“Hardly, captain. This was found on the body of a soldier about a mile from the fort. The man has been attacked, sir. Brutally.”
Chapter Five
Varro pulled his cloak tighter against the biting breeze that whistled across the common near the fortress as he kicked the lazy mare forward again. He’d only had time to throw on a cloak and some boots while the impatient provost sergeant had stood in his doorway, tapping irritably. He felt grateful for the presence of Salonius, fully armoured in his cohort guard uniform. While he had no reason to distrust the provost, these were highly unusual circumstances and he’d thought deeply about the wisdom of this course of action before grabbing his cloak in resignation and stepping forward.
He’d not even reached the door when he realised Catilina was by his side. He’d tried to deter her, unsuccessfully, as he’d expected, and the pair of them had joined the three provosts as soon as Salonius returned with three horses from the stables of the second.
The journey through the town was uneventful. It was now mid to late morning and the locals were going about their own business while the majority of soldiers were on duty within the fort. The growing civilian settlement would liven up considerably as the bulk of the troops were dismissed at sundown.
And almost a mile beyond the township, over wind-blasted heaths on a surprisingly chilly and blustery morning for so late in the season, the small party approached a knot of people clustering beneath a tree in the shelter of a hedgerow.
A gulley ran from near the crest of the hill down alongside the hedgerow and to the stream in the shallow valley. A seasonal stream, the ditch was currently dry and rocky. Beneath the beech tree, two more of the fort provosts stood with three locals, a boy and a girl of perhaps seven years and a man; presumably their father.
As they approached and reined in, the children huddled to their father’s knees, partially for warmth, as much for fear of the now seven soldiers around them. As the six riders dismounted, Varro stepped toward the ditch, scrunching up his eyes and peering into the shade of the tree.
A body lay curled up in the bottom of the ditch, his tunic covered in mud but, more disturbingly, blotted with dried blood. Dried rivulets meandered down the slope in the gulley. The provost sergeant stepped up beside him, clutching the bound leather parcel, as yet still unopened. Varro glared at him in irritation, but the man ignored him and pointed into the ditch.
“My first question, captain, is whether you know this man.”
Varro examined the body from the top of the bank, taking in as much detail as he could. The body was dressed in a plain and basic military tunic and breeches, with no armour or insignia. A cloak of plain grey wool lay several yards away up the gully, shredded and stained with mud and blood. Though the face was hidden from view by the body’s position, lying where it had either fallen or been thrown, the ruffled brown hair and skin colour were decidedly nondescript.
The cause of death was plain, though. Six holes in the man’s tunic spoke eloquently of the vicious stab wounds the man had suffered. In Varro’s professional opinion just two of those wounds were fatal alone, so the attacker had been unnecessarily violent. It was one thing for a soldier to die in the height of battle with an enemy spear through his middle, but ambushed and viciously murdered and left in a ditch for the crows was a bad end for any man.
“Can I see his face?”
The sergeant gestured to one of his provosts and the man clambered down into the ditch, along to where the body lay and carefully turned the torso so that the face was visible. His cheek and forehead were marked and cut from the stones in the ditch, but he was a young man, perhaps twenty years old, clean shaven and moon faced. Varro shook his head.
“I don’t recognise him, sergeant. But then I see an awful lot of recruits as I’m sure you’ll understand. Are these the people who found him?”
The provost nodded.
“They came to the fort to inform us. The man had done a search of the body when they found it and discovered this pouch tucked away beneath his tunic. They should have left well alone, but I’m satisfied their motives were good and they came straight to us, so I see no real reason to detain them. They told us everything they know and they live in the civilian settlement anyway.”
Varro nodded.
“And so the next question is ‘what was he doing here’?”
“Indeed,” the sergeant nodded, withdrawing the leather package from his bag and proffering it to Varro. “Out of deference to your rank, captain, I’ll let you read this first, but I will have to have it back and examine the evidence myself.”
Varro grumbled and untied the thong around the outside. He carefully unfolded the case and straightened the paper within as Salonius and Catilina made their way across to him. His eyes flicked across the writing as he scanned down the short and obviously hastily written note.
He blinked.
Rubbing his eyes, he straightened the paper once more and squinted as though trying to see through the paper itself.
“What is it?” enquired Catilina quietly as she stopped before him.
Varro stared at the paper a moment longer and then let his arm fall by his side as he rubbed his temple and forehead with the other hand. He looked across at her, a somewhat bewildered look upon his face.
“An impossible letter…”
“What?” Catilina stepped towards him again. Reaching down toward the paper she was momentarily taken aback as Varro’s hand twitched away, moving the letter out of reach. Wordlessly she gave him an appraising glance and decided not to push him.
“Not here,” the captain muttered, “and not now.”
As Catilina stepped back to join Salonius, the provost sergeant reached out his hand.
“Captain?”
“No.”
The soldier ground his teeth and snarled through tight lips “Now, captain!”
“No, sergeant.” Varro shook his head and folded the paper away inside the leather wallet again.
“Explain yourself, sir” The provost growled. His hand had, probably subconsciously, come to rest on the pommel of his sword. Threatening, however unintentional.
Varro fixed him with a hard stare.
“Not only is this personal, sergeant, it is also very, very confidential.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, captain Varro.”
Varro stepped back.
“You can insist all you like, sergeant, but you’re not having this piece of paper.”
The two men stood poised, staring at each other. The air around them almost tingled with the tension. Varro saw the other provosts striding up the hill to join their sergeant and noticed with some satisfaction that Salonius had sidled round and was almost by his side now.
“For Gods’ sake!”
Both men started at the anger in Catilina’s voice as she stepped between them, shattering the tension.
“Sergeant, you may have authority to make such demands, though I’m not sure about their viability in open areas outside military land. Varro, you may well outrank the sergeant, but you know that this is his job. Now the two of you need to saddle up and we’ll all ride back to the fort. My father can decide what to do. I’m assuming both of you will submit to the marshal?”
The provost had gone slightly pale, though Varro would be willing to wager that was through frustrated anger rather than fear. Deliberately turning away from the sergeant to face Catilina, he nodded.
“I will submit to the marshal’s judgement.”
There was a long, irritated silence, and finally the provost growled “I too” through clenched teeth.
As Varro and his companions returned to their mounts, the sergeant barked orders at his men, his eyes never leaving Varro. Two of his men gathered up the body and laid it carefully across the back of one of the horses.
Taking advantage of the delay, Varro, Catilina and Salonius mounted up and began a brisk walk back toward the fort. As soon as they were far enough away for Catilina to deem it safe, she leaned slightly in her saddle.