I heard myself saying, ‘We should call off the hunt,’ without having the conscious intention of saying anything. (There are legends about warriors who refuse to die and, though carrying mortal wounds, continue with the fight until awareness strikes them and they fall. I seemed to be operating like that, now.)
‘Old friend.’ My patron’s voice appeared to come from far away. ‘You’re shivering. You’ve had a fearful shock.’
I glanced down and realized he was right, though I was not aware of feeling cold. Perhaps it was anger – I knew that fury was bubbling somewhere deep within, ready to seize me, body, mind and soul. But for the moment, I was simply numb. I couldn’t even feel the paving-stones beneath my sandal-soles – I might have been floating in the air.
I have only the haziest recollection of what happened next. I know that Marcus grasped me by one arm and – together with Minimus (who seemed to have arrived) – personally supported me into the fort. We must have been taken to the commander’s private room – I recognized the massive furniture, the ranks of flickering oil-lights and the battle souvenirs – but I have no memory of getting there.
The commander was talking to Marcus, as though I was not there. ‘Excellence!’ He was obviously distraught, running a distracted hand through his scrupulously sculpted hair. ‘I cannot apologize enough. I did not see the emptying of the cart myself – I was dealing with a slave that was brought in bonds to me. I will see the men responsible are punished, you can be sure of that.’
‘But they were acting on your orders, I presume? I understand the woman was in Celtic dress, but she must have worn a wedding ring and they should have noticed that. Surely they’re trained to look for signs of ownership – before they tip a body in the pit?’
‘I taxed them with that very thing, but they swore there wasn’t one. But you’re right, they were my orders, in a general sense. It is standard practice to lime and seal the pit if there is any threat of plague – and they were told there was. But I very much regret that it is now too late.’
Behind me Minimus let out a wail of grief and disbelief. Obviously he had not heard the news before. ‘My mistress? Thrown into the pit. And we cannot have the body. Oh, master!’
I had not realized that I had closed my eyes, but I opened them to find that he was kneeling at my side, pressing his lips to my still-shaking hand. I felt the wet warmth of tears.
His undisguised emotion roused me. ‘Do not weep. The time of mourning is not yet.’ Some other person seemed to be inhabiting my skin. I was struck through by grief and shock so much that I felt incapable of thought, but this second self was unnaturally calm – and suddenly certain of what had to happen next. ‘We will go to the roundhouse – there are rites we can perform, to mourn her properly and say a last farewell.’ My tongue and brain were functioning without my willing it. ‘A message must be sent to Junio.’
‘That has been done already.’ That was the Legate’s voice. ‘I sent my fastest courier.’
‘Then I should follow, there is much to do.’ I tried to rise, but my legs refused to hold me and I almost fell.
‘The duumvir is shaken. Bring a drink for him.’
Two orderlies rushed forward and I was helped back to my seat. A moment later someone was putting a cup of honeyed wine into my hand.
‘I’ll find him a room here, overnight,’ I heard the Legate say, above my head again. ‘The one that Hortius occupied is free.’
‘I think he would prefer it if I took him home – though of course he’s had a shock.’ Marcus sounded doubtful. ‘Unless you think it wiser that he should not travel yet?’
‘We must think about his public dignity, as well. As duumvir he would hardly wish to be observed by the electorate in an unmanly state.’
I lacked the energy to challenge this tasteless quibbling. I did not care who saw me, or what they chose to think. I was not even weeping outwardly – I was too shocked to cry. I rather wished I could – though the Legate would no doubt have disapproved. A man of status may decently exhibit grief, but only as part of mourning rituals – and then generally more for a statesman or general than a wife. (Roman marriage is a businesslike affair and strong affection rarely enters into it; comfortable compliance and an heir are all a man expects. Whereas Gwellia is – had been – the other half of me.)
My patron was ready to apologize for me. ‘He was a Celt before he was a Roman citizen. Their mourning customs are not the same as ours. But Celt or Roman – surely – any man would be concerned about the way her body went into the pit. Have you no anxiety yourself? Her unquiet spirit, lacking proper burial?’ He sounded uneasy, as if my poor Gwellia might return to haunt him too.
The commander ran ringed fingers through his hair, again. ‘Your Excellence is right. I should have thought of it. I will order that three doves be sacrificed at once as a propitiation to the gods. On my household altar. Soldier, see to it.’ He motioned to the orderly behind my chair, who saluted smartly and hurried off to arrange the offering. The Legate turned to me, bending down, speaking slowly, as if I were a child. ‘Three doves is all that I have available, but I am happy to do more – arrange for something public at the temple possibly? The prospect of a vengeful spirit is not a pleasant one.’
I took a sip of mulsum, and found my voice. ‘You might arrange to have a prayer disc nailed up for her – on my behalf,’ I said. ‘And do not fear her ghost. You acted in accordance with the law. If there is vengeance, it will be visited on Hortius alone. This was his doing – even to the rumour that she had the plague – though I accept that he did not know it was my wife.’
Secretly, I was not even certain about that. Hortius knew I kept a Celtic roundhouse, close nearby, and must have heard that, when his courier came, my slaves and I were dressed in plaid and not in Roman robes. Besides, Gwellia would certainly have worn her ring to visit Julia, who had gifted it to us when we wed the second time – and I could guess where it had gone. Though, even if Hortius’s escort had wrenched it from her hand, their master had contrived to warn them who she was, and no amount of searching would locate it now.
The Legate cut across my thoughts. ‘You wish to make an accusation against the Senator?’ He sounded as frightened as he was horrified. ‘You’ll make yourself a powerful enemy.’
Meaning that I did not stand a chance in court. Hortius had killed Gwellia – I was certain about that. But I had no proof that would convince a magistrate. I dared not mention the beating that Glaber had described. Hortius would deny it (supported by his escort, once again) and I could produce no corpse to show the injuries. And his word outweighed mine in any court of law. All I would do, if I ever tried to sue, would ensure the death of the former courier – he would be ‘questioned’ by the torturers, as required by law (on the grounds that slaves would either defend a beloved ex-master to the death, or deliberately lie to bring a hated owner down) until he said what the inquisitors required. Or died beneath the lash.
‘I have no intention of arraigning anyone,’ I said. ‘My only claim is that Hortius had her picked up by the cart. I think your own soldiers will attest to that.’
‘So he clearly knew that she was dead. Though not of plague, I think. He suggested to us that she fell and hit her head, and might therefore have ended in a ditch,’ Marcus said. He was anxious to offer me support, but this was treading on dangerous ground – implying that Hortius had deliberately lied.
Which he had, of course, but I was not concerned with that. ‘Once I had learned the nature of the cart, it was not difficult to guess the rest,’ I said. ‘I should have done so sooner, probably, especially as Hortius had already offered to find me a new wife.’
Marcus shot me an enquiring glance, but the Legate looked relieved. ‘Compensation then! In front of witnesses?’ he asked.
‘Two of the most senior magistrates.’ I was thinking much more clearly, though still in the grip of that unearthly calm. ‘Thank you for the mulsum.’ I put down the cup. ‘I think I am revived enough to travel now, so with your permission, Commandant …’
‘I can provide you with an army cart – an escort, if you like …’
‘I will take my patron’s offer of a ride back in his gig.’ I rose, though I was still unsteady on my feet. ‘If a mule could be provided for my slave to ride, I would be glad of that – my son has taken ours.’ The Legate – still desperate to please – gave the order and I thanked him once again, then I turned to Marcus. ‘So, if you are ready, Excellence? It must be well past noon by now and there is much to do.’
Marcus was frowning at me doubtfully. I thought for one moment he was about to demur – for my own safety, probably – but he caught my eye. ‘I have my driver already waiting with the gig. You will be at your roundhouse in no time at all.’
That was not wholly accurate, of course – it was a long and jarring ride, though rendered more relaxed by not having a pageboy squatting at our feet. Marcus had decided that we two should ride alone, for my greater comfort, and the last I saw of my patron’s serving-boy, he was riding with Minimus behind us on the army’s mule.
The driver was the same slave as had taken us before – the one who’d saved my life – so I calculated that it was safe to talk, even supposing he could hear above the clattering of the wheels. I was about to do so when my patron spoke himself.
‘You are strained and shocked, old friend,’ he hollered, with a supportive frown. ‘When you reach the roundhouse you must go and rest. I would ask you to the villa – but …’ He broke off as we bounced across a set of larger ruts. ‘Julia is in child-bed and we have Druscilla there. I wish that we did not. I fear it is her presence which has upset my wife, and caused her lassitude.’
I had forgotten Marcus’s worries about his wife, with the tragedy of mine. ‘I’d go to Junio, if anywhere,’ I said. ‘But thank you for the thought. And about Druscilla, I want to speak to you.’
He looked at me, between the judders of the cart. ‘You will not wish to attend the banquet now, of course. We will find someone else to bring the ladies in. Even Hortius could not object to that.’ He sighed. ‘I wish Druscilla had never thrown herself upon us in this way – she has brought nothing but trouble to my house, and yours.’
I took a deep breath. ‘But you have not formally accepted potestas, I think?’ I gave him time to shake his head. ‘Supposing she could be persuaded to come under mine? I cannot like the woman, she is spoiled and vain, but nobody deserves a fate like Hortius. I could spare her that – and am prepared to do so too, after what that monster did to Gwellia.’
Marcus stared at me as though I’d lost my wits. ‘Defy the Senator by denying him his bride?’
‘It would give me active pleasure to defy him, Excellence. I know something about him that you don’t.’ I told him the story that Glaber had told me. ‘So Hortius did not merely know that she was dead, he killed her. And he would have known, from staying in the fortress recently, how the death cart dealt with even possible victims of the plague.’
‘He meant her body to be buried in the pit, knowing that it would instantly be sealed? But why?’
‘I think he saw her ring – which she would certainly have been wearing, by the way – and realized that she was no cast-off slave, but someone’s wife. And given where she was, and what she was wearing, I think he realized who her husband was! So I suspect – although of course I cannot prove – that he panicked and told his men to wrest it from her hand, and leave her in the ditch in the hope that I would think she’d fallen among thieves. And then he saw the death cart, and the rest you know. If I had not spoken to Dasypyges – Glaber, as he has now been renamed – I might have gone on thinking she’d been dragged off by wolves. He was eager to suggest that possibility.’
It was the longest speech I’d managed since I heard the news, but now the words spilled out of me, like water from a dam – jolting cart or not.
Marcus was looking horrified. ‘Old friend, I can’t believe it. Can you trust the courier-slave? It is too horrible – to steal the ring as well.’
I shook my head. ‘What does that matter, compared to all the rest? Gwellia and I were married, long ago, by hand-fasting and mutual dropping of pebbles in a stream – and that is something Hortius can never take away. But you can see why there’s a pleasing vengeance in depriving him of his intended wife – as he succeeded in taking mine from me. Will you speak to Druscilla, and tell her what I am suggesting? Tertillius and his sister will have to know, of course.’
Marcus was frowning. ‘There would be some risk to them. And much, much more to you. Libertus, my old friend, you are not thinking straight. You have no claim to family connection with the girl. And, without one, it would seem improper now – taking her into a household where there is no female chaperone. You have no wif—’ He stopped, looking as if he wished he’d bitten off his tongue.
‘I have never thought more clearly in my life,’ I said. ‘And your objections are not insurmountable. That could be managed at the feast if the lady Fulvia can be persuaded to assist. She is a lady of high lineage, and does have claims to know Druscilla’s family. Any such arrangement would be a sham, of course – that must be understood. It can be legally undone once Hortius has gone.’
‘Hortius would make your life a misery.’
‘Hortius would have to find me first,’ I muttered. ‘There are ships in Glevum that would take me north, beyond the wall, where Roman jurisdiction does not run. There’s one tomorrow, due to leave at dawn – I arranged a licence for the captain only recently. I could have my things aboard and leave at once. Besides, nothing Hortius could ever do could make me more wretched than I already am. And you need not be involved. Though I should need to attend your banquet, naturally.’
‘You are quite sure of this? So soon after Gwellia …’ He tailed off again.
‘I know my wife. She would support me utterly. But make my apologies to Julia. I may not see her before I have to flee. And we must maintain the superstition that there is a curse, till the days of purification have elapsed. Perhaps there really is – I flouted it a day or two ago, and see what the Fates have done to me. Tell Hortius Valens that. We are not out of danger from him, yet!’
But I had to wait until the jolting stopped before I could explain exactly what I planned. The initial part of it, at least.