He was taken wholly by surprise. The table, rearing in the air, sent him sprawling; he landed heavily, the trestle across his chest. Before he could roll clear I was across the tent to where my swordbelt hung from a peg. Somebody tossed me a shield; simultaneously Gundobad, with a tigerish leap, bore Ruricius to the ground. The plot, if plot there had been, was spoiled; his eyes rolled terrified above the dagger the German pressed against his throat.
Publius rose to face me slowly. Across one cheek ran a brightening weal where the table edge had caught him; he wiped at it with his palm, stared unbelievingly at the blood on his hand. When he spoke his voice was still quiet, but his eyes were swimming with rage. ‘It seems your manners still stand in need of correction,’ he said. ‘But this time the lesson will be much, much sharper.’ He drew, with a hiss of steel.
Momentarily it was as if time unreeled itself. The hot Hispanian sun was on my back; I felt the terror that had gripped me on that long-ago day, saw the pain and anger in my mother’s eyes. Then he came on.
He was stylish, and fast; but he was an amateur, and the rage had made him careless. His blade rang on my shield; I stepped back, fetching him off balance. There was a moment when I could have run him through the body, and he knew it. He drew away panting, came in again more carefully.
Behind me I was aware of shouts and running footsteps. The whole camp was scurrying towards the tent, roused by the novel spectacle of two Roman officers at each other’s throats. I retreated quickly into the open. The swords squealed together, but this time he didn’t escape unscathed. I parried, feinted and swung my blade again. The blow, delivered with all my strength, caught him flat across the face. It was the first; and it was for Calgaca.
He fell back a pace, shaking his head to clear it. I circled, inviting him to attack. On three sides of us now crowded the tribesmen; on the fourth was the bank of the brook.
He came for me furiously again. I fenced him, watching his face, waiting my chance. The second blow was for Marcus. It fetched him to his knees; when he rose there was a new expression in his eyes. His cheek was puffy and discoloured, swelling as I watched.
He licked his mouth, glancing to right and left, but there was no escape; the Germans, silent to a man, hemmed us in. He attacked once more, desperately. I hit him, viciously, in the identical spot. This time I gave him no chance to recover. I beat him to the margin, into and across the brook. Water swirled round our calves; he retreated in panic, snatching glances behind him at the farther bank. He almost reached it before his foot turned on a stone. I could have killed him where he stood. I raised my blade; then, impelled by a sudden gust of fury, smashed the pommel down across his face. The tailpiece, curved and rough, stripped the lid from one eye, opened his nose in a leaf-shaped gash from bridge to nostril. The sword fell with a splash; he crouched against the bank, covering his face silently with his hands.
I stood over him while the mist cleared from behind my eyes. ‘Well,’ I said finally, ‘do you wish to continue with the lesson?’ There was no answer. He rocked in agony; and a thin stream of blood spilled between his wrists, coursed rapidly down one arm.
I turned away, stooped to retrieve his sword. It was my one mistake; the last lesson Marcus had given me had been the first to be forgotten. A roar from the watchers warned me; I flung myself to one side, floundering. The dagger stroke he had aimed at the back of my knee missed me by inches; he loomed over me, raising the weapon again, and my reaction was faster than thought. The mouth was open in the ruined face, gasping for air; but the bite he took was too much for him to swallow. I thrust, off balance; the blade passed between his teeth; next instant the pommel was wrenched from my hand as I fell.
I rose dumbly, stood staring. The thrashing had stopped; he lay shaking, face down in the water, head turned to one side. The sword-tip protruded a hand’s breadth from his neck; from him, waving in the current like a flag, spread a long and darkening stain.
I turned, slowly, the blood-shout of the Germans still ringing in my ears. The sun shone, its rays levelling towards the west; somewhere, idiotically, a bird still sang and piped. I stared up at the bank, and met Ruricius’ eyes. His face was pale, but on it was an expression of gloating triumph.
I waded to the bank. The Germans made way for me, silently. I walked to the cavalry lines; nobody tried to stop me as I saddled my horse. I mounted, rode from camp without a backward glance. A mile away a second horseman ranged alongside. It was Gundobad. I reined and he handed me my sword. I touched heels to my mount again, stormed north on the high road to Burdigala. The trooper followed, pacing me in the deepening dusk.
The short night was nearly over when we came in sight of the town. Its streets were silent and deserted; the hooves of the horses rang hollowly from the fronts of buildings. I reined before the Praetorium, beat at the outer doors with my sword-hilt. The din roused Vidimerius himself; he came waddling from his sleeping cubicle, swearing and knuckling his eyes. His face changed as I ran towards him, the sword still in my hand. I reversed the weapon, panting, held it out hilt foremost. My voice when I spoke seemed like that of a stranger. ‘I have killed the Tribune Aelius Hadrianus,’ I said. ‘I surrender my sword, and submit myself to judgement.’
A long pause, while he stared at my face, then at the thing in my hand. ‘Put that damned ironmongery away,’ he said finally, ‘and get a grip of yourself.’ He bellowed for torches; within minutes the place was a blaze of light. Lamps were lit in his office; he stamped ahead of me, crossed to a side table, splashed wine into a cup. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Get this into you. Then tell me what happened.’
I drank, fighting to stop the shaking in my body. The Duke faced me across the desk; Gundobadius stood at my back, aloof and silent. I described as concisely as I could the circumstances of the quarrel. When I had finished Vidimerius rubbed his skull like a baffled bear. ‘Why, Tribune?’ he asked me. ‘Why should he pick on you?’
I answered that there had been an old feud between us, that we had known each other as children. He groaned at that, slamming his fists on the desk top. ‘Why?’ he shouted. ‘Why didn’t you come to me? It could have been prevented. . .’
I said tonelessly, ‘Perhaps it was the will of the Gods.’
He made an angry gesture. He said, ‘Don’t give me that crap. . . .’ He rose suddenly, turning his back, and barked a question in German. The decurion answered stolidly. As far as I could tell his account tallied with mine. Vidimerius heard it through, head sunk between his shoulders, thick fingers twining behind his back. He was silent a long time after Gundobadius had finished; when he spoke again his voice was muffled. ‘There is a bond between us,’ he said. ‘I do not choose to break it.’
He turned, walked heavily back to the desk. ‘If I was a Roman,’ he said, ‘your head would be on its way to Mediolanum by nightfall, in a basket. Thank your stars I’m not.’ He was quiet again, brooding in the lamplight, pulling at his beard; then he shook his head. ‘I could deal with that little scab Ruricius,’ he said. ‘And my own people wouldn’t talk. But if his commission was really from the Emperor this can’t be kept a secret very long. There’ll be an enquiry as soon as he’s missed at Mediolanum. I can’t protect you; they’d just have my head as well. Everything I’ve tried to do down here would be lost.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but he waved me irritably to silence. He riffled among the papers on his desk. ‘Just after you left,’ he said, ‘I had a routine message come through from the office of the Praeses. They asked me if I could find an overseer for a lead mine somewhere down near Massilia. At the time there was nobody I chose to send. Now there is. I’m relieving you of your command, and seconding you for special duties.’ He shoved the papers aside and rose, stood leaning on the desk and staring down at me. His face looked lined and tired. ‘I know nothing of this report you’ve made,’ he said. ‘Do you understand that? Nothing. Nor shall I till this officer’s body is brought in to Burdigala. When I have to recognise the incident officially I shall send messengers recalling you. They won’t reach you. Neither, if you have any sense, will you reach Massilia. If you vanish on the way it’s no concern of mine. And may the Gods protect you. I’d do more if I could; as things stand, I hope I never see you again.’
He gripped my arm, briefly; and there was pain in his eyes. I turned without a word and left the room.
I rode from Burdigala two hours later. The Arcadian on duty at the gates saluted smartly as I passed through, bringing his spear shaft ringing down on the flags. I acknowledged him mechanically. The full magnitude of the disaster was still dawning on me. A few hours ago I had been a young man of consequence, a military Tribune with my whole career before me. Now I was ruined; shortly I would be a fugitive, with every man’s hand against me. I bowed my head in the saddle and might have wept, but I was too empty even for tears.
At midday I changed horses at a way station. In my confused state I half expected a remount to be denied me, but there was no difficulty once I showed my pass. I rode on again, my mind in a worse turmoil than ever. My saddlebags were heavy; before leaving I had withdrawn my savings from the University. But where could I go? Once a warrant was issued for my arrest no Province of the Empire would be safe for me. I thought distractedly of Vidimerius’ promise that I could find a welcome in his homeland. Perhaps I could curve north, cross the Rhine somewhere, lose myself in the unmapped country beyond. The thought was rejected almost as soon as it had formed. The idea was intolerable; I, a Roman citizen, dying a nameless exile. ... It would be better, if it came to such a choice, to finish the thing at once. I touched my sword-hilt. It would be an honourable death; I would end like a soldier, even if I couldn’t five like one.
I camped for the night beside the road, lay awake hour after hour listening for the hoof-beats of pursuers. None came. In the end I rose, kicked the fire to a blaze and flung on more fuel. I sat swathed in my blankets, staring back into the dark the way I had come. It still seemed impossible to believe that I was a wanted man. In my short life I had known both misery and pain, but always I had risen and taken my rest an honest man. Now my heart would skip a beat at the slightest footfall; I would never, in all my years, be free of fear again.
The black mood intensified. I frowned, pulling at my lip. Now, of all times, was when I needed my logical training most. I thought of Marcus, far away in Italica. What would he have advised? ‘Think, boy,’ he would have said. ‘Don’t panic, run about in circles. Use your head....’ The notion was calming; I set myself to analyse, as dispassionately as I could, the events that had led to my predicament.
Fact one was that I had killed a man. I had killed him fairly, while he still had a weapon in his hand. I had tried to spare him, that much could be vouched for; but it had not been given to me to do so. That last blow had been a reflexive act of self-defence; nothing on earth could have stayed it.
I shook my head. The end of the business was beside the point; what mattered was that I had been the first to draw. Words had been exchanged, heated words, and I had been goaded beyond any endurance; but the only witness to that was Ruricius. He would give his own version of the affair, and would certainly deny any complicity in a plot to discredit me. The Germans, even if they had understood what passed between us, would never be listened to by any court.
There, of course, was the rub. Personalities apart, Flavius Ruricius was a Latin-speaking citizen of the Empire, a long-service soldier with a clean record of conduct; the rest were barbarians. It had been cleverly arranged; the Cornicularis would undoubtedly swear that I had instigated the whole thing, motivated by a desire for revenge. The more I thought about the case, the worse it looked; certainly I had had a first-rate motive for the removal of the Notary. I regretted, now, the haste with which I had left Burdigala. Patermuthis might have helped; I had gone to his house but he had been away from home, visiting friends in the country. I rubbed my face wearily. It was no good; he would have reached, intellectually, the same conclusion to which Vidimerius had leaped. Had Publius been a civilian, I might have stood trial with some hope of a favourable verdict, but he was not. Although they performed no military function, the Corps of Notaries were administered as part of the Army, entitled to army pay, dress and privileges; so technically I had killed a fellow officer while on active service, the penalty for which was death. I groaned aloud, hopelessly. Pointless to blame the Gods; the cause of the disaster had once more been my own stupidity. This time, though, more was involved than my pride; my life itself stood forfeit.
I lay back, willing myself to sleep; but the shadows were lightening round me before I fell into a doze. When I woke, it was with a curious resolve. There was, I had seen, no way out of the dilemma in which I had placed myself. If I gave myself up it would be to summary execution, while fleeing the Empire altogether was equally distasteful. Whatever I did, then, my fate was sealed; and if death was imminent, Massilia was as good a place as any in which to await it. I had my orders, disgraceful though they might be; I would carry them out, try and meet my end when it came with something of the fortitude a Roman ought to show.
The decision, odd though it might seem, had the effect of lightening my spirits. I made better time, crossing Gaul once more by rapid stages to my destination. After the first few days of shock I ceased even to watch the road behind me. The end, when it came, would be peremptory and sudden; but I would die at the time appointed by the Gods, neither later nor before.
I reached Massilia with no untoward incident of any kind. That, I told myself, was hardly surprising; the wheels of Government were turning with their proverbial slowness. The town was much as I remembered it. Beyond the walls new buildings were being raised. I was told they were a Christian monastery; the monk Cassianus, with a band of Brothers, had elected to settle there to the furtherance of the glory of God. I made enquiries for my command, found I had to backtrack some ten or twelve miles. The place I sought lay on high ground overlooking the Via Domitia itself, the road I had travelled with such high hopes a few short years before.