A Bitter Chill (37 page)

We went down into the bar, where Rufus was waiting for us, and Titch and Taurus had already made themselves at home.

“The food’s good here,” Rufus greeted us, “and the wine’s not too bad.”

Brocchus came over to join us. “You’d like a bite to eat, I expect, and something to drink. What can I get you?”

The others looked hungrily around the crowded room, and I was hungry and thirsty too, but I didn’t want to have to spend the meal fending off Brocchus’ questions. So I said, “We’ll have a stroll first, and come back later. Brocchus, which is the quickest way to the warehouses for the cargo-boats that trade down-river?”

“They’re a bit of a way down-stream, on the main river. There’s a path of sorts runs along by the water. Who is it you’re looking for?”

“A friend of ours called Candidus. He’s set up as a trader, and gone into partnership with a river pilot they call the Skipper. We thought we’d pay him a visit while we’re in town.”

“I heard something about them joining forces,” Brocchus said seriously. “If you don’t mind a bit of advice, tell your friend to be careful. The Skipper isn’t a man
I’d
want to be in partnership with.”

“Why not?”

“He’s fine most of the time. He’s a bit of a rascal, no worse than any other boatman, but he’s over-fond of his wine. Drinks too much, too often, sometimes for days at a stretch. When he’s drunk, he’s too fuddled to work, but he still has enough energy to get into fights.”

“Sounds like an innkeeper’s delight,” Quintus joked, “as long as he’s got the cash to pay his bar bill.”

Brocchus shook his head. “I don’t let him in here no more. Causes too much trouble. I don’t know where he drinks these days, but they’re welcome to him.”

After he’d gone, Rufus said quietly, “He goes to the Wolf’s Head. I saw him there yesterday. Scruffy place, and dreadful beer, but cheap.”

“Good. We’ll pay it a visit,” Quintus said. “Have you found any trace of our two runaways?”

“Not a sign so far, no. I’ve put the word about, and left a message for—the other man you wanted me to contact.”

“Thanks. So where is this Wolf’s Head? Is it far from here?”

“Nothing’s very far from anything in this town.” Rufus looked at me doubtfully. “It’s no place for a lady though.”

“Then I’d better not look like one, had I?” I’d remembered to bring an old scruffy cloak in case I needed a disguise, and I went and put it on.

Rufus grinned and said, “Quite a transformation! You’ll do. But you still sound like a lady when you open your mouth.”

“You reckon so, do you, you red-haired toe-rag?” I said in British, with a good Brigantian accent.

Rufus laughed. “You’ll do!” He turned to Quintus. “Am I coming along with you? Only I’ve arranged to try out the night-life with your two lads, if you don’t need me.”

“Then enjoy it,” Quintus smiled. “Just make sure you’re all here at dawn tomorrow, ready for a hard day’s work.”

The Wolf’s Head was a small unkempt place which had once been painted a garish red, in a narrow unpaved back street. It was crowded and smoky from poor-quality lamp oil, but we found a small table, and Quintus ordered drinks and a hot meal. An over-painted barmaid brought us pork and vegetable hot-pot, which was greasy and hadn’t enough spices, and the red wine was rough. But we hadn’t come here for the food.

The customers were mostly soldiers and their women, and the occasional trader. But standing at the bar counter were several men who, to judge from their loud chatter, were river pilots and boatmen. Quintus leaned across the table and said quietly, “Watch that tall fellow in the middle. I’m pretty sure I heard him say Albia’s name.”

He was a huge man, broad and muscular, with brown hair and beard, and a scar on his forehead shaped like a fish. Not a local from Eburacum, to judge by his accent—I guessed he came from a district further north. He was getting cheerfully drunk when we started our meal, and by the time we finished it we didn’t have to make any effort to hear what he was saying, or rather shouting. He was telling nautical stories and jokes, and when he began to sing, one of the men at a nearby table called out, “Shut up, Skipper, you’ll crack the mugs with that row.”

Could this be
the
Skipper, Candidus’ new partner? Or was Skipper simply a title given to boat captains in general? He stopped singing and said loudly, “You’re no fun these days, Gavo. Here I am, money in my hand and wanting to celebrate, and all you can do is tell me to shut up!”

“I never mind helping a friend enjoy himself,” Gavo said cheerfully, “so you can buy me a drink to make up for that awful noise. What are we celebrating?”

“I’ve found a partner to invest in my boat at last,” the big man said. “Just in time, too. The man who sold it me was getting very impatient for his money. Now I’m going to be rich, lads, rich and respectable. I’m sacrificing a bull-calf to Fortuna tomorrow, to say thank you.”

“A bull-calf? Gods, this must be something good!” Gavo laughed. “Does the poor chump know that one bad storm would send your old tub to the bottom to feed the fishes?”

“Rubbish! Solid and respectable, it is, like me. Guaranteed not too leaky, and can’t abide being dry.” He bellowed for another jug of wine, and several more bystanders gathered round, intent on helping him drink it. To stop him singing again, they asked him about his new partner.

“Just the sort of investor a man wants,” he replied, his speech slurring a little. “Up from the south country, plenty of money, nice manners, and innocent as a new-born babe! He believes every daft thing I tell him! Talk about pleased with himself—you’d think I’d given him half the boat, not made him pay through the nose for it. Keeps on and on about the importance of trade, and making the world more civilised.” He spat scornfully. “Well I’ll trade with any man, as long as he puts gold in my hand. ‘Sell the best,’ that’s always been my philosophy.”

“Aye, we all know your philosophy, Skipper,” Gavo grinned.

“The only thing I’ve had to do—no, you’ll never believe this!”

He paused till someone obligingly asked, “Go on then, what?”

“Change the name of my frigging boat so it’s called after his girlfriend. Of all the crazy ideas! But I don’t care, as long as his money’s good. So if any of you gentlemen want to find my beautiful boat from now on, look for the
Albia. Albia!
Makes you laugh, doesn’t it?”

But Quintus and I weren’t laughing. We finished our meal and got out of there as fast as we could without making it obvious.

It was growing dark now, but there were a few torches in brackets on the walls of bars like the Wolf’s Head, to attract evening customers. All the same we didn’t want to be on the streets after nightfall, so we began to walk back to the mansio. We’d only gone fifty paces or so, when a figure came racing towards us, and Quintus’ hand went to his dagger. But he relaxed when we recognised Titch.

“What’s the hurry, Victor?” Quintus smiled. “Have you stolen somebody’s girlfriend already?”

“I’ve seen that man Otus,” he panted. “Drinking in a bar, and I heard him say he’s on his way to the Wolf’s Head. Only then he spotted me, so I legged it to warn you. He’ll not be far behind.”

“Thanks. Let’s move. Can we get out down there?” Quintus pointed back the way we’d come.

“Nah, blind alley. Back up here, then first right. I’ll show you.” He turned and started to run like a hare. As we followed, I looked up the street, trying to see into the shadows, but there could have been half a cohort hidden in the semi-darkness. We reached the small turning and dived thankfully round the corner, and then a voice roared out behind us, “There he goes! He’s stolen my money! Stop thief! Stop thief!”

We could hear heavy footsteps pounding along after us, and we headed into an even smaller alleyway. Otus had seen or guessed our line of escape, and he continued to shout as he chased us, but not for long. Nobody in this section of town was going to help apprehend a thief. They’d be more inclined to help one than hinder.

We ran through the shadows along a little lane which twisted between blank-walled buildings. Titch led us confidently on, weaving and winding through a maze of alleys, mostly so narrow you could stand in the middle and touch both walls. But we didn’t stand, we raced on, only twice pausing to listen. The heavy pursuing footfalls were still there, but fainter. I thanked the gods that Titch knew this area of Eburacum so well. I’d lost all sense of direction and distance, and the empty little streets all looked the same. It felt like one of those nightmares where you are pursued by a terrifying monster, and you must run for your life. Only this time we couldn’t escape the terror by waking up.

Eventually we erupted into a small dim square between high walls. It contained a large rubbish-heap, and several rats fled as we approached. Nobody had put torches up here, and the smell was appalling. But I could feel a misty damp in the air, which must mean we were near the river. Titch stopped so abruptly we almost ran into him. “Quiet now!” he whispered. I held my breath and listened.

Silence. No footsteps pelting behind us, no enraged shouting, no pursuit of any kind. There was just the faint lapping of water nearby, and the sound of our panting, when we all started to breathe again.

Titch whispered, “I think we’ve lost him.”

“That was nicely done, Victor,” Quintus whispered back. “Thank you.”

We waited a while longer to be certain, but there was definitely nobody chasing us now, so Titch navigated us safely to the mansio. On the way, he told us how he’d spotted Otus by sheer chance, drinking with a group of soldiers in a seedy tavern near the fortress. “And I think he must know the Skipper, from what he was saying. Oh, and I found out the Skipper’s name, too.”

“I know what name I’d call him,” I remarked.

Titch grinned. “Well, if you ever feel like being polite to him, his real name’s Ephialtes.”

I stopped dead. “It’s
what?
”

“Ephialtes. Why, d’you know him?”

“I know it means trouble.”

“Why?”

“I despair of the youth of today!” I teased him. “The things you haven’t been taught that you ought to know at your age would fill several very large libraries.”

“Aye, well, if they’re in a library, I can go and read ’em some day. Who’s this Ephialtes, then?”

“He was a giant in an old story. He and his twin brother tried to storm Mount Olympus. Remember him now?”

He shook his head. “I’m not very well up in that old stuff.”

“Sometimes it’s useful. Ephialtes’ twin brother was called Otus.”

He whistled. “Twin brothers! So that’s the way of it.” His cheeky grin appeared. “They do say twins are double trouble, don’t they?”

I laughed. “Not very often, in my hearing. Now off you go, and thank you.”

“Aye, I’ll be off. With all this messing about, I’ve not had time to steal anybody’s girlfriend yet.” He gave us a wink and a wave, and disappeared.

“He reminds me of myself at his age,” Quintus said, smiling. “You’ll miss him when he joins the army.”

We went to bed early, and I was so exhausted that I fell asleep straight away. Lying in Quintus’ arms I felt happy and safe, and slept through a long and restful night. In the morning before it was light, we made better use of our time together, and I finally let myself begin to believe that whatever had been wrong between us was now right again. I didn’t understand it and I didn’t have time to try. I was simply content to find happiness where and when I could.

C
HAPTER
XVII

The sun was burning through the morning mist as we set off for Candidus’ warehouse. The day was cold, but pleasant enough for walking, and I tried to push my foreboding of trouble to the back of my mind. At least we had Rufus and Taurus with us—two big men who gave us a reassuring feeling of safety. And we had Titch to guide us, and after last night we had reason to trust his knowledge of the town.

Candidus had been right about Eburacum resembling a building-site. Everywhere we looked there were houses and shops being put up, pulled down, or re-developed. There was precious little actual work going on though. They must indulge themselves in an extended Saturnalia festival here, because the streets were alive with folk on holiday, but not blocked by delivery carts or towers of scaffolding. It didn’t take us long to reach the water, and that, too, was almost deserted, with only a few small native row-boats ferrying a trickle of customers across to the opposite bank.

“We don’t need to go over the river,” Titch said. “The cargo-boat moorings and warehouses are all on this side.”

I remarked how fast the brown, muddy water was flowing, giving the oarsmen a tough task to row straight across it. “That’s a strong current, isn’t it? Fine for boats sailing down-stream, but how do they manage to get back up against a flow like that?”

Quintus said, “This is a tidal river. Most of the time it flows towards the sea as you’d expect, but when the tides flood in at the seaside, they raise the water level all the way up here too. There’s a strong current flowing up-river then, and the boatmen are experts at using it to help them.”

“But we’re miles and miles from the sea,” Taurus objected.

“A lot of rivers behave like that in Britannia,” Quintus said. “The sea is very strong here. You get used to it.”

“It’s not natural,” Taurus muttered. “Imagine if our sea at home in Italia went up and down like that! You’d never feel safe walking along a beach, knowing it could be under water before night-time.”

I agreed with him. I find it disturbing enough to think of the sea advancing on the land twice a day and then retreating again, but the idea of tides that could come up rivers as far inland as this—it was frightening. I sent a quick prayer to Neptune, asking for his protection, and another more general request to whatever gods guarded the river here.

“And when the level gets really high, there’s flooding all along the bank,” Titch put in. “Most of the buildings get a couple of feet of water in them once or twice in a winter, when the snow melts and the river’s full. Like now, I reckon. So best not to get ourselves shut into any warehouses. A friend of me dad’s got trapped in one once, stacking boxes and they fell on him and broke both his legs. Next morning there he was, drownded. And another time….”