Crispinus studied him for a while. The noise of the funeral rose to a crescendo and then stopped abruptly. ‘You really do not know, do you?’ he said in the sudden silence. The mourners sent up a great shriek and his horse stirred, its ears twisting back and head flicking up. He patted its neck. Ferox was riding a docile animal that did not seem to care.
‘You still have not told me the answer, my lord. Last night I fought with men on a rooftop, and hurled them to their deaths without ever knowing their names. That does not sound like murder to me. Afterwards I was knocked unconscious, trussed up and held for who knows how long, threatened by Acco who set the place on fire with me in it. I’m still not sure who helped me out.’
Crispinus threw his head back to laugh. The horse, used to its rider’s strange ways, did not flinch at all. ‘Urban life really does not suit you, does it? My dear fellow, you have been busier even than I guessed. No lions this time? Pity.
‘Cornelius Fuscus is dead. Ah, that does appear to startle you. I doubt that it is from fondness for the man. Indeed I am almost disappointed that you did not kill our procurator because I would most likely have shaken you by the hand in congratulation. A brute, if ever I met one, and I have good reason to suspect that he was plotting treason. However, as far as we can tell that was not why someone stabbed him to death sometime last night. That someone left your dagger in the man, and that battered old hat of yours on the floor. Now perhaps you have an idea why suspicion has fallen on you! Add to that you were seen arguing with the man shortly before, exchanging blows, and a letter found on him claimed to have evidence that would bring ruin to you, as well as other things. There was a lot of blood on it and it is not easy to read, especially after I put the papyrus in the fire.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ There seemed little point in saying that Fuscus had hit him, but that he had not responded.
‘You sound sincere. That makes a change. Better that it is gone, as it complicates matters. The whole thing smells wrong. You might murder a man if you had cause, but I’m reluctant to believe that I have friendship with a man so stupid as to leave incriminating evidence on the corpse.’
‘Thank you again, my lord.’
‘Flavius Ferox, I have lost count of the number of times I have urged you to trust me. I do not know what will happen in the long run. Unless Fuscus’ treason can be proved then someone will have to pay for his death, and you will be too busy to find out who did it in the weeks to come. The man was a rogue, but he was the emperor’s own man and if we were concerned about that freedman up at Vindolanda, this is a hundred times more serious. For the moment the news will be kept as secret, that is if Crassus can keep his mouth shut. A murdered procurator is not likely to spread calm when people are already frightened. The legate fears that the trouble in Verulamium is just the start. Still, he will deal with that and we play a different part. ‘I have been thinking. If Acco knew where these treasures were hidden then would he not have retrieved them long ago?’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not, if he did not need them until now. That is always assuming he does not already have them.’
‘Cheerful and suspicious as ever.’ Crispinus glanced back at the column and smiled. Faces turned expectantly. Apart from the odd building and a few travellers, they were alone. ‘Let’s not worry for the moment. The horses are warmed up. Let’s give them a run and shake off the dust and crowds! Come on!’ The tribune’s horse leaped forward, hoofs pounding into a canter. Ferox and the others followed. Vindex whooped for sheer joy and the Batavians grunted their approval.
XVI
THE WEATHER WAS good for the first week, crisp in the mornings and overnight, and bright and clear in the daytime. They took the north-west road, following the same route as the legate and his cavalry, whose passage was marked by more piles of horse dung than was usual from trade. Before they caught up, Crispinus ordered them to leave the main road and follow farm tracks heading westwards over the rolling hills. It was a well-trodden route, the going good after a dry summer, and if the tribune wished to avoid the legate then that was his business.
They went quickly, sometimes riding, sometimes leading the horses, past tilled fields, cattle fat from summer grass, and plenty of farms, almost all the buildings rectangular and built in Roman style, whether of timber or stone. Large posts stood at the boundaries of clan lands and larger ones at the edge of tribal territory, each bearing a carved Latin inscription of ownership. This was good land, territory of the Atrebates, a people who had thrived as part of the province. It was hard to see any hint of brooding rebellion, and the farmers and their families were friendly, welcoming them with food and drink when they camped near their houses.
On the second day, Ferox saw the riders following them, mere spots in the distance, keeping more than a mile back, and sometimes all he saw was a little plume of dust from the hoofs. Yet they were always there, and the same was true the next day. By then Vindex had spotted them, and showed it by a quick glance at Ferox, who shook his head as a sign that he was to say nothing yet. Longinus must have noticed, for he hung back behind the column and stared for a long time, hand cupped over his one eye to shield it. Ferox doubted he saw anything, but it did not take great imagination to guess what they had been looking at. That night they were given shelter at a villa owned by a local chieftain, a man clearly eager to prove how Roman he was, and thrilled beyond measure to have a senator’s son as his guest.
The morning brought thick fog, and if their host had not obliged them by acting as guide they might well have got lost, for it did not lift until noon. Ferox saw no sign of pursuers that day or the one after, and the fog returned for the next few days. More than once they got lost, even when guided by locals, and spent a lot of time travelling in circles, until they came to a river and followed it. The nights were damp now, and they were glad of their tents, and gladder still when they were offered shelter indoors. They had reached the lands of the Dobuni, the dreaming folk, who seemed part of the land itself. In the old days the Silures had often raided them, for the Dobuni were never renowned as warriors, although stubborn and brave enough, and the Lord of the Hills used to joke that they were his herd to do with as he wished. Some of them still dwelt in round houses, although the bigger farms and barns were after the Roman fashion. Carved figures, vaguely human in shape, stood as markers, and at times Ferox felt that he could have been in northern Gaul.
‘We’re not taking you home,’ Crispinus announced. ‘Not this time.’ They were only a few days’ ride from the borders of the Silures. Ferox was relieved. He was no longer sure that it was his home. There would certainly be no welcome for him, and he could expect only malice from his cousins, however much Acco had dismissed them. They had supplanted him and would never trust him because of it. Besides, it was surely better to keep the memories of childhood and not sour them by seeing places now.
Before they reached Corinium they went north, and the weather turned dull and cold, with a sharp wind. As they had gone further and further west the trees they passed had browner leaves, and now their horses’ feet crunched through mounds of fallen leaves. Crispinus continued to avoid garrisons and towns, but had plenty of coin to buy provisions from the farms. Some of the locals were not keen, for people in these parts had less need of silver or bronze than elsewhere, but the presence of armed men and the obvious importance of the tribune usually tipped the balance. One of the ponies had gone lame, an injury that ought to heal well enough in time, and they bartered him for beer, bread and strips of salted beef.