The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits (46 page)

“Brutus must have some knowledge of them. He wouldn’t have mentioned it unless there was cause for concern.”

“It’s the time of year. Yesterday was the longest day. Apparently they need the blood of a man to influence the moon and the sun, or some such nonsense. So I’ve been told.
But those days are long gone. Siluríans worship Roman gods now.”

“Indeed. And Prince Ceryth gave every sign of wanting to continue our current position when we met yesterday. If it is Druids, they must be acting on their own. We can only hope they don’t have many followers.” Julius hid his worry. He could not afford to leave Isca exposed when the Emperor’s orders were revealed. With only one day to go before then, he must resolve this matter speedily.

“Julius, did you hear me?” Modestina’s voice was concerned rather than accusatory. “Your thoughts must be very full.”

Julius laid his hand over his wife’s for an instant. “I can’t get the sight of that coracle out of my mind. I’ve seen plenty of bodies in my time, but the smell – well.”

“But it’s more than that,” Modestina observed. “Finding the rest of the body has not helped you, has it?”

“You’re right. It’s not only having to give the terrible news to his widow but – I’ve looked at it every way and it’s inescapable – I think Brutus may be right. This could be the work of those forbidden priests of nature. The Druids.”

“Which means possible confrontation with Ceryth.”

“He seemed a reasonable man at our first meeting but if it is the Druids, his tribe must have helped them in this to get access to Isca. Either he’s going to defend his people, whoever they may be, and risk conflict with me, or he’ll listen to me politely then seethe with resentment secretly – or even attack. Whatever he decides, it’ll be well thought out. He’s a sensible head for a young man – he’s about thirty years old, I think – but he could still react with his heart if provoked. It could even be some internal attempt to undermine his leadership that we know nothing about – the timing of it with his arrival here for our first meeting could be significant.”

“Not if it really is the work of Druids. They are operating by the rhythms of nature, not of man. Perhaps it’s a secret sect trying to regain power with their own people?”

“It’s possible. Religion comes in many forms – look at the rituals of Isis or Dionysus, and there’s this new one, Christianity. Then on the other hand, it could be someone here at the fort trying to implicate the Silurians to lead me away from the truth.”

“It’s the attempt to hide the arm in the bathhouse that doesn’t make any sense.” She gestured to a slave to pour them some more wine mixed with water. “Why?”

“I know. Lucan suggested that whether it was the Druids or someone else, they killed him and spilled his blood elsewhere and were hiding his body in the bathhouse to throw blame on someone in the fort when they were disturbed by the janitor, so they abandoned the body on the river.” He drank some wine. “I am going to have to meet with Ceryth later today. I’ve sent a messenger ahead to catch up with him before he gets too deep into his own mountainous territory.”

He was grateful for Modestina’s quick nod, without complaint or fuss. “I shall oversee your travel requirements.” She made to get up but he held her back.

“What is it that you were trying to tell me, my love?”

“I don’t want to trouble you with this. . . .” At his reassuring nod she went on, “The children brought me a very sad tale from their lessons today. They have played with Sahia’s children and they learned from them that she is absolutely overcome. She has withdrawn to her room and speaks to no one, not even her own children. They only know their father is dead, not how, and they are so bewildered in their grief.” She blinked tears away. “I suggested they stay with us until their mother is feeling better. Was that wise of me?”

“Very wise,” Julius said, kissing his wife, not caring for
the slaves or servants nearby. “They could not be in better hands.”

The Silurian encampment was a rough affair by Roman standards. Horses were not tethered in neat lines but allowed to roam in a rough enclosure of hurdles. There were no tents, the men slept on the bare ground, wrapped in their plaid cloaks, even Ceryth. But the campfire was big and cheerful with tasty meat roasting over it and plenty of the sweet and heady honey mead the Silurians drank. Julius felt he and his men were safe enough sharing their hospitality, but he was glad of the stool Modestina had packed for him.

Smoke from the fire wisped up to a sky crusted with stars and firelight shone on men with plenty of red or black hair and rough clothes and his own smart well-shaven soldiers, alike.

After half an hour of banter and drinking – Julius found it hard to get used to the Celt’s casual way with their leader, for it appeared these argumentative people could all have their say – Ceryth slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, then,” in his passable Latin. His men fell silent and Julius felt his heartbeat quicken. “I don’t expect you rode after me because you enjoyed my company so much and couldn’t bear to part with me.” A handful of his men understood and translated for others, and there was a ripple of laughter. “So perhaps it’s the death of your trader, Faustinius.”

“You no doubt heard the rest of his body was found, floating in a coracle.”

“Ah. Then you’ve come looking for my advice, no doubt. And I’m happy to give it.” He grinned, giving Julius’s shoulder a firm squeeze, but his eyes were watchful.

“Your knowledge and experience would be of great service,” Julius agreed. “We spoke only briefly about Faustinius before. He traded with you?”

Ceryth shook his head. “
I
do not trade – I lead. But some of my people saw fit to exchange our goods for Roman ones. He came and went freely among us.”

“I understand. But it is the nature of his death that – I have been told – has been made to look like a ritual from your olden times. Druidic. No doubt to hide the real identity of the murderer.” He gave Ceryth a few details.

Ceryth waited until the muttering among his men died away then said, “We do not follow those old rituals. But there are some that still do, I’ve heard. It could be these men – strangers to us here – who have done this. Perhaps they want to undermine my friendship with the Emperor.”

Julius tried not to betray his relief. “Prince Ceryth, if that is the case, I pledge any help I can give to bringing these wrongdoers to justice – to
your
justice.”

“I pledge likewise.” They clasped hands then talking and drinking began again. Yet Julius still felt uneasy. Ceryth had happily passed the blame on to the Druids, promised to find the killers – it had been almost too easy. He felt Ceryth was one step ahead of him – he had been ready for him. Julius knew that he was working in the dark, in an unknown environment. He longed to be able to get back to military matters. There he felt safe and in command. This death threw up too many woolly questions without answers. He wanted to leave it to Ceryth, but his sense of duty still pricked at him, urging caution.

Sunlight glancing off polished armour, the shouts of men being drilled that morning when he returned to the fort, even the greeting cries of his own children, all conspired to make Julius’s headache worse. And now it was going to be the sound of his own voice that would make him wince. The Celts’ honey mead should only be drunk in moderation, he thought.

Squinting into bright sunlight he looked across the parade ground, which lay just outside the ramparts, at the massed ranks of Legio Augustus II. All eyes were expectantly turned to him. The only movements were the occasional stamping of horses, and their tails being fanned by the breeze.

He raised the scroll he had brought with him, the Imperial seal now broken.

“Men, your days without purpose are over. Emperor Hadrian has need of your skills, your strengths and your hearts. I have today read his command, as have legates in other forts across Britannicus. We are to march again, shoulder to shoulder, for the might of Rome and to bring civilization to the darkest corners of the Empire.

“The day after tomorrow not one, not two – not even five vexillations, but all of our legion will be marching North, to Caledonia, leaving a few here to run Isca fort.

“It is thirty years since we were north of the River Bodotria, and twenty since we were safe north of Vindolanda. Too long have we been plundered and harried by the tribes of Caledonia. The Emperor’s visit to Britannicus earlier this year brought him to a decision. We are going to build a wall. The greatest the world has ever seen, with towers and forts all along it to protect our land. It will stretch from one sea to the other, either side of this island and we, men, are going to help build it.

“And, before we go, I have ordered the best entertainment and games the Isca amphitheatre has ever seen.

“Hail to Rome, hail to the Emperor.”

The returning hails from the men were reasonably enthusiastic, he thought as he took his throbbing head home. He knew that in their bunkbeds tonight there would be plenty of grumbles. It was a long way to go. Home comforts would be few, though wives and sweethearts would no doubt follow too. It would be cold and wet.

On the other hand, they would be involved in a magnificent project, and there would be enemy to fight too. Julius was excited at the prospect. He now knew that he was the right man for the job, for hadn’t he trained as an engineer when young?

The arena had been swept clean of animal blood and sprinkled with fresh sand and now, in a twilight enlivened by flickering torches, it was the turn of human performers. Acrobats, jugglers, the exotic and the downright bizarre paraded for the entertainment of the audience.

Antheses chewed on a snack he’d just bought before swallowing some wine from his own stone jar. The Legate had promised a good games, and had been true to his word. Man and beast alike had fought fiercely and the crowd had screamed and groaned with the thrill of it. Antheses had joined with them, and afterwards had enjoyed joking with the men and families he knew best, but now he felt something was missing: Sahia.

Of course she was in mourning. It would not be right for her to attend. But he was used to seeing Faustinius and his wife at the games, or about the small town. They made life interesting with a lifestyle to aspire to. Even more, he admired the way Faustinius managed to smuggle goods, jewels – even people – to and fro behind his legitimate trading. He had long suspected that Faustinius must have a secret cache of money or jewels, and then Faustinius had taken him into his confidence – and now he had the cache, the amphora full of gold nuggets, still intact bar one.

He finished his hot snack, cheered as the acrobats performed their most complex manoeuvre yet, then thought of Sahia again. She’d be alone now, with everyone at the games – he’d seen Robinia earlier, here with her Christian friends, come for the acrobats. Yes alone, probably lonely. She might
be cheered up by his company. Besides, he’d been unable to resist exchanging just one nugget of gold to buy some good leather shoes for himself and a small piece of ladies’ jewellery – perhaps she’d like it.

With a quick glance around, he left his seat and strolled through the encroaching evening towards the villa where he’d so often acted as go-between for Faustinius. Once there it took him some time to wheedle the old and, in his opinion, daft man left as doorkeeper to send to his mistress that Antheses had some information for her. But he knew he was lucky, the usual doorkeeper would have turned him away instantly and had fists he couldn’t argue with.

Antheses fidgeted in the doorway, ignoring the superior gaze of the Nubian slave guarding the inner hallway, till they both heard the old man’s returning shuffle.

“Oh, the Gods – what are we to do?” he cried tremulously. “My mistress is not in her bedchamber – she is not anywhere to be found!”

In the ensuing melee as the few servants and slaves in the villa argued amongst themselves about what to do, Antheses went to the room where he had last seen Sahia, and then into her bedroom beyond. He quickly lifted the lids of her two wooden and inlaid ivory chests – empty. The bed was undisturbed and he could not see any of her jewellery.

Sahia had gone.

Antheses left through the slaves’ quarters and hurried to his own one-room dwelling on the edge of the town. It was dark by now, as dark as his thoughts. Surely she didn’t think the Legate believed her guilty of killing her husband? Or could she have lost her reason through grief? Robinia had told him her mistress had shut herself away. Yet she’d taken all her belongings. That didn’t look like the action of someone mad with sorrow.

Once indoors he emptied his jar of wine, wiped his mouth,
and then went to where he’d buried the amphora of gold. Sahia knew he had it – just supposing she had come to his house to look for it, knowing he’d be at the games.

“No, here it is, all right,” he exclaimed out loud when his fingers touched the amphora’s neck – just as a large hand descended roughly on his shoulder.

“I wonder what can be so special about that jar for it to be buried?” Centurion Brutus said. “Could it be filled with raw gold, I wonder?”

“What d’you want?” Antheses said, trying to move away from the jar. Brutus kept him firmly in place.

“I want answers to some questions I have. First, there’s Faustinius’s missing ring. Legate thinks Lucan took it to give to the widow because he’s sweet on her, but the guards told me you’d been in headquarters too about that time. Then gossip reached my ears that you were splashing money around in the marketplace on fancy goods. Now where does a janitor get that kind of money? So when I saw you leaving the games early, looking over your shoulder all the time, I thought I’d follow. First Widow Sahia’s, now this.”

“You’re right, it is gold – Faustinius entrusted it to me. It was his life savings. I want to give it to Sahia – that’s what he’d’ve wanted. But when I went to see her she’d gone – disappeared without telling anyone. Somebody should be out, looking for her.”

“Somebody like you, for instance. You hear the good lady has gone – who knows where, she could be kidnapped, wandering deranged – and what do you do? Come and check your gold is still here. Hardly the action of a friend of the deceased, I’d say.”