The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits (50 page)
Read The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits Online
Authors: Mike Ashley (ed)
Tags: #anthology, #detective, #historical, #mystery, #Rome
Apricus sighed, sorting out his stylus case and wax tablets from inside a leather bag. Better sooner than later.
To the optio’s amazed relief – one day on and with the rain at last thinning to drizzle – Ursus came riding up from the south like a gale of wind.
“Jupiter! You’ve been quick!” he exclaimed, catching his centurion’s bridle.
“You struck lucky!” Ursus grinned down. “I was going out of Bravo just as your man came lolloping in . . . on your mare, I noticed, so I’ve fetched her back. I sent him on to Supplies, post, and with priority requisitions. What’s to do?”
Apricus gestured, “Well . . . as you see . . .”
He had had protective barriers set out along the pit’s sides, lowered ladders into it, seen to rigging a hoist and removed some debris from the bottom.
Ursus peered in.
“Anything interesting?” he grunted.
“Not really. No nasty stakes. Animal bones – we’ve piled them for you to see. Otherwise just a mess of leaves, twigs and little earth slips. I’ve located the spoil, which whoevertheywere dumped out of sight. Most of it’ll fill. Gutters’ll
need recutting and we want hardcore and gravel for the new topping, as I wrote. Whoever this was meant for never seems to have got to use it, thank the gods!”
“Right. Good. Well done, Sunshine!”
Ursus looked at his most junior, least experienced optio and decided to stay on a day. He’d organized a Quintana wagon with extra rations including a beer allowance – which drew him a cheer.
By dusk time the road squad had doggedly replaced about half the pit spoil. Once the rations cart came bundling in, they knocked off for the night, leaving lanterns on the barrier. They shut themselves inside their tidy camp behind berm and sharpened fence.
Mist came in place of the rain. White and eery, it altered sounds and blotted out the surrounding wastes.
Everyone was relishing fresh bread and the best hot supper in days when a sentry shouted he could hear something. Ursus and Apricus were with him at the double.
“What kind of something?” Ursus wanted to know.
“Hoofbeats, Cent. Very fast. Then I lost them.”
Which made sense because the road behind them switch-backed.
Apricus ordered them to arm; then yelled for silence. They waited – straining ears into the night. The mist drifted, muffling them in, increasing unease.
Ursus selected ten troopers with more lanterns, told the rest to keep alert and marched out to the road in front of the pit. He dropped on the nearest grass, his ear to the ground.
“One horse, galloping,” he called, “Use the barrier. Five either side in line. Raise your lights.”
“From the fort?” Apricus queried.
“Maybe. We’ll soon see.”
Someone set up flamed torches at the camp entrance. The remaining soldiers closed together. Ursus and Apricus stood
aloof, one each side of the road, in the limited, milky pool of light.
A now perceptible distant drumming changed to the staccato clatter of hooves, nearer and nearer, until at last a horse and rider emerged abruptly through shrouds of whiteness.
“Whoa . . .!” bellowed Ursus.
As the rider reined up sharply, Apricus grabbed at his bit ring and hauled the horse to a slithering halt.
If the traveller looked British – long-haired, moustached, swathed in chequer-patterned wool clothing – he certainly didn’t sound it. Summing up both legionaries at a glance, he announced in impeccable Latin with a bleak patrician drawl: “What in Hades d’you think you are about? Paws off!”
Ursus wasn’t about to be fazed.
“Setting speed records, are we?” he asked roughly and, pointing to the hazard, added, “You wouldn’t want to go dropping into that, now, would you? Sir! May I enquire as to your travel warrant?”
There was a hostile silence.
The horse, lathered, began to snort and shake its head.
Neither centurion nor optio budged an inch.
“Don’t have any . . . actually,” the rider admitted; then, emphatically, “Don’t need any!”
Ursus raised sardonic eyebrows.
“Look here,” the traveller went on, “I must reach the Governor urgently. Intelligence, right? And I’m being followed in order to be stopped – permanently. Is that good enough? Now, damn you, let me through!”
Ursus remained unimpressed. The two of them argued furiously until, swearing, the man pulled from inside his clothing a small seal on a strong chain.
“See this?” He was exasperated. “Take a good look and leave off impeding me! Jupiter, man – have you no sense?”
Apricus saw Ursus stare and blink. Then, ordering the troopers to the left of the pit aside and to light the way, he piloted the rider past.
“Your nag’s near blown,” Ursus conceded. “We could swap it.”
“I do know! I’ve ridden all my life, you clod! No time. I’ll nurse him to Bravo and change there. If I can reach Ebor, I’m safe. There are two of them out there . . . your genuine Britons. It would be singularly useful if they fell in the hole! Failing which: obstruct them even more officiously than you have me – or, Centurion, you may forget all idea of further promotion. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir. Dea Fortuna go with you.”
The traveller kicked his horse back into activity and vanished in the mist.
“Phew!” uttered Apricus in the aftermath. “So what was the seal?”
“Imperial. The kind only Consulars and the occasional personally appointed high-ups ever get. I’ve only seen one other.”
Already there was a faint approach of fresh hoofbeats.
Just in time, Ursus got the men hidden, with lanterns shut, as two characters much like the first to look at arrived. These spotted the road trap only at the last moment, shouting to one another and milling their horses round hard.
An armed circle materialized from nowhere, shining lights.
At least these sounded like tribesmen ought – with accented, stilted Latin.
One of them was dark; one had hair and moustaches which showed up bright ginger when catching the lamplight.
Ursus made them dismount and had them thoroughly searched, confiscating their spears and daggers for the while. Grumbling, the newcomers brought out apparently valid
travel permits. Ursus began nit-picking through them syllable by syllable. Apricus made a business of taking names and notes.
The Britons’ story hinged on them joining a cousin-chieftain’s household and being in trouble with him, if delayed. But they varied as to where this cousin might be – one saying vaguely “near Eboracum”, the other suggesting in rasping tones some obscure Celtic placename. Significantly, neither of them mentioned anything about anyone up ahead of them.
Though the army was at this time under strict orders not to risk provocation, Ursus dawdled, letting their horses chill and stiffen. When he could no longer reasonably hold them, he insisted they be escorted a full mile at walking pace “due to the dangerous state of the road”, before finally letting them go.
“Now then – here’s a mystery!” he brooded, afterwards, sharing Apricus’ tent for reheated stew, a welcome flask of wine, and the use of a camp bed.
“What d’you reckon we ought to do, Cent?”
“Report the whole shebang to HQ. You do it, Sunshine – best writing, eh? Don’t worry,” he added easily, “I’ll back you.”
They filled in the pit and finished the road without further incident.
The draft from II Nerviorum piled tents and equipment into its big baggage cart, slapped backs all round in farewell, and turned for home.
Optio Apricus sat his craftsmen in theirs, hopped on his mare and led them gladly down the main road to Eboracum.
In fort he submitted a comprehensive set of tablets to Principia and hoped, fervently, he wasn’t about to go making waves.
* * *
Legio VI Victrix, whose Headquarters the fortress at Eboracum was, had it on good authority a new Governor was in Londinium – bent, very shortly, on undertaking a full dress tour of inspection throughout Britannia.
The buzz in the township which clung round the outside of the fortress walls was of sprucing the place to receive him: new build; new clothes; new trade. It was true the wine business direct from Gaul to the riverside quays – despite difficulties – was flourishing once more – and local merchants from among the Parisi were filling a demand for quality hides and leather goods in return.
Even the weather, as Spring advanced, and now that Optio L Valerianus Apricus was back in fort, showed signs of tardy optimism. He took advantage of a short interval between work schedules, to write home. He used an ink pen and some second quality Egyptian papyrus sheets, one of the advantages of being on the technical staff. After the usual preamble, addressing his father, he went on:
. . . I’m sorry if I upset you, leaving home like that but I really couldn’t stick the idea of being glued to a desk shuffling records all day long! It isn’t as though I were your one and only, is it? But now I’m trained and posted, I thought you and Mother might not be too unhappy to see where I’ve got to and know I’m all right.
Briefly, after Basic Training, I did well enough to be recommended for army engineering. They sent me to Castra Peregrina for a year – we only shared a bit of that place because it is huge! Some of the rest of it is given over to the Frumentarili – maybe you know this? – whom one steers well clear of if one has any sense at all! Secret agents and all that stuff. Well, I ended the course second top and won the runner-up prize from the
Commandant, so I haven’t disgraced you or the family. The prize was a laugh – a very handsome travelling sundial in a case with the provincial latitudes marked out – which of course is necessary and extremely useful, if one has sunshine – but (typical army thinking) they then posted me to VI Victrix in Britain, where it rains nine days out of ten in my experience so far! When we read the posting lists, everyone fell about laughing, and because of the sundial I’ve acquired my cognomen – “Sunshine”. Some twerp who was going out to Egypt smirked could he buy the thing off me, then? I told him where to put himself! We had a big party to celebrate qualifying, and because we’re technical were all promoted optio (acting) before leaving. Not having done anything dire, I’m now almost due confirmation in the status, which means the pay rise to match the “paint brush” on my helmet.
The last thing we had before leaving was a crash course in equitation, which was sheer Hell! The instructor was the Frumentarii’s senior one – a Gallic Decurion who didn’t half fancy himself and tongue-lashed us day after day through what he called “Getting to Know Your Horse”! Naturally, the snoops came crowding out to applaud every time one of us fell off, since they pride themselves rotten on their riding skills. Anyway, I survived, and just as well since we had to travel the roads at speed all the way to Gesiacorum on the north coast of Gaul; hop a mail galley; then post from Dubris to Londinium and from there to here (Eboracum), which is a fair way north in Britannia. I can’t think that I could be much further away from you all! I didn’t get here alone, mind you, but in company with a centurion called Ursus – yes, he is rather bearlike: burly, hairy and dark of colouring – but a good
superior to have. He is overseer of works – a kind of roving boss in the field – reporting direct to the legion’s Architectus. There was also this character called Blandus who was far from smooth – a joke, you see, like me being “Sunshine” – who possessed the most vile grating voice I’ve ever had to listen to and, guess what, turned out to be a snoop into the bargain! At least he peeled off at Londinium. He was a dead show-off about working for the Procurator double-checking taxation rolls. Ursus and I took that with a pinch of salt but he was met by a pony cart labelled “OFFICIUM PROC. BRIT.” in very large letters. Ursus and I agreed after he’d gone that we’d rather not find ourselves on the wrong side of his tally-sticks and abacus.
The chaps I mess with are a decent bunch, and our Legate (very swish) knows his soldiering. The centurion Architectus tries out the new boys like myself but once he sees you can do the stuff, he very much lets you get on with it, which is good. So far, I have helped refurbish buildings in two forts, done a drainage system – well half of one – measured out an exercise school for some cavalry – and have just completed making good an entire road, which has been my first job where I was in charge. Your little lad is thus proving useful! There is a lot needing done, actually – either because of depredations from a few years back when that idiot Clodius Albinus tried fighting the Emperor – or from sheer age and weathering of infrastructure. Since anything here worth mentioning came in with the Divine Hadrian, eighty-something years ago, it has all grown old together, so it’s mend-and-make-do as fast as we can.
There’s a funny atmosphere at this end of the province. You need to watch your back. The Parisi round
us are all well settled and that, but the Brigantes upcountry and nearly all the tribes beyond are fermenting like beer in a tub. Plus: we have a brand new Governor just arrived: C. Valerius Pudens – know anything about him, Pa? Word is: the monies and agreements with which Governor Virius Lupus negotiated a while back, have gone like snow in the desert, and the tribes are looking round for more. Just about every Governor in turn has asked Emperor Severus for heavy military reinforcement, or even an Imperial visit, but so far no dice. The current Procurator, by the way, is none other than M. Oclatinius Adventus who, since he doubles as head of the Corps of Frumentarii, cannot be entirely without significance.
Please tell Mother I am fit and well, and finding my feet legionwise. Yes, Ma, they do feed us properly and I do change my underpants regularly! Give my best to the brothers. I append the proper location below should you now feel you can send me a line in return – which I’d like. A lot of chaps hear from home and it is a good day when the dispatch couriers come belting in. Must stop – I’ve filled two sheets and the clerks grouse like mad if you cadge too much too quickly!
Farewell, from your errant son, Lucius.
On an afterthought, he scribbled postscriptum up the margin: “You’re in Archives, Pa, can you tell me if Albinus was killed for definite in battle at Lugdunum? And would he have rated a Consular seal?”
