He tried to put as much good feeling into his voice as he could when he called out the boy’s name, even smiling as he did so, just in case he was being secretly observed. Dabo might be a mean-fisted sod, well past his true prime, but he had been a soldier, and he was a countryman to his fingertips. The hairs on the back of his neck, and the tingling sensation of his skin, told him someone was close, probably Aquila, so he spoke loudly, his voice echoing in the seemingly empty forest.
‘Come on, lad. I know you’re upset, bound to be. I’d leave you be if I could but what am I to do? I’m too pious a fellow to start your mother’s funeral without you. It’s your duty to see her off. She’d only suffer in Hades if you don’t.’
The spear was twenty feet away from him, but he saw the flash of its silver head out of the corner of his eye, and the thud as it hit the trunk of the oak tree made him jump. He used the quivering shaft to aim his look. No sign of Aquila, but that huge dog had come into view, and had him fixed with a frightening stare.
‘She’s not truly my mother, is she?’
Dabo spun round, biting back the curse; how had this boy got round behind him, in such a short space of time, without making a sound? Aquila stood, arms by his side. There was no threat in his pose, yet he had managed to inform this adult that he could have killed him with ease.
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ replied Dabo calmly, aware that the dog was behind him now and the nerves in his back told him it had come a lot closer. ‘But she raised you as a son, adopted you, even if it weren’t sworn. You have to see her off, lad. I know you was fond of her.’
The boy’s shoulders suddenly slumped and his head dropped so Dabo walked across to him, realising for the first time, with a slight shock, that Aquila was now a fraction taller than him. He was just about to put his arm round the youngster’s shoulder, in a paternal gesture, when he heard the dog growl. It was very close by the sound of it and Dabo half turned, to fix the beast in the corner of his eye.
‘I’d take it as a kindness if you’d tell your animal I’m a friend.’
Aquila didn’t look up, but he said something Dabo couldn’t understand, and the farmer was relieved to see the dog sit down. He patted Aquila on the shoulder, his eye catching the leather amulet with the raised eagle, which he examined while he searched for the right words to use. To his mind it was an un-Roman object, not suitable wear for a boy Aquila’s age. Idly he wondered if the shepherd had given it to him. If he had, it would just about sum up what he thought, along with the rest of the neighbourhood, about their relationship.
‘You can’t stay out here, in the woods, boy. You need a home. I made a pact with your papa to look after you and Fulmina. She might be dead, but I’ve still got you as a charge on my conscience.’ Dabo’s voice took on an encouraging tone. ‘I’ve moved the few things she owned to my place. We’ll fire the hut to see her off. Place is near to falling down anyway, then you can move in with me.’
‘I was going to join Clodius.’
‘At your age? You might be tall, but you’re still a toddler. I can’t have you wandering about, exposed to heaven knows what. How could I face old Clodius if’n anything happened? No. You come and live with me.’
He felt the boy stiffen, taking Aquila’s upper arm, immediately below the shining leather amulet, exerting just enough pressure to move him slightly. ‘I won’t hear a word against it, lad, and I shall send a message to your papa to get himself home, so he can look after you himself. Now come along. You know it’s the right thing to do.’
Aquila allowed himself to be pulled into motion and Minca stood up and slowly padded along behind them. The older man talked steadily, but Dabo’s mind was elsewhere. Should he let Aquila go, and take a chance on him coming to grief on the journey? The road to Illyricum was long and dangerous, especially for a good-looking youth who had led a sheltered life. It was tempting, but Dabo knew he had no choice. Not knowing what had happened to the boy, should he fail to reach his papa, was the worst possible alternative, one that would make Clodius hopping mad. So, he would take him home and sort him out, though he would have to get that dog chained up, for Dabo knew he could not do a thing with the boy until that was achieved.
These thoughts had made him tighten his grip on Aquila’s arm, though he relaxed it immediately, albeit his hand ached to take a real purchase. What this youngster needed was a good thrashing, possibly more than one. That, and a few backbreaking days toiling in the fields. Proper work! That would knock the stuffing out of him. First things first; get him home, see to Fulmina’s funeral, get a rope on that animal and then, if Clodius ever did come back, it would be to a vastly different creature than this cheeky bastard beside him.
When Didius Flaccus and Cholon Pyliades returned a week later to the pass at Thralaxas there was nothing left to see, not even any evidence of a fight. Any trace of the ashes and bones had been removed on the rushing feet of the fleeing survivors of the battle against the legions. The rebellion was over, the enemy crushed. Their general might be a blubbery fool, but the training that Aulus had instituted in his army paid handsome dividends when it came to the actual contest. The field was heaped with Dacian bones, with Illyrians and Epirotes to make up the numbers. Vegetius Flaminus would get his triumph and he would also probably avoid any censure for his previous conduct, given it was hard to impeach a successful general. It was also hard for Flaccus, after so many years of service, to quite get a hold of the fact that he was now retired. The Greek servant would never get over the loss of a man he loved.
‘What now?’ said Cholon.
‘The quickest way home, mate,’ replied Flaccus.
‘Which is?’
‘The way of the legions. South to Epirus and a sea passage to Brindisium.’
Cholon smiled, though his heart was like lead. ‘I would have thought you would want to get away from the legions.’
‘I do,’ said the newly retired Flaccus with feeling. He rubbed his hands over his short grey hair. ‘But I have an even greater wish to shake the dust of Illyricum off my feet.’
Flaccus had avoided giving the old soothsayer in Salonae any time to explain. The man had tried to gabble something as Flaccus stabbed him repeatedly, the message lost in cries of agony, but the last words had been plain, and the old man had a gleam in his eye as he uttered them.
‘Everything I have said will come true.’
‘Tell the Goddess Angita.’
Flaccus had grabbed him to shake more information out, only to see the light of life fade from the soothsayer’s eyes, leaving him in the same state of doubt about his future as he had been the last time.
‘I must seek out the heirs of those who died here,’ Cholon said. ‘My master left instructions that they should be granted pensions.’
‘Just how rich was he?’ Flaccus demanded in wonder.
‘His true richness lay in his character.’ Cholon put his hands to his eyes, pressing back the tears. ‘I think the dust of this place will cling to me till I die.’
Flaccus reached down into the sandy cart track and scooped up a handful. ‘Then take some with you, mate. It’s always best to be able to look at your enemy square in the face.’
With a quick incantation to Janus, the ex-soldier led the way south.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Quintus Cornelius was being sonorous in a theatrical way, over-indulging himself in the sadness of the occasion and for once his stepmother was not inclined to reproach him for it. There had been a moment, when he had heard of the death of his father, when Quintus had seemed, not happy, but calmed. He had, of course, come into his inheritance — he was now the head of the Cornelii household and he was describing, as he sketched his ideas for the sculptures around the tomb, the images the public would see as they passed it on the road in and out of Rome.