‘Do you think we should just make a run for it?’ Marius whispered.
‘Best not; we’ll let them pass.’
The torches at the head of the fast-moving column were now in sight and they watched with bated breath as they came nearer. When the column, over a hundred strong, came to the junction their leader stopped.
‘Clemens, take half the men and carry on up the road for another ten miles and block it there. Search all the inns, farms and barns on the way. I’ll take the rest of the boys and search the town; if I don’t find anything I’ll join you in the morning. Get patrols out at first light, but only groups of more than four; I don’t want a repeat of this morning’s fiasco.’
‘I shall do everything that is necessary, Macro.’ The young decurion saluted; the torchlight glinted on his helmet as he turned to the column. ‘The first two turmae follow me,’ he ordered, and then led off up the road at a swift trot.
As the last of the sixty-man detachment passed Macro he called out to the rest of the column: ‘Right, lads, we’re going to turn this town inside out; anyone who’s arrived today I want brought into the forum for questioning, along with all the local magistrates and tavern-owners. Don’t take no for an answer from anyone – got it?’ He turned to the familiar figure beside him. ‘Well, Hasdro, I expect there’ll be some work here for you tonight. I’m sure a few of them will appreciate a little encouragement before they talk.’ He pulled his horse around and urged it up the road towards the town.
Vespasian and his companions watched the torch-lit column wind its way through the darkness up to the unsuspecting town a mile up the hill.
‘Poor buggers,’ Magnus whispered. ‘They’re not going to get much sleep tonight with Macro and his men running wild.’
‘But that works in our favour,’ Vespasian replied, now feeling desperately tired. ‘Let’s get going while the Praetorians are busy terrorising innocent provincials.’
They led their horses down to the road, mounted up and followed the column up towards the town. They found the track that led to Tertulla’s estate as the first shouts and screams from the town echoed around the hills.
‘We need to follow this for a mile or so to the top of the hill,’ Vespasian said, struggling to see the line of the track in the dim moonlight. ‘Then bear to the left towards the sea.’
Another series of screams came from the town and the group hurried on their way, not because they were in any immediate danger but in order to get away from the sounds of anguish that they felt responsible for.
The sound of distant waves crashing below them reached their ears as they came to the summit. The smell of salt water revived Vespasian and he sucked it in greedily. He had loved the sea ever since, from the age of seven, he and Sabinus had lived here with Tertulla for the five years that their parents had been in Asia.
He looked upon that time as the happiest of his life, despite his brother’s constant bullying. But his grandmother had protected him from Sabinus, inflicting severe punishments upon him every time new bruises had appeared on Vespasian’s body and making sure that Attalus, her steward, kept an eye on the two boys if she wasn’t around. Then one glorious day, when Vespasian was eleven, Sabinus left for Rome to seek the help of their uncle Gaius in getting a posting as a military tribune. Vespasian had then had Tertulla’s undivided attention for over a year and he had basked in her love. Each day, after he had finished his lessons with his grammaticus, they would spend time together. She told him stories as they walked along the cliffs and taught him how to knot a net whilst fishing on the beach; but, most importantly, she had taught him the workings of the estate that she ran herself, her husband having died before Vespasian was born.
When his parents had returned he had not wanted to leave Tertulla and her estate, which he had come to consider as home. It was only her accompanying him back to his parents’ newly acquired estate at Aquae Cutillae, and staying for six months whilst he settled in, that enabled him to do so. She had left the day after his thirteenth birthday; he had not seen her since.
Knowing that he had less than half a mile to go before he was home he concentrated his mind on one final effort to remain conscious. The last few hundred paces were a blur to him, but eventually they arrived at the familiar wood and iron gate that he had last walked through nearly four years ago. He slumped forward on his horse, managed to kick his right leg over its back and dismounted. He felt Magnus’ arm support him as he stumbled forward and knocked on the iron knocker with what little strength he had left.
‘I think I’d better do that a bit harder, sir,’ Magnus said, giving the knocker three huge blows.
‘Who is it?’ came a voice from the other side.
‘Tell my grandmother that it’s Vespasian and three friends.’
They waited a while and then a familiar voice came through the gate.
‘If you’re Vespasian tell me what name you call me by.’
Vespasian smiled to himself and looked apologetically at Magnus. ‘Tute.’
The gate swung open and Tertulla, now well into her eighties, rushed forward.
‘Vespasian, my darling, it is really you.’ She put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Ow, you’ve grown a hard skin since I last saw you.’
‘I’m a military tribune now, Tute, but we should talk inside; I’ve been hurt and need to rest. These fellows are my friends.’
‘Yes, of course, come in, come in all of you.’
Vespasian lay on a couch in the triclinium drinking warmed watered wine whilst Tertulla examined his leg wound in the dim light of an oil lamp held up close by a slave.
‘Not bad, Magnus, really not bad at all,’ she said admiringly as she ran her wrinkled fingers over the swollen, blistered wound.
‘Thank you,’ Magnus replied from the other side of the room whence he and his crossroads brothers looked on anxiously.
‘What did you clean it with?’
‘Piss.’
‘Very good, the best thing if you can’t get any vinegar. The wound itself has closed, so I just need to apply a salve for the burn and then bind it tight to keep it from tearing open. Attalus!’
A tall, well-built man in his late fifties entered the room. ‘There’s no need to shout, I’m right here,’ he said in an overly patient tone of voice.
‘There you are, you great oaf. Take Magnus and his colleagues and find them something to eat, then bring some bread and ham in here. And whilst you’re about it bring my cup, I don’t know why Vespasian is drinking and I’m not.’
‘Probably because you didn’t ask for your cup before.’
‘Must I think of everything?’
‘Yes, you must, because you are the mistress and everyone else is your slave.’
‘Well, behave like one, then.’
‘I always do. Is that all?’
‘That’s three orders; I don’t think you’ll be able to remember any more.’
Attalus looked over to Vespasian and grinned. ‘Welcome home, Master Vespasian, it will be so nice to have someone sensible around the house again.’
‘Thank you, Attalus. I see that my grandmother and you are still getting along.’
‘I tolerate her,’ he said in a playful whisper.
‘Why I tolerate you I don’t know. I should have you crucified.’
‘Then who would remind you what day it was and what your name is?’
‘Go on, get on with it,’ Tertulla said, slapping him hard on the arse and trying not to laugh.
Attalus left the room rubbing his behind and taking the bemused crossroads brothers with him.
Tertulla gently anointed the wound with a foul-smelling balm and then carefully bound it. As she was finishing Attalus came back with the food and a silver cup.
‘You took your time, did you get lost again?’ Tertulla said sharply, tying the linen bandage with a knot.
‘I’m surprised you remembered that I’d even gone,’ Attalus replied, thumping down the tray of food with a flamboyant flourish. ‘Would the mistress like water in her wine or is she planning on drinking herself into oblivion again this evening?’