‘Servilius.’ Ovidius croaked the word. He had pushed himself up, glassy eyes fixed on Crassus. ‘Servilius,’ he said again.
Ferox was close enough to see Crassus blink several times. He had no idea who Servilius was, but the power of the name was obvious.
‘The legate’s orders are specific and in writing.’ Crispinus was holding up the tablet. ‘There are copies here so that there can be no doubt that you act according to his instructions.’ He stepped closer. ‘Come, obeying them is the prudent course. Time is pressing and the legate will not take kindly to needless delay.’
‘Very well. But make sure this rogue does not escape.’
‘You have my oath on that, my dear Crassus. Justice will be served.’ There was a hard edge to the tribune’s voice. Ferox still wondered how much he knew or suspected, and whose side the young aristocrat was really on. ‘Let me call a couple of soldiers to watch this fellow while he returns to his quarters to collect a few things.’
‘This is a risk, though,’ Crassus said. ‘A great risk.’
‘And one the governor is taking, not us.’
‘In my experience blame spreads a long way. I want it on record that I am against this course of action.’
‘It shall be set down.’ Crispinus turned to the clerk. ‘See to it.’
Less than a hour later, they started to make their way through the streets on their way out of the town. Seventeen horsemen, most heavily armed, and led by the tribune in his polished cuirass and high plumed helmet, ought to have been sufficiently impressive to clear the path, but Londinium was Londinium and trade was trade, and the stall holders yelled and haggled, and there was no quick way through the crowds. Some people watched them with suspicion. The legate had left late at night, taking almost half the soldiers in the town with him, and there were rumours of war and rebellion. Another senior officer riding away was not encouraging, and it added to the nervousness all could feel. Even sadder was Gannascus’ slave girl, who walked with them to the edge of the town, weeping and kissing the big warrior’s boot and leg as he rode. Philo walked beside her, and he would take charge of her while they were away. Crispinus had been clear that the boy was not to go with them, for they would be riding hard into who knew what perils, and they could not take care of him. Ferox was glad that he had not had to give the order, and at least there had been time for the lad to shave him before they set out.
‘Must be love.’ Ferox rode with Crispinus at the head of the little column and the tribune was his usual talkative self. The sight of the slave girl following the big German amused him. ‘And you say he won her at dice? I’ve only ever won money – and lost more often than I would like. Pretty thing, though, very pretty. Although you cannot beat a true lady.’ They had turned a corner, and to his surprise he saw Sulpicia Lepidina and the two Claudias with their maids looking at material in one of the stalls, and discussing it in great detail. He had heard her say that the best buys were often found away from the expensive, fashionable shops near the basilica. ‘Well,’ the tribune continued, ‘the old laws say a husband can beat his wife or a father his daughter, and there’s one or two out there who’ll let a man whip them and thrill to it, but you know what I mean.’
Claudia Enica noticed them, gave a broad smile and waved. The other two were a little more restrained, Sulpicia Lepidina favouring them with a simple nod. Achilles scampered out from behind the stall, a piece of red silk draped over his shoulder, and he must have made some tart comment because his mistress slapped him around the ear.
‘Fine-looking woman, and of royal blood as well.’ With all the hubbub of the crowd, Crispinus spoke without worrying that the ladies would hear. ‘Much to my surprise I am rather taken with that red hair of hers. Striking, although one wonders whether it speaks of a fiery temper. Must be twenty, though, or even older. Needs a husband.’ He smiled at Ferox, who was baffled until realisation set in and then he was simply aghast. ‘No need to look like that. Probably missed the chance now.’
When they passed the ladies, Ferox had not recovered from so bizarre a suggestion. Crispinus made formal greeting, and he simply nodded and gave as much of a smile as he could muster. Enica stared up at him, head on one side almost in the same way as she examined goods on the stall. Claudia Severa wished them luck on their journey. Sulpicia Lepidina was stiff and formal, but then she was in public. Ferox could not stop himself from glancing back after they had passed. The others had returned to their shopping, but she was watching them and when she saw him turn mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do you think he will take her back home with him?’ Crispinus interrupted his thoughts. After a last burst of sobbing, Philo had led the slave girl away.
‘No idea.’
‘Of course not, you never have an opinion on anything, do you, centurion? Eh? Well, you must have some thoughts on the task at hand.’
‘Mona is a big place, my lord. I have not yet seen my lord Ovidius’ discoveries, so cannot judge how easy it will be to find these things.’
‘You really do not want to go there, do you?’
Ferox sighed. ‘No.’
‘Surely it is a place like any other.’
Ferox said nothing.
‘Talkative as ever.’ Crispinus lowered his voice. They were almost at the gate and a handful of bored auxiliaries stood guard. ‘You will feel better when you have a sword at your side. Have to keep up appearances while we’re here for the sake of that fool Crassus. Once we are properly clear we can forget about all this arrest nonsense.’ Ferox was wearing his mail and helmet with its feathered, transverse crest, but under his cloak he had a belt bare of any weapons. His old felt hat was lost, and he knew that he would miss it as the journey went on. There was a borrowed sword on one of the four pack ponies they were taking with them. He had not hefted the weapon yet, but it was bound to be a poor thing after his own sword. He wondered whether that was melted inside the ashes of the warehouse or stolen by whoever it was who had led him out and then vanished.
‘So can I go where I like once we are outside?’
‘Ferox, you are a centurion under orders and will obey. The orders say you are going to Mona. After that, who knows, but there will be new orders and fresh tasks. From all I can see, we are going to be busy.’
‘Perhaps you should have applied to return to Rome, my lord? Your service has already been long.’
‘What, and miss your sparkling company?’
A trooper trotted forward, informed the sentry who they were and they were waved through. The gateway was built of stone, with two low towers, and joined onto the timber and earth ramparts surrounding the greater part of the town. It was not much of a defence, and Ferox hoped that it would never be tested. Outside were more houses and taverns, for the wall had been built thirty years ago and was now too small for the town. It was a good quarter of a mile before the buildings were replaced by gardens and graveyards. Mourners were shrieking and priests and priestesses of Isis wailing and swinging rattles as a woman’s corpse was laid on a pyre.
‘So who did I kill?’
‘Curiosity at last. Most men arrested and charged with murder would have asked at least a few questions.’
‘I’m under orders, my lord. I speak when I’m spoken to.’ More priests joined in the noise, clashing cymbals. Ferox wondered whether the woman had been the one caught up in the attack on the temple. That was only a few days ago, even though it seemed like an age. A torch was put to the piled wood and the flames shot up from the oil in which the pyre was drenched. He shuddered. ‘So who did I kill?’