Regulus drew his dagger and slit through the bonds and the strip of coloured fabric that was serving as a gag. The young man rolled over and sat panting in the dust, flexing his wrists and rubbing at the weals.
‘In. . there. .’ he muttered weakly, flapping at the open carriage door, but Regulus was already there, pulling a second servant from the seat. He had been stripped and tied up in exactly the same way but, being stronger, he had not stopped struggling — it was that which had evidently caused the movement we had seen. He was bruised and knocked about in a way which his companion had escaped and, perhaps because of his continued efforts to free himself, the ropes had bitten more cruelly into him, but once released he was the first to regain coherent power of speech.
‘Forgive us, master,’ he implored, falling on one knee before Marcus, who had just come up to us, and attempting at the same time to conceal his nakedness. ‘It was a trap. The horseman told the guards that there’d been a raid and you’d been taken captive at the farm. Naturally they hastened to rescue you — but that abandoned us. And then the other group attacked. We did our best, but we were hopelessly overpowered.’ He glanced around. ‘I thought I’d brought down one of them at least but I can’t see him now.’
Marcus interrupted. ‘Enough!’
He looked thunderous and the terrified man at once abased himself, but my patron’s anger was not directed at his slave at all. He gazed into the impenetrable trees and raised his voice. ‘Wait till we catch up with you, you shameless scoundrels, you less-than-curs, you treacherous. .’ He was so furious that he was almost lost for words. He turned to me, still muttering, ‘These men are not merely enemies of the Empire, they have set out to humiliate and mock. I shall make them wish that they were never born!’
There was no doubt he meant it. It is rare for a high-born Roman to permit himself a personal emotional outburst of that kind. They are expected to exhibit steely self-control while curses and rants are left to the recruits, and there was a slight feeling of embarrassment among the soldiery. Marcus seemed to be aware of this himself, and with almost visible resolve turned his attention to more practical, immediate affairs.
He nodded briskly towards Regulus. ‘Very well. Find my poor slaves something to cover themselves with. Give them at least that dignity. There may be something in the luggage wagon still, if those confounded sons of Dis have not stolen everything. Optio, bring your men up front and rear to act as guards, while we decide what’s to be done. Cavalry mounts are not the slightest use for this, I suppose? They won’t be accustomed to harness.’
‘Absolutely, Excellence,’ the optio said, with such obvious relief that I realised how much he had dreaded having to explain this very point. ‘You are most perceptive. I will send off a group to requisition-’ He broke off as Regulus came up and made salute. ‘Well, cavalryman? I see that you are in a hurry to report. What is the matter?’
Regulus looked stolidly at nothing, and replied, ‘Two matters, optio. First, there is a body in the luggage cart, and second, there are horsemen on the way. I can hear their hoofbeats. As no doubt you can yourself, if you turn your attention that way for a moment.’
We listened, the optio with a look of acute concentration on his face. Sure enough, I could detect it too, now that it had been pointed out to me: a faint, rhythmic thudding noise, right on the edge of audibility. I saw Marcus stiffen as he caught the sound.
Regulus went on reporting, in his official monotone, ‘Coming this way through the trees, not moving very fast — scarcely more than walking pace, by the sound of it. There must be quite a little group of them, but they’re not even attempting to be quiet. Certainly not threatening another charge or a surprise attack. Probably just travellers or our own men coming back.’
I was impressed, for the second time that day, by how much information an experienced horseman could derive simply from a set of distant sounds. To the optio, however, such skill was clearly commonplace. He listened for an instant more, then nodded briefly. ‘I believe you’re right. Well, we will soon discover who they are, though it will be some moments before they reach us here. We are prepared to meet them, whoever they might be. We have sentries watching, and mounted men in place. In the meantime, what is this about a body in the cart? Surely we put it there ourselves? The slave belonging to His Excellence?’
Regulus shook his head. ‘I fear not, optio. That is still there, if course, but it is not the corpse I was referring to. This is — at least it looks like — the Isca messenger who disappeared the other day. It seems to be the right sort of age and build, as muscular and tanned as you’d expect, and the hands are hard as if from using reins — but of course, I can’t be absolutely sure.’
Marcus gave a nod of understanding. ‘You didn’t personally know the messenger, I suppose?’
Regulus kept his eyes unfocused on some distant spot over my patron’s shoulder. ‘I crave your pardon, Excellence. But in fact I knew him very well. We have ridden out together many times. As I say, I think that’s who it is. Only, without a head, it’s difficult to swear to anything.’
Chapter Eighteen
It took a moment for the meaning of this to register with us, and then, as the full horror of the implication struck, we all went running to the cart. Even some of the foot soldiers clustered round with ghoulish curiosity as Marcus gave the word and the cover of the luggage wagon was lifted back across the wooden framework that supported it.
What was revealed inside was not a pretty sight. Promptillius’s body still lay, as it had been disinterred, wrapped in what used to be my toga, and that was bad enough. But at his feet was propped another corpse, and that was horrible.
It had been forced into a sort of kneeling posture, and wedged so that the torso was bent forward and the arms outstretched in a ghastly parody of the lament. What made the posture even more obscene was not only that the head had been crudely hewn off at the neck, but that the rest of the body had been stuffed, with deliberate mockery, into a garment that was far too small for it. A pair of hairy buttocks greeted us, under the hem of a short crimson tunic with a gold-embroidered edge — the uniform of Marcus’s household slaves. Obviously this one was too small to be any use to them, and they had chosen to mock us in this way.
I had stood back to let my patron pass ahead of me, and now I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Dear Mercury and all the gods! Wait till the Emperor Commodus learns of this. It is a studied insult to all Roman power.’
And an insult to Marcus in particular, I thought, though of course he didn’t mention that. To a patrician Roman magistrate, such as my patron, loss of dignity is almost worse than death. Here, it was outright dangerous, because it undermined his status with the troops. There were already knowing titters in the watching crowd — as the rebels had no doubt intended there should be.
I wondered again at the sharp intelligence which was behind all this. What kind of man had dared to do these things? Someone who was capable of lightning thought: fearless, certainly, and almost contemptuous of Rome, since he visited such indignities on an imperial messenger, stole horses from under the noses of armed troops, and set out to mock and alienate a man of Marcus’s influence. I could see how such a person would inspire his men — a bold and reckless leader, harrying what he saw as an occupying power.
Yet there were things about his actions that I didn’t understand. Why had he ordered poor Promptillius killed, yet deliberately spared two other slaves today? It couldn’t be for fear of witnesses, as I had thought at first — Marcus’s servants were quite able to describe the men they’d seen.