Shadows in the Night (29 page)

Quintus stepped towards the boy. “Out, scum.
Now!”

“Who are you calling scum, you Roman….” Yelling obscenities, the boy let go of my tunic and hurled the jug at Quintus. He missed, and it smashed harmlessly, though messily, on the floor. There was a quick scuffle, almost a blur, and then Quintus was holding the native fast, with his right arm twisted halfway up his back. The abuse turned into a whimper of pain, and then silence.

Young Segovax jumped up and launched himself at Quintus. Calmly, without releasing the drunk, Quintus took a pace sideways, then twisted round and gave the lad a vicious kick in the knee. Segovax grunted and backed off but didn’t sit down. Quintus said, “Don’t even think about it, boy,” and after a tense couple of heartbeats, I saw Vitalis wave him down again, and the group of them relaxed a little, and sat there unmoving. I realised I’d been holding my breath, and let it out with a rush. The crisis point was over.

“Come on, you,” Quintus growled, and marched the drunk to the door. He threw him outside, more or less literally, and came back grinning.

“Anyone else got anything to say?” He looked at the remaining four warriors. “No? Right. Go and play soldiers somewhere else. Call yourselves warriors? I’ve seen girls of ten better trained than you lot! Jupiter’s balls, a couple of hours with a Roman drill instructor, and you’d all be crawling on your knees and crying for your mothers.”

Vitalis got up. He ignored Quintus, and spoke to me. “I apologise, Aurelia. They’ve behaved very badly.” He fished in his belt-pouch and held out a gold quinarius. “And I’m sorry for the damage to your property. Will this cover it?”

“It will.” Several times over, but he wasn’t getting any change. “Thank you, Vitalis. And look, hard drinking and horse-play aren’t the end of the world, but I won’t have people in here talking treason. Understood?”

“Yes, of course, completely. And Aurelia, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this unfortunate incident to Father.”

“I imagine you would,” I said. The warriors collected their cloaks and helmets and left. The maids started to clear up the mess, and the customers went back to their own conversations. I thanked Quintus, but he shrugged it off. “They’re just stupid boys. They couldn’t fight their way out of a burst wine-skin!”

Through the afternoon the men laboured like Hercules, and by dark the stockade was almost complete. In the morning there would just be the two gates to fit: one for the point where our track joined the forecourt, and a smaller version for the rear fence, leading into the big paddock.

After a cheerful supper, everyone went to bed early. The night was clear and cloudless, with plenty of stars. We set sentries outside, but we all felt sure it wasn’t the sort of night the Shadow-men would choose for their attack. Just for once, our optimism was justified.

The next morning was grey and damp, with a thin, steady rain. After breakfast I did my rounds outside muffled in an old hooded cloak, and as I came back into the bar-room, I almost collided with a courier, hurrying out as if the Parthian cavalry were after him. I didn’t recognise him, and when I wished him good morning, he merely grunted. He was either one of the strong silent ones, or just plain rude.

“He’s in a rush,” I remarked to Carina behind the bar.

“He came to deliver a letter for Quintus Valerius Longinus.” Carina held up a scroll. “Wouldn’t even stop for breakfast!”

Quintus was outside, supervising the fitting of the big new front gate. When I could do it discreetly, I detached him for a quiet word. We went into my study and I handed over his letter.

He scanned it quickly, like a centurion reading battle orders from his general. Then he smiled. “Good. It’s from Lucius. He wants me in Eburacum as fast as I can.”

“He’s in Eburacum now?” I felt as if a burden was being lifted off my back.

“Due there today. Can I borrow a few denarii, please, Aurelia, and a good horse?”

“Yes, of course. You’re going straight away?”

“Lucius says he’ll be at headquarters by noon. I want to be there when he arrives. I’ll be back here tonight.”

“What about the fence?”

“It’s almost done; they can finish it without me. This message has to take priority. Look, I must hurry. I don’t like leaving you just now, but I’ve got to. And I’ll be back by dark.” He tore up Lucius’ scroll into several pieces, and said, “I’ll burn this,” as he dashed out.

I wished he’d let me read the message. I’d have found it comforting to get a glimpse of my brother’s untidy writing, even in a letter addressed to someone else. I suddenly wanted very much to talk to Lucius, and the next best thing was to write to him. I took a wax tablet and stylus, quicker than ink and papyrus, and wrote:

“Things are bad here, brother. The Druids and the natives want to destroy the mansio and I don’t know if we can hold. Come home, PLEASE.”

I underlined the last sentence, tied up the tablet and sealed it.

Just as I finished, Quintus came flying in again, asking about the loan of a sword. There was a good old-fashioned one that had been father’s; he tested the weight and said it would do. I tried to insist he take a man with him as guard, but he said it would slow him down. I did persuade him not to wear his own cloak, which would be recognised if we were being watched, so he took an old worn one of my brother’s instead, the sort of thing a farmer might wear.

I gave him my note for Lucius as he hurriedly dressed for the journey. He blew me a kiss, and was gone into the rain.

Our defences were complete before noon, and they were impressive. The stout stockade was about nine feet tall, and it formed a secure compound, with all the main buildings inside—house, stables, slaves’ quarters, barns and stores. Sharpened spikes stuck up from its top, and a ditch, with thorn-bushes in it, ran along the outside where it faced the open paddocks. On the inside, every few yards, were crude platforms made of stones or logs, that a defender could stand on and look down over the fence on the attackers. A heavy oak gate with iron spikes sticking up from its top barred the width of the track to the main road, and a smaller one, also spiked, led out from the rear of the enclosure to the big paddock.

It was good. Given the shortage of time and the lack of skill of most of our labour, it was brilliant. We’d just have to pray it would be enough, when the time came.

Taurus had made a big pen formed from hurdles in the open space in front of the stables, and Hippon’s lads brought the horses and the more valuable mules in from the paddocks well before dark. A few animals were squeezed inside the stable block, but there wasn’t much spare room there, because the official post-horses were already kept inside at night. So most of them stood out in the rain, dripping wet and unsettled by the wind and the change of routine. Hippon fed them oats laced with some herbal concoction which was supposed to make them sleepy and docile. It didn’t seem to be working.

The rain lashed relentlessly down, the wind blew stronger by the hour, and I noticed occasional flashes of lightning. We only had a handful of customers, and they’d all gone home by mid-afternoon. Hardly surprising. We were so obviously preparing for an attack of some sort, a man would need to be very drunk, or desperate to become so, not to take the hint and depart.

I kept everyone busy checking and double-checking our preparations. The slaves stacked logs in the forecourt, and behind the stables; fires would be good for morale, as well as helping us to see in the dark. Brutus, the veteran, suggested some kind of fireballs, something we could set ablaze and throw down on the enemy if they tried to climb the fence. We decided on bundles of hay sprinkled with oil. When we tried one out, it burned well, though whoever was throwing it would have to be careful not to get singed himself. I set some of the younger girls to prepare piles of these and we put them outside around the compound, carefully shielded from the wet with leather covers. We stationed braziers at various strategic points around the inside of the fence, where there was shelter to stop the rain putting them out.

The braziers gave Albia a brilliant idea. “We need something we can drop on their heads if they come too close to the fence,” she suggested. “How about boiling water?” So we got out every last brazier and hung metal cooking-pots over them, and positioned them around the fence too. More pots were ready in the kitchen, to be boiled as needed.

Darkness came early, bringing on a continuous pitch-black storm, without a star or a ray of moonlight, or even any lightning. We all knew that if the natives were bent on attacking us, they’d never get a better night for it. We barred the gates early and settled down to wait.

But as the daylight faded I had something else to worry about. Quintus Antonius hadn’t come home.

Albia knew how anxious I was. “I expect Lucius was late getting to garrison headquarters,” she suggested, “and Quintus had to kick his heels all afternoon waiting for him.”

“But he said he’d be back by dark, and he knows how much I—we need him. Suppose something’s happened to him on the road? Suppose the Shadow-men have attacked him again?”

“He’ll be back, you know he will. He’s clever, and he’s tough, and he wants to be with you—anyone can see that. He’ll be back.”

I sent a silent prayer to Diana that I’d still be here to welcome him.

Chapter XIX

The attack came about an hour before dawn. I suppose they thought that after a tense, dark, sleepless night we would be tired and frightened. Quite right. It was the longest, most wretched night I’ve ever lived through.

At dark everyone gathered in the bar-room, waiting for instructions. I was pleased to see they were all there, farm-hands and house-servants, men and girls. We armed them as best we could: those that had any sort of military training had swords, and the others had pitchforks or heavy sticks, and most of them also carried daggers. And, best of all, two of the field-hands had hunting bows. Yes, I know, giving weapons to slaves is strictly illegal; but very comforting when they are your main defence against barbarians.

We divided all our people into two watches, who would stand guard turn and turn about; Junius and Marius would be watch commanders. Albia and I were supposed to take turns too, but we knew that neither of us would sleep, and we would both be active all night long.

While I had everyone together, I spoke to them briefly, telling them what was at stake. I can’t remember much of what I said, except that I tried to finish with something rousing. “There are enemies out there who want to kill us all and destroy our home. But we can beat them off. We’ve got good defences, we’ve got the gods of Rome on our side, and best of all, we’ve got all of you. So let’s show the world that we stand as strong and solid as our own oak tree!”

They cheered, and I was moved and also comforted. They were all as determined as I was, including the natives, even the ones like Marsus who could remember a time when they weren’t slaves. They felt they were our people, which meant they would fight. Not long ago I’d have taken it for granted that our household would defend us, but the old certainties weren’t so certain any more.

Titch wanted to go outside the fence to scout, but was firmly forbidden to do so, by me and also by the tribunes.

“Far too dangerous,” Junius told him. “Anyhow, I’ve got an important job for you young horse-boys. You’re to act as runners, when we need messages carried. It’s vital that each part of our area is kept in touch with all the other parts, and with the house.”

Titch, of course, immediately took charge of the runners, and we heard him lecturing them about what sort of communications in siege conditions were favoured by Julius Caesar.

We lighted two big fires, one on the forecourt and one near the smaller gate at the back. We put up torches in wall-brackets as well, though the strong gusts of wind tended to blow them out every now and then. We got storm-lanterns ready. We organised hot food and mulled wine, well watered, for everyone who wanted it. Then there was nothing for me to do but wait, trying with a cheerful, confident face to hide the dread I felt inside.

I remember I went to the household gods about midnight and asked them not to let any harm come to us, or to Quintus. Albia found me there; she’d come to say a prayer too. We prayed together, but my heart wasn’t in it, to be honest. I’d already asked Diana to give us moonlit nights, and to send Quintus safely home, and either she wasn’t listening, or some other god had over-ruled her. One of the Druid gods, perhaps, was looking after the interests of our enemies. I know it’s fashionable nowadays to mock the old stories of the gods above fighting the battles of their followers down on earth, but that night, with the storm raging and in fear for our lives, we weren’t mocking, I can tell you.

Junius was on watch when the first sign of trouble came; it was almost a relief when things started to happen. The bar-room door flew open, letting in a flurry of wind and rain, and Titch ran in, shouting something jumbled about enemies moving in the distance. Marius held up a hand and silenced him.

“Calmly, lad. If you gabble like that we can’t understand you. Now make your report sensibly.”

“Sorry, sir. Tribune Junius’ compliments, and there’s movement outside the fence in the big paddock. Four or five men, he reckons. He’s reinforced the area and is getting ready to use some of the fireballs.”

“Good.” Marius got to his feet. “Tell him I’ll keep an eye on the front of the building, in case it’s just a diversion. And I’ll send more fireballs out as needed.”