Gadoric and Hypolitas were obviously still asleep, there being no sign or sound of movement as he made his way past the hidden ravine to check on the horses and his snares. He saw the grass, discoloured by the angle of the sun, at the spot where he had lain earlier that day. After six hours it could not be flattened, that is, unless someone else had lain in the same place. Aquila stood still, listening, his eyes darting around the area, seeking clues. Gadoric might have come up to the ridge but if he had, why was he not here now and if he had lain there recently, he could not have failed to observe Aquila as he covered the last patch of territory through the sparse trees. Perhaps what he hoped for earlier had happened. If so, he must move carefully, to avoid creating alarm.
Aware that there was even higher ground from which he could be seen, every move he made was carried out with slow deliberation. The horses, now rested, watered and grazed, kicked skittishly as he removed the hobble ropes and they followed readily as he led them down to the hidden ravine. Nothing would get them through the gorse bush, so he tied them off to the branches before pushing the gap open and making his way through. He knew by the way his two companions were standing that they were not alone; Gadoric had him fixed with his single eye and he rattled off the warning in his heathen tongue, not that it did any good. The two spears were pressing gently against his side before the man had finished and hands removed his own spear, his bow and quiver, his sword and his knife as he was pushed into the centre of the small clearing.
‘Well, this is no slave,’ said a voice, speaking Greek, behind him.
Another voice replied. ‘Looks like a Roman to me, Tyrtaeus.’
‘His name is Aquila. He works for that bastard Flaccus, who took over the Falerian farms two harvests ago.’
‘Bit young, Pentheus,’ said the first man.
The voice that had spoken his name was full of hate. ‘He’s old enough to kill women and children.’
Aquila turned slowly; three men, no metal or leather, not soldiers. The man in the middle, the tallest of the three, curly haired with a hooked nose, stood with his sword swinging easily by his side. The others had spears, which were aimed in his direction, not that he feared them; if they decided to kill him it would not be done with a spear.
‘Flaccus himself is just down the mountain, with about thirty men.’
‘Just down the mountain is too far away to save you, boy,’ said the man called Tyrtaeus.
‘If Flaccus catches me, I’ll suffer a worse fate than he’d mete out to you. I’ve stolen his horse and weapons, killed at least one of his men, but worse than that, I’ve shamed him before Cassius Barbinus.’
Pentheus sucked in deeply at the mention of that name as Tyrtaeus looked past him to Gadoric and Hypolitas. ‘These men say they’ve escaped and looking at them it’s easy to believe, but you, well fed and well armed?’
‘These men would not have escaped if I hadn’t helped them. By now they’d be strung up on a cross of wood.’
‘Why did you help them?’ demanded Pentheus. He was a sallow-faced individual, with prematurely grey hair and a pair of large brown eyes with dark rings underneath. It was plain by his look that he found the idea preposterous.
‘He helped me,’ said Gadoric.
The explanation that followed was disjointed and, by the look on Tyrtaeus’s face, totally unsatisfactory. Gadoric was still weak and he had poor Greek. Hypolitas, when asked, could at least reply clearly, but he did not know Aquila at all, so he could only confirm that the boy had, indeed, helped them both to escape.
‘A neat way to trap us, perhaps,’ said Tyrtaeus. ‘Free a couple of slaves, make your way into the mountains and hope to find some more. You say that Flaccus is chasing you. Perhaps he’s following you instead.’
‘Then why would I kill his men?’
‘We only have your word for that,’ Pentheus hissed. The spear dropped slightly as he addressed his words to Tyrtaeus, who was obviously the leader. ‘I tell you I know him. You would too, if you’d ever seen that hair on his head, let alone the thing on his neck. I remember when they first arrived. He was like a son to that Flaccus, rode everywhere with him while the mercenaries brought from the mainland did the dirty work, flaunting that gold eagle and a well-fed body while women and children starved.’
Tyrtaeus looked at Aquila enquiringly and the boy held his gaze, forming the words in his mind that he would need to save himself. Phoebe had only taught him a small amount of Greek, which did not extend to explaining the impression he had: that part of Pentheus’s anger was probably compounded of jealousy as much as hardship and the way he looked at the eagle talisman was clearly suffused with greed.
‘He speaks the truth. I was close to Flaccus, for reasons that it would be of little use to explain.’ He raised his hand towards Gadoric, still struggling to follow the conversation. ‘But I was closer to this man, who helped to raise me after my father went off to war. When I saw him tied to a stake, and heard what his fate would be, I could not leave him to die.’
Pentheus jabbed his spear into Aquila’s stomach. ‘Don’t trust him, Tyrtaeus. Let me kill him.’
‘I don’t trust him,’ replied the taller man, ‘but neither will I behave like our late masters and condemn him out of hand.’
‘I’m in a poor position to offer advice, but Flaccus and his men are headed this way, following our trail. All I have done is make him cautious, which will slow him down, but he’ll be here before nightfall. Either you have enough men to stand here and fight him, or you too have to flee.’
‘How many men we have is our business. Tie him up, Pentheus.’
The ex-slave grinned, dropped his spear and dashed to obey. Tyrtaeus walked over and addressed the other two, his hand indicating the marks of fresh wounds. ‘You are welcome, whatever else. Your scars are like the insignia of our tribe.’
‘I’ll take care of you myself,’ whispered Pentheus, pulling the rope that held Aquila’s arms tight. Then he grabbed the eagle on the chain, and jerked Aquila’s head forward until their noses were nearly touching. ‘I lost a woman and two children to your lot. I’ve dreamt of killing Flaccus ever since, but you’ll do in his place. One thing I promise you, and that is a slow death.’
Tyrtaeus walked back, his arms through those of Gadoric and Hypolitas. ‘Pentheus, help these two fellows onto the horses.’
‘And him?’
‘He’s well fed. The bastard can walk.’
Marcellus read the despatch while his father watched him. They had become more like equals now; not that Lucius had mellowed, it was just that his son was becoming too mature to be treated as a schoolboy.
‘My first impression is that Silvanus is exaggerating.’ Lucius nodded, as Marcellus continued. ‘Obviously he has to pay for calling out his auxiliaries, but sending troops to Sicily would be a burden on the state. How venal is he?’
‘I daresay he’ll make a goodly sum out of his governorship, but I doubt that it will be excessive.’
‘What would be excessive?’
‘Two million sesterces per annum. Half of that is about what the governorship should be worth.’
‘How can we tell what he is making?’
‘By the cries of the islanders. If he was milking them we would have an endless stream of complaints.’
‘So there is the possibility that this request is prompted by genuine fears, rather than any dent it might make in his purse?’
‘Runaway slaves are not unknown,’ said Lucius.