‘What’s the rush?’ Magnus asked, helping his friend to his feet.
‘Livilla will be expecting her men back today,’ Vespasian replied as he walked unsteadily over to a basin of water placed on the chest. ‘When they don’t show by nightfall she’ll want to know why; she’ll probably send some more up here tomorrow to find out, a lot more. They’ll more than likely arrive tomorrow night — I’d say it would be best if we weren’t here, wouldn’t you?’
‘If they find the place deserted they’ll burn it to the ground.’
Vespasian splashed handfuls of water over his face. ‘Then we’ll rebuild it.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You and your lads are going to help Clemens take Secundus back to Rome,’ Vespasian replied, drying his face. ‘I want you to stay there until Antonia sends for you to bring me a message at Cosa.’
Magnus didn’t look too pleased. ‘If she knows that I’m in Rome she’ll be sending for me all the time.’
‘Well, that’s the perks of the job. I wouldn’t mind borrowing a couple of your boys to come to Cosa with Sabinus and me, just for a bit of extra security.’
‘Sure, have Sextus and Marius; they know the place. What about your parents, where are they going?’
‘They’re going north and Artebudz will go with them, it’s nearly on his way home and he seems anxious to get back to Noricum as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, I know, he’s was going on about it for the whole voyage home. He’s worried that his father, Brogduos, may already be dead.’
‘How long has he been away?’
‘Nearly twenty years.’
Titus came in without knocking. The side of his face was heavily padded; a linen bandage around his head held the dressing in place.
Magnus diplomatically slipped out of the room.
‘You’re awake, good,’ Titus said, smiling. ‘How are you feeling, my son?’
‘Fine, Father, how about you?’
Titus cocked his head. ‘What?’
‘Fine, Father, how about… Oh, very funny!’
‘Your mother didn’t think so when I played the joke on her earlier; and she’s in a worse mood now that Sabinus has told us that we need to get out of Italia and go and hide in some forsaken place — what’s it called again?’
‘Aventicum. It’s for the best; until things change in Rome, that is.’
‘I know, I understand but your mother doesn’t. She thinks that because we beat them last night that should be the end of it.’
‘Well, she’s wrong,’ Vespasian asserted, slipping on his tunic.
‘I know, but you try telling her that. Sabinus and I have both tried and given up. It was only when I ordered the valuables to be packed on to wagons that she realised she had a choice: stay alone and undefended in an empty house that’s liable to another attack, or come with me.’
‘What did she choose?’
‘I don’t know, she’s still thinking about it. I gave her my knife back though.’
Vespasian chuckled as he fastened his belt. ‘What are you going to do with the livestock?’
‘The mules and the sheep are all up on the summer pastures on the north of the estate. Pallo and some of the freedmen are going stay up there with the herdsmen for a while. They’ll be safe enough; no one’s looking for them. As to the slaves, we’ll take the household ones with us.’
‘What about the field slaves?’
‘They’re all dead; burnt last night.’
‘Shit, no? All forty of them?’ Vespasian looked up incredulously from tying on his sandals.
‘Sixty now. We’ve been expanding whilst you were away. Yes, I’m afraid so. Still, it’s solved the problem of what to do with them.’
‘That’s a very expensive way of solving a problem. They were worth a lot of money.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that, I paid for them. But that loss to the family will be more than made up by the dowry that Clemens’ sister will bring; I made the arrangements with him this morning. He’s going to bring her to Cosa for the marriage within a month; I assume that you’re going straight there.’
‘Yes, we’ll take a couple of Magnus’ lads to-’
Sabinus popped his head around the door. ‘Father, Vespasian, Ataphanes is dying, he’s asking for us.’
The freedmen’s lodgings were at the far end of the stable yard where, along with the estate office and the estate steward’s quarters, they ran along the whole wall; they had escaped the worse ravages of the fires.
Titus led his sons through the chaos of three wagons being loaded with the family’s possessions and on into the freedmen’s common mess room, where meals were served and the men drank and played dice in the evenings. At the far end was a long windowless corridor with the doors to the men’s individual rooms down the side facing on to the stable yard. Titus made to enter one and then paused; although as the master of the household he had the right to go anywhere he pleased without asking he thought to honour a man who had served him for six years as his slave and a further ten as his freedman: he knocked.
The door opened and Chloe peered out. Surprise that the master should have knocked showed on her wrinkled, sunburnt face, which always reminded Vespasian of a walnut shell.
‘Masters, come in,’ she wheezed, bowing her head. ‘Master Vespasian, it’s good to see you conscious. How is the shoulder?’
‘It’s stiff and it aches but it’ll be fine. Thank you for what you did for me last night, Chloe,’ Vespasian replied, taking her hand in genuine affection. She had sewn up many cuts and dosed him with all sorts of potions a child, and he had come to think of her as a part of the immediate family.
‘You were lucky that it hit nothing vital,’ she said, beaming at him. The few teeth that remained to her were yellow or black. ‘I was able to clean and cauterise the wound. Not, alas, like poor Ataphanes; the arrow pierced his liver and he bleeds inside. He doesn’t have long.’
Vespasian nodded and stepped into the small whitewashed room. To his surprise, Artebudz was standing by the only window; behind him, in the stable yard, the business of loading the wagons continued apace.
Ataphanes lay on a low bed. His once-proud, sculpted Persian features seemed flaccid and grey. His breathing was laborious. He opened his eyes — they had a yellow tinge to them — and he gave a weak smile.
‘I am grateful that you have come, masters,’ he whispered.
‘The master knocked,’ Chloe piped up from the door; she was well aware that she was talking out of place but wanted Ataphanes to be aware of the fact.
‘Thank you,’ he said to Titus, ‘you do me honour.’
‘No more than you deserve after the long years of service to my family,’ Titus replied, taking his hand. He squeezed it gently and then looked quizzically at Artebudz.
‘I’m Artebudz, sir. Your son won my freedom for me; I owe your family a debt of gratitude.’
‘This is the man that shot me, master,’ Ataphanes informed Titus weakly. ‘It was a great shot; far better, Ahura Mazda be praised, than mine at Vespasian.’ He spluttered a faint laugh; blood appeared on his lips. ‘But my squat Scythian friend, Baseos, missed altogether. I have had my last archery competition with him and I won.’
‘Though, luckily for me, not with a bull’s-eye,’ Vespasian said, feeling his shoulder.
Ataphanes nodded and closed his eyes. ‘I have two favours to ask of you, masters.’
‘Name them,’ Titus said.
‘First, that you do not cremate my body but rather expose it for the carrion fowl to devour on a tower of silence as is the custom of my people who follow the teachings of the prophet Zoroaster.’
‘That will be done.’
‘Thank you, master. My second request isn’t so easy. I have saved a good deal of money, in gold; it’s in a box under my bed, along with a few personal possessions that I want my family to have. I had planned to use it to return to my homeland one day, but now that’s not to be. I would ask you to return it to my family with a letter telling them of my life; I’ve had no time to write one. They can read Greek.’
‘Gladly, Ataphanes, but how will we know where to send it?’