Enemies of the Empire

Chapter Eighteen

It took a moment for the meaning of this to register with us, and then, as the full horror of the implication struck, we all went running to the cart. Even some of the foot soldiers clustered round with ghoulish curiosity as Marcus gave the word and the cover of the luggage wagon was lifted back across the wooden framework that supported it.

What was revealed inside was not a pretty sight. Promptillius’s body still lay, as it had been disinterred, wrapped in what used to be my toga, and that was bad enough. But at his feet was propped another corpse, and that was horrible.

It had been forced into a sort of kneeling posture, and wedged so that the torso was bent forward and the arms outstretched in a ghastly parody of the lament. What made the posture even more obscene was not only that the head had been crudely hewn off at the neck, but that the rest of the body had been stuffed, with deliberate mockery, into a garment that was far too small for it. A pair of hairy buttocks greeted us, under the hem of a short crimson tunic with a gold-embroidered edge — the uniform of Marcus’s household slaves. Obviously this one was too small to be any use to them, and they had chosen to mock us in this way.

I had stood back to let my patron pass ahead of me, and now I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Dear Mercury and all the gods! Wait till the Emperor Commodus learns of this. It is a studied insult to all Roman power.’

And an insult to Marcus in particular, I thought, though of course he didn’t mention that. To a patrician Roman magistrate, such as my patron, loss of dignity is almost worse than death. Here, it was outright dangerous, because it undermined his status with the troops. There were already knowing titters in the watching crowd — as the rebels had no doubt intended there should be.

I wondered again at the sharp intelligence which was behind all this. What kind of man had dared to do these things? Someone who was capable of lightning thought: fearless, certainly, and almost contemptuous of Rome, since he visited such indignities on an imperial messenger, stole horses from under the noses of armed troops, and set out to mock and alienate a man of Marcus’s influence. I could see how such a person would inspire his men — a bold and reckless leader, harrying what he saw as an occupying power.

Yet there were things about his actions that I didn’t understand. Why had he ordered poor Promptillius killed, yet deliberately spared two other slaves today? It couldn’t be for fear of witnesses, as I had thought at first — Marcus’s servants were quite able to describe the men they’d seen.

Regulus, behind me, had a question too. ‘Poor fellow. Why did they cut his head off? Just for spite? It wasn’t done to kill him. He was dead already, that’s obvious from the wound. You can see that it has hardly bled at all.’

The optio said stiffly, ‘I imagine it is intended to make a point to us — to show what they can do. The rebels have tried this sort of thing before.’

Marcus frowned. ‘This whole gruesome scene is an atrocity. Well, it won’t succeed! Don’t look so troubled and upset, Libertus. Do you seriously doubt we’ll catch these rogues?’

‘Of course not, Excellence,’ I murmured. In fact my worried look was caused by something else. I was remembering that oak tree we had seen. Of course there were only harmless statues there, but it proved a point. In this part of the province the old religion was not dead. And if Nyros and his family kept up such a shrine, how much more likely that families which still resisted Rome would maintain the old rites in their purest form — human offerings, blood-sacrifice and all? The whole forest was full of ancient trees.

Somewhere in the area, I was prepared to bet — somewhere far removed from any path, and where only initiates would go — there was a proper old-fashioned Druid grove, its oak trees daubed with blood, where the head of the unfortunate messenger was even now dangling as a gruesome tribute to the gods. And if that was the case, I thought, probably the hide-out of the rebels was not far away. Divine protection is a useful thing.

However, it was not easy to explain all this to Marcus without offending him. If he realised that I’d recognised the signs of forbidden practices and failed to mention them before, I could bring trouble down on more than Nyros and his household. My own deliberate silence contravened the law. I phrased my answer very carefully.

‘It is possible, Excellence, that these rebels stick to ancient tribal ways and the head has been taken as a Druid sacrifice. .’ I began, but my concerns were needless. My patron was paying no attention to my words.

He had whirled round to stare at the little knot of horseman on the path who even now were straggling into view, with a rank of marching soldiers at their heels.

My heart lurched for a moment, fearing that these were rebels, but the next glance reassured me. Those were Roman uniforms, and more than that, some of the soldiers had faces I knew. Two of the horsemen I recognised at once as the mounted guards that we had set to watch the carts and carriage, the others were clearly the cavalry the optio had detached from the detail set to chase the rebels through the farm, and sent back the way we had come. All the horsemen seemed to be in total disarray and looked almost comically perplexed. Marching behind them, with an attempt at discipline, were the foot soldiers we had left to guard the carts and the pigs.

The optio was already striding down the path towards the group and starting to harangue one of the mounted guards. The man slid down to stand beside his horse, and there was a brief exchange — a subdued but forceful one, in which the name of Jupiter was several times invoked. Even from where I was standing, that much was audible.

Marcus went down to meet them, and at his approach the optio swung round and raised his voice. ‘Exactly the same strategy as the rebels used before,’ he said. ‘Just as your servants said. A man who claimed to be an army messenger — complete with military uniform and seal — came here and told the guards on duty that we’d been attacked, and that they were to leave the carriages and come.’ He looked at Marcus with a gesture of despair. ‘They were directed down the other path, where they met our fellows guarding Subulcus’s pigs.’

Marcus scowled. ‘Let the fellow tell me for himself.’ He signalled to the horseman, who took up the tale.

‘Your indulgence, Excellence. We did not intend to leave the carts like that — but if you were in danger, what were we to do? We were just discussing where to go from there — whether the rest of the foot guards should give up the pigs and march in our support — when all this other cavalry turned up, riding hell for leather from the other way. They’d been hoping to ambush horse-thieves from the farm, they said, but they hadn’t managed to catch anyone. Of course, we thought the thieves had set on you. But then the swineherd came back to his pigs. He told us that he’d seen you to the farm — you were quite safe and had started back to the carts. We realised then it was a false alarm — a trick. We had been drawn away from here deliberately.’

He looked at Marcus and the optio for some sign of understanding, but my patron was tapping his baton on his thigh, his face white and set like the mask of fury at the theatre.

The horseman flung himself at Marcus’s feet. ‘Your pardon, Excellence.’ He gestured at the scene in front of him, and fell down on his knees. ‘It wasn’t our intention to desert our posts, and leave your horses unattended for the thieves to take.’

Marcus frowned. ‘So I should hope, since you were specifically detailed to look after them. We shall deal with you when we get back to camp. And as for your tactics, optio, I am not impressed. It seems that the rebels have achieved a great success. Not only did they seize the messenger’s animal and four horses from the escort yesterday, they now have Nyros’s and mine as well. They have outwitted you at every point. Look what happened at the farm. It now appears that you sent out two sets of mounted men to try to trap the horse-thieves between them, but both of your pursuit groups were deflected by a trick while the bandits slipped unhampered through the gap, no doubt laughing at me up their sleeves. And then they pulled the same trick here and got away again. That’s what you’re telling me, I understand?’

The optio flushed. ‘I suppose you might describe it in that fashion, Excellence. The raiders have escaped us, certainly.’

‘Pausing only to steal my horses and humiliate my slaves?’

This time the optio made no response at all.

‘Well,’ Marcus went on in his dangerously reasonable tone, ‘you are — as you pointed out yourself — the officer in charge. What kind of strategy do you now propose? We are in the forest. There are bandits here and it is getting late. We have three vehicles, two corpses and no carriage-animals — only to be expected, I am sure, since we are protected by only half a hundred men, but posing a little problem all the same. How am I to get to safety for the night? I presume you don’t suggest that I should walk? Or, on second thoughts, perhaps you do. I could push one of the carriages, perhaps?’ His voice was rising and his colour too.

The optio had turned a dull, embarrassed red and was muttering something wretched to his boots when Regulus stepped forward and put in, ‘Permission to volunteer a suggestion, Excellence? I will take two of my colleagues, and we’ll ride out to the forest edge and bring back some carriage-horses for you from that staging-post we passed.’

The optio looked more cast down than ever at this but Marcus assented with a nod. ‘I suppose you’re right. We shall have to send back there, and pay that villain some inflated price for half a dozen of his hopeless nags, at least until we can requisition fresh horses. And this way we don’t break up the guard again into foolish little units which are easy to defeat, waylay and misinform. Permission granted. See to it at once.’

The optio snapped to attention. ‘Permit me, Excellence.’ He turned to Regulus. ‘Tell him the mansio will meet the bill, after we have reached home in safety — not before. That will prevent him hiring us some broken-down old mare so short of wind that it won’t get us to Isca. Horse-leasers in the area are famous for that sort of trick.’ In other circumstances it might have been comic to see how keen he was to show his grasp of local tradespeople and make some sort of contribution to affairs.

Regulus acknowledged his instructions with a bow, and set off at a run. A moment later he was riding off, together with two of his companions. Marcus watched him go.

‘Very well, optio!’ The ironic tone had vanished, now that some practical solution was in sight. ‘Draw up your men as I proposed before. We are still in danger of attack. I asked for some emergency provisions in the cart. You saw that they were packed, I think?’

‘Bread, cheese and fruit as you commanded, Excellence. I doubted you would need such rations on the way, but your foresight has proved valuable.’ The optio essayed a fawning little smile, and was severely glared at for his pains.

‘Provided that those sons of Pluto have not stolen it, thanks to your failure to mount a proper guard,’ Marcus snapped. ‘Libertus and I will eat, and my two slaves and those who stopped to guard the pigs can finish anything we don’t require. I believe your men were given some refreshment at the spring?’

‘That is indeed so, Excellence,’ the optio said, clearly understanding the unspoken message here. He and the guards who had failed to watch the carts were to be punished for their part in this affair by being offered nothing. It was not a major matter to the men, perhaps — soldiers carry water with them on the road, and are accustomed to marching long distances with little else to sustain them until the evening meal — but I was very hungry after all the exertions of the day, and even dry bread, strong cheese and withered apple seemed a welcome treat, although I thought again of Nyros’s aromatic venison, and sighed.

Marcus, however, dispatched his meagre meal without the least pretence of satisfaction in the task and ordered the remnants of the loaf to be distributed among the designated men. He was so displeased with the events of the day that I feared that at any minute he would instruct the optio to place half a dozen men between the shafts, and drag us back to Venta in that old-fashioned way.

However, that was not necessary. The guards who had been on duty with the pigs were still chewing the final morsels of their crust when Regulus and his companions rode back into view, dragging a string of horses after them. They were, as Marcus had so bitterly foretold, pathetic creatures — mostly skin and bone — and the ride into the forest had already winded them, but at least they were horses of a kind.

Regulus reined in and slid down from his mount. ‘Your animals, Excellence,’ he said, snapping his heels together and addressing Marcus with a bow. ‘The best that I could do. The hirer swears that they are used to pulling carts.’

My patron bestowed a smile on him, turning his back upon the optio, who fumed. ‘No trouble with the rebels?’ he enquired. ‘I feared you might be set on while you were bringing them.’

Regulus was bold enough to laugh. ‘We were quite safe, Excellence. Not even the rebels want horses such as these. I never saw such broken-winded nags. All the same, if they are harnessed up, I think they will suffice. They’ll get us to the marching-camp, at least, and we can pick up other horses there.’

‘Very well.’ Marcus nodded to the optio. ‘See to it at once.’

The officer looked resentful, but he could not protest. Instead he poured out his irritation on the men, who scurried frantically about in obedience to a barrage of commands. It was effective, though. The animals were strapped and in the shafts faster than I thought possible, and soon the whole procession was on the move again. The pace was a good deal slower now, of course: the men were weary and the hired horses could only plod sluggishly along. We would have made a tempting target for any ambush-group, but we saw no one on the way except the fat man with the cart, who — still cursing — moved his wagon to the ditch to let us through a second time that day, and shouted imprecations at our backs.