A Bitter Chill (4 page)

“For treason?” I began to see dimly where he was driving.

“The official explanation,” Lucius smiled without any humour, “was that he allowed a new type of spear to be named after him. You may well look blank, I never heard of a Lucullan spear either. I suppose it may have existed in some outlying fort, but it was hardly the talking-point of Britannia. Anyway, the true reason was that Lucullus was one of several leading politicians whom Domitian suspected of treason.”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” I said. “It makes me glad we live far away from palaces and courts.”

“Yes, but we’re still in the Empire, so we’re not far enough away to be completely safe. If someone decides to whisper in Caesar’s ear that the army in northern Britannia is looking about for a new Emperor,
and
is being actively supported by a certain investigator with family connections near the Eburacum garrison—well, he wouldn’t take much persuading.”

“
He
might not,” I said, “but the Governor here is a different matter. He employs you! He trusts you. Doesn’t he?”

“He does, or I’d be dead already. But he’s got to look after his own interests. If he did nothing at all about the rumours from Rome, and it turned out that we involved in a conspiracy….”
were
somehow

“What sort of conspiracy?”

“Oh, the usual kind. A plot to choose a new Caesar from among the generals here in Britannia, march on Rome, and assassinate Domitian.”

“
Merda!
And is there a real conspiracy, or has the Shadow of Death made the whole story up?”

“That’s where he’s been so clever. There isn’t any such plot that we know of, but there are whispers of trouble in the garrison at Eburacum, the kind of discontent that could develop into a full-blown plot, if it isn’t stopped.” He strode over to the hearth, picked up the pan of wine and brought it to the table, but didn’t sit down. “So far it’s only rumours, loose talk, and a higher than usual number of soldiers deserting from the garrison. But if the discontent gets more serious…. That’s why the Governor wants me to appear to be seriously discontented too, so I can find out what’s going on.”

“It’s just the sort of assignment you do well,” Albia said. “But I still don’t see why you have to go through this play-acting about being in disgrace.”

“Because I come from this area, and too many people know me, including the lads at Eburacum. They know I’m on the Governor’s staff, so I’m just the sort of man that conspirators would never confide in—unless I behave like a disgruntled former officer, wanting to get my own back and make some mischief.”

I didn’t much like the sound of that. “This is devious business, even for you, brother. You’re accused of taking part in a conspiracy, so you pretend to be in disgrace and investigate it? If the Governor isn’t satisfied with the outcome, you’ll be in disgrace for ever. If the conspirators find out who you’re really working for, you’ll be dead.”

Lucius grinned suddenly. “I never said it was easy. But I can do it.”

I saw Albia’s face twitch into a smile, and I felt myself smiling too. This whole crazy assignment was the sort of adventure Lucius loved. He was brave, reckless, clever—and he was our brother.

“Well, since you’re in this pickle, I suppose Albia and I had better help you out of it.” I glanced at my sister, who nodded. “What do you want us to do?”

“Thank you.” He sat down again, making a visible effort to relax. “First and most important, I want you to be certain that I’m not doing anything dishonourable or treasonable. Whatever rumours you hear about my dreadful behaviour—and I need my character blackened, if I’m going to succeed—they won’t be true. I hope they won’t damage you and the Oak Tree too much, but what I care about most is that you shouldn’t be personally hurt by believing them.”

“Where will these rumours be coming from?” Albia wanted to know.

“My former colleagues in the Governor’s office, to begin with. Since I’ve been dismissed, they’ve been putting the word about that I’m no longer, as they term it, ‘completely sound’. That sort of bad news spreads quickly, and once the gossips get to work, you’ll hear all sorts of tales from unexpected sources.”

“Right then. You said Albia and I are suspected of helping you, in other words we’re potential traitors too. Will anyone try to investigate us here at the mansio?”

He nodded. “Quite likely, yes. A spy, perhaps more than one, may come snooping about, looking for anything that can be used against you. They’ll discover no evidence of treason, of course, but they could try to find or fake some other reason to get you thrown out of the Oak Tree. Stealing official transport. Not paying your taxes. Upsetting important travellers. Something serious enough to make the Governor sit up and take notice. So if you have any unusual guests, you’ll need to keep your wits about you, in case they’re looking for ways to catch you out. Luckily you don’t have many visitors in winter. By the spring I hope this will all have blown over.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said.

“Now, there’s just one more thing you can help me with.” He sipped his wine. “Something that’s right up your street.”

“You want a free cart-load of beer to help you get to know the conspirators?” I suggested.

He laughed. “I’ll let you know! But for now, tell me what you can about morale among the military in this area. You get soldiers dropping by here all the time. Has there been more grumbling and grousing than usual lately?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “It’s been quite noticeable this year, especially with more and more men from the far north being moved back into our part of Brigantia. Not that I’m complaining, our bar takings have benefited from plenty of unhappy infantry drowning their sorrows.”

“Good. What have they been moaning about?”

“You mean besides their food, their pay, and their centurions? Mostly the way so many troops have been withdrawn from Britannia, to fight wars in other parts of the Empire. They feel the army here is being weakened, losing too many good men.”

He nodded. “Are they complaining specifically about Caesar? Or just about their commanders in general?”

“More about Caesar himself,” Albia answered. “They’ve been telling each other how Governor Agricola was all set to conquer the whole island of Britannia twelve years ago, but then Caesar threw away the chance, and it’ll never come again. Especially the older men, who served under Agricola himself.”

“And you think it’s more serious than usual?”

I considered it. “It’s unusual for them to be blaming Caesar in person, I suppose. Domitian has always been popular with the army.”

“But we’re talking about bar-room grousing, not serious plotting,” Albia said. “And a good measure of bragging mixed in with it. If I had a gold piece for every soldier that’s told me how he was personally commended for bravery by Agricola on a battlefield, I could build myself a palace.”

Lucius scratched his head and sighed. “I’ve some sympathy with their grumbling, you know. No, don’t worry, I’m not turning into a conspirator already! But Agricola was a brilliant general, and he was here for long enough to do really good work. He could have extended the province of Britannia to cover the whole of the island, or his successor could have done it. There was only the very northernmost part left to conquer when he was recalled.”

“There’s nothing much up in the far north, though,” I put in. “Just mountains and mists and a bunch of wild Caledonian tribesmen. I always thought it would mean a lot of hard fighting for very little gain. If the barbarians can live there, they’re welcome to it.”

“That seems to be what Caesar thinks too,” Lucius said. “With all his other wars, he hasn’t left us enough soldiers to advance further into the Caledonian lands, or even hold on to all the territory that Agricola conquered. So the frontier’s being pulled back little by little, and some of the legionaries don’t like it. It wouldn’t be too surprising if a few hotheads think they’d prefer a Caesar who takes Britannia more seriously. Well, if they’re based at Eburacum, I’ll find them.” He yawned suddenly. “Gods, the wine and food are making me feel tired. I may as well grab a couple of hours’ sleep, I think. And thank you both.” He smiled at us. “You never let me down, and I appreciate it.”

“We’re family,” I answered, “and families stick together, no matter what.”

It snowed for the rest of the night, but Lucius insisted on leaving for Eburacum as soon as there was enough light to see the road. He wouldn’t take a horse or a mule, because he’d have to account for how he came by it. So he put on dry boots and a fresh cloak, and Albia packed him a bag of food and a wine-skin.

I went out as far as the main road to see him off. “Lucius, what was it you wanted to tell me that wasn’t for Albia’s ears?”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot. About Candidus.”

“What about him?”

“Something I overheard in Eburacum yesterday—only tavern talk, there may be nothing in it, but we can’t be too careful just now. He’s supposed to be mixed up in some sort of shady dealing there. Not major crime, but smuggling, evading taxes, that sort of thing. Keep an eye on him, and warn Albia if you think you should. With the family’s affairs liable to be under suspicion anyway, the last thing we need is Candidus getting himself into trouble.”

“I like Candidus, but he strikes me as naïve, and perhaps too soft. It wouldn’t surprise me if he got himself involved in something not quite legal, but out of ignorance, not villainy.”

We reached the road, and Lucius turned and looked at me seriously. “I’m sorry you two are involved in all this. Just remember—whatever you hear about me, I won’t do anything to be ashamed of.”

I gave him a hug. “We know that. We’ll survive, don’t you worry. And if you need us, you know where we are. Now off you go, and the gods go with you.”

C
HAPTER
III

Back in the kitchen, Cook had just brought fresh bread from the bakehouse, and its delicious smell made me feel hungry. Cook was grumbling that someone had been “messing about in here in the night.” I told him I’d felt restless and made myself a warm drink, and Albia had heard me moving around and come to investigate. He muttered darkly about people not clearing up properly, and asked why two of us had used enough crockery for three, but when I didn’t respond he let it drop. He knew as well as the rest of us that some visitors were not to be gossiped about.

After breakfast I put on my warmest cloak and boots and went out to do my morning rounds. The snow and wind had finally ceased, and the sun was rising in a clear sky. There were perhaps four inches of crisp snow crunching underfoot and gleaming on the roofs of the buildings. The whole world sparkled dazzling white with a pinkish tinge, and the beauty of it all made me catch my breath.

I headed for the stable yard, where my stable master Secundus was keeping a watchful eye on the morning chores of feeding, mucking-out, grooming, and exercising. Though winter is a quiet time, if you have livestock to care for, you can never relax completely. True, there weren’t many travellers’ horses or mules to care for, but our own animals still had to be looked after.

Nearby I spotted Ursulus, my farm manager, setting men to work clearing the snow from the forecourt and the track. I called him and Secundus over for a quiet word. They were my senior men, the ones we’d be relying on to make sure we were well guarded against trouble. When I passed on Hawk’s warning about the Wolf-pack and suggested night-time guards, they agreed readily.

“Especially during Saturnalia,” Ursulus said. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everyone does a turn on guard.”

“We’ll take no chances,” Secundus agreed. “Can’t guarantee they won’t moan a bit though.”

I walked past the stables to the big paddock, stopping by the fence to look over our animals. The official livestock was a real mixture. Just about any size, shape and colour of beast that could be ridden or driven came our way sooner or later. Mixed in with them were some of our own black horses, my pride and joy. I’m building up a herd of good breeding stock, and last year’s crop of foals had been excellent.

Two of the horse-boys were feeding them hay. They were both good lads: Castor, tall and square and brown-haired, and Secundus’ son Titch—or Victor as he liked to be called now. He was a lively red-headed lad, and he’d always been known as Titch because of his small size. Now that he’d reached the age of seventeen, though he wasn’t exactly of Herculean build, he wanted to lose his boyhood nickname, and I did my best to remember. But I still thought of him as Titch, and probably always would.

“Morning, boys,” I called. “Everything all right?”

Titch stopped and came running over to me. “Good news, Mistress. Poppaea’s had her pups, and they’re all fine.”

“Gods, that’s a relief!” The lad’s little brown bitch had spent the last few days looking as if she’d drop her litter any time, and he’d been consumed with pre-natal nerves. “How many has she got?”

“Six. Four brown like she is, and two black and white. Four dogs, two bitches. She had ’em in the night, in the tack-room. I stayed up with her. It was hard work, but we managed it.”

“‘We’?” I laughed. “Isn’t that just like a man? It sounds to me as if it was Poppaea who did all the managing!”

He laughed too. “Aye, well, it’s true, she knew what to do without me. But I wouldn’t have missed it.” He embarked on a blow-by-blow account, and I let him tell me all about it. He loved that little dog, and this was her first litter. “Do you think Cook’ll give me some extra meat scraps to feed her? She’s hungry all the time.”

“I’m sure he will. Tell him I said it’s all right.”

“While I was up last night,” he said softly, “or this morning I mean, I saw….” He hesitated, which made me look at him sharply.

“Saw what?” I thought I could guess.

“Did I dream it,” he lowered his voice still more, “or did we have a visitor?”

Yes, if anyone in the household had spotted our unexpected guest, it would be this observant lad.

“You dreamt it, Titch. Nobody came here last night.”