The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “Shut up,” Dylis hissed, glaring at Cunomoltus.

  Marcus, ignoring his brother and sister, was thoughtfully stroking his chin as he studied Petrus from across the room.

  “How large is the Christian community in Rome?” Marcus asked.

  Petrus grinned as he gazed back at Marcus. “Well, well, for the first time you have shown some interest in what I have to say, Marcus,” Petrus remarked. “I must be going up in the world.”

  “Just answer the question before I change my mind about you,” Marcus replied, his face darkening. “You are not too old for me to still beat the shit out of you, boy.”

  “My brothers in Londinium say there are around five thousand of us living in Rome,” Petrus sighed avoiding Marcus’s annoyed gaze. “The Emperor Trajan seems to sort of tolerate us for now but who knows when the next State sanctioned persecution will come.” Petrus turned to look at Esther and gave her an encouraging smile. “But you should know that Nero failed in his attempt to eradicate us.”

  “Five thousand Christians in a city of a million,” Marcus muttered turning his eyes towards the floor. For a moment, he was silent as he seemed to be considering something. Then he looked up at Esther.

  “All right,” Marcus nodded as he seemed to make up his mind. “All right, we shall go to Rome and we will use Petrus’s contact, this man Abraham, to help you vanish into the city’s Christian community. Once settled in the city you should be safe and able to start a new life. No one will know who you are. That is all that we can do for you.”

  On her stool, Esther was staring at Marcus in silence. Then slowly and with infinite dignity she rose to her feet and came towards Marcus before reaching out for his hand and kissing it.

  “I am grateful Sir,” Esther said quietly. “I am grateful for what you are willing to do for me. I shall not forget this.”

  Marcus nodded and looked away.

  “Then we are all agreed,” he said. “All then that remains is to decide who will go with Esther. I think it should be myself and Petrus.”

  “I too wish to come to see Rome,” Dylis interrupted.

  “No,” Marcus said sharply shaking his head. “You will stay here to protect the farm and look after Efa. There is no one better qualified than you to do this. That is the job I need you to do.”

  Marcus took a deep breath as he squared up to his sister’s hostile, defiant face.

  “I am tired of quarrelling with you, sister,” Marcus said in a sudden, changed voice. “The business with Priscinus is in the past. We must now look to the future. So, we will handle the challenges that the gods send to test us and we shall prevail. And when I return from Rome I shall instruct the lawyers at the bank to draw up official documents that give you half ownership of this farm and land. We shall own this farm jointly, together, on the one condition that Fergus, my son shall be sole owner of this place after we both die. Our father, Corbulo would approve. He would not want us to fight amongst ourselves. He would want us to be united. He would want us to be friends. We are his people after all and we should listen to him.”

  “Don’t worry about us Marcus,” Jowan said hastily. “We shall look after the farm and Efa. We can handle it.”

  Ignoring his brother in law, Marcus’s eyes remained fixed on Dylis. His sister however refused to meet his gaze. For a moment, she sat fidgeting with her finger nails. Then abruptly and without saying a word she rose and left the room. A few moments later she was followed by the others until only Marcus and Kyna remained sitting beside the crackling fire.

  “Well that went well,” Marcus sighed as he took a sip of wine from his cup.

  At his side Kyna laid her hand on his, running her fingers over her husband’s mutilated left hand.

  “That was well done,” Kyna said quietly. “She will come around, Marcus. I know she will. But you must give her some time. You said exactly the right things.”

  “Women,” Marcus said shaking his head as he took another sip of wine. “Gods, they are complicated. They exhaust me.”

  Kyna chuckled as she affectionately laid her head against Marcus’s shoulder. “I could say the same about men,” she muttered. “I still remember the time when I and Fergus were held as hostages by Agricola and you went off to Hibernia with your father leaving us behind. And another thing,” she said in a resigned voice. “When you returned from Hyperborea you promised me that you would not be going away again. And yet here you are, just having promised to escort another woman, a stranger, to Rome. I should really be jealous but I just don’t have the energy anymore, husband.”

  Slowly Marcus turned to look at his wife and sighed.

  “You are right,” he muttered in a weary voice, “But I must go. What choice do I have? This matter must be settled. Our family’s fortunes depend on it.”

  “Efa is fragile, Marcus,” Kyna said quietly as she rested her head against his shoulder. “She is not going to get any better. I fear that her days in this world are drawing to an end.”

  “I know, I know,” Marcus replied as he reached out and wrapped his arm around his wife. “But Efa is a tough old lady. Don’t underestimate her. I shall try and return before Saturnalia.”

  For a moment Kyna lowered her eyes and looked away. Then she reached up to kiss him.

  “I know you will,” she whispered, “for you always come back to me,” she purred kissing him again, “and you must go. I understand, but sometimes I wonder when I shall really have you all to myself. When that day truly comes, I shall go to bed without a care in the world.”

  Chapter Four – The Boy who was abandoned

  Inside the barn, Marcus crouched on the straw covered floor as he concentrated on fitting the hippo sandal to one of his horse’s hooves. The beast snorted nervously and tried to back away but Marcus soothing voice seemed to calm her down. Beside him, little Armin and Dylis’s three children, the twin girls with yellow flowers in their hair, were watching him as he worked. It was around noon and two days had passed since Ninian’s visit. Marcus sighed as he raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

  “Mother says that you are going to Rome,” one of the girls said suddenly. “She says that you are going to be gone for a long time.”

  “She says that Rome is the largest city in the world,” Armin chipped in. “She says that it will take you a whole day just to walk from one end to the other. She says that she is happy that you are going.”

  “She says that, does she,” Marcus said, turning to look at the children and raising an eyebrow. “Well I wouldn’t know about Rome because I have never been to Rome. But I am sure it will be big. They do not call it the capital of the world for nothing.”

  “Will you see the Emperor?” one of the girls asked quickly.

  “I doubt it,” Marcus replied, “Trajan will be on the Danube with the army. He is a busy man, the Emperor. He has a war to fight against the Dacians.”

  “When will you come back uncle?” little Armin asked.

  “It’s hard to say but I shall try and return for Saturnalia,” Marcus said giving Armin a little wink. “And I promise that I shall bring each of you something back from Rome; a present. But you must pretend that it is a surprise, all of you.”

  The children turned to look at each other as excited smiles appeared on their faces.

  Marcus was about to turn his attention back to the hippo sandal and the horse’s hoof when suddenly from outside the barn the warning bell rang out. Smoothly Marcus rose to his feet and reached out for his belt, from which hung his gladius short sword and pugio army knife.

  “Go back into the house children, go,” Marcus said hastily, his face darkening, as he strapped his belt around his waist.

  Outside in the courtyard Marcus turned to stare in the direction of the front gate. The slave on guard duty up on top of the wooden watch tower was still ringing the bell, but from where he stood Marcus could see nothing. With a slight limp, he started towards the front gate and as he did he saw Cunomoltus and Petrus hastening
towards him clutching a spear and a hunting bow.

  “Riders approaching master,” the slave called out in an excited voice as he caught sight of Marcus. “They are carrying some kind of banner.”

  At the front gate, Marcus squinted, staring down the track that led away from his farm. A party of six riders on horseback were slowly walking their horses towards him. They did not seem to be in a hurry. The men were clad in long brown travelling cloaks, their heads covered by hoods and they were armed. They were led by a big, broad shouldered man holding up a simple wooden staff at the top of which was fixed a bronze image of a face that glinted in the sunlight. And as the riders came towards the gate Marcus grunted irritably as he recognised the banner.

  “What is it?” Cunomoltus muttered, tightening his grip on his spear.

  “That’s an imperial banner,” Marcus growled, his face darkening. “There are only three in the whole province. It is the image of the Emperor. To show contempt for that banner is to show contempt for the Emperor himself.”

  “Trajan is an arsehole,” Petrus hissed as he stared at the approaching riders. “He deserves a bit of contempt.”

  “I shall do the talking,” Marcus snapped turning to shoot Petrus a warning look. “I don’t want to hear a word from you boy.”

  Petrus looked away without replying but the contempt on his face was clear.

  When the riders were a few yards from the front gate they reined in their horses and the big, broad shouldered man clutching the imago banner lowered his hood. He was a hard-looking man of around forty. His nose was broken and his head was closely shaven. He said nothing as he turned to gaze at Marcus, Petrus and Cunomoltus, sizing them up with calm, intelligent eyes. And as he stared back at the man Marcus suddenly felt the uneasy yet familiar sense of approaching danger.

  “I have come to speak to Marcus,” the man said in accented Latin.

  “I am Marcus and this is my farm. Who are you?” Marcus growled in reply.

  On his horse the big man with the broken nose fixed his eyes on Marcus. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

  “My name is Cunitius,” the man replied quietly. “I am here to investigate the murder of a Roman citizen by the name of Priscinus. I have a few questions for you.”

  Marcus nodded. Then he turned to gaze at his blackened and ruined fields that stretched away to the edge of the forest.

  “On whose authority, do you claim to do this?” Marcus snapped.

  “You already know that,” Cunitius replied swiftly and calmly. “My authority to investigate this case comes directly from the Governor of Britannia himself. So, stop wasting time and start cooperating. It is my understanding that you and Priscinus were recently involved in a land dispute and that blood was shed. So, are you going to invite us into your house? I have to ask you a few questions.”

  “You may ask your questions,” Marcus replied sharply. “But you shall do so from on top of your horse. We do not permit friends of Priscinus to come onto our land.”

  “Ah,” Cunitius said slowly tilting his head back and turning to look at the ruined fields on either side of the dusty track. “So, it is true. They warned me that hospitality was in short supply in these parts. But you are wrong Marcus. I am no friend of Priscinus. I never even met the man and if you are worried that I shall be biased in my investigation, then I assure you that I will not be. I just want to see justice done.”

  “Justice,” Marcus sneered angrily flinging up his arm and pointing at his ruined fields, “There is your justice. That is all that is left of my fields and crops after Priscinus burned them. It is he who started this dispute, it is he who came with an armed force of men to drive me and my family from our land. But we showed him what is what. That prick was still alive when he ran away from here. That’s all I know. I did not kill him but if I had the chance again I would.”

  On his horse Cunitius was studying Marcus carefully.

  “So, you deny having anything to do with his murder?” Cunitius asked.

  “I think that is what I just said,” Marcus growled.

  Cunitius nodded and turned to look down at the ground. Then he sighed. “I think you still have the wrong impression of me, Marcus,” he said in a quiet voice. “I am no friend of Priscinus. I am just doing my job as instructed by the Governor.” Cunitius looked up and his eyes found Marcus’s. “And I am good at my job. I am the best in fact. It may take me a while but I always uncover the truth and before this is over, I will get to the bottom of this case. That’s what I do and I never fail.”

  “Good,” Marcus replied, “and like I said, Priscinus was alive when I last saw him. He and his men were running away in that direction,” Marcus snapped pointing away down the track.

  As he gazed at Marcus a little smile appeared on Cunitius’s lips.

  “I think I am going to like you, Marcus,” Cunitius said at last in his quiet voice, “They said that you would be a difficult man to deal with but I think you are all right. You don’t trust me, I understand. You think that I am just some mercenary or messenger sent here by your enemies. But you are wrong, my friend. I am my own man. I am no one’s fool. I am just doing a job for which I was hired.”

  Cunitius paused and as he stared at Marcus the smile on his lips grew. “You should really know something about me before you judge me. Maybe then we shall get on better. I was not born into a wealthy or powerful family,” Cunitius exclaimed. “No, I worked my way up just like you. I never knew my father and when I was twelve my mother abandoned me. She left me to fend for myself.”

  In his saddle Cunitius leaned forwards, his hard face with its broken nose staring straight at Marcus.

  “I was homeless and I was starving and I had nowhere to go. I was twelve. But I wanted to live so I joined a street gang. We stole food from the merchants, we lived on the street, we fought other gangs. It was a brutal existence, but I survived.”

  On his horse Cunitius face had darkened and abruptly the smile vanished.

  “And do you know what I learned during those years,” Cunitius snapped, “I learned to tell when people are lying to me. I became so good at this, that eventually through good fortune, I was employed as an informant for the Imperial Tax Collector’s Office and then as a tax collector. And now I am employed by the wealthy and the powerful to track down people, runaway slaves and investigate murders. So just like you Marcus, I am good at what I do. I have come from the bottom and I have made something of myself. And now I am sitting here looking at you and I am thinking, why is this man lying to me?”

  Behind the closed gate, Marcus remained silent as he held Cunitius’s gaze. Then he stirred and glanced at his ruined fields.

  “You and I have nothing in common,” he replied with a little shake of his head, “And I am not lying to you. I did not kill Priscinus.”

  “But someone did,” Cunitius snapped quickly, “And I think that you know who did it. I am particularly interested in finding a woman, a slave by the name of Esther. She is around forty years old, a follower of the Christian faith, so I discovered. She belonged to Priscinus’s household, she was his property but she ran away immediately after the murder. The woman has conspicuous identifying features, according to Priscinus’s family, and it is she who most likely poisoned Priscinus. She was the last person to see Priscinus alive. There is a reward out for her capture with a description of what she looks like. It will be all over the Province by now. But she is just a slave. The real question that interests me is, did she, Esther, act alone or was she used by someone else to get to Priscinus? You can see why I am here, you have a motive, Marcus.”

  On his horse Cunitius sighed and looked away. “This is a serious case. A prominent Roman citizen has been murdered and I am authorised to tell you that any obstructions to my investigation will be reported to the Governor of Britannia with all the consequences that will cause. Do I make myself clear?”

  Marcus turned to gaze at Cunitius and for a long moment he was silent as he studied the investigator.


  “As we seem to be getting to know each other,” Marcus said at last, “do you have a family? Is there a wife and children waiting for you back in the place you call home? Are you a family man, Cunitius? Do you like to read your children stories before they go to sleep?”

  Cunitius frowned as the question seemed to catch him off guard.

  “I never had the time for a family,” he snapped.

  “I thought so,” Marcus replied. Then he sighed. “I shall let you know if I hear anything about this slave woman who you are looking for. You shall have my full co-operation. Was there anything else that you wished to ask me?”

  Cunitius turned to look away as a glimpse of disappointment flashed across his face.

  “Very well,” he snapped in an annoyed voice, “Yes there was just more thing. Have you any plans to go away, Marcus? It may be necessary for me to return if I have more questions and it would be helpful if you remained here.”

  “If I do have to go somewhere,” Marcus said swiftly, “I shall send you a message to let you know where I am going.”

  On his horse Cunitius did not reply as he stared at Marcus. Then with a final little contemptuous smile he gestured to his companions, turned his horse around and started to ride away down the track, kicking up a small cloud of dust as he went. And as Cunitius rode away Petrus farted.

  “What a cock,” Cunomoltus said taking a deep relieved breath as he stared at the retreating riders.

  “We should have left for Rome yesterday, Marcus,” Petrus said, “Why wait until that prick showed up? Now he has had a good look at us.”

  “And I have had a good look at him,” Marcus growled. “It is always good to see what your enemy looks like and now we know what we are up against.” Marcus took a deep breath and sighed. “He suspects us of involvement in Priscinus’s death but he has no proof. For that he needs to find Esther which we must prevent at all costs.”