient.’
‘Well it won’t be happening again,’ Marcus growled angrily, turning to look at Petrus. ‘It is your business what you do in the tavern but when it sullies the reputation of this family, it no longer becomes just your concern. Reginorum is where we bring the farm’s produce to market. It would be a disaster if we had to go elsewhere. So, see to it that you keep out of further trouble with those priests.’
Embarrassed, Petrus waved his hand in the air avoiding Marcus’s gaze.
‘And there is something else,’ Kyna interrupted, as she turned to Efa with a defiant look. Shocked, Efa shook her head in a vain attempt to silence Kyna, but Marcus’s wife ignored her. ‘Efa has been coughing up blood for the past month,’ Kyna said as she turning to look down at the table. ‘She has tried to hide it from me but I have seen it. She is ill and I cannot heal her. She needs expert help. She needs to travel to Londinium or Camulodunum to see the doctors there.’
‘I am alright,’ Efa murmured, reaching out to lay a hand on Kyna’s arm. ‘I am alright.’
‘No,’ Kyna said sharply. ‘You are not alright; you are ill Efa and you know it.’
Marcus rubbed his forehead as he stared at Efa. ‘Is it true.’ he said in a concerned voice.
In her seat around the table, Efa sighed and nodded wearily. ‘It is true. Every morning I cough up some blood but I do not want to be a burden on anyone.’
Marcus looked away, and for a long moment the table was silent. Then slowly Marcus turned to stare at Elsa who was sitting quietly in her seat, staring down at her hands in her lap. The thirteen-year-old girl and her younger brother had not uttered a word all evening.
‘Elsa,’ Marcus growled, “look at me girl.’
Obediently but with a sullen look, Elsa turned to look at Marcus.
Marcus sighed and his face softened a fraction. ‘I remember that you are good with herbs and healing potions,’ he said nodding at the girl. ‘You have a skill and you got rid of my brother’s cold when we first met. Do you know what ails Efa? Do you know how we can help her?’
Elsa gave Efa a quick glance, then lowered her eyes and shook her head.
Marcus sighed and quickly turned to Kyna, ‘Alright,’ he muttered. ‘I will take Efa to Londinium to see what we can do. We will leave as soon as we can and I will take Elsa with me.’
‘But I am not the most pressing and serious of our concerns,’ Efa exclaimed as her eyes came to rest on Dylis. ‘Would you like to explain, or shall I?’ Efa asked Dylis.
‘You can do it,’ Dylis muttered bitterly.
‘What concern is bigger than Efa’s health?’ Marcus growled in alarm.
Around the table, no one seemed to want to meet Marcus’s gaze. Then Efa shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘About six months ago,’ she said, ‘we heard from our partners in Reginorum that one of the town’s leading Roman citizens, a knight of the Equestrian order, a man named Priscinus, had started to make claims about our f
arm and land here on Vectis. This man wants our farm, Marcus. He is after our land. He is claiming that our farm was left to him by Agricola and he says that he has proof, although we have not seen anything since he first started making these claims. But these are no idle threats. Priscinus is a wealthy man, he is a citizen, a knight and he has powerful and influential friends. He is threatening to take the matter to court and evict us. If that happens we will lose everything.’
Efa fell silent and looked down at her finger-nails, as around the table all remained silent.
‘No one is going to drive us from our land,’ Marcus growled. ‘This is our home.’
Chapter Nine – The Confrontation
The acres of golden wheat swayed gently in the breeze, stretching away to a line of willow trees and a ditch that marked the boundary of the farm. It was noon and in the clear blue sky, the hot July sun beat down on the land. Marcus stood in the shade of an old oak, sucking on his Hyperborean pipe and surveying his property. He was clad in sandals and a simple, white tunic with his focale, neck scarf tied around his throat. On his head, he was wearing a low, wide brimmed sun hat. He was sending small puffs of smoke rising into the air. At his side Dylis, Efa, Jowan and a slave boy were all silently gazing at the fields. Jowan was clutching a wooden ledger and a small, iron-tipped stylus pen. Behind them and half a mile away, the sunlight reflected on the red roof-tiles and neat, white-washed walls of the fine-looking farm and its collection of barns, outhouses, granaries and storage sheds. Nearby, two slaves were working in a dry drainage ditch, clearing it of debris with their hand-held sickles. Further away, three more slaves, watched by Petrus and his two, sleek, brown, hunting dogs, were repairing the wooden fence that enclosed the farm’s herd of cattle, pigs and chickens. The slaves were singing to themselves as they worked. Marcus grunted in approval. A few days had passed since he’d returned home and now that he had fully recovered from his long journey, he was keen to see for himself the state that the family business was in. Turning to Efa he gestured at the golden wheat fields with his pipe.
‘Once you told me,’ he murmured, ‘that I would make a very poor farmer and that I would soon grow bored of life on this farm. But now, when I look at this place I see a home, land worth fighting for.’
‘We have worked hard to make this farm what it is today,’ Dylis replied defiantly. ‘Profits are up on last year and we have added more cattle. If market prices remain the same, we are looking at a record year.’
Glancing at her, Marcus nodded. Then he turned to Jowan who was clutching his ledger. ‘So what is the full list of our assets and liabilities? What plans do we have for the future; what are our problems; what improvements can we make? I want to know everything.’
Jowan scratched his head and gave Marcus a wary, respectful glance.
‘Well,’ he said clearing his throat, ‘our land is fertile. The harvest is looking good and there is growing demand for our produce. The Roman towns are booming; there are more people and they all need to eat. We have also heard that the harvest in parts of Gaul has failed. So, market prices are high, but these can change of course. Much of the produce is purchased by the army. The fact that you Marcus and Corbulo and Fergus were, and are soldiers, helps us in the negotiations with the buyers. We also have the barley field, which can be used to make beer. Our herd of cattle is growing, although it is not prudent to sell the beasts just yet; better to use them to increase our herd.’ Jowan sighed as he glanced at his ledger. ‘Taxes are stable and affordable but could rise. We have set aside money for this contingency. All in all, I would estimate that our assets including the farm, slaves and land, now total over a hundred thousand denarii, maybe even up to one hundred and fifty thousand denarii.’
Marcus frowned in surprise. ‘That much,’ he exclaimed.
Jowan nodded.
Marcus turned to stare at the wheat fields and took another draw from his pipe. Compared to a legionary’s standard salary of three hundred denarii a year, a hundred and fifty thousand denarii was an unbelievably huge sum of money.
‘And we have earned every single denarii,’ Dylis hissed.
‘What about liabilities,’ Marcus said ignoring his half-sister. ‘What about the slaves, any trouble, any runaways?’
‘We have no debts if that is what you mean,’ Jowan replied. ‘Efa and Dylis forbade the borrowing of money. Like my wife said, Marcus, we have earned every denarii the hard way through blood, sweat, wise decisions and luck. What you see here is the result of many years work and hard graft.’
‘And the slaves,’ Marcus growled glancing at the silent, slave boy.
‘The odd dispute amongst themselves,’ Jowan shrugged, ‘apart from that, nothing. We have had no runaways. We treat them well and there is enough food for all. There are many worse owners. Petrus keeps an eye on them.’
Marcus nodded in approval. ‘Good,’ he muttered sending another little cloud of smoke rising into the air. ‘This is good news.’
‘So now,’ Efa said quietly turning to Marcus, ‘you can see why a man like Priscinus wants to own our farm and land. We have been noticed, Marcus. What are we going to do about him and his claims?’
Marcus was silent for a moment as he gazed out across the fields.
‘No one is going to drive us off this land,’ he growled at last. ‘This is our home and I don’t care who we are up against, but we are going to have to prepare ourselves to fight for this land.’
‘So do you have a plan?’ Dylis asked with a hint of challenge in her voice.
Marcus nodded again and slowly tapped his pipe against his chin. ‘Tomorrow you and I shall go into Reginorum to meet this Priscinus,’ he said turning to his half-sister. ‘Afterwards I, you, Efa and Cunomoltus will head north to bury Corbulo on the battlefield, beside his comrades. We will take the girl, Elsa with us. I also need to visit Londinium. There is important business and people there, which can help our cause.’ Marcus turned to look at Jowan. ‘Whilst we are away, you will be in charge of the farm. I want you to start building defensive structures around the main villa, a ditch and a sturdy palisade at least six feet high. If everything you have told me about this Priscinus is true, then we will need to prepare ourselves for a long struggle which may become violent.’ Marcus turned to glare at his companions. ‘Agricola is dead now and we do not have any wealthy and powerful patron to protect us. So, we are going to have to look after ourselves.’ Marcus turned to Jowan, sizing him up. ‘I want the defences complete by the time I return. Do you think you can handle the work?’
Jowan eyes had widened in surprise, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he nodded, dipping his head respectfully. ‘It will be done,’ he said.
‘What important business do you have in Londinium,’ Dylis snapped, glaring at her brother suspiciously.
Calmly Marcus turned to look at her. ‘Efa is ill and needs to see a specialist. Those kinds of doctors can only be found in the city, in Londinium,’ he replied curtly. ‘And there is something else,’ he muttered, looking away. ‘Our children need a future and I am going to give them a future. That is now my concern, to secure a future for all of them. The law states that if a man owns more than a hundred thousand denarii, he will become eligible to join the Equestrian Order, the Order of Knights. In Londinium I intend to lodge our application to join their ranks. Men of equestrian rank are important men, many of them hold senior positions in government; in commerce and the army. As Equites, our children and their children will have a chance of becoming governors of provinces, they could become tax collectors, bankers, senior army officers, miners and exporters. They will be able to enter commerce and compete for government contracts to build roads, bridges or aqueducts. None of this is possible without being a knight. There are only a few thousand such men in the whole Empire but they run everything. It is the first step on the path to becoming a senator of Rome.’
‘You want to become a knight,’ Dylis blurted out. ‘And how will that help us keep our farm?’
Mar
cus glared at his half-sister. ‘For a start it would give us the same rank as Priscinus,’ he growled, ‘and for Romans, rank and status are everything. Beyond that it will mean that our name will be on the lists viewed by the Emperor himself, when he decides on his appointments for public office.’ Marcus paused as his eyes blazed with sudden ambition. ‘We are not only going to defend our farm and land,’ he snapped. ‘We are going to become an important family. Being a member of the equites will help advance our family in society. That is what I want for our children. A chance for them to make a name for themselves. We are going to become a family to be reckoned with throughout the whole province of Britannia and maybe,’ Marcus looked away with sudden emotion, ‘maybe one day,’ he muttered, ‘our descendants will be someone; someone who will be recorded in history like Caesar.’
***
Marcus and Dylis were silent as they trudged along the dusty, forest-path closely followed by a slave, a few paces behind. It was a hot day and the fierce, unrelenting, summer sun glared down on them from a clear blue sky. Marcus looked irritated. Annoyed, he slapped his hand against his neck trying to silence the flies and insects that buzzed through the air around his head, attracted by the sweat covering his neck and arms. The three of them had set out from the farm at dawn and, after having crossed the narrow sea straights, they’d headed inland on foot, to the town of Noviomagus Reginorum, Chichester. Sullenly Marcus glanced down at his sandals. His irritation he knew, had nothing to do with the weather or his sister’s disrespect. He was down to his last reserve of Hyperborean smoking herbs and when they were gone, his pipe would be useless. He would have to learn to live without the soothing Hyperborean smoke and he sensed that it was going to be hard. At his side Dylis strode along, her head held high, her eyes fixed determinedly on the road ahead, but there was no hiding her fidgety mood as he noticed her picking at her finger nails. She was still annoyed with him. He could sense that too. She didn’t like the fact that he’d taken away her role. Contemptuously Marcus looked away. But that was her problem. The welfare of his family was his responsibility.
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 8
