No one said anything, but we kept going, rather than pitch camp too close to the big-horned beef.
We had a tent, but the ground was too wet and spongy for pegs to grip so we just hung an awning off the side of Nero's cart. As dusk drew in, I fetched out the ointment Helena had provided. This time there was no grumbling. As insects bothered us incessantly, we all dipped our fingers in the pot and slathered it on. Everyone tugged down their tunic cuffs and tightened their neck-scarves.
We lit a fire, which may have kept off some of the wildlife, though there was still plenty. We ate a nearly silent supper, not even discussing our plans for tomorrow, because we had none. Any chance of sleep was finished off by hundreds of croaking frogs. Then cattle turned up too, splashing, huffing and coughing, sounding enormous as they do in the dark. The vigiles jumped up from time to time, to shoo beasts away. Groaning, we tossed and turned all night, between bouts of miserable scratching.
At first light, people made a move stiffly. Basic ablutions were tackled. Lentullus, a shy soul, went off by himself. Soon a frightened shout alerted us: the Claudius cattle had found him in mid-pee. Although he was country-born, he was no match for these mad-eyed, jittery bullocks and heifers, who were galloping around trying to herd him against the fence. His bad leg had stopped him escaping fast enough.
'Typical Lentullus!' muttered Justinus, as we all set off to rescue him. It took a while. We had to drive the cattle to the far side of the boundary fence, then we clambered over it and left them safely out of reach. Behind us, they lowed hoarsely in frustration.
When we made it back to camp, we found a disaster. Straight away we saw that our ox was missing.
'Was he loose?'
'He was not!' Rectus was quick to clear himself of blame. 'I had him hitched to the cart.'
The cart was still there, along with some of our kit, though it was strewn around. The vigiles' two mules, who were almost uncatchable, stood under a tree looking on.
'How could strangers get Nero to go with them?'
'A bucket of feed would have him trotting off without a murmur.'
We searched around, following deep, water-filled hoofprints, but the trail lost itself in the maquis. Now we were stuck: miles from anywhere in a dangerous marsh that was inhabited by criminals of every type, knowing somebody must have been watching us – - and they had stolen our ox.
XXII
We did keep searching as long as it was feasible. Several more days passed, but we lost heart now we were walking and carrying all our kit. We still had our mules, though once we lost Nero, Corex and Basiliscus had odd looks in their eyes as if they wished they had bolted; Corex had never been a group player anyway. We had to abandon the cart, another expensive loss for the Petronius brothers. Our task came to seem pointless. Nothing that bore any relation to a crime scene turned up. Looking for corpses in that sodden, scratchy, empty area was hopeless. The marshes were endless, horrible, ominous. Without a definite lead, we could wear ourselves out until the flies and disease finished us, yet achieve nothing. Depressed beyond bearing, we took a vote and agreed to give up. We had done our best. We had done more than anybody else had ever bothered to do.
The trip back took a long time and the first stage, heading back to Satricum, made us more sore-hearted than anything. When, still humping our packs, we passed the shack where Claudius Probus lived, he sniggered openly. He blamed the ox theft on the bandits who were supposed to have colonised the marshes. Curiously, we never saw any sign of such bandits. My guess was that the Claudii had seen off all the competition in these parts years ago. Most bandits are cowards, who avoid serious confrontation.
When we reached the good road and collapsed at the Satricum inn, the landlord expressed great surprise to see us. However, he was eager to hire us extra mounts, and very conveniently had some donkeys available; the two vigiles went with him to inspect them. Petronius sat set-faced, glaring as if he now thought the landlord was responsible for our loss of Nero.
Helena's brother Justinus went indoors to talk to the waitress, Januaria; neither Petro nor I had the heart. He returned looking thoughtful. 'She was talking about foreigners – that's anyone they don't count as local, I suppose. Some foreigners who take a road through the marshes don't come back; well, not this way.'
'That is because they have had their transport stolen!' Petro snarled.
Quintus and I exchanged glances. If the girl had made him think what she said was significant, I trusted him.
Petronius continued to resist. 'You head south, because you're going south. When you get there, that's where you want to be. So you stay there. In the south.'
'Logical,' I cracked. 'For simpletons!' I was feeling tetchy myself.
He carried on ranting. 'It follows that miserable inn-folk to the north don't see you again. They won't see me again either, once I get back to Rome.' Petro took a swig of wine from his beaker, spat, slammed down the cup in high disgust, then strode out, shouting to us all to move. He had had enough of the countryside. He was going home.
Petronius Longus and Petronius Rectus drove us all mad, maundering on at one another about the value of their stolen ox and abandoned cart. At least that ended when Rectus took his leave at the Via Appia. He returned to his farm in the Lepini hills. 'He was my bloody ox as well!' shouted Lucius Petronius after his departing brother.
I knew why he was so livid. The theft showed him up. He expected another ear-bashing from the cousins who owned part-shares in Nero. They were bound to suggest that an officer of the Roman vigiles ought to be able to hang on to his draught animal, especially when stuck in the middle of wetlands that were famous for criminal activities. 'My barmy brother was in charge of him – - I should have known what was coming!'
I was welcomed home quietly. Helena had a sniff at me to ensure I had been using the anti-insect ointment. Ever the thoughtful husband, I had made sure I rubbed in some more just before I turned my door key. Helena herself was still subdued. Once we would have rushed straight into bed together, but with the baby's death so recent that would not happen.
I prowled around, checking the house. Things seemed well under control. Helena ran a good household and she had grown up in a senator's house, full of staff. Slaves from Pa's house were being tried out here a few at a time. I had never been able to buy good ones because I found the process so uncomfortable, but these seemed to know what was expected of them.
'Just tell me which you want to keep,' I told her, discussing slaves in order to avoid more painful subjects. Tired as I was, I raised a laugh. 'I can't believe I said that!'
'All you need to decide,' Helena answered drily, 'is whether you intend to continue your old frugal life, or should I now plan domestic extravagance and show-off socialising? We need more style. I changed from pottery beakers on the breakfast table – - Gaius found some flagrant gilded goblets at the warehouse that I think will pass as morning water cups, though they won't do when we are entertaining consuls and international trade moguls.'
'Oh I leave all that to you, fruit. Don't skimp; just commission new from the most fashionable designer.'
Helena continued the joke. 'I'm so glad you said that. I've found a man who does the most marvellous art glass. I think it is important, Marcus, that our girls grow up knowing the finer things in life – - even if they promptly break it…'