To be sure, he’d lied about the nature of the guards. They weren’t the ‘runaway slaves’ of his description, but were big Englishmen, speaking the dialect of Wessex. And, dark as it was, I could see something in the way they bore themselves that told me they weren’t simple bandits. There was an order in the little camp and a general discipline that chilled me.
We rode straight among them. They had a little fire going in a hollow, and were getting some game ready to cook. I stayed on horseback, looking down at them with a lordly confidence I didn’t feel. Maximin dismounted and began a silent and exaggeratedly devout prayer in front of the shrine, which appeared so far as I could see to be an old tomb with a cross stuck on top.
‘They’ve sent a fucking boy out to deal with us!’ The words were in English, spat out with evident contempt. ‘Can’t these Latins keep their bumboys out of anything?’
‘Kill them both.’ Another voice came out of the darkness. ‘I told you this whole fucking business was dodgy. Take delivery of that stuff, sit here for two days, and then do the bidding of some boy and a priest. Something stinks, and it ain’t my cock. Kill them both, I say, and take the gold. We’ve been here long enough.’ He was another big man with a moustache that, in the shadows made by the fire, seemed to stretch down to his waist. ‘Next he’ll be saying One-Eye sent them.’
‘Your mission is completed,’ I drawled, a note of slight impatience in my voice. ‘Get the stuff loaded for me and be off back to Pavia.’ Probably feeling my tension, the horse shifted under me and whinnied. I brought it back under control.
‘I don’t have all night to sit here with you,’ I added, now evidently impatient.
‘I thought-’ the first voice replied.
‘You aren’t paid to think,’ I snapped. ‘You were told to wait here for instructions. I’ve brought your instructions. You load up for me and get yourselves off.’
I tried to work One-Eye into the instructions, but wasn’t sure which way to go with him. So I added: ‘Do I need to get down and count that gold myself?’
Suddenly shifty, the first voice told me there was no need for that. Did I think they were just ‘fucking bandits’?
‘What I think is my business,’ I said slowly. ‘Now, I didn’t come here to trade words. I want everything piled up in front of me and a light to see it by.’
I’d done the trick. A lump of burning wood was pulled from the fire and a couple of men scurried back and forth in the pool of light with more of the type of leather bag I’d seen that morning. I could hear the subdued music of coin every time one thumped onto the ground.
‘I count twenty-eight,’ I said, raising my voice. ‘Where are the rest?’
‘You came late with your instructions.’ The voice was nervous, almost whining.
‘I said we didn’t need no extra help,’ a new voice muttered in English. ‘Those fuckers will get us our hands chopped off. “Trust you to believe a couple of Kentish cunts”,’ the voice went on, quoting a line from a song I’d heard an age before in a Winchester tavern.
‘You’ll hear about the missing gold when I’ve made my report. ..’ I added: ‘Now for the other stuff.’
Big Moustache came forward with a larger bag. From it he pulled a small casket. Even in the poor light, I could see its elaborate making – all gold set with jewels.
‘We ain’t touched nothing,’ he said. ‘We know the Faith.’ He passed it to Maximin.
‘Thank you, my son.’ Maximin’s voice was hoarse. He set the casket on the ground and opened it. His hands shook as he drew back a little cloth inside. He looked reverently on the contents for some while, then closed everything up. ‘Our Common Father will take note of your piety on the Final Day.’
‘You’ll want these as well,’ said Big Moustache. He reached into the back again and drew out three sealed letters. He passed them up to me. Without looking at them, I handed them down to Maximin. He gave them a cursory glance and put them beside the casket.
‘Right,’ I said, now businesslike, ‘get twenty of those bags into my saddlebag. The rest goes with Father Constantine.’ I nodded to Maximin.
To steady my now horribly frayed nerves, I counted silently to fifty as the saddlebags were packed. At last it was all done.
As we were ready to depart, the first voice asked: ‘What password shall we take back with us?’
‘Canterbury,’ I answered, saying the first word that came into my head. I gave it in the English form, ‘Cantwaraburg’. I bit my tongue and cursed my nerves. I could feel the suspicious glances.
I laughed, adding: ‘Say you spoke with Flavius Aurelianus. They will understand.’
At last we picked our way on horseback down to the road. The smooth slabs underneath, I forced back the impulse to spur my horse to a wild gallop. Whatever had possessed me to open my mouth like that? I suppose it was that we’d been deep into a long day. I’d woken that morning, a shabby barbarian travelling with a priest who was barely less shabby, heading into a future that involved poncing my bread off others. I’d then killed two men in short order, taking over a tidy sum in gold. Now I’d just swindled another twenty-eight bags of gold from a band of mercenaries, any one of whom could have cut me down in the blink of an eye. Whatever I now got up to in Rome would be done in style. I was nervous. I was tired. Even so, I’d been stupid as a churl, and no one could blame me for wanting to get away while it was still in my power to do so.
A few hundred yards along the road, we broke into a steady trot. The gold was evenly distributed on each side of me, and the horse seemed hardly to feel the additional weight. A small but bright moon was now coming up in the sky with a star or two beside. We could make out the dreary waste that extended on our left, far into the distance. Way over on our right, the sea gently lapped the shore.
As we passed our fifth milestone, I began to breathe more easily. ‘How far to Telamon?’ I asked Maximin. I’d asked that the previous day, but had forgotten the answer with all that came between.
‘With horses on this road,’ Maximin said shortly, ‘I’d say we’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.’
‘There used to be an inn about halfway there from Populonium. We can rest there.’
He looked nervously around. ‘I don’t feel too happy about sleeping in the open again.’
I agreed. We were now decidedly worth robbing. Besides, we had the means to make the last stages to Rome like persons of quality. I saw no reason why we shouldn’t do so, heart and soul. I opened my mouth to speak. Before I could even form the words, I clutched the reins in a spasm of fear.
Ahead, a horseman was galloping towards us. He was moving at a furious pace. It was no time at all before he’d passed from a tiny speck, only recognisable by the clatter of hooves in the silence of the night, to a solid presence just in front of us. About twenty yards away, he stopped and waited for us to come up to him. In the pale moonshine, I saw the glint of his half-drawn sword. And I could see the darkness about his left eye.
‘Singular courage,’ said One-Eye in accented Latin, ‘to be out alone on this road now.’ He let his sword slide back into its scabbard.
Did he recognise us from earlier? I’d then been in very different clothes. But Maximin was the same as ever, and there couldn’t have been many of my age in that region with my hair. Also, we’d seen him in Populonium. Why and when had he left? Why was he now racing back there? I was suddenly conscious of my sword, loose in its scabbard.