‘Lady? What lady?’ Emelius looked around in puzzlement. In other circumstances, it would have made me smile. Even Servilis was smirking as he bowed and left.
‘The lady Alcanta is under my protection now that her husband is unfortunately dead, centurion,’ Florens told him rather haughtily. ‘She has been enjoying the hospitality of my residence in town, but of course that cannot decently continue very long. Voluus did leave an apartment in the town, but after what has happened she’s afraid of living there – especially with an infant child to think about. It happened that I recently acquired this farm . . .’
‘You?’ I interrupted. ‘Biccus told me that it had been bought by somebody from Gaul, who was intending to build a new villa on the site.’
Florens looked pitying at me. ‘I assure you that it’s mine. Her husband did express an interest in obtaining it – his wife, he said, would like a country property – but at the time the owner was not prepared to sell. When I heard it was available I purchased it myself, hoping I could tempt him into it. But when Alcanta came, and it was obviously unsafe for her to move into the flat, I brought her out here to see if she would like it as a temporary home, until more permanent arrangements can be made for her. No one but ourselves would know that she was here. Even so, with all the threats to Voluus, I thought that she required a guard.’
It was so sweetly reasonable that I almost believed the words myself. Emelius, though, had practical concerns. ‘But the lady will surely have a guardian under law, under the terms of Voluus’s will?’ he said with courtesy. ‘Should he not be consulted, before such plans are made?’
‘Voluus has left everything to his wife and child, and I am nominated as their guardian in Britannia,’ Florens said. ‘I can produce a document, under Voluus’s seal, confirming it. And here is the lady now; she will tell you the same thing.’
I turned. Alcanta was coming through the door into the barn, framed in the first golden rays of sun and I heard a stifled gasp as the soldiers took in how beautiful she was. Beautiful, but perhaps indecorous, it was not her fault that she was not at home, but a mourning widow should wear a veil and weep, not wander freely round the premises when there were men about. Calvinus had called her ‘wilful’, I recalled.
‘Florens!’ She went to him with little tripping steps. ‘I came to warn you that the boy you hit is slightly stirring now. Servilis is with him to make sure he doesn’t bolt. It’s just as well we went to look at him. I got tired of waiting for you in the house. What has detained you?’ She looked around and seemed to notice the armed soldiers with alarm. ‘Who are all these guards? What are they doing here? They haven’t . . . ?’
Florens held up a hand to silence her. ‘Nothing to concern yourself about, Alcanta. I will handle this. They have simply come to take our unwelcome visitors to court.’
He had spoken very firmly and I saw her set her lips. The pretty chin was raised in a defiant jut. ‘Well, make them go away. If we are to be married and go back to Gaul when I am out of mourning . . .’
I interrupted her. ‘Married! But Florens is contracted to marry someone else.’
Florens had turned from pink to scarlet now. ‘Not so, citizen. I don’t know how you came to hear of that, but in any case the contract will be void. It depended on a dowry that will not now be paid.’ He turned to Alcanta. ‘Take no notice, lady. The citizen is wrong. All will be exactly as I promised you. You and your infant will be safe with me.’
The girl in widow’s mourning stole a doubting look at him. ‘If you say so, Florens.’ She sounded unconvinced.
The councillor propelled her by the arm and led her briskly to the door, though she did not look as if she cared for that. ‘Then, centurion, if you would care to bind and take your prisoners under guard, I will follow in the gig and see you at the court. Alcanta, I will have to leave you here a little while – I’ll make arrangements for the funeral while I am in town and have your husband’s body moved into the flat, where I suppose a servant should start on the lament – but my escort-slaves will very soon be here and then you’ll have a guard. In the meantime, look around the place and see if it will suit you as a temporary home. I will return as soon as possible. The trial of this miscreant should not take very long.’ He was already striding off with her across the court.
Emelius watched them go, then jerked a thumb at me. ‘Very well, then. Let’s have you on our cart. It won’t be a very comfortable ride for you today! You two soldiers on the end can bring the other pair – and I suppose we’d better take the one that’s over there, as well.’ He gestured two more of his men towards where Junio was still lying in the court, with Servilis standing over him. Florens and the lady had also stopped to look.
‘That is my adopted son,’ I said. ‘He is a citizen, and Florens attacked him. He almost broke his skull.’
The centurion made a little face. ‘Tell that to the court. The councillor claims that you were robbing him. And the lad’s not desperately hurt – you heard they’d seen him stir.’
‘Then let’s try and revive him, not drag him like a sack,’ I pleaded. ‘A splash of water might help bring him round.’
‘Oh, very well,’ he said reluctantly. ‘It’s easier to manage a man when he’s awake. I noticed that there was a bucket at the door. I’ll get my men to fill it with water from the well and fling it over him. That should do the trick. See to it, soldier.’ He nodded to one of his two remaining men.
The fellow nodded and ran off to the well, carrying the bucket. I was wishing that I’d had the wit to use it as a weapon when I could, but it was too late now. Emelius had his centurion’s baton in his hand, and was prodding me towards the open hiring-cart – probably the very one I’d ridden in last night, though the driver was a man I didn’t recognize. Biccus and Brianus were shoved up after me, their hands bound behind them with a piece of rope. As a citizen, at least I was spared the indignity of that.
I craned to see if they had managed to wake up Junio, but the soldier with the bucket was standing helplessly, looking round the court as if searching for the well. Florens made no move at all to help.
Biccus saw the problem. ‘The well is in the corner over there,’ he shouted, gesturing in the right direction with his head. He turned to me and added, in the Celtic tongue, ‘I ought to know. I almost fell into it when I came before – to tell the owner to control his dogs.’
The soldier nodded an acknowledgement and trotted over to fill up his pail, but Florens gave a roar and rushed across to him. ‘Stop! What in Hades are you doing! Keep away from there.’
The man stopped, bewildered. ‘But the centurion said . . .’
Florens’s manner altered instantly to one of unctuous charm. ‘I think the well is poisoned. It’s not safe to use. If you want water, get it from the stream.’ He smiled apologetically at Emelius. ‘I’m sorry, officer. That well is dangerous. One of the first things that I propose to do is fill it in and dig another one.’ He turned to Alcanta and smiled down at her. ‘I can’t have anything happen to the lady here.’
Biccus was scowling and grumbling audibly. ‘Shouldn’t be anything the matter with that well. My family had this farm for centuries. Perfectly good water from it all that time. Someone has been careless and let something rot down there. I told you that ex-soldier did not know the first thing about how to run a farm.’
Alcanta threw a look of purest hate at him and Florens looked furious, but Emelius simply shrugged. ‘Well, it hardly matters what the water’s like. He isn’t going to drink it anyway. We only want to throw a little over him to bring him round. Jump to it, soldier!’
The man saluted smartly and started to obey, expertly tying the pail onto the waiting chain, ready to lower it gently down into the well, but Florens stepped forward and intervened again. ‘I told you, it’s poisonous – you’ll get it in his mouth!’
The soldier hesitated in his task and looked to his superior to advise. As he did so, I had a wild idea.
‘Tell him to do it, Emelius!’ I cried. ‘I think I know what is hidden down that well.’
Florens would have slain me, if a look could kill. But he essayed a casual laugh. ‘Nonsense! Of course there’s nothing hidden in the well – except the water which, as I say, is dangerous.’ He looked around, as if appealing to the gods, before he said, ‘I expect that’s why the previous owner was so keen to sell the farm but, as the law says, the buyer must beware.’
I realized what question had been niggling in my brain. ‘But I thought that he was dead?’ I challenged. ‘You told Alcanta so. I overheard you when you first arrived. So how did he sell you the farm so recently?’
Florens’s face was almost purple now – more purple than his usual patrician stripe. For two quadrans, I could see, he would have lunged at me, just as he had lunged at Junio earlier. But the soldiers were watching and he controlled himself. ‘The two things are not contradictory. He sold it to me just before he died. Probably poisoned by the water from the well!’
Alcanta clutched at him. ‘Florens, is that true? I thought . . .’ She tailed off as she saw the fury in his face.
I turned to Emelius. ‘Another useful coincidence, centurion, don’t you think? Murder seems to follow the councillor around. The treasure-cart just happens to be passing his new farm the night it is attacked: the lictor names him as guardian of his wife, and then just happens to be murdered on his way. And now we learn the previous owner of this house has also died, just after selling it to him. All a little too convenient, wouldn’t you agree? I have no proof of anything, of course, but if we should happen to find treasure in that well . . .’
I said no more. Emelius, who had been gazing speculatively at me, gave a brisk command. ‘We shall soon find out. Water, soldier. Dip the pail at once.’
This time there was a rattle as the chain ran down and the soldier shook it to make the bucket tip. ‘Almost ready, sir,’ he muttered, shaking it again. ‘But I can’t get it up again. There’s something blocking it.’
I looked at Florens. ‘What do you think we’ll find? Statues, chests of money, gold and silver bowls?’
‘There’s no treasure in there,’ he muttered stubbornly. ‘Probably just a bit of wall collapsed. It’s obvious the well has not been used for months.’
‘Yet it managed to poison the owner of the farm!’ I said, earning another, still more vicious scowl.
Emelius took a quick decision. ‘The citizen is right. There is something very odd about this story of the well.’ He signalled to the soldiers who were guarding us. ‘Leave the prisoners and come and lend a hand. And you . . .’ This time it was Servilis that he was talking to, ‘. . . find a bowl or something and get water from the stream.’
‘You may find something useful in that sack,’ I said, pointing to the one which had felled Junio. ‘It comes from a pile of household goods we discovered in the shed.’ Servilis looked as though he had been struck by sudden lightening. He glanced sideways at his master, who shook his head at him. Emelius strode over and picked up the sack himself, and as he did so Alcanta gave a moan and slumped on to the ground beside my newly stirring son. One of the soldiers – on his own initiative and seeing she was faint – found a pool of rainwater in a stone feeding-trough and used his helmet as a makeshift cup to splash it on her face. Then, sheepishly, he did the same for Junio.
Meanwhile, everything was happening at once. The soldiers at the well-head gave a triumphant cry and began to haul in quickly on the bucket-chain. Emelius put a hand into the sack and let out a cry as though he had been stung. Florens picked up the corners of his robe and dashed off in the direction of the gig – surprisingly sprightly for a portly man – calling out to Servilis to follow him, while two of the soldiers raced off after him.
Junio, revived by the water on his face, stirred and started to sit up. He looked up, blinking, at Emelius. ‘Treasure!’ he said weakly. ‘Off the lictor’s cart. Sacks and sacks of it. Buried under all the household boxes in the other barn.’
Emelius nodded, producing a fine gold statue from the sack. No wonder it had been heavy enough to stun.
I confess that I was startled. I had thought the treasure would be in the well. I got down off the cart – there was no one near me to prevent me now – and hurried over to see what was being winched up in the pail. I almost wished I hadn’t. As it emerged it was very clear what had obstructed it. In the bucket was a severed head, bearded and bushy and surprisingly intact. I turned away from it.
The centurion was less squeamish about this sort of thing, the result of serving on the battlefield, I suppose. He came, lifted the horrid object by its hair and appraised it with some care. ‘Not been dead for very long,’ he said judiciously. ‘A day or so at most. Bit swollen with the water, but you can see it hasn’t started to decay at all.’
‘Well, it didn’t have the chance. It’s Voluus the lictor, surely?’ I replied. Then, seeing that Alcanta was rousing from her faint, I added sharply, ‘Don’t let his widow see the head.’
But it was too late. She had already seen it as I spoke. She clutched her throat and gave a strangled cry, ‘My love! My husband! Florens cheated me!’ and fell back again into a swoon. The soldier with the water helmet knelt down to her at once, took the pretty head on to his lap and began gently patting both the lovely cheeks – clearly very happy with his self-inflicted task.
Emelius looked at me and rolled his eyes. ‘It seems that you are right. This must be the lictor, though I must say I’m surprised. Doesn’t look quite old enough to me – though it’s difficult to tell. Death seems to suit him, though. Looks almost handsome, in a swarthy sort of way, though I heard that in life he was an ugly brute. It reminds me of someone. I can’t think who it is.’
‘Master!’ Brianus was calling from the cart. ‘Can we get down and have a closer look?’
I looked at Emelius, who nodded to his men, and one of them went over and helped my companions down. Brianus, his hands still tied behind his back, came sidling up to me. ‘Biccus thinks he might know who that is. It’s not my master, though, I’m quite sure of that!’