‘No need to be formal. Sit down and take off your helmet.’
‘Sir.’ The straps on the cheek pieces were already untied, so the soldier slipped off his bronze helmet and put it down beside him. One hand brushed the moss that was glued to the top to look like fur, a peculiarity of the Batavians.
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Cocceius, sir.’
Ferox smiled. ‘So, named after an emperor, just like me. Your father was in the cohort?’
‘Yes, sir. In the century of Exomnius. He was discharged three years ago.’ After twenty-five years of service auxiliaries like the boy’s father were granted Roman citizenship for themselves, one wife and any children from the marriage.
‘And when you were old enough you joined up?’ A nod. ‘Didn’t fancy a legion?’
‘Legionaries.’ The lad brimmed over with all the contempt of his seventeen years. ‘I’ve shit ’em!’ He stopped, embarrassed and must have remembered that Ferox belonged to a legion. ‘Sorry, sir, didn’t mean no disrespect. Only ever wanted the Ninth, sir. It’s the best cohort in the army.’
‘I know, I’ve fought alongside you.’ Flattery rarely did any harm. He patted the lad on the shoulder. ‘Your folks still here?’ Some soldiers could never quite let go and settled in the vicus, the civil settlement outside their old base.
‘Nah, Mam and Dad took us home as soon as he was free. Got a nice patch of land and some prime cows.’
‘But you grew up with the cohort?’ Another nod. ‘Good, then you’re a veteran and I can talk to you man to man. When did you come down to the latrine?’
Even in the dim light Ferox saw the youth’s eyes flick from side to side just once. ‘Hard to say, sir,’ he began.
‘I do not care if you were on guard and nipped in here for a quick crap while no one was looking,’ Ferox said. Sentries were not supposed to leave their post for any reason. ‘It will be our secret, and I’ll make sure there is no charge. Tell me the truth. You were on the fourth watch?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Cocceius licked his lips. ‘Had to go, sir, had to, so I came down. Wouldn’t have been gone long, I swear.’
‘So what happened?’
‘As I opened the door there was this scream from inside. Then this girl appeared. Must have been her screaming. She ran towards me. She was filthy, but her dress was all torn open, and they were out, her…’ The young soldier struggled for the right word.
‘“Tits” is the medical term,’ the doctor said from the far side of the room.
Cocceius laughed nervously. ‘They were out, bouncing everywhere. “They’ve killed him! They’ve killed him!’ she yelled at me, and tried to push past. I dropped my shield and spear and tried to grab her.’
‘I’ll bet.’ The medicus was obviously enjoying the story.
Ferox tried to ignore him. ‘Go on. She got away?’
‘Yes, sir. She was slippery. I tore her dress a bit more.’ Cocceius frowned, and when the medicus guffawed the furrows on his brow grew even deeper, worried that he should not have done that. ‘Didn’t mean to, sir.’
‘Then you’re a fool,’ the doctor muttered.
‘Accidents happen,’ Ferox said. ‘So you grapple, but she slips past and runs?’ Cocceius nodded fervently. ‘You didn’t follow.’
A shake of the head. ‘I really needed to go,’ the boy pleaded.
‘Must have slipped over the wall,’ the medicus cut in, serious at last. ‘When the sun came up they found an old dress torn to shreds hanging from the parapet. It stank, so must have been our girl’s.’
‘And?’ Ferox asked.
The doctor shrugged. ‘A patrol took a look around. No problem finding volunteers to search for a naked woman, of course, but no sign.’
‘Was she pretty?’ Ferox turned back to the young soldier.
‘Yes, sir.’ Cocceius tried to grin like a man of experience and only managed to look more boyish.
‘What did she look like?’
‘She was big, sir, really big.’ The boy winked.
‘Was she tall?’
‘I think so.’
‘What colour hair?’
‘Not sure, sir. Dark, maybe.’
‘How did she smell?’
‘Sir?’
‘Never mind, only a thought. How old was she? Bit older than you?’ A slight nod. ‘Fine, so you let her run and then got to work yourself. Did you think about what she had said?’
‘Only when I was done. Then I took a look around and thought I saw something down in the drain over there. Then I ran and gave the alarm.’
‘As you should.’ Ferox patted the lad again. ‘Well done. Wait here in case I need to ask you some more questions.’ He crossed to the other side to join the doctor. ‘Give me a hand, will you?’ They reached down and together lifted a section of the wooden seats. It was stiff at first, then gave suddenly and banged against the wall. The one next to it moved easily. ‘You’ve already had a peek?’
‘Yes.’ They stared down, the medicus holding a lamp over the gaping hole. ‘Not pretty, is it?’ the doctor said. ‘Nasty way to go, swallowing shit.’
The dead man lay face down, his head almost buried in the dark piles of excrement. His tunic was hitched up around his hips so that his bare buttocks looked very pale and plump. He was short, but fat with heavy arms and legs.
‘Do we know who he is?’
The doctor sniffed. ‘Reckon it’s Narcissus from the procurator’s staff. Or was.’
Another imperial freedman, just like Vegetus, and the coincidences continued to pile up suspiciously. Ferox took off his cloak and boots because there did not seem much choice. ‘Get the ropes ready.’ He prised up another of the stiff seats and clambered in, jumping down into the clinging and stinking contents, which came up to his calves. The stench became even worse. His first step took him deeper into the mire and he wondered whether his dream had been prophetic. Probably had a lot of business late in evening after men had eaten their classicum, the meal that came at the end of the day. This was one of four latrine blocks to serve the seven or eight hundred men and their families who were in the fort at the moment. Senior ranks had their own private facilities, but everyone else used these blocks, and the army diet of rough brown bread, vegetables and plenty of meat meant that they got a lot of use. Yet Narcissus was a guest of the prefect, so had no need to use this latrine unless he had a good reason, so why was he here?
Ferox went towards the body, steadying himself on the wall, when his foot slipped. Before noon a fatigue party – the men marked down as ad stercus on the duty roster – would come and make sure the drains were sluiced out thoroughly and give the place a clean. He would have expected the material to be harder by now, but it was like wet clay. That meant he was not the first down here. His foot brushed against something big and solid, and feeling about he discovered a belt with an open and empty pouch. The dead freedman’s dishevelled tunic suggested that his body had been searched thoroughly. His best guess at the moment was that the woman had come down here. Most likely she had taken off her dress, then afterwards used the water from the overturned barrel to clean up a bit. Ferox examined the side of the drain pit. He could reach the top easily, and guessed a moderately sized woman could grab them, even if she needed to jump. With a hold on the lip of the wall, it should not be too hard to clamber up unaided. If you could get your elbows over it – and he could do that readily – then anyone fit could get out in a moment.
The medicus peered down, ropes in hand. ‘Having fun?’
Might as well smile. ‘Omnes ad stercus,’ he called up, using one of the army’s oldest jokes. ‘Let me have the first one.’ He reached up for the rope. There was nothing more to learn, so they may as well get the corpse out and have a proper look. Ferox tied the end of the rope around the corpse’s legs, and then took another and lifted him so that he could run it under his armpits. By the time he was done, his tunic, arms and legs were smeared thickly with filth. It was hard to imagine being clean again. He jumped for the lip of the wall, could not grip properly, so wiped his hands as best he could on his tunic. The second time he got a firm grip, hooked his elbow over the top and scrambled up. The medicus had not offered a hand and Ferox could not blame the man.