Ferox edged to peak through the open trapdoor, and saw the speaker, arms stretched out on either side, head bare and looking up, but with closed eyes. He spoke of blood, flesh and sacrifice, and much of what he said seemed to be quotations that Ferox did not recognise, although presumably the audience did. Most were in a similar pose, and it was odd to see people praying with their heads uncovered, apart from one woman who wore a scarf. She was the only woman he could see, but there must have been more people out of view. This was no conspiracy, at least not one to bother him, and as they began to sing once more, he went back up the way he had come. The new song was in Greek, and spoke a lot of love for others and of the god. Presumably this was a cult frowned upon by the authorities, unless its rituals were secret for the sake of being mysterious. A lot of what they said reminded him of Philo, and he wondered if this was some Jewish sect for he knew that there were many. Since the great rebellion against Nero, Jews had to pay a special tax, but as far as he could tell they had once again become reasonably loyal to the empire.
The rain was a lot worse by the time he was back up on the roof, and he slipped a couple of times on the shingles as he made his way all along the row of buildings. Each warehouse pretty much butted onto the next, so only once did he have to make another leap. The one he wanted was almost at the far end, and once he was close he could see the crane sticking out from its wall. According to the slave, all he had to do was lower himself off the roof, swing and grab onto the crane, turn and then use one foot to lift the catch closing the loading door, hook it around the edge, open the door and swing in. The man claimed to have done it a fair few times on business of his mistress. Ferox thought it better not to ask what such business might have been, neither did he ask if the fellow had ever done it in this sort of weather.
He wiped the rain out of his eyes. The alley was a good twenty-five feet below so he might not be killed outright if he missed his jump and fell. Someone had left a cart full of hay that must be getting very wet, but selfishly they had left it too far for him to reach if it went wrong.
Ferox jumped, for an instant thought he would be too short, then the crane was there and he grabbed it, body complaining of this fresh mistreatment. Whether the catch was stiff or his feet in his boots less agile than the slave’s, it took a while to get the doors open. Finally he was inside, on an almost empty platform covering two-thirds of the space in the building. There was the dim light of a lamp from down below. Closing the door behind him as gently as he could, he waited. There was a series of muffled greetings. No one sounded agitated, so he lay down and crawled towards the edge.
‘I’m sure I was followed,’ a voice said. It was faint, and he had to strain to catch the words.
‘Imagination. They may be suspicious, but they can know nothing for certain.’ The second voice sounded more excited than afraid, and clearly had no fondness for his companion. ‘At least, as long as all of us remain true to our oath.’
‘For my part. I cannot speak of the others.’ The first voice sounded even more nervous.
A door opened. There were greetings, too low to catch, and Ferox doubted any names were used, but at least two more conspirators had arrived.
‘What news?’ It was the first man again, and his voice cracked as he spoke, so that he had to repeat his words. ‘What news?’
‘Matters are going well, my lords.’ That was Domitius, no doubt about it, and sounding mightily pleased with himself.
‘The centurion escaped.’ This was a new voice, brusque and sounding vaguely familiar. Ferox edged a little closer, wondering whether he would be able to see over the edge without them noticing.
‘A small matter. He is of no consequence.’
‘Indeed.’
‘But surely he may find out?’ It was the first voice again. ‘We are taking too many risks. To kill him was bad enough, but to botch it… Unforgivable.’
There was silence and Ferox imagined the cold stare before Domitius replied. ‘The risks were always there, but the prize is almost within our grasp. The fires worried people. The fall of the statue frightened them. Tomorrow we shall terrify them. It is the same in the other towns and cities.’
‘So you say.’ The second man did not sound convinced. ‘How can we know?’
‘I know,’ the brusque one cut in. ‘I get regular reports from all over the province. That at least is working. Everyone talks of bad omens and trouble coming.’
‘But the legate must realise this is not chance.’ The nervous man was almost pleading for his fears to be confirmed.
‘Perhaps, perhaps not, but what can he do about it?’ Ferox almost snapped his fingers as he realised that the brusque voice was the procurator. ‘No one has broken their faith, so our secret is safe. If not, I would know and I would not be here – or if I was it would only be to make sure none of you ever left this building.’ Ferox could imagine the face jutting forward, the pale eyes glaring around as the threat was made. ‘Most of our august governor’s officers have shit for brains. Even if they are suspicious they would not know what to do.’
‘Well, we have people frightened.’ Ferox wondered whether the second man glanced at the first as he spoke. ‘That is something, but will not matter if the risings do not occur. Will they?’
‘As soon as the word is sent,’ Domitius answered. ‘It is almost time.’
‘And who will rise?’ Cornelius Fuscus was as rude as ever. ‘They must know the cost of failure.’
‘There are men in half the tribes of the south,’ Domitius declared. ‘Among the Durotriges, Dobuni, Atrebates and Corietauvi. Others will join soon enough if it prospers, from the Catuvellauni, and even the Iceni.’
‘What of the western peoples?’ the second man cut in. ‘The Silures and Ordovices have been peaceful for less time than all of those others.’
‘Your answer?’ Fuscus demanded when no reply came.
‘The Silures will never follow anyone else’s lead. Who knows what they will do?’ Ferox smiled with pride at this judgement on his kin, and with some relief for he was glad they were not involved. ‘The Ordovices are still cowed by defeat, and their chieftains not bold enough to have run up the debts that make so many others eager for change. They are a little people, of no account.’ Ferox knew he was grinning broadly. The Silures held their northern neighbours and traditional enemies in contempt.
Fuscus did not sound impressed. ‘You mention many tribes, but not the one we all know matters the most.’
‘The Brigantes will rise.’ Domitius remained unruffled. ‘Some of them at first, and then more and more. You have sent the grain?’
‘Yes, Two-thirds lies in ships already within the mouth of the Abus. The rest is travelling north, or already stored in villas and towns. I am still waiting for full payment.’ The first man’s voice did not squeak when he spoke of money.
Ferox reached the edge of the floor. The conspirators were closer than he expected, little more than eight feet below. They stood in a circle, only heads visible behind ranks of big amphorae. He saw Fuscus nod to Domitius.
‘You will be paid in full by sunset tomorrow,’ the merchant said.
A sturdy, broad-shouldered man with a thick black beard nodded. Ferox had not expected the nervous one to look like this.
‘Who will lead the Brigantes?’ Fuscus demanded. ‘That is still uncertain, and…’ They all went silent and heads snapped around as they heard a door open. There was a whistle, obviously a signal, and they relaxed.
‘He is here then,’ Fuscus said. He shook his head. ‘Shit for brains, all of them.’
Ferox craned to see the new arrival, saw the hooded figure, then someone was shouting and the bearded man was pointing.