Regulus, behind me, had a question too. ‘Poor fellow. Why did they cut his head off? Just for spite? It wasn’t done to kill him. He was dead already, that’s obvious from the wound. You can see that it has hardly bled at all.’
The optio said stiffly, ‘I imagine it is intended to make a point to us — to show what they can do. The rebels have tried this sort of thing before.’
Marcus frowned. ‘This whole gruesome scene is an atrocity. Well, it won’t succeed! Don’t look so troubled and upset, Libertus. Do you seriously doubt we’ll catch these rogues?’
‘Of course not, Excellence,’ I murmured. In fact my worried look was caused by something else. I was remembering that oak tree we had seen. Of course there were only harmless statues there, but it proved a point. In this part of the province the old religion was not dead. And if Nyros and his family kept up such a shrine, how much more likely that families which still resisted Rome would maintain the old rites in their purest form — human offerings, blood-sacrifice and all? The whole forest was full of ancient trees.
Somewhere in the area, I was prepared to bet — somewhere far removed from any path, and where only initiates would go — there was a proper old-fashioned Druid grove, its oak trees daubed with blood, where the head of the unfortunate messenger was even now dangling as a gruesome tribute to the gods. And if that was the case, I thought, probably the hide-out of the rebels was not far away. Divine protection is a useful thing.
However, it was not easy to explain all this to Marcus without offending him. If he realised that I’d recognised the signs of forbidden practices and failed to mention them before, I could bring trouble down on more than Nyros and his household. My own deliberate silence contravened the law. I phrased my answer very carefully.
‘It is possible, Excellence, that these rebels stick to ancient tribal ways and the head has been taken as a Druid sacrifice. .’ I began, but my concerns were needless. My patron was paying no attention to my words.
He had whirled round to stare at the little knot of horseman on the path who even now were straggling into view, with a rank of marching soldiers at their heels.
My heart lurched for a moment, fearing that these were rebels, but the next glance reassured me. Those were Roman uniforms, and more than that, some of the soldiers had faces I knew. Two of the horsemen I recognised at once as the mounted guards that we had set to watch the carts and carriage, the others were clearly the cavalry the optio had detached from the detail set to chase the rebels through the farm, and sent back the way we had come. All the horsemen seemed to be in total disarray and looked almost comically perplexed. Marching behind them, with an attempt at discipline, were the foot soldiers we had left to guard the carts and the pigs.
The optio was already striding down the path towards the group and starting to harangue one of the mounted guards. The man slid down to stand beside his horse, and there was a brief exchange — a subdued but forceful one, in which the name of Jupiter was several times invoked. Even from where I was standing, that much was audible.
Marcus went down to meet them, and at his approach the optio swung round and raised his voice. ‘Exactly the same strategy as the rebels used before,’ he said. ‘Just as your servants said. A man who claimed to be an army messenger — complete with military uniform and seal — came here and told the guards on duty that we’d been attacked, and that they were to leave the carriages and come.’ He looked at Marcus with a gesture of despair. ‘They were directed down the other path, where they met our fellows guarding Subulcus’s pigs.’
Marcus scowled. ‘Let the fellow tell me for himself.’ He signalled to the horseman, who took up the tale.
‘Your indulgence, Excellence. We did not intend to leave the carts like that — but if you were in danger, what were we to do? We were just discussing where to go from there — whether the rest of the foot guards should give up the pigs and march in our support — when all this other cavalry turned up, riding hell for leather from the other way. They’d been hoping to ambush horse-thieves from the farm, they said, but they hadn’t managed to catch anyone. Of course, we thought the thieves had set on you. But then the swineherd came back to his pigs. He told us that he’d seen you to the farm — you were quite safe and had started back to the carts. We realised then it was a false alarm — a trick. We had been drawn away from here deliberately.’
He looked at Marcus and the optio for some sign of understanding, but my patron was tapping his baton on his thigh, his face white and set like the mask of fury at the theatre.
The horseman flung himself at Marcus’s feet. ‘Your pardon, Excellence.’ He gestured at the scene in front of him, and fell down on his knees. ‘It wasn’t our intention to desert our posts, and leave your horses unattended for the thieves to take.’
Marcus frowned. ‘So I should hope, since you were specifically detailed to look after them. We shall deal with you when we get back to camp. And as for your tactics, optio, I am not impressed. It seems that the rebels have achieved a great success. Not only did they seize the messenger’s animal and four horses from the escort yesterday, they now have Nyros’s and mine as well. They have outwitted you at every point. Look what happened at the farm. It now appears that you sent out two sets of mounted men to try to trap the horse-thieves between them, but both of your pursuit groups were deflected by a trick while the bandits slipped unhampered through the gap, no doubt laughing at me up their sleeves. And then they pulled the same trick here and got away again. That’s what you’re telling me, I understand?’
The optio flushed. ‘I suppose you might describe it in that fashion, Excellence. The raiders have escaped us, certainly.’
‘Pausing only to steal my horses and humiliate my slaves?’
This time the optio made no response at all.
‘Well,’ Marcus went on in his dangerously reasonable tone, ‘you are — as you pointed out yourself — the officer in charge. What kind of strategy do you now propose? We are in the forest. There are bandits here and it is getting late. We have three vehicles, two corpses and no carriage-animals — only to be expected, I am sure, since we are protected by only half a hundred men, but posing a little problem all the same. How am I to get to safety for the night? I presume you don’t suggest that I should walk? Or, on second thoughts, perhaps you do. I could push one of the carriages, perhaps?’ His voice was rising and his colour too.
The optio had turned a dull, embarrassed red and was muttering something wretched to his boots when Regulus stepped forward and put in, ‘Permission to volunteer a suggestion, Excellence? I will take two of my colleagues, and we’ll ride out to the forest edge and bring back some carriage-horses for you from that staging-post we passed.’
The optio looked more cast down than ever at this but Marcus assented with a nod. ‘I suppose you’re right. We shall have to send back there, and pay that villain some inflated price for half a dozen of his hopeless nags, at least until we can requisition fresh horses. And this way we don’t break up the guard again into foolish little units which are easy to defeat, waylay and misinform. Permission granted. See to it at once.’
The optio snapped to attention. ‘Permit me, Excellence.’ He turned to Regulus. ‘Tell him the mansio will meet the bill, after we have reached home in safety — not before. That will prevent him hiring us some broken-down old mare so short of wind that it won’t get us to Isca. Horse-leasers in the area are famous for that sort of trick.’ In other circumstances it might have been comic to see how keen he was to show his grasp of local tradespeople and make some sort of contribution to affairs.