But if Plautus had not killed Lupus, who could it have been? Not Paulinus — the child would have been far too terrified to be entrusted with such a task — and not his brother either, since he was intercepting Promptillius at the time. Was there some other explanation, unconnected with my visit to the thermopolium? Had Lupus simply failed to pay the protection fee, or in some other way aggrieved the rival gangs? I shook my head. It was too much of a coincidence. Unless. . I sat up with a sudden start. Was I looking at all this back to front?
Plautus was after all a Roman citizen. What was he doing in the bath-house part of town? What was he doing in the civitas at all? Obviously he was somehow on the run, but I had just assumed that he was fleeing me. Suppose that by calling out his name, far from his being any threat to me, I was in danger of betraying him? That might explain why he had hurried so furtively away, and perhaps also why Lyra and her boys had shown such interest in me when I followed him. I had supposed that they were friends of his, but I had no proof of that. They didn’t even seem to know his name.
I was just deciding that I ought to voice these thoughts to Marcus, and run the risk of a rebuke, when the whole marching column came briskly to a halt. Regulus, who had been marching in the van, came hurrying down between the ranks to speak to us. He was streaked with sweat and breathing heavily and limping very badly — the pace maintained by the trained infantry was clearly making great demands on him, though his pride had somehow forced him to keep up. The optio, who had accompanied him, looked as fresh and unconcerned as if he had merely been out for a stroll.
‘In the name of His Most Imperial Divinity, Commodus Fortunatus Britannicus, the Earthly Manifestation of Great Hercules, Emperor of Rome and all the provinces. .’ the optio began, approaching our official carriage, and presenting his baton with a bow.
Marcus leaned forward and touched it graciously, thus cutting short the lengthy formula. ‘You have my permission to report. I presume we are getting near the spot where the ambush happened yesterday?’ He looked at Regulus.
‘Just. . bottom. . of. . the valley. .’ the cavalryman managed to pant out. He waved a hand in the direction he had mentioned. ‘Very. . steep.’
The optio took over. ‘I have sent a pair of mounted soldiers on ahead, to check that it is safe for us to proceed. All the same, with your permission, Excellence, we will deploy your mounted bodyguard as extra scouts, and move up in close formation around the carriage as we go, to give you as much protection as we can. The rebels have struck in this valley several times so far. It’s possible they have a base nearby. There’s still a risk of ambush in the area.’
This was not a comfortable thought. Marcus nodded. ‘Very well. As you suggest.’ Another barked command and the convoy surged forward, though more slowly now.
The road seemed a good deal narrower here, hemmed in as it was by tall trees on either side, and the marching troops closed ranks and pressed in around us, so that we found ourselves the centre of a moving box. When I looked out through the leather curtains of the swaying vehicle, I could see that the men had drawn their swords and raised their shields and so were forming a sort of defensive outer wall. I craned out to see behind us, and realised that the last two rows had fallen back, and were marching in diamond formation, still perfectly in time, so as to protect us from the rear. Further behind them still, the mounted horsemen rode with daggers drawn.
It was an impressive display of discipline, and it occurred to me what an awesome sight the Roman army must present to any enemy confronting it. If I had been a Silurian rebel hiding in the trees, I would have been thoroughly intimidated by this time, especially when the men began a rhythmic beating of their swords against their shields. It was a tactic that I’d heard about, intended to strike terror into the enemy.
There was a definite feeling of expectancy and threat. I held my breath, half waiting for an ambush to leap out at any time, but we reached the bottom of the valley without incident. There, where a little path led off into a clearing on the right, we stopped a second time. This was our destination, it seemed. The optio appeared to help us from the carriage and we dismounted on the verge beside the road, to find ourselves ankle deep in fallen leaves, among a little stand of ancient oaks. The troops were drawn up silently on either side, so that we were still the centre of a protective square. There was no wind now, but there was a chill damp in the air, and despite myself I shivered.
The officer gave a stiff bow of salute. ‘Permission to report? The lookouts have made an examination of the site and found no intruders in the area, though there is lots of evidence of recent tracks. We therefore await your orders, Excellence.’
There was a pause, then Marcus turned to me. ‘Well, Libertus? This trip was your suggestion, I believe? What do you propose we do now?’ As he spoke he tapped his baton on his palm — a sure sign of stress and irritation, as I knew.
I was just as anxious. The forest was a menacing place, but I tried to sound as confident as I could. ‘I think I should inspect the site with Regulus,’ I said. And then, fearing that he might feel overlooked, I added, ‘With you two gentlemen as well, of course, if you would condescend to help our humble search. Your intelligence and experience would be invaluable.’
I saw my patron preen at this, so I turned my attention to the optio. ‘I’m sure you will agree that a small group searching the area on foot may find more than a larger number would.’ I did not want forty men trampling on the evidence, I meant, but I did not have to say the words. The optio understood.
He sniffed. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. But if His Excellence is to participate, I insist that he shall have a bodyguard. I am charged with his safety and, with due respect, cannot consent to let him wander around the forest without armed men at his side. Not after what happened yesterday. There have been too many other incidents on this road of late. It’s almost as if the wretches know where we’re going to be.’
I was afraid that Marcus was going to protest — he prides himself on Roman nonchalance in facing dangerous situations of this kind. But to my relief and amazement he was already saying, ‘As you wish. But if we are to do anything at all, let us do it quickly. This forest is most unpleasantly cold and dark.’
It is not like Marcus to complain of physical discomfort in this way, so I knew that he too was feeling seriously alarmed. The presence of an extra pair of guards was just as likely to obliterate what I was looking for as any other set of marching legs, but I held my tongue and our little party soon set off — myself, my patron and the optio, together with Regulus and two mounted guards and a couple of extra foot soldiers to guard our rear.
I thought our task was likely to be a fairly hopeless one — the scouts had already ridden up and down the military road, so there was no hope of following any tracks imprinted in the mud, and according to what Regulus had said himself, the rebels yesterday had disappeared in all directions through the undergrowth with the unhorsed cavalrymen plunging after them. There was little chance, at this distance, of learning anything. However, Regulus led us down the forest path, leaving the other men to search beside the military road.
‘This is the branch where he was hanging,’ Regulus said, pointing to a massive overhanging tree. ‘And over there, look, in the ditch — under that pile of earth and leaves — that’s where we buried him. It looks as if the grave has been disturbed.’
Marcus shot a look at me and nodded to one of the foot guards at the rear. The man stepped forward, gulped, and — using his dagger as a spade — began to move aside the loosened earth. There was something lying only an inch or two below the surface, and it was soon revealed: first, something that had once been my toga, and then, when that sorry wrapping was removed, something that used to be Promptillius. Enough of him remained for me to have no doubt of that, although something — rats or bears, perhaps — had already been gnawing at the bones.