"Is Sulla's wife among them?"
"She's the one on the top of the heap. She must have been the last to die."
He was visibly shaken, and for a full minute neither of us spoke again. A party of soldiers approached the stable doors, carrying buckets. Picus stopped them in their tracks.
"Where are you men going?"
"Centurion sent us to get some oats from the stable, General."
"You!" Picus pointed to the one who had spoken. "Go back and tell your centurion that your squad has been commandeered by me for special duty. The rest of you put down those buckets and split into two parties, one to guard this door and the other to guard the doors at the back. No one is to enter this building without direct permission from either myself or Commander Varrus. Move!" He turned back to me. "Let's walk."
We crossed the yard side by side and our presence had a visible effect on the men who saw us. One after another they all became very diligent about whatever it was they happened to be involved in. We ignored them and walked in silence until Picus spoke.
"We'll have to bury them, I suppose. We can't take them back with us."
"Why would we even want to do that, Picus? They're dead."
He shook his head. "This is going to cause a lot of shock in the Colony. Is this the first time you've ever been attacked directly?"
"No," I answered him. "The second. But it's the first time we've been hit so hard. And from this direction."
"What's to be done?" There was a strange tone in his voice that made me turn my head to look directly at him. He noticed my expression and went on. "It's the novelty of the situation that's throwing me, Uncle. This isn't military. Not in the regular sense. These people are civilians. And they're my own people, at least my father's and yours. I'm used to dealing with casualties impersonally, but these were friends of my Aunt Luceiia. War has come a lot closer to home, quite suddenly."
"Aye, lad, I know what you mean. But don't let that blind you to the facts here, which are military, whether you accept that right now or not. This is the most outlying of our properties, and it's too far from the home farm. That's a fact that's been tragically proven today. As a farm it is now useless to us. That's another fact, a proven extension of the first one. We're going to have to redefine our borders, cut down our properties and redeploy our forces to defend the ones we intend to hold. That's another fact.
"The animals who did this had cavalry cover. That's a fact, and it alters our whole concept of the forces that are coming against us. It means that the enemy, or part of them at least, are just as mobile as we are. From this time on we have to make allowances for that. That's a lot of facts, Picus, all military realities and none of them wholesome. We've got to get back to the Colony just as fast as we can and alert the Council. We have to define some new priorities for our growth and for our defence."
"What about burial for the victims here?" His face was bleak.
"They're already in their grave, lad. We'll lay Vegetius out beside his wife and sons and burn the place over them. As martyrs of the Colony, it will be a fitting end."
"You're right, Uncle, as usual. I'll see to it."
"Wait. Summon all of our men, infantry and cavalry, to stand as a funeral honour guard. They should know what we are doing and why it's being done. And bring the prisoners, too. They will be confronted with their atrocity and executed." He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "No arguments, Picus. They die."
He nodded, after considering the look of me for a few moments. "How do they die?"
"I ought to crucify the swine, and if I had the time, I would. But I don't."
"How, then?"
"In the fire. They burn. They seem to worship a fire god. Now they can meet him, face to face." He gazed at my face for the space of ten heartbeats, and when he spoke, his voice was low.
"You are a harder man than I thought you, Publius Varrus."
I spoke through my anger. "Vegetius Sulla was my friend. His wife was a gentle, kindly woman, full of dignity and peace. You saw how they used her. They burn."
"So be it. They burn."
"You still sound unsure. Does your conscience bother you on this?"
"I don't know, Uncle. Perhaps it does. They deserve to die, but burning them alive seems unchristian."
"Remember your friend Pelagius, Picus. Freedom of choice and personal responsibility. As I see it, that's the only route available now to men of true conscience. We're not dealing with Christians here. Turn the other cheek to such as these, as the priests would have us do, and we'll all be dead within the year. The old God of the Hebrew testaments suits me far better, now, with his eye for an eye, than the gentle Christ does. I choose His way and I'm ready to stand responsible for the survival of our people."
"Aye. You're right." There was conviction in his voice now. "I'll see to it. But what about the pit they're digging now, for the others?"
"Leave it. Let them rot in the open. None of our people will be around to smell the stink. Assemble the men. We'll march them past the pit and show them what has been done here, then we'll let them see justice done in the execution of the criminals in the pyre of their victims."
And so it was done.
XXIII
It was a long, quiet ride back to the Colony. Every man among us had plenty to occupy his thoughts, and the black smoke of the Sulla family's pyre hung all around us, although we had left it far behind. When we arrived, Picus and I went directly to meet with Caius. He was waiting for us in his day-room with Bishop Alaric, who had arrived on one of his regular visits. As we entered the room both men rose to their feet, scanning our faces. I nodded to both of them and spoke to the old bishop first.
"You should have been with us, Alaric. We could have used you."
"For what?" Caius's voice was tense.
"Funeral services."
"It was bad?"
"Worse than you could imagine." I told them what had happened and what we had found in the cellar. Picus did not attempt to add anything or to interrupt me in any way. By the time I had done, both of my listeners were as white-faced as Picus had been when he emerged from the stables.
"You executed the prisoners?" This was Caius.
"I did."
He looked into my eyes, and if he had any difficulty accepting my actions I saw no sign of it. He turned and walked away from his chair a few steps, his shoulders hunched over. "This changes everything," he said. "We had not expected an enemy with cavalry. Now we have to plan our defences differently in every way."
"Not cavalry, Caius, horses." He turned and looked at me, frowning. "I made the same mistake, at first, but the people we chased were not cavalry. They were just mounted men. But that alone makes a difference in terms of the mobility of the enemy. It was obviously the strength afforded by a band of horsemen that encouraged the others to venture so far inland."
Bishop Alaric had so far said nothing. He had merely subsided into his chair and sat looking from face to face among the three of us. Now he spoke.
"But where would these people — Franks you say they were? — where would they find horses here?"
"They didn't, Alaric. They brought them with them."
"From Gaul? How?"
"By boat, the same way Picus brought his."
"No comparison," Caius broke in. "Picus used imperial galleys for transportation. Large ships. The Franks have none of those."
"No, Caius, you're right, they don't," I said. "But they don't need them. We saw only ten or a dozen mounted men. That number of horses could be accommodated easily on two or three longboats. But it's not the numbers that matter, it's the fact that they're doing it at all. We have to find out where they landed and make sure that none of their friends follow them, and if that means constant patrols of the entire south-west shore-line, then that is what we are going to have to be prepared to live with. Picus agrees with me. We discussed it this morning on the ride back."