After Rome (15 page)

“I was at home.”

“At home?”

“The house I built for myself,” Cadogan amended. “In the hills.”

“I see.”

“I returned to Viroconium three days ago because I was concerned about you.”

“You only learned of the raid three days ago?”

“No, Father. In late summer Dinas visited me long enough to tell me barbarians were in this area. I set out for Viroconium immediately, but by the time I got here the damage was already done.”

“You were frightened and ran away,” Vintrex said.

“I didn't run away. I went back to protect my own home.”

“Why would some shack in the hills need protection?”

“It's no shack, Father; I've put a lot of effort into it. Even Dinas said…”

“Dinas said? Don't believe anything Dinas says, he's as mad as a boxful of fleas. That's why his mother wanted to give the horse to you; she was afraid Dinas would ruin it. And from what I hear, he has. The stallion has a reputation as a man killer.”

We're going to talk about that horse again, Cadogan thought. Everything comes back to the dark horse. “As far as I know he's never killed anyone, Father. Dinas likes to give that impression; he wants people to think only he could tame such an animal. But the last time I saw him he had a young man with him who could…”

“I order you to stay away from Dinas, Cadogan.”

Dinas would say attack is the best defense. “Why were you gone for so long, Father?” Cadogan retorted. “Surely you had more than enough time to get to Londinium and back. Or was there a problem with your business—was the journey unsuccessful?”

His father's normally aloof expression was replaced by a look of confusion. “Business? Successful? I was … I was simply trying to uphold the law. But when we are overrun with savages who have no respect for the law, how in the name of our Lord can I be expected to maintain…” His voice trailed away. He ran his fingers across his forehead as if to collect his thoughts. The back of his hand was spotted with age; the thin fingers were trembling.

Vintrex steadied himself. “Unfortunately,” he continued in a normal voice, “I was unable to conclude the matter which took me to Londinium. A most brutal murder had been committed in my jurisdiction by a person of high rank. The matter was sensitive for a number of reasons, and required special handling. To my dismay I discovered that no one remains in the capital with enough authority to deal with the situation. To all intents and purposes, Londinium has ceased to be a capital; it is like a disturbed anthill with the queen gone and the workers running in every direction. So that my journey would not be a total waste, I decided to travel on to Rome and make a personal plea to the emperor for more protection for my city.”

Abruptly Vintrex sagged against one of the columns of the peristyle, the covered walkway surrounding the atrium. Cadogan feared his father was about to collapse, but the old man waved away his supportive arm. “I'm all right, leave me alone. Am I not entitled to a moment's rest? I have had very little rest these last weeks.”

He straightened up with an effort. “There was a time, Cadogan, when a chief magistrate such as myself could have boarded a Roman trireme and been transported in comfort around Iberia and through the Mediterranean. Warships were expected to provide suitable passenger accommodations for officials of the empire. It was taken for granted. I never availed of the opportunity, though in my younger days I knew men who did. I used to wish that …

“But no more. I shall never envy any man who has spent one hour of his life on the open sea!” As Vintrex spoke these words his face took on a sickly pallor.

Ignoring his protestations, Cadogan hustled his father into the house and seated him on a cushioned bench in the hall. “You really are ill, Father. Stay here while I find someone to fetch Esoros.”

Vintrex lay down on his side, drew his knees up to his chest and propped his head on one of the tightly stuffed cylindrical cushions intended as an armrest. There he lay like an ancient baby while Cadogan went to find help. He met Esoros rushing into the house. “Is he here?” the steward panted. “Is my master really here?”

“He's in the hall; he arrived a little while ago.”

Esoros pushed past Cadogan and ran to the hall, which was a large, oblong room facing onto the atrium. The hall was painted in dark red and olive green, with a frieze of marbled panels divided by columns, and Roman statuary set in niches. In the center of the room stood a table made of highly polished dark shale, displaying a collection of silver and bronze figurines. High-backed couches provided for both sitting and reclining; a lady's basket chair with a silk cushion had been placed to give the best view of the atrium. Folding stools, padded footstools, small chests and cabinets inlaid with mother-of-pearl completed the furnishings.

When the house was new and Domitia came to it as a bride, she had spent many happy weeks decorating the hall to her taste. Every piece of furniture, every work of art had been carefully chosen by herself. She had berated the painters until they were able to mix the exact shades she wanted for the walls. She had commissioned an elaborate iron brazier to burn charcoal—which did not smoke and would not stain the walls and furnishings—and directed that beautifully shaped terra-cotta oil lamps were hung from the ceiling with bronze chains. No matter how cold and gray the British weather, her hall was warm and bright.

Since her death no one had changed a single item in the room.

Esoros dropped to his knees beside the couch where Vintrex lay. “You have returned safely, my lord! I shall offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to—”

“No sacrifices,” Vintrex commanded. “Control yourself, Esoros; you are a Christian now.”

“Yes, my lord Vintrex. Forgive me. Sometimes I forget myself.”

Cadogan entered the room in time to see Vintrex extend one hand and rest it on his steward's head; a fatherly gesture Cadogan could not recall having experienced in his lifetime. “You are forgiven, Esoros. Now tell me, where are my servants? Aside from yourself I've seen none since I arrived.”

“Since the raid—you know about the raid, my lord?”

“I do; my son mentioned it in his own clumsy way. What has that to do with our servants?”

“Since the raid I have been unable to replace the servants we lost. The housekeeper and one of the porters were killed outright, and the remainder ran off. Two of the youngest girls eventually came back, I think they were afraid to be outside the city walls for long. But the others have melted away.”

“The problem's not unique to this house,” Cadogan interjected. “More than half the slaves in Viroconium have fled the city. They prefer to take their chances with the tribes in the hills.”

“But they are our
property,
” Vintrex insisted. “They cannot run away, it is unthinkable.”

“I'm afraid we have to think about it now, Father. Perhaps when things get better…”

“Just when is that supposed to be?”

“I don't know; I hoped you would. If you personally asked the emperor for help…”

The old man's shoulders sagged. “I never got that far, neither to the old emperor or the new.”

Cadogan recalled his father's first words. “Who succeeded Honorius?” he inquired.

“The new emperor is a puling child they are calling Valentinian the Third. His qualifications are superb; his father was master of the horse under Honorius, who died childless. It seems there are no limits to which a horseman may not aspire these days,” Vintrex added sarcastically.

Cadogan was determined to get off the subject of horses. “Did you reach Rome?”

“I made every effort, but our eastern ports are in Saxon hands now. In Londinium I was warned against making any attempt to deal with those savages, so I wasted a number of days traveling along the coast trying to find a Briton in possession of a boat that could carry me across the Oceanus Britannicus. I intended to arrange for overland transport in Gaul to take me on to Rome.” His voice faded again.

“Esoros, bring wine at once,” Cadogan ordered.

“I would, Lord Cadogan, but we have no more of the good—”

“At once!”

The steward returned with a sour beverage that the house of Vintrex would not have offered to a beggar in former times. The old man made a face, but he gulped it down.

Cadogan and his father had never been close; Vintrex was always too involved with his public life to show interest in his children, who knew him as an austere, aloof figure. So Cadogan was surprised at the depth of his concern for Vintrex. In his father's physical disintegration he glimpsed his own mortality.

“You should rest for a while, Father,” he suggested. “We can talk about this later.”

“I am perfectly capable of talking now!” Vintrex snapped. “What was I saying? Oh, yes—looking for a boat. In Durovernum I encountered a freedman who said he had a dugout canoe—a canoe, of all things!—which he claimed was capable of crossing the Fretum Gallicum. I had to offer him an extravagant sum to take me to Gaul, but you know me, I am not one to give up.”

Both Esoros and Cadogan nodded in agreement.

“I left my driver and chariot in Durovernum with instructions to wait until I returned, no matter how long it took, and accompanied the boat owner to a private harborage at the edge of the sea. The man had a mast and sail for his canoe, but no covered accommodation to shelter a passenger. We set out on a most unpleasant morning, with a cold mist coming down. To my surprise we moved quickly at first. I began to think my plan had a fair chance of success.

“Soon a larger boat loomed out of the mist; somewhat like a great timber canoe, only broader. There was no sail. The boat was propelled entirely by oars manned by helmeted warriors. Their captain, as I assume he was, began shouting instructions to my fisherman in some coarse Germanic language. My fisherman not only understood the heathen tongue but was eager to comply. He seized me and bound me with rope, then helped transfer me to the Saxon warship, for that is what it was. The last I saw of the wretch he was laughing up at me from his canoe. With my money in his purse,” Vintrex added bitterly.

“My dear lord!” cried Esoros, clasping his hands together.

“Fortunately I am not a total fool,” Vintrex continued. “I still had a substantial sum concealed about my person, in places where I did not expect to be searched. When I discovered that the ship's captain knew a few words of Latin, I set out to impress him with my connections in the empire. As proof I showed him five gold double denarii minted in Rome. I do not know if he was aware of their value, but they gleamed persuasively. He handed them to another man who looked as if he might be his brother. This second man asked if I had any more. That was all I needed. I assured them that I would take them to a veritable fortune in gold if they would release me on the Gaulish shore.

“While this was going on we continued to move up the strait until in time we reached the open sea. There the weather was dreadful. Which worked to my advantage, in a way,” Vintrex added with a glint in his bloodshot eyes.

He was actually enjoying this. The ordeal he had undergone was terrible, but in the telling it acquired a glamour he had not perceived at the time. His audience of two was hanging on his every word. “Is there any more of that wine?” he inquired.

Cadogan looked at Esoros, who shook his head.

“Beer, then,” said Vintrex. “But be sure it's from the first brewing, when there's still strength to it. I am not a child to drink weak beer.”

He kept them waiting while he consumed two large tankards of barley beer, then resumed his narrative. “The rolling and pitching of the Saxon boat made me violently ill. I vomited so copiously their captain feared I might die without taking him to my gold, so he promised to release me. It had the desired effect; I began to rally. I assumed he would take me east as I had requested, and braced myself for an unendurably long journey on rough seas.

“The journey seemed long and certainly beyond enduring, but when we made landfall I discovered we were in the territory of the Iceni! I tried to explain to the leader of the warriors that my gold was in Gaul, not Britannia, but the man's Latin was too limited and my knowledge of Germanic dialects was nonexistent.”

Cadogan asked curiously, “Did you really have any gold in Gaul?”

“Of course not, that was only a ruse. I intended to escape as soon as we reached land and make my way to Rome.”

“You thought you could escape from a boatload of Saxons?”

“I always do what I set out to do,” Vintrex said coldly. “However in this case I did not get the chance. They were so angry to be thwarted of the gold they anticipated that they beat me half to death. After stealing everything I had—including my Tyrian purple magistrate's robe, which I would have worn for an audience with the emperor—they left me lying facedown on a muddy beach. When I finally came to myself, I crawled some distance inland and collapsed again. Several of the Iceni found me and took me to their village. When I was strong enough I returned to Durovernum on foot because I could not afford to hire any transportation.” He gestured toward his feet, which Cadogan had not noticed before. Instead of Roman sandals or soft leather boots, his father's feet were bound in strips of dirty, bloodstained cloth. “Blisters,” Vintrex said succinctly.

“I don't want to sound mercenary, Father, but what happened to that substantial amount of money you had on you?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps the Saxons found it while I lay insensate on the beach. Perhaps the Iceni took it while supposedly caring for me. At any odds, it is gone.”

“At least you had your chariot and driver waiting for you in Durovernum.”

The old man gave a harsh laugh. “You would think so, would you not? But they had disappeared, too—probably as soon as I was out of sight. No one in Durovernum admitted any knowledge of them. My own charioteer! And he had been with me for years.”