‘Like something nice to eat?’ He chuckled at my expression. ‘Don’t look so scared. I’m no Greek after your rounded young bottom. Go outside and wait.’ He added, casually. ‘Try to run and you’ll maybe get ten yards, then you’ll be spitted like a goose.’
He took me to where fires blazed under suspended pots and gave me bread, oil, and a scrap of honeycomb. As I ate I looked around. The Roman camp had extended itself up the slope and legionaries seemed to be everywhere. Men were busy at work piling broken chariots and other damaged equipment into a great pile on a stretch of level ground.
‘They’ll be burned as an offering to the gods,’ said Mucius. He had watched the movements of my eyes. ‘Still hungry?’
He handed me another wedge of bread and I learned why he had been so generous.
‘You move around in there,’ his head jerked at the compound. ‘You’re young and they wouldn’t notice if you edged close. You might be able to learn things. If you hear anyone planning anything let me know, eh?’ He winked. ‘It’ll just be between the two of us.’
‘You want me to be a spy?’
‘I want to avoid trouble, boy. The best way to stop it is before it starts. I’ll put you on the food detail, that way they won’t suspect anything and you’ll get a chance to eat before those wolves snatch it all. If they ask why you were ordered outside, tell them that you were questioned about your mother. Three of the fourteenth have been arrested for rape—they die tomorrow.’
That night, when I dreamed of my mother, she was smiling.
I didn’t see the executions, but I heard the trumpets, and though I doubt if the men had killed my mother, it helped to think they had. At least, afterwards, I slept easier, though the food may have had something to do with that. I made no attempt to act the spy, and I don’t think Mucius expected me to; it was probably an excuse to justify his generosity in case of need.
Ten days after our arrangement, the prisoners were sorted. Tables had been set up outside the compound and small groups taken out at sword point to answer questions. Those who held a high position or who were the sons of chiefs or nobles were offered the chance to buy their freedom, but first they had to swear loyalty to Rome. Cymbelle was one of them. He didn’t look towards me as he burned a pinch of incense at the altar and gave his oath.
The rest of us were to be shipped to Gaul.
Mucius was one of the guards conducting the party. He was a decanus in charge of ten men and was close to having served his thirty years. Because I was no real threat, he allowed me to walk beside him, a thong around my neck attached to his wrist. If I made any attempt to escape, a jerk would bring me down, choking.
The other captives were also held at the neck, each man attached to others by a yoke in groups of five, an arrangement which left them free to walk, but made it impossible for them to make any attempt to gain their freedom.
At night we camped, the yokes held by ropes fastened to stakes hammered into the ground, and Mucius talked.
‘This seems a fine country, Atilus. I’ve half a mind to settle here when I’m released. I could open a wine shop in London or Colchester and take things easy. A wife to take care of things, a slave, maybe, to do all the hard work, what man could wish for more?’
He belched over his bowl of wine.
‘Take Germany, now. That’s where I did most of my service. Forests so dark you could walk in them for months, and a barbarian behind every tree. We’ve settled the Rhine and things aren’t too bad there now, but the winters are hard. I remember one time when I went to relieve a man on guard, we found him frozen as stiff as a board. You couldn’t stand still a minute if you didn’t want to stick to the ground. I’ve seen men who had to cut boots from their feet before they could move. Do you get winters like that?’
‘Not often,’ I admitted. ‘But it gets damp.’
‘That’s bad.’ He helped himself to more wine from a skin he’d managed to sneak into the supplies. ‘Damp can hurt the bones and make a man creak when he tries to stand. I’m too old for that. Just give me a little comfort and I’ll be happy. Spain, now, the sun is hot there like it is in Capua. That’s where I was born,’ he explained. ‘A decent city and a fine arena.’ He fell silent, brooding, staring into his bowl. ‘Damned woman,’ he muttered. ‘She was a real hell-cat.’
‘Your wife?’
‘My mother, stepmother, that is. My father was a fool. He could have fixed himself up with a nice young slave girl, but he had to get ambitious. She had a little property of her own, a widow with a snot of a son, and he thought it would be smart to combine what they had and go into business. He had as much idea of trade as I have of flying, and they skinned him. She never let him forget it, nagging all the time and making life hell. Finally he wound up taking care of the beasts at the arena. A nursemaid to a bunch of animals. I can smell them yet.’ He stiffened. ‘What’s that?’
‘A wolf.’ I listened to the distant howling. ‘It’s calling for a mate.’
‘Have you ever hunted them?’ He answered his own question. ‘No, of course you haven’t, you’re too young. We had some at the arena once. They broke out of their cage and attacked some bears, then turned on the keepers. A couple had their throats torn out and another lost a hand. For a while it was as good as an actual event at the games, blood everywhere; then they called in the archers to take care of them. My father was blamed and had to pay for some of the damage. I thought my stepmother would go mad. That’s when I left home and joined up.’
‘Because she quarrelled?’
‘Not exactly. I fetched her a crack with an empty amphora of wine and thought it best not to hang around.’ Mucius threw the dregs of his wine into the fire. ‘Well, I’d better go the rounds. You still hungry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Boys are always hungry.’ He handed me a lump of cold porridge. ‘Don’t forget the water for the morning.’
I’d offered to bathe his eyes; he woke with them crusted and it was an effort to part the lids, but water warmed at the fire dissolved the dried pus and cleared the lashes. In a way it was serving Rome, but I liked the man and I needed the food he could give me. A weakness perhaps, but a small boy, alone, could not be blamed.
My mother did not blame me. That night she came even closer and I could hear her voice.
‘Atilus, my son, live. Live to grow into a man. A boy can do little against Rome, but a man—live, my son. Live!’
A message sent with the aid of the gods who now watched over her. One I would do my best to obey.
We reached the coast where we were to take ship for Boulogne. Winter was coming and, with it, storms, yet the port was busy. More troops, officers coming to take over their command, couriers and with them a host of civilians and slaves; men to take care of accounts, others to win what they could from the new province.
Mucius reported to a tribune and was told to load us on a ship due to leave within the hour. It was a round-ship used to shift cargo, fitted with oars and a big, square sail. The oars were used when entering and leaving harbour, the sail when on the open sea. The master was annoyed at the extra cargo.
