The guard, obviously senior to his fellows, turned round and pushed his face close to Aquila’s, relishing his words as he spoke. ‘Oh yes, lad. Our dumb shepherd here, who has so cheated his master, is set to grow corn. He’ll not get much to eat, nor little water to drink neither, and in that heat, I don’t suppose he’ll last too long, which is all to the good, I say.’
‘One day, Aquila,’ said Gadoric quickly, still speaking in his own tongue, ‘you must ask your mama if you are truly her son.’
The club of one of the other guards hit him on the back with a strength that propelled him forward and Gadoric tried to spin round, his face full of hate, but the chains that attached him to his fellow prisoners stopped him.
The other guard had his club ready again. ‘Go on, you bastard. It’ll be a real pleasure to sort you out.’
‘No!’ shouted the leader, so close to Aquila he made the boy jump. ‘Dying means nought to him, but let him endure a slow death, toiling in the fields and see if he enjoys that.’
‘Sir,’ said Aquila softly but urgently, tugging at the overseer’s tunic. ‘Would money ease his journey?’
The eyes narrowed, and the man paused before replying. When he did speak his voice was full of doubt. ‘It might, lad, but where’s the likes of you goin’ to get any money?’
Aquila pulled out the soft leather purse and pressed it into the overseer’s hand. As his eye caught a hint of what the boy was doing, the man spun round and loudly ordered the column to proceed, an action that cut Aquila off from everyone else. Yet one of his hands stayed still, ending up behind his back and it was that which took the offering. Looking down Aquila saw the hand squeeze the purse a couple of times. He then made half a turn back towards the boy, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Why, this will do your shepherd no end of good, lad. At least it’ll make sure he survives to reach Sicily.’ The voice lost the tone of kindness, becoming harsh again. ‘After that, it’s out of my hands, and from what I’ve heard, men like him don’t last long in that part of the world.’
He stood over Fulmina’s bed, looking into the peaceful face, his hand rubbing the amulet on his upper arm. It was as though the gods had combined to empty his life of everything he valued, for he knew he would never see Gadoric or Sosia again, just as his mama would never hold him in her arms. He was not given to tears, but Aquila cried now, the sobs rising in volume until he wailed in his grief, not able to tell which loss was the greater. Eventually the wailing ceased; it had to, since no human being could sustain such a sound and he knelt by the bed, his eyes tight shut, full of images that made him want to die.
That was how Dabo found him, hunched over, his hand still holding Fulmina’s. The farmer, arms full of food, looked at the dead body without emotion, wondering how this would affect his bargain. He had known when he struck his deal that Clodius would be away more than one season, but he had never thought service would extend this long. Not that he himself had failed to prosper by it. What worried him most was the thought of Clodius coming home, on leave, and forcing Dabo to do his own duty, thus jeopardising his chances of increasing his wealth still further.
It would not take this boy’s papa long to find out that during all the time Clodius had been serving in his name, Dabo managed to avoid paying any tax. What a potent threat that would be if it came to a dispute between them. He put his hand gently on Aquila’s shoulder, tenderness brought on by necessity, rather than any finer feeling. Dabo had to create an impression in which Clodius, should he return, would think well of him.
‘Come boy. Death takes us all. We’ll see her a decent pyre and send her off properly.’
Aquila, red-eyed, looked up at Dabo. Fulmina had disliked him, so did he, blaming Dabo for his papa’s absence. Then he remembered. Clodius was not his father, any more than the dead Fulmina had been his mother. He spun round, pushed past Dabo, and rushed out of the hut, heading for the river, the woods and that lean-to where he had had so much pleasure. He was also heading for the only thing in his life that seemed certain. Everything had been taken from him, everything except one thing, the dog, Minca.
‘What if he takes off to join his father?’ said Dabo. He knew his fat wife was not really listening, more intent on consuming the bowl of grapes on the table than listening to her husband’s catalogue of woes, but really Dabo was just thinking aloud. If his wife had ventured an opinion, he would have probably told her to shut up. ‘You might say that Clodius hasn’t happened to come home yet, and that’s true. But if the boy turns up he’ll know our bargain’s dead. What then?’
He paced the main room of his house, kicking up clouds of pale dust that had accumulated on the floor from the newly plastered walls. With open arms he spun round to indicate the under-furnished room. ‘And just when I’ve built this place!’
‘This place’ had yet to be given a proper roof. The man who had been given the job of making the tiles had under-priced his products to get the work, now he was demanding more money to complete the bargain. Dabo knew he would have to pay in the end, but he would fight as long as he could, only giving in at the approach of winter for nothing marked the level of his success more than this building. Really it was only one side of a proper villa, but he had plans already drawn to extend it round so that it formed one of those fashionable courtyards, like the one at the Barbinus ranch, just up the road.
‘Is that all you can do. Sit there and stuff yourself?’ he snapped, allowing his frustration to get the better of him. His wife ignored him and took elaborate care in the choice of her next grape. ‘We’ll have to take him in with us. Keep him here.’
‘And feed him,’ croaked his wife, finally speaking. Her voice seemed to hint that any food vouchsafed the boy would diminish that left for her.
‘I’ve got to go get him anyway, so he can light Fulmina’s funeral pyre.’
‘Pyre!’ His wife put down the grapes in her hand. ‘All you are planning to do is fire her hut, with the body still inside. I don’t call that a pyre.’
‘I suppose you’d have me build her a proper one,’ he growled. ‘Ten foot high and half a forest to rest on. A pretty penny that would cost.’ Dabo jabbed his finger in her direction, leaning over the table to emphasise his words. ‘Logs don’t grow on trees you know!’ He was out of the door before he realised what he had said, the sound of his wife’s laughter echoing behind him in the barely furnished house made him even angrier.
Aquila was not at the shepherd’s hut and the place looked as if it had been put to rights and found a new occupant. Given the sheep were out of their pens, Dabo surmised that Barbinus’s overseer had got himself a new shepherd so he made his way to the woods knowing that the boy had always played there.
‘Lazy little swine,’ he murmured to himself, stumbling through the undergrowth. ‘Never done a day’s work in his life. I’ll take him in all right and I’ll have him out in the fields just as quick. He’ll earn his keep in my house.’
He tried to put as much good feeling into his voice as he could when he called out the boy’s name, even smiling as he did so, just in case he was being secretly observed. Dabo might be a mean-fisted sod, well past his true prime, but he had been a soldier, and he was a countryman to his fingertips. The hairs on the back of his neck, and the tingling sensation of his skin, told him someone was close, probably Aquila, so he spoke loudly, his voice echoing in the seemingly empty forest.
‘Come on, lad. I know you’re upset, bound to be. I’d leave you be if I could but what am I to do? I’m too pious a fellow to start your mother’s funeral without you. It’s your duty to see her off. She’d only suffer in Hades if you don’t.’
The spear was twenty feet away from him, but he saw the flash of its silver head out of the corner of his eye, and the thud as it hit the trunk of the oak tree made him jump. He used the quivering shaft to aim his look. No sign of Aquila, but that huge dog had come into view, and had him fixed with a frightening stare.
‘She’s not truly my mother, is she?’
Dabo spun round, biting back the curse; how had this boy got round behind him, in such a short space of time, without making a sound? Aquila stood, arms by his side. There was no threat in his pose, yet he had managed to inform this adult that he could have killed him with ease.
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ replied Dabo calmly, aware that the dog was behind him now and the nerves in his back told him it had come a lot closer. ‘But she raised you as a son, adopted you, even if it weren’t sworn. You have to see her off, lad. I know you was fond of her.’
The boy’s shoulders suddenly slumped and his head dropped so Dabo walked across to him, realising for the first time, with a slight shock, that Aquila was now a fraction taller than him. He was just about to put his arm round the youngster’s shoulder, in a paternal gesture, when he heard the dog growl. It was very close by the sound
