Flavius reasoned that, in the hierarchy of the household, Ohannes must rank quite high, which would indicate that he would be one of the few with a cell of his own in which to sleep, as well as one close to the main house. The lower the servants, be they slave or free, the more crowded was their space, so in an annex without doors, it was possible to silently pull to one side the canvas screens and listen for the breathing of more than one soul.
In the end it was the old soldier’s preference for a cooling night breeze to aid his slumbers, plus the snoring of an elder that identified him to the youngster, or more importantly, the tip of a resting spear catching the light from an open shutter.
Flavius’s hand had barely touched the shoulder when one of Ohannes’s shot out to take hold of his throat, the grip immediately so tight the boy could not speak his name, only croak and hope it made sense. He was never sure of what got him release and a chance to breathe; perhaps there was enough light to see his face. Nor did he make much sense as he gabbled in a whisper what had been told to him, which had the old man, now sitting upright as Flavius bent over him, reaching out to shake him gently and hiss that he should both slow down and sit.
Without going into detail, Flavius first told the Scythian the gist of what was contained in that oilskin pouch, hidden now in this very room, and why it was so important that it be kept secret from Blastos, before going on to the tale of his recent visitation. This was heard in near silence, the only sound being growls of outrage from Ohannes on hearing what Senuthius and Blastos intended.
Then it came to the solution proposed by the messenger that Flavius must flee, given that if he knew a commission of enquiry was coming, but had no idea exactly when, he would likely be dead before it arrived. As he talked and with eyes now adjusted to the low light, the youngster could just make out the slow nodding of the head, followed by the whispered reaction that flight should be for more than just the youngster.
‘I am not sure they will torture the slaves and servants but they might, there being no power to stop them. Me? They have seen we are close, as I was to your papa. I have no more notion to feel the hot pincers Senuthius has in store than you. We must go together.’
Flavius felt he ought to protest, to say that this old man had done enough, yet such was his relief that he would not be alone that noble sentiment died in his throat. ‘But where? I have good friends who might aid me, Philaretus and Asticus, and there were folk prepared to witness against Senuthius.’
‘No, you will only put them in danger. The only place that fat sod will struggle to lay a hand on us is over the river.’
‘Can that be safe? Romans are not much loved there.’
‘Maybe not safe, but when there are two evils it might be the lesser, since we must flee on foot. Senuthius will have mounted men out as soon as it is light, maybe even sooner. He has to reckon on us going south, which might just give us the time to get a boat and make the crossing.’
‘I have no notion to end up as a barbarian slave.’
‘Better that than hanging on a cross to be pecked at by carrion,’ Ohannes growled.
‘How do we get out of the villa unseen?’
That got a reassuring chuckle. ‘Same way as every servant your papa ever employed, who wanted a wet or a woman without him knowing.’
Flavius was sent to fetch that which he had left under the tree, with Ohannes, now fully armed, on hand to take them from him and help him back across the sill, the oilskin pouch containing the roll of letters joining the others Flavius carried in his canvas sack. He was led along a corridor to the very end of the servants’ quarters, the increasingly foul odour a sure indication they were heading for their privy.
It was a windowless enclosure, which accounted for the strength of the smell, but it had a low hatch by which the night soil could be removed of a morning to be taken to the general midden that served as fertiliser for the kitchen garden. They went through that hatch on hands and knees, emerging into moonlight so strong that it had Ohannes insist they wait.
‘I have no notion of the numbers that priest has set to watch or where they are. In this light a man can see a good distance, and picking up movement is easy. We need a bit of cloud.’
‘What do we do if we’re seen?’
‘We kill, young sir, for there be no choice, in silence if we can manage but without if not.’
‘Then we will truly be outside the law.’
‘The law, sad to say, died with your papa. The only justice left is what Senuthius decides and Blastos carries out.’
The moon was strong and high, the light of it great enough to wash out the stars, which threw everything into sharp relief. Flavius leant his back against the wall of the building and dropped his head, suddenly overcome with a feeling of weariness. If a sense of terror and excitement had animated him it was ebbing fast, to be replaced with creeping despair.
‘We must be here when that commission arrives, Ohannes.’
Since that got a grunt, it was not possible to know if he agreed or thought him mad. Nor was there time to ask; as soon as a large cloud began to obscure the moon they had to move, using the rapidly fading silver lining to guide them before it disappeared completely, plunging the whole area into Stygian darkness.
What aided them was knowledge; this was home to both and Flavius, especially, knew it like the back of his hand. The faintest outline of a tree branch or the smell of a pungent plant was enough to tell him exactly where he was. That got them to the outer wall and a gnarled and ancient olive tree, a spot where the youngster knew they could climb, just as he knew that one outer bough went towards that enclosing wall, albeit the limb had been cut and sealed within so as to avoid an easy point of entry for intruders.
With a field of wheat on the other side, Flavius cast his spear and shield over the wall then donned his helmet, finally setting his canvas bag on his back where it would not interfere with his efforts to climb. Even with a less than fully useful arm, those ancient and twisted branches gave him enough purchase to haul himself up; the problem of Ohannes’s painful and inflexible knees posed more of a difficulty, which meant the youngster was required to lodge himself for support, then with one hand help the old man up from one crooked resting place to another.
The next predicament, once they had reached the height they needed, pressured Flavius; to crawl along that truncated bough one-handed was to risk falling off so, with a quick prayer and a welcome sliver of cloud-edge light, he stood up, balanced himself, then skipped along the branch to straddle the outer villa wall.
That flash of moonlight had aided him but it had also allowed one of the bishop’s servants to see his silhouette, judging by the shout of alarm that came from the main part of the house. Ohannes, not trusting to his balance, was inching his way along that same length of wood by bestriding it, pushing with his hands, in one of which he had his spear, able to move only a couple of inches at a time, cursing as he did so the limbs that would not behave as he wished they should and once did.
‘Hurry, Ohannes,’ Flavius called, as more shouting came from the villa itself.
‘As if I ain’t doing the best I can!’
The light of half a dozen torches appeared, Flavius quick to calculate the distance between them and the house, set against how much time they had. Though Ohannes was looking away from those waving lights he could tell by the accompanying noise that they had a difficulty.