Ruso turned to Caratius. “He told me both your grandfathers were craftsmen, sir-they were metalworkers, weren’t they?”
Caratius nodded. “What of it?”
“His meat market is on the site of your grandfather’s workshop, and everyone knew about the buried silver. I think he found it after your own men’s digging disrupted the drainage.”
“Nonsense!” put in Gallonius. “I’ve never seen any silver.”
“You showed some of it to Satto and said it was your savings.” The Medicus turned to Caratius, talking faster and faster, trying to get his story out before he was stopped. “That’s how he knew the old money could be identified, so he started melting it down and making his own, but the forgeries weren’t good enough, so he forced Nico to switch them with the theater fund money-”
“Enough!” roared the Iceni leader, giving the Medicus a poke with the spear that sent him staggering backward.
Dias’s voice was calm as he said, “Your sister was killed by a madwoman. I saw what happened. It was an accident.” He pointed at Tilla. “The Brigante woman is not to be trusted. She’s married to that rambling foreigner and he’s one of the procurator’s men.”
The leader turned to Gallonius. “You! We are not interested in coins and silver. Explain why my sister is dead.”
“It was an accident,” repeated Gallonius.
The Medicus said, “No wonder he wanted all this covered up. He’s been systematically robbing his people and getting the captain of the guard and the stable overseer to do his dirty work. The baby’s father found out what was going on and they killed him. Yesterday they silenced Camma too.”
Now that Valens had stowed his family safely in the carriage, Tilla could see him hurrying toward them across the grass. The mother of the six year old had crept back to keep vigil beside her pyre.
Gallonius began to speak in rapid British, explaining to the Iceni that the procurator’s man had been interfering in local business, jumping to all sorts of conclusions, and demanding money. “You know how men from Rome like to throw their weight about,” he said. “Take no notice of him.”
“We will speak in Latin,” the leader commanded. “Did you order my sister killed?”
“Of course not!”
Dias said, “It was an accident. The old woman pushed her and she fell and hit her head.”
Tilla shouted, “You killed her!”
“I tried to save her,” said Dias.
The Medicus said, “You were the only one who saw what happened. You and an old woman whose mind is gone.”
The Iceni were looking toward their leader, waiting for him to make a decision. It was plain that he did not know whom to believe. That was when Grata saw her chance. “That guard is a liar,” she said, pointing at Dias. “He made me give a false message to lure two men to their deaths. Do not believe him.”
Dias’s handsome face was twisted with anger. “She’s a jealous bitch. Take no notice of her.”
Why was Serena standing in the doorway of the carriage, waving and pointing toward the road south? Why was Valens hurrying back toward her?
Tilla stood on tiptoe to crane past the riders and around the slaves’ hut, but she heard them before she saw them. Everyone did. The rumble of horses at full gallop. Before anyone could move, streams of cavalrymen in glittering armor swept through the cemetery and surrounded the graves, the hut, the mourners, the pyres, and the startled Iceni.
72
Dias’s guards lowered their weapons. The Iceni had bunched together around the unlit pyre, spears raised. Ruso was appalled to see Tilla among them, clutching the baby.
“Nobody move!” yelled the decurion in charge of the cavalry, surveying the scene and evidently trying to make some sense of the disparate groups of natives. His men circled their horses, their own spears ready to impale anyone foolish enough to argue.
“Who’s in charge here?”
A bass voice sounded from somewhere among the guards. “I am, sir. Verulamium’s guards are at your service.” Gallonius stepped out into the clearing and gestured toward the Iceni. “These people came to disrupt a peaceful funeral. They should be arrested for carrying illegal weapons.”
“And who are you?” demanded a familiar voice. Ruso looked up to see a shortsighted squint almost hidden beneath the peak of the cavalry helmet.
“Sir, that’s young Firmus! Firmus, sir!” Albanus waved one hand high in the air before the nearest cavalryman made a jab with his spear to remind him not to move. “We’re over here, sir!”
The squint was turned toward Albanus. “Let them approach.”
Glancing at Tilla, Ruso made his way across to where a very cheerful-looking Firmus was stationed next to the decurion. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this,” he whispered to Ruso. “We heard there was an Iceni war band on the move. And since you hadn’t come back when you were supposed to, I persuaded Uncle to let me come and look for you. Why are we at a funeral?”
“You by the pyre!” bellowed the decurion to the Iceni. “Drop your weapons.”
One of his men repeated the order in British just in case they had not understood.
The Iceni glanced at their leader, who remained motionless.
The decurion repeated the order. Still the Iceni refused to move. They were vastly outnumbered and had only their padded jerkins for protection. Tilla, crouched by the pyre trying to cover the baby, had no protection at all.
“Sir,” murmured Ruso, “their sister’s been murdered. They came to her funeral looking for justice.”
Firmus craned to see the pyre between the Iceni riders. “I can make out red-that’s not Camma, is it?”
“Drop your weapons!” repeated the decurion.
Across the clearing, Ruso could see Dias gesturing to his men to take up position behind the unsuspecting Iceni. Gallonius was sidling away, keeping himself out of range.
“Stop!” Caratius was still standing by his dead wife. “Stop, everyone! This is not what any of us wanted!”
“Drop your weapons and you won’t be hurt.”
Ruso noticed that one or two of the cavalrymen seemed to be having trouble carrying their shields in the same hand as their reins. He spotted another familiar face beneath a cavalry helmet. Then another. Gods above: That was the clerk who had issued his travel warrant. This was not a proper cavalry unit. This was a handful of professionals bulked out by a hastily assembled crew of office workers dragged into active service. They might once have been highly trained military men but they were out of practice and out of condition. The Iceni, on the other hand, looked as though they would put up a good fight. They would inflict a lot of damage before they were overpowered by cavalry on one side and Dias’s men on the other. Tilla, caught in the middle, would not stand a chance.
“Sir,” he murmured to Firmus, “the leader of the local guards can’t be trusted. Let me talk to the Iceni.”
Was that relief on the decurion’s face? He must have known even better than Ruso that his men were not fit to fight.
Ruso raised his empty hands into the air and stepped forward across the grass to address the leader of the Iceni, deliberately keeping his voice low so he would not be overheard.
“He is a friend,” Tilla assured them from her position on the ground. “Listen to him.”
The Iceni put on a good show of being reluctant to abandon a skirmish, but finally they agreed to put down their weapons in exchange for a place at the funeral and a cavalry escort back through Catuvellauni territory in the morning.
There was disappointment in Dias’s voice as he ordered his men to stand down. Gallonius, suddenly brave again now that trouble had been averted, repeated that the Iceni should be arrested for carrying illegal
