The Fateful Day

EIGHT

The pile of sorry corpses made my throat go dry again and this time even Georgicus looked shocked. ‘Dear Ceres! You are quite right! All of them are dead. Who would have thought those people would do anything like this?’ The words seemed shaken from him.

I glanced at him, wondering exactly what he meant. ‘Those people?’ I echoed. Did he know more about them than he was willing to admit?

‘Surely this is the handiwork of our robbers, isn’t it? I thought we had agreed in principle on that.’ He was staring at the bodies with a stricken look, but his tone was businesslike.

I decided to reply in kind. ‘Do you think that this accounts for all the household staff?’

He nodded, bitterly. ‘I’m pretty sure of it, although of course as outdoor slaves we didn’t really mix with them. Indoor servants regard themselves as much more highly trained and most think it is below them to have much to do with us. But we were all the possessions of the same owner, after all, and with the steward dead I suppose I’m now responsible for everything. I’ll have my land-slaves build a pyre for these unfortunates and I’d better get a message to the Funeral Guild as well.’ He looked at the headless corpses of his colleagues and shook his head. ‘I don’t suppose the master would object if we arranged one big cremation in a field out here?’

‘I’m sure that Marcus would insist on it.’ I meant it. ‘With so many bodies, it would prove expensive otherwise.’

He gazed around as if searching for a site. ‘Up at the other property, perhaps? Not the vineyard field, but a fallow one that hasn’t been brought under proper cultivation yet? Then the funeral urns could all be buried in the master’s land without too much disruption to the crops. You’re in his confidence, what would you suggest? It would take too long to send word to him to ask him for advice.’

‘But of course his wife is in Corinium,’ I said, ‘That is only a half-day’s ride away. If you’re concerned, I am confident that she will give consent.’

The land-slave captain shook his head. ‘Send her a message? But I don’t know who-’

I cut him off. ‘I shall be going to Glevum later on, myself. The garrison commander is a friend of Marcus’s and he has the swiftest couriers available. I mean to ask him to send a messenger to my patron anyway — your owner should know what’s happened here as soon as possible — and I’m sure a rider can be sent to Julia as well. And I’ll speak to the Slaves’ Guild for you while I am in the town.’

He did not thank me, just gave a sober nod and looked down at the bloodied bodies of people he had known. ‘Then, with your permission, citizen, I’ll get back to my work. I’ll send a land-slave up here to start on the lament. It seems to be the least that we can do. And having someone here might put a stop to these flies!’ He flapped away a pair of lazy, bloated ones which had settled on the dead cook’s severed neck. ‘Perhaps we could find something with which to cover up the dead?’ For the first time there was genuine emotion in his voice — it actually seemed liable to break.

‘I think there are some blankets in the slave quarters,’ I said.

But before I’d even managed to complete the words, he was halfway across the orchard with that loping run of his. A moment later I heard a mighty shout. ‘Got them!’ and he was running back again.

It did not take an instant to cover up the slaves and once we had done so I, too, felt more at ease. ‘Now, then …’ I began, as we left the orchard and walked back into the enclosure where the slave quarters were. I was about to suggest that I would wait until he’d sent his promised mourner back, preferably with Minimus, so that once the lamentation had begun I could set off on my mission to the town. But before I’d manage to complete the words, I was interrupted by a frenzied rattling at the main gates at the rear.

I froze, feeling a prickle of cold sweat run down my neck. Who would be coming to the back entrance of the villa now? A carter with deliveries, possibly — but what would they be bringing while Marcus was away, and would they dare to rattle on the gates like that? Yet if wasn’t that, who was it? Could it be the armed intruders coming back again?

I looked at Georgicus and he looked at me. ‘Tradesman with deliveries?’ he murmured.

‘At this time of day, I suppose that’s possible. On the other hand …’ I cast around for something with which to arm myself, but could think of nothing better than the kitchen knives I’d noticed earlier. ‘Wait here!’ I called to Georgicus. I dashed in through the arch towards the house, burst into the kitchen block, picked up the biggest blade that I could find and thrust it through my belt — to the side where it would not dig into me but was still easy to get to, underneath my cloak. I picked up the pestle for good measure, too. It wasn’t very heavy but it would make a cosh, of sorts.

I hurried back. At first sight I couldn’t see Georgicus anywhere, though the rattling at the gate was even louder now. I was still not altogether sure of him and glanced around in panic. Then I saw him. His thoughts must have been turning the same way as my own, because he’d knelt beside the gatehouse to remove the heavy timber that was used to bar the gate. As I watched, he slid it from its frame, where, when the gates were sealed, it lay crosswise across the aperture as an additional security to the bolts. It was long and stout and sturdy. He got up, carrying it loosely in one hand, weighing it against the other as though it were a club. I could scarcely have lifted it with both.

‘Undo the bolts,’ he told me, gesturing for me to join him at the gates ‘If that is just a tradesman delivering to the villa, well and good. But if it isn’t …’ He mimed the act of hoisting the piece of wood above his head and smashing it down on top of someone’s skull. ‘If it is our murderous friends again they are doubtless armed with swords. But we’ll take someone with us, or my name’s not Georgicus.’

I nodded. I was just a little thoughtful about being the person to unbolt the gate when he was standing behind me with his makeshift weapon raised. However, I bent and put my free hand to the lower bolt. It was surprisingly difficult to move as it was vibrating with the violent rattling of the gate, which now seemed even more peremptory than before. Even when I put down my cosh and used both hands I couldn’t pull it back.

‘All right!’ I shouted to whoever was outside. ‘Give me a moment to undo the bolt.’ The rattling ceased abruptly, but there was no reply. That was alarming. One might have expected a cart-driver to have shouted back. I called again. ‘Who is it anyway?’ But once again there was no response at all.

As I straightened up I noticed a knot-hole in the wood-strut of the gate, just a little above my shoulder height — hollowed out by some imaginative guard, no doubt, to give a view of anybody in the lane outside. I was about to bend over and apply to my eye to it when I realised that Georgicus had stepped up very close to me and was hovering, his hulk of wood upraised.

‘Go on! Have a look!’ he murmured in my ear.

More nervous now than ever, I did as I was told. It wasn’t possible to keep one eye on Georgicus as I would have liked, so I had to commit myself to peering through the hole — and found to my astonishment that there was nothing to be seen. I wriggled round to adjust my vantage point, but there did not appear to be anyone at the gate, or in the small portion of the lane that I could see. That was somehow more worrying than a brace of swordsmen with their weapons drawn.

I turned to Georgicus. My mouth was suddenly too dry for speech. I shrugged my shoulders at him, and spread my hands apart to indicate that there was no one there. ‘Nothing!’ I managed. I drew out my blade.

‘May be a trap,’ he whispered. ‘Be careful, citizen.’

Better to face danger head on than wait for it, I thought. I clenched my knife more tightly and — keeping it firmly levelled at what I hoped would be chest-height to any incomer — I pulled the bolts back with my other hand. They moved easily enough now that the rattling had stopped but, though I tried to do it silently, the metal squeaked loudly.

Georgicus came back to stand beside me with his baulk of wood upraised. He gave me a curt nod, and — realising finally that I was not at risk from him — with a sudden movement I thrust the gates apart.

I was half expecting killers, dangerous and armed. What I found, when I had lowered my eyes sufficiently, was an extremely frightened little boy — a sort of infant land-slave, from the ragged tunic that he wore. I hadn’t seen him through the knot-hole because he was so small. I was so relieved that I could hardly speak, just stood there staring at him stupidly.

He might have been perhaps as much as five or six years old, though he was so under-developed that it was hard to tell. His dirty, tousled carrot-coloured curls reached scarcely to my hips. He was as thin as he was tiny, and his legs were bare, though an enormous pair of cut-down peasant ‘boots’ reached almost to his knees. (These rough bags of cow-skin were far too big for him and had clearly been formed on someone else’s feet.) His skinny face was filthy, streaked with mud and tears, and his red-rimmed eyes were staring in terror at my knife.

I heard the thud behind me as Georgicus let fall his makeshift club. ‘Tenuis! What in the name of all the gods …’

The child’s gaze never faltered from the blade. ‘Captain! Overseer Georgicus! You can see it’s only me. Don’t let the citizen stab me with his knife.’

I pulled myself together, turned the blade aside, and stood back to let the child come in. ‘One of your land-slaves?’ I said to Georgicus, trying to sound as if I hadn’t been afraid. ‘He seems to know who I am, since he calls me citizen.’

‘All my land-slaves know who you are, citizen. And he’s mine all right. But as to land-slave, I am not so sure, though that is what they call him. The smallest one we’ve got,’ Georgicus said. ‘Come on in then, Tenuis.’

The apparition unwillingly obeyed.

‘Came as part of a job lot that the master bought last year,’ his overseer said, putting a hand on one shoulder to usher him inside. ‘I was at the slave market with him at the time. There were four half-decent land-slaves at an attractive price. I only wanted them, but the dealer insisted that we took this one as well. Though it is a puzzle what to do with him.’ He put a finger underneath the small boy’s chin and tilted up the face. ‘Not pretty enough to be a household page, and far too small and puny to be useful otherwise. No good for proper land-work, because he isn’t strong enough to dig, but he can fetch eggs and carry firewood and that sort of thing. When he keeps his mind on it, which he obviously can’t. He was sent to look for kindling this morning in the woods, not come wandering to the villa of his own accord.’ He squeezed the chin quite roughly before he let it go.

The child recognised that he had been rebuked. ‘I know you told us not to come up to the house,’ — his voice was terrified — ‘but the others sent me here.’

‘The others?’ I echoed. ‘You mean the land-slaves who were supposed to be working in the fields? We didn’t see them as we came along.’

Tenuis nodded eagerly. ‘Exactly. They saw you though, captain. You were running up the lane. They decided you must be coming up here to the house, but of course they didn’t dare to leave their posts themselves. So they sent me to find you. Then if anyone was punished …’

‘It would be you,’ I said, moving to close the heavy gates again.

Tenuis seemed unaware of any irony. He turned towards me. ‘Exactly, citizen. But they weren’t expecting any trouble of that kind. I’m younger than they are and I can run in and out without the house staff taking much account.’

‘You were trying to avoid the house staff then?’ Georgicus raised an eyebrow and jerked his head towards the orchard wall. I knew exactly what he was signalling — that Tenuis, at least, had no idea of what had happened there.

I nodded to show I’d understood and murmured to the boy, ‘Go on with your account.’

Tenuis needed no encouragement. ‘I didn’t care about the steward, anyway, today, ’cause I had a proper errand. I was sent to find you, captain.’ He turned to Georgicus. ‘They want to know if it’s all right to go back to their tasks and leave the wood-pile unattended for a time. Nobody has come for it, though they’ve been waiting hours.’ He dropped his glance and muttered to his feet. ‘At least that’s what they say. I think there’s really something else that they’re not telling me. There was an awful lot of whispering that I couldn’t hear.’

But Georgicus was not listening. He had crouched down to gaze intently into the slave-boy’s face. He turned the lad towards him, holding both the skinny shoulders as he said, ‘What wood-pile is this?’