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

by William Kelso

  “But why ask him about his family?” Cunomoltus said with a frown as he turned to glance at Marcus. “That was a bit odd.”

  “A man like that, with no family, no one to care for and look after,” Marcus snapped turning to glare at his brother, “has nothing to lose. That makes him a most dangerous man.”

  At his side both Petrus and Cunomoltus did not reply. Then as the riders vanished from sight Petrus turned to Marcus.

  “So now what?” he muttered.

  “We leave for Rome tonight under the cover of darkness,” Marcus said lowering his voice, “but before we go there is something that I need to know.”

  Chapter Five – The Black Cross

  Marcus, Cunomoltus, Petrus, Kyna and Dylis stood gathered in the corridor of the villa and were gazing down at Esther who was sitting on her bed in her room. Esther, her head downcast, looked pale and nervous as her fingers played with her small wooden cross.

  “We shall be leaving tonight on horseback,” Marcus said in a grave voice turning to glance at Dylis. “I want to get away under the cover of darkness. Cunomoltus, brother, I want you to wait for a week after we have gone and then send a message to Cunitius at Priscinus’s farm, telling him that I have unexpectedly been called away to Deva Victrix. Tell him that there is urgent news from Fergus and that I will be gone for a while.”

  “And what is the real plan?” Dylis muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

  “It is possible that Cunitius or the Governor will have sent men to watch all the major ports, Rutipiae, Reginorum, Londinium,” Marcus said carefully. “So, we shall be avoiding those places and harbours. Instead Cunomoltus will accompany us tonight and return to the farm with our horses in the morning. We will make our way to Plautius’s farm on the north-west coast. From there I have arranged for a small boat to ferry the three of us across to the mainland. Once on the mainland we shall turn west and head for the old trading post and port at Hengistbury Head. The place is small and isolated enough and it’s not too far away. At the old trading post, I know a man who will be able to help us. He’s a retired Batavian soldier from the Ninth Cohort. He’s a merchant now. We shall stay with him tomorrow night and on the following day, with a little luck we will find a ship in the port that is willing to take us across to Gaul. From there we will obtain horses and make our way overland to Rome. Then once we are in the capital we will meet with Abraham, Petrus’s contact and arrange for Esther to disappear into the city’s Christian community.”

  The others glanced at each other but no one said a word.

  “Thank you, Marcus, you are a righteous man,” Esther replied suddenly from her room. She had risen to her feet and was looking straight at Marcus, her face resolute. “I am ready to go. I have prayed to God. He will be with us on this journey.”

  “Yes well,” Marcus grunted, sizing her up, “I don’t know about that, but there is one more thing. I have heard a lot of talk about you having some clearly visible identifying features on your body, but when I look at you I can’t see anything. What are these people talking about? I need to know.”

  Esther did not reply as she gave Dylis a quick alarmed look. At Marcus’s side Dylis hissed in annoyance and then moved towards Esther. Without saying a word, she turned Esther around so that her back was facing the onlookers. Then gently and carefully she undid Esther’s dress, peeling away her clothes, so that her naked back was exposed and as she did so, Marcus groaned. Covering nearly the entirety of Esther’s back was a fantastic tattoo of a large, P shaped black cross. The four ends of the cross were immaculately decorated with strange symbols, a dove, a fish and an anchor.

  “Fucking hell,” Cunomoltus exclaimed as he stared at the tattoo.

  “If we could remove it,” Dylis snapped, standing to one side, “we would but this is a tattoo, it won’t just wash out. It is something that cannot be got rid of. So, Esther must keep herself covered, do you understand?”

  “What the hell were you thinking woman? Did it really have to be so large?” Cunomoltus blurted out, but his words were interrupted by Petrus who gave him a shove.

  “Shut up,” Petrus hissed, “This is faith.”

  “This kind of faith that will get you killed,” Cunomoltus retorted.

  Marcus suddenly felt someone tug at his arm. Looking round he saw that it was Kyna. There was a resigned and sad expression on her face.

  “You need to speak to Efa before you go,” Kyna said in a hoarse voice. “If for whatever reason you are delayed on your return journey, this may be the last time that you will see her. She is weakening Marcus. She is growing fragile. She doesn’t have much time left.”

  Marcus looked down at Kyna’s hand and then nodded.

  “I will speak with her,” he murmured.

  ***

  Efa sat in her comfortable chair on the porch overlooking the vegetable garden, watching the slave girl’s at work. Her white hair was neatly bound back and fixed with a fibula and a fine silver necklace decorated her neck. She looked frail. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was a golden ball in the blue sky. In the garden the slaves were singing to themselves as they worked. Despite the heat of the day, a blanket was draped across Efa’s legs and waist. Beside her on a small wooden table stood a jug of water and wine. She glanced up at Marcus as he came and sat down on the porch beside her, and for a long moment the two of them were silent.

  “They have beautiful voices,” Efa said at last, as she gazed at the slaves. “I like sitting here listening to them sing. It reminds me of when I was young.”

  Marcus nodded but did not say anything.

  “So, when are you leaving?” Efa asked turning to look at him.

  “Tonight,” Marcus murmured, “We must leave under the cover of darkness. I have told Kyna that I shall try and be back for Saturnalia.”

  “So, this is goodbye then,” Efa sighed, “and you are worried that when you return I shall not be here. Well that is just stupid,” the old lady said in a sarcastic voice. “You should know me better than that.”

  “You are ill, Efa,” Marcus muttered, “Remember what the doctor in Londinium said.”

  “I don’t give a damn about any doctors,” Efa retorted. “They pretend to know everything and yet they know nothing. I don’t believe a word of what they say. So, stop worrying about me and focus on what you must do Marcus. I shall be here when you return. I am the least of your worries.”

  A little smile appeared on Marcus’s lips as he looked away.

  “If you say so, Efa,” he replied. “This man,” Marcus sighed, “this Cunitius who is searching for Esther. He is a dangerous man. He is going to be trouble.”

  “He won’t beat you,” Efa said in a sharp, derisive voice. “You are Corbulo’s son. Nothing will stop you Marcus. I know it in my bones.”

  Marcus nodded and then reached out to lay his hand on top of Efa’s hand and for a moment the two of them were silent.

  “I just wish,” Efa said at last in a changed voice, “that I am still here to see the whole family together again one final time. That would be truly something. To see you and Fergus and all of us here together, eating, talking and laughing under the same roof. That would make me very happy. It has been too long since we were all together.”

  Efa sighed and turned to give Marcus a sad little glance. “That was Corbulo’s wish you know,” she said. “He wanted us all here, reunited and together like a family should be. I hope it will happen one day. So, don’t worry about me, Marcus. I shall make an offering to the gods for your safe passage and return.”

  ***

  It was dark when the four horses and their riders quietly slipped out through the front gate of the farm and went trotting away westwards. In the night sky the half-moon cast its pale light across the deserted fields and woods and from somewhere in the forest an owl was hooting. A few hundred yards from the entrance to the farm, beside the track and hidden amongst the trees of the forest, the watcher stirred with sudden excitement as he caught sight of t
he four horses coming towards him. In the darkness, they would never see him, he knew, but nevertheless he moved behind a tree as the four riders came past his position before disappearing into the gloom. As they swept past the watcher tried to pick out faces but it was too dark to be sure yet one of the riders appeared to be a woman. His employer had been right to place a watch on the farm. Silently the watcher turned to gaze in the direction in which the riders had vanished. Then quickly he stooped to awaken a second man who was asleep, his back leaning against a tree.

  “Hurry,” the watcher growled, “Ride to Cunitius and tell him that Marcus is on the move with three companions. They just rode out into the night. He may have the woman with him.”

  The second man hastily struggled to his feet and turned to peer up the dark track.

  “Are you sure it was him?” the second man blurted out.

  “Who else would be leaving the farm at this hour?” the watcher snapped. “Now hurry, get moving. Cunitius will want to know about this.”

  “And what are you going to do?” the second man hissed.

  “I am going to follow them and see where they are heading,” the watcher replied, “and try and confirm whether he has the woman with him. That reward is going to ours, brother.”

  Chapter Six – The Hunted

  The salt marshes stretched away along the sea coast, a desolate scene of musty smelling water pools, muddy sand banks and a vast tangle of tall reeds that swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. It was dawn and to the east the sun was rising into a fine, cloudless blue sky. Marcus sat crouching in the prow of the little boat as it slowly nosed its way deeper into the myriad of narrow, hidden waterways and channels. As they pushed on into the swamp a couple of geese, disturbed by their approach, flew up into the air with outraged honks.

  At the back of the little boat that had ferried them across the straights from Vectis to the mainland, the boatman was standing up and using a long wooden pole to propel them up the channel. Marcus turned to glance at Petrus and Esther who were sitting behind him. Esther, her body wrapped in a dark cloak with a hood covering her head seemed to be asleep, her head resting against Petrus’s shoulder. As Marcus gazed at her, Petrus gave him a confident wink. Ignoring Petrus, Marcus turned to stare at the towering white cliffs of distant Vectis, which rose from the sea like the prow of a gigantic ship and as he did he suddenly felt a sharp pang of sadness. Slowly he shook his head and squinted at the distant cliffs. He had lost count of the times he’d made the journey from his island home to the mainland and never had he experienced such sadness, but today he did. Today, he felt it more than ever. Was he never going to be able to settle down and grow old in peace? Marcus sighed and forced himself to look away. Cunomoltus should be nearly back at the farm by now with the horses and if his plan worked it would be days before Cunitius realised what had happened by which time it would be too late.

  “This is as far as I go, the beach is over in that direction,” the boatman growled as the boat glided gently onto a sand bank.

  Marcus swung his legs over the side of the boat and his feet sank into mud flat. Steadying himself he reaching out to help Esther out of the boat. She was quickly followed by Petrus who was carrying a large pack on his back.

  “We’re heading for Deva Victrix,” Marcus growled as he tossed the man a single bronze coin. “In case anyone asks.”

  The boatman caught the coin and raised it in the air to give it a careful inspection. Then without replying, he cast off using his long wooden pole.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Marcus said quietly turning to his companions. Then briskly he started out across the mud towards the gravelly beach.

  “Do you think he will give us away?” Esther asked in an anxious voice.

  “I don’t know but it’s a possibility,” Marcus snapped as he waded through the water, “If he knows about the reward for your capture he may be tempted and I am sure he got a good look at your face. We must be careful.”

  “So, what’s the plan from here?” Petrus said in a cheerful voice as they reached the firmer ground.

  Standing on the beach Marcus paused and turned to gaze westwards. There was no one about. They were alone.

  “I told you before,” Marcus snapped irritably, “We have a ten mile walk to the port. We will follow the beach and coast and stay away from any villages. The fewer people who see us the better. At Hengistbury Head I know a man who will be able to help us. We will stay with him tonight. Tomorrow we will find a ship that will take us across to Gaul.”

  “These Batavian’s of yours are everywhere,” Petrus replied sourly. “But how do we know if we can trust him, Marcus? If this reward for Esther’s capture is widely known, maybe he will be tempted to turn us in. You are taking a big risk in trusting this man, this Batavian friend of yours.”

  Slowly Marcus turned to glare at Petrus.

  “We have a long journey ahead of us,” Marcus growled, “So don’t make me regret taking you with me, boy. Now start walking.”

  “Don’t call me boy,” Petrus replied sulkily, as he adjusted the heavy pack on his back and started to follow Marcus and Esther along the stony beach.

  ***

  It was approaching noon when Marcus called a halt and the weary travellers left the path and gratefully sank down onto the forest floor. Lowering his pack to the ground from his sweat soaked back, Petrus rummaged inside and produced a loaf of hard black bread and a lump of cheese. Marcus however did not seem interested in the food or in resting his feet. He looked concerned as he leaned against a tree and gazed back down the path along which they had just come. Soon after they had set out from the beach he had heard a horn ringing out in the distance. It was just a feeling, some animalistic sense of danger but he couldn’t shake it. The feeling that they were being followed had started to grow on him.

  “What’s the matter?” Petrus asked seeing the troubled look on Marcus’s face.

  But Marcus shook his head.

  “Nothing, boy,” he growled, his eyes fixed on the path that disappeared away into the trees.

  Sitting on the ground, Petrus took a deep frustrated breath. “I told you before,” he snapped, “don’t call me a boy. I am twenty-eight years old, for fuck’s sake. Did you know that I once saved Corbulo’s life in Viriconium and that I helped him find his way, navigating by the stars when we were lost in the woods? I know how to handle myself, so for the final time, stop calling me boy.”

  Slowly Marcus wrenched his eyes away from the path and turned to glare at Petrus.

  “You get us into trouble, that’s what you do,” Marcus hissed irritably. “Your stupidity managed to make enemies of the priests in Reginorum and that nearly cost us our farm and home. Don’t think I have forgotten. And your insolence is most annoying. You have no respect for anything. That’s why you are a boy.”

  “I respect Christus,” Petrus retorted with a hurt look. “And for what it is worth I grew to respect Corbulo. He wasn’t that bad in the end.”

  “I do not care for your God,” Marcus growled glancing at Esther. “As far as I am concerned, Cunomoltus is right, you Christians are trouble makers. One day your God is going to cause endless struggle and loss of life.”

  “So why are you taking Esther to Rome? Why are you even here?” Petrus said angrily. “If you don’t like us then why don’t you go back home and I will take Esther to Rome by myself.”

  Marcus looked away.

  “You would never make it,” Marcus replied sharply. Then he sighed and slowly shook his head. “Esther did a great service to our family at considerable personal risk, misguided though I believe it was, and it is only right and honourable that we now do the same for her. That is what honour means, boy. Without honour and self-respect, a man is nothing.”

  “Marcus, the philosopher,” Petrus said in a bitter, mocking voice.

  “Marcus is a good man, Petrus, even though he does not believe in God,” Esther said suddenly in a quiet voice, “God has sent him to keep us safe. That is
why he is with us. Do not mock him for you are mocking the will of God.”

  Petrus muttered something under his breath as he gave Esther a quick furtive glance.

  “And you,” Marcus said, turning to look at Esther, “Enough of this talk about God. As far as I am concerned you are no longer a slave. When we reach Rome, you are going to be a free woman, so start acting like one or else people may become suspicious.”

  Esther lowered her eyes to the ground and for a long moment she was silent. Then gathering her cloak around her, she got up to her feet.

  “I don’t know what it means to be free,” she replied, “I have been a slave all my life, I don’t know anything else but servitude.”

  “Don’t worry Esther,” Petrus said in a calm voice, “I shall teach you what it means to be free. There are no slaves amongst the followers of Christus.”

  ***

  It was an hour later, whilst the three of them were walking across a clearing, that Marcus suddenly halted and turned sharply to stare back in the direction from which they had just come. Had that been the blare of another horn in the distance? Amongst the trees of the forest nothing moved and all was silent. To the south, the sea was just visible, the waves glinting in the fierce sunlight.

  “What is it Marcus?” Esther asked seeing his troubled face.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” Marcus replied grimly. “I think we are being followed.”

  Then before the others could reply he gestured for them to leave the path. Hastily the three of them took shelter in a hollow in the open rolling ground. Lying on his stomach Marcus quickly turned to Petrus.

  “Get your sling out and load it,” he growled.

  Hastily Petrus did as Marcus had asked and Marcus turned his attention back to the edge of the forest, which they had just left behind. For a long time, the three of them were silent as they lay stretched out on their stomachs on the ground, hidden by the terrain. At the edge of the clearing nothing moved and Marcus was about to give up and rise to his feet when suddenly a figure, clad in a long brown travelling cloak appeared on horseback amongst the trees. Marcus tensed. The man had a curved horn made of bone hanging from around his neck. The rider paused and carefully gazed out across the clearing. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry and he was armed with a sword and a small round shield was slung over his back.