Time Enough To Die (8 page)

"Flogged the mother, raped the girls,” Sweeney replied. “Mortal insult to the royal house, as you can imagine."

"Mortal insult to the women.” Matilda looked toward the spot where she'd been standing last night. “I am of the Iceni...."

She murmured so softly Gareth almost didn't hear her. With a shrug, he left Matilda and Sweeney discussing horizons, praetorians, and someone named Cartimandua, and walked about taking notes. After he'd filled several pages with comments less on the dig than on the various students—as though one of them would turn out to be the murderer—he took pictures of the emerging stones. By noon he'd slap run out of things to do. He'd always hated stake-outs, and this one promised to be even more boring than most.

The students and their mentors trooped to the hotel, ate sandwiches, fish and chips, and curry, and trooped back again. Gareth brought up the rear, feeling like the whipper-in of hounds at a fox hunt, whilst Sweeney led the charge, scarf flying in the wind.

Just in front of Gareth walked Ashley and Matilda. “I've seen the class records,” Matilda was saying to the girl. “You should've been one of the team leaders, not Jason."

"Yeah, well, he's a jock,” Ashley replied, as though that explained anything.

"You'd be embarrassed if I talked to Howard for you, wouldn't you?"

"Harassed is more like it."

"Maybe Howard could designate a fourth team...."

Ashley looked sharply over at Matilda. “No, please. I appreciate it, but—well, okay, maybe I could use some assertiveness training, but I'd rather do without than attract the wrong sort of attention. Jason's so immature, he's on my case already because I'm kind of shy and I write home every week. So far I've just shrugged it off. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Never let them smell blood,” agreed Gareth.

Ashley glanced over her shoulder, her ponytail bobbing. Gareth deflected her look with a cramped smile. Smiling a lopsided smile of her own, she opened the gate.

Matilda, too, looked round at Gareth, then back at Ashley. “You've assessed the situation very well, I think. Don't worry, I won't interfere."

"Thanks."

Through the gate they went, and scattered across the fort, Ashley back to her wall, Matilda to make a circuit of the field. She paused at the far embankment, silhouetted against the cloudy sky. Her own jeans fit a treat, Gareth thought, loose enough to camouflage that she wasn't a willowy young girl, snug enough to show that she was a woman.

He was about to set down his camera and volunteer to shovel when he heard a nasal voice calling, “March! Hallo, hallo!” Adrian Reynolds sauntered down the near embankment. He wore riding pants and tall boots, and his tweed jacket flapped open round his puffed-out chest.

"Good afternoon,” Gareth replied. “Have you been out riding, then?"

"Oh yes, nothing like a gray day for a good canter. How are you getting on?"

Sweeney was bending over the flat stone Caterina had been cleaning. “Very nice memorial stone,” he said. “Probably set up outside the headquarters building. Let's see—
praefectus cohortus
—
equitatae
—yes, we knew there was cavalry here...."

"...
Domitianus,"
said Caterina. “The emperor Domitian. The stone is very early, yes? ‘In memory of Marcus Cornelius Felix', yes?"

Sweeney stared at her.

"Uxor,"
she went on. “That is
sposa.
Wife? The stone was set by his wife Claudia Sabina, yes?"

"You read Latin?” Sweeney demanded.

Caterina drew herself up, dark eyes flashing. “Signor Doctor, I am not only a student in Roman studies, I am myself a citizen of Rome!"

"Yes,” said Sweeney, “of course you are. Well done, my dear. Good show."

Reynolds eyed the Italian girl up and down and whistled between his teeth. “Pretty little spitfire, eh? Those Mediterranean girls, they know a thing or two.” He nudged Gareth in the ribs.

Gareth was tempted to sort the man out. He restrained himself. “Is your offer of a horse still good, Reynolds?"

"Oh yes, by all means. Would you like a ride?"

"Yes I would, rather. And Dr. Gray as well.” No reason for him to ride out to Durslow Edge alone. He might as well take Matilda and get the tour over with.

"Go down to the farm and tell Jimmy I sent you,” said Reynolds. “Ask him for Bodie for the lady, and Gremlin for yourself. They're two of my best."

"Thank you. Very kind."

Matilda walked back through the dig. She stopped at the gouge in the root of the embankment, considered it, then turned to Ashley. “May I borrow your pick, please?"

"Sure.” The girl handed over the tool and watched curiously.

Matilda knelt, scraped at the weeds matted into the mud, and held up a coin. “A Roman denarius,” she said. “That's interesting. It wasn't here before lunch."

"Are there any more?” Reynolds asked.

"No. Just the one,” answered Matilda, without digging any further.

"Very good!” Sweeney took the coin from Matilda's hand, pulled out a handkerchief, and cleaned off the mud. “Reign of Tiberius. Fell from some legionary's pay packet, I daresay. Into someone's collection. This has hardly been buried for two thousand years."

"I just said that,” Matilda told him. She gave the pick back to Ashley. Ashley's large brown eyes gazed at her in something between bewilderment and admiration.

Matilda knew someone had been at the hole, Gareth told himself, because the weeds had been tamped down. No ESP in that.

Reynolds scuffed at the muddy spot but turned nothing up. Sweeney glared at him and popped the denarius into his pocket. Matilda watched them both, her hands fixed on her hips, her expression inscrutable.

"I allow the local lads to go coin-hunting here,” Reynolds said. “What's a denarius between friends, eh? Looks as though one of them was up here during your lunch break. I'll tell them to bugger off, if you like."

"It's your property,” said Sweeney, and turned back to the memorial stone.

Gareth didn't like working undercover. Too many subtleties. “I'm having a recce,” he said to Matilda. “Background material. Reynolds is kind enough to lend us horses, if you'd care to join me."

"Certainly. Howard, Mr. March and I are going to look around the area—he needs background pictures for his story."

"I'll need to fetch some more film from the hotel,” Gareth added.

"Carry on,” called Sweeney, with a glistening smile. “We want you to do a ripping good story, don't we?"

With a wave at Gareth and Matilda, Ashley settled back down at her wall. No, Gareth thought, Matilda shouldn't speak for the girl. The girl should speak up for herself. But he well and truly understood the importance of fitting in with one's mates. So they took the mickey out of her. It happened to everyone. She was dealing with it in her own way.

Reynolds strolled across the working area and inspected each trench. “How are you getting on, Doctor? Find anything of interest? Other than the coin, of course."

"Just this memorial stele, so far.” Sweeney replied.

"What's it worth?"

Matilda and Gareth went through the gate in the fence and crossed the road. Beside the bowling green, Gareth asked, “What was all that in aid of?"

"Someone planted a coin to test my skills. It was Reynolds, probably, although he managed to project proper surprise when I turned it up. If I'd been paying attention I'd have let it lie. An occupational hazard—I distract easily. I'm sorry to throw a spanner into the works."

Gareth didn't see any spanners flying about. “He isn't supposed to know you have any skills. So how could he test you?"

"Howard Sweeney would confide in a fence post, if he thought it would be impressed with his knowledge."

"Sweeney didn't put the coin there. He wasn't out of my sight during lunch, not even in the loo."

Matilda shook her head. “No, Howard didn't know that coin was there. Reynolds took him by surprise. And Howard doesn't like being taken by surprise. We'll have to be sure we're not caught between the Scylla and Charybdis of their egos."

Gareth tightened his jaw. Until he and Matilda started speaking the same language, he'd reserve judgment on the entire episode. He held the door of the hotel open for her, and they went inside.

Matilda exchanged pleasantries with Clapper while Gareth ran upstairs. “Fresh film,” he announced on his return, and flourished a well-worn nylon camera bag. He probably had picked up some fresh film, Matilda told herself as they went out the door. The camera bag was also the right size for a folder of crime scene reports.

Gareth threw the bag over his shoulder and they headed toward Fortuna Stud, where horses moved slowly about pastures that glowed green despite the gray skies. Gareth paused by the stone fence that lined the road. “Do you see that big chestnut with the white blaze?"

"The brownish-red one with the streak of white on his nose?"

"That's Great Caesar's Ghost, ran at the Grand National last year."

Matilda looked at the sleek, long-limbed horse. He stood masticating a mouthful of grass, eyes glazed, like an elder statesman enjoying his gin and tonic in the library of the Reform Club. “So Reynolds is well-known on the racing circuit?"

"In an insignificant sort of way. Caesar is a one-off, probably worth more than all the other horses put together."

"How'd he do in the race?"

"He came in dead last. But there was a snap in Country Life, the Queen with Reynolds several paces behind her, looking like he'd been invited specially to share a Pimm's Cup with the royals."

"He entered the Grand National for the social contacts,” said Matilda, “not for the race itself."

"Spot on."

The gate was adorned with several horseshoes. “To keep the boggarts away,” Gareth explained. “A local superstition."

"Can't have any boggarts,” Matilda agreed with a smile. She was glad Sweeney wasn't along to sneer at yet another testimony of faith, misdirected or otherwise.

They strolled down a long drive, passed a posh-looking brick house, and approached the stable buildings. The place appeared very tidy, whitewashed, mortared, and swept. A faint musky odor was the only evidence that large animals inhabited the premises. Across the cobbled yard came an old man with the apple cheeks and bulbous nose of a connoisseur of the local ales. Gareth called to him. “Excuse me, we're looking for Jimmy."

"You've found him, lad."

Gareth introduced himself and Matilda, and passed on Reynolds's directions, adding, “If it's no trouble. I suppose you're still putting away Reynolds's tack and rubbing down his horse...."

"No, no horses been out today.” Jimmy considered them, then turned and looked at the mound of the fort. “Well, it's trouble, right enough, but I can organize something.” He ambled through the wide stable door, which, Matilda saw with some surprise, was festooned with cobwebs.

She glanced at Gareth. He was gazing into the middle distance, expression unreadable. He might be checking up on whether Reynolds had been riding this morning. He was also checking up on her theory of the hidden coin. Working with him would be valuable experience, but she'd have to keep on her toes a little better than she had so far.

The door of the house opened. A woman dressed in a beige skirt and sweater stepped out and stopped dead. For a moment Matilda thought she was going to pop back inside like a cuckoo into its clock, but no, she squared her shoulders and came forward. “How do you do,” she said in a thin, breathless voice. “I'm Della Reynolds. Have you come about the note?"

A promissory note?
Matilda asked herself, sensing a wave of anxiety from the woman. She and Gareth hardly looked like accountants in their pants and windbreakers. Hurriedly Matilda introduced herself and her colleague and explained about the horses.

Della's pale, almost colorless, blue eyes flicked to the fort and back again. Anxiety wilted into dull resignation. “Oh, well, yes.... Jimmy?"

The old man glanced out the door. “I'm working fast as I can, Missus."

"Oh, well, yes.... “Della looked down at her beige leather pumps. Even her hair was beige, held back by little-girl barrettes. Her features seemed to be only tentative sketches on her pale face. Cosmetics wouldn't help, Matilda told herself. The living woman was less substantial than the ghost of long-dead Claudia.

The silence stretched longer and longer. Finally Gareth shifted the camera bag from one shoulder to the other and asked, “Do you hire lads from the town to muck out the stables, Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Sometimes lads” she told her feet. “Sometimes girls."

"I suppose it's convenient to have the traveler's camp just up the way. They're always willing to do the odd job."

Della didn't look up. Her flash of terror was so quick Matilda barely caught it. Still it left an after-image in her mind, like the blank spot on her retina after a flashbulb went off in her face. “Oh no,” Della said, “Adrian won't allow them about the place, not at all, no."

Jimmy emerged from the stable door leading two horses, a medium-sized brown one and a tall one of light gray. “This ‘ere's Gremlin,” he announced, nodding at the gray. “And this ‘ere's Bodie.” He extended the reins of the smaller one toward Matilda.

Both animals were huge moving masses of muscle and bone. Not that either was making any aggressive moves. Bodie exhaled through rubbery nostrils, somewhat bored, while Gremlin eyed Gareth up and down and shrugged away a fly. Matilda took the proffered reins, let Bodie snuffle at her hand, and then hauled herself into the saddle. At least she knew which side to mount from, she told herself, sensing a critical dart from Jimmy and Gareth both.

"You'll look after her, won't you?” Della asked.

"Bodie's yours, isn't she?” returned Matilda. “I'll take very good care of her—I'll check her air and water and change her oil.... “Della stared upward, her hands clasped. “Thank you very much for letting me ride her,” Matilda finished.

"You're welcome, I'm sure.” Della turned and scuffed toward the house, but not without one more glance toward the fort.

Gareth levitated effortlessly onto Gremlin's broad back. The horse pranced sideways for a moment. Gareth didn't even blink, let alone grab for the saddle. “Thank you,” he called toward Della's retreating figure. “Much obliged,” he said to Jimmy, who tilted his cap back on his head and spat thoughtfully onto the cobbles.