Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘May I speak to the other guests?’

‘Rufinus and Niger are still here,’ Cerialis explained. ‘Everyone else left before dawn. My wife and Claudia Severa are taking the children south for a few months, perhaps even for the winter if it seems likely to be a severe one. Brocchus and I may join them for a while, and for the moment he will take them part of the way and provide an escort of troopers for them. Secundus will ride with them to Coria, but planned to go ahead with his own servants from there.’

‘That is unfortunate.’

‘I doubt that you would learn much from them,’ Crispinus replied archly. ‘If your mystery woman was incapable of hefting a corpse about, then I trust that you are not hinting two noble ladies might have been capable of such a feat!’

‘Of course not, sir. Perish the thought, sir!’

The tribune shook his head. ‘Ah, the flat insolence of a soldier. How truly tiresome.’ He let out a long breath. ‘I dare say we can write and ask them if they know anything of importance.’

‘Of course,’ Cerialis said, bristling with dutiful eagerness. ‘It is unlikely to be much, but you never know. I will write a letter before the day is out and send a swift trooper to carry it.’

‘Does that satisfy you, centurion?’ the tribune asked.

It did not, but there was no use saying so. ‘Of course, my lord. Very generous of you, sir, to trouble the ladies.’ Ferox hoped this face was an unreadable mask. ‘What I do not yet fully understand is what you wish me to do.’

‘I should have thought that would be obvious.’ Crispinus spoke like a teacher addressing a slow pupil. ‘Find out what you can about this affair. You will have to stay in the hospital for some days so you may as well earn your pay while you are there. Learn whatever you can. It may not be much, but you have a nose for the truth as good as those of friend Cerialis’ hounds for a scent. Learn what you can and write us a report. As full a report as possible in the finest tradition of this scribbling army. Do it as fast as you can and then we can send it to the procurator and that should help shape his actions, and more importantly the story he chooses to tell to others.’

‘Do you want the truth, or simply a truth fit for the procurator, my lord?’

Cerialis chuckled again. ‘We shall make a philosopher of you yet, prince of the Silures.’

‘More likely a legal advocate,’ Crispinus muttered. ‘I have asked you to do this because I want as much of the truth as you can find. My fear is that there will be little to learn, but that is neither here nor there. If this is somehow connected to the attack on Vegetus’ people, then we should know. Do I detect surprise? Since you have failed to mention the possibility that our mystery woman was the same one who killed the two men you sent in pursuit, I felt that I ought to raise it. At this point it would at the very least be courteous to register surprise at my perceptive and suspicious mind.’

Ferox patted his brow with one hand. ‘Wisdom of the gods, my lord. Too much for a mere mortal.’

‘I truly hope not. Learn what you can. Perhaps this is to do with the census, perhaps not. You have spent the last weeks warning of trouble brewing among the tribes. On the other hand I have never met an imperial freedman who was poor, and I know this one was not. Money tends to complicate everything and that may well be behind this. I do not know, Flavius Ferox. All I do know is that I did not kill the wretched man, and I will lay you good odds that neither did any of the guests at dinner. So try to find out who did and why, and we may be able to smooth this whole business over. Will you do that for me?’

Ferox sprang to his feet. ‘Sir!’ The obedient shout was louder than he had meant it to be. Crispinus winced and Cerialis jumped in his seat. Then the prefect smiled.

‘I shall check with the medicus, but I am sure that he would not object if you stayed in the praetorium rather than the hospital.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Now, if the noble tribune will excuse me, I shall enquire whether Rufinus and Niger are free to see you.’

Both of the prefects were indeed free, although they had little to say. Rufinus had met the freedman a couple of times, but the dinner was the first social encounter. ‘Bit of a tick, but you have to be polite,’ was his verdict.

Oppius Niger was from Antioch, almost as impeccably neat as Philo and with the same olive skin and eyes so dark that they were almost the black of his name. He had a slim face and an abrasive manner. ‘Couldn’t stand the little shit. Too oily. Reckon the shithouse was the best place for him.’ He looked around twenty-three, just starting his first posting in the army after years of education and idle indulgence. Like of lot of equestrians at this stage in his career, he overdid the brusque fighting man act. ‘No, never met him before. Never been comfortable around geldings, even to ride. They lack spirit.’

Little the wiser, Ferox decided to have a look around outside. Vindex appeared from nowhere, probably sent by a nervous Philo to persuade the centurion to make use of a wooden crutch or at least a staff. Ferox took only the stick and the scout said nothing, but carried the crutch with him. For a while they wandered around on the rampart either side of the latrine and he was shown where the torn dress was found. They left the fort and walked along to the same point beyond the ditch. The ground behind them sloped sharply down into a valley, and he soon found the trail. They followed it down, over the brook, crossing by a number of big logs laid there and then climbed the far hill up to the old abandoned hill fort.

‘Wasn’t hiding anything, was she?’ Vindex commented as his friend struggled up the steep side of the hill, pushing his way through the heather. Broken fronds made the trail very clear. It was probably deliberate.

At the top there were prints from two horses and from the boots of a man. The woman had come here, met a companion, and most likely dressed herself before they rode away to the south.

‘No point following on foot,’ Vindex said. ‘And the sun will be down by the time we could fetch horses.’

‘Yes.’ Ferox stared down at the fort and the vicus beyond it. It was easier to think up here away from the busy army base. Even so, he heard the clear call of a trumpet sounding the last watch of the day.

Vindex came to stand beside him. ‘None of this makes much sense,’ he said. ‘So, are we already humped, or are we waiting for it?’

‘Maybe both.’

‘Same as usual then. Lovely.’

FEROX WONDERED WHAT to write in his report. Five days had passed and the tribune was becoming impatient. There was some excuse because yesterday the garrison had paraded to witness the sacrifice of an ox in honour of the birthday of the divine Augustus and he had been required to attend the ceremonies and the dinner Cerialis gave for his own centurions and decurions. At least his leg was feeling better and he had tried to do a little more exercise each day. It was now an hour after noon and he had borrowed a practice sword and shield so that he could test himself at one of the posts on the training ground beyond the vicus. At this time of day it was usually quiet before training resumed later in the afternoon, and he had come here every day apart from the day of the parade. For the first few sessions he had contented himself with stretching, some short jogs, and throwing a javelin at one of the ox skulls mounted as targets at the far end of the field. Today he felt ready to use the overweight wicker shield and wooden gladius.

Vindex had wanted to come, saying that fencing with a real opponent rather than a lump of wood would be more useful, but Ferox needed to think and it was easier to do that on his own. The praetorium was too crowded to be peaceful, and even with the lady of the house, her children and attendants away, there remained a large household who seemed always to be busy. There never seemed to be any peace, even compared to the little outpost where Ferox spent most of his time when he was not riding abroad. He had been there for many years now and it was the closest he had to a home. Soon after arriving he had dubbed the place Syracuse, after the room in the palace where the emperor Augustus had gone whenever he did not want to be disturbed.