The Sign of the Eagle Read online

  “I promise I won’t do anything rash.” She knew she was lying. The Senator sounded just like her husband.

  “See that you don’t,” Bassus said.

  “In the meantime, once you place your son with Helena, I’ll see that roving cavalry patrols are assigned to the area around their home,” Bassus said.

  “I'm afraid someone will be suspicious about keeping Demetrios at Helena’s home and not mine.”

  “It’s doubtful anyone will pay attention to the moving of a slave child.”

  “Unless someone knows he witnessed his father’s murder. I can’t take the chance of leaving him at my house while I’m in Rome.”

  “Do what you think is necessary, but be ready to leave at dawn on the day after tomorrow,” Bassus ordered.

  * * * * *

  The following day, about noon, Macha was returning to her villa in a canopied wagon from Helena’s home. Earlier, that morning, she had taken Young Titus and little Demetrios there.

  As she sat in the rear cushioned seat, Macha reflected on the tearful departure. How can I leave my son, she thought, even Demetrios, for who knows how long? She wiped her tear-stained face with a lavender-scented cloth as she slumped on her seat barely holding the padded iron arm rest, hardly noticing the choking dust swirling up from the bumpy road.

  Macha wiped her face again as she remembered telling the boys, late yesterday, that she was going on a long journey to Rome and they would be staying with Aunt Helena and Uncle Cnidius. Young Titus wept as the clung and begged her to stay. Even Demetrios, who stood nearby began to cry, seemingly terrified she was about to depart. She nearly gave in, the thought of leaving the children in possible danger was unbearable.

  Macha had steeled herself and calmly explained that Papa was in trouble and she had to travel to Rome to help him. Young Titus wanted to help, but Macha said only she and Senator Bassus could go. He and Demetrios would be well cared for by his aunt and uncle. For the moment, Macha’s reassurances seemed to ease their concerns. But the weeping started again once she had dropped them off at Helena’s home and was about to depart.

  In agony, Macha didn’t want to leave but couldn’t let the children see her own suffering. Promising that she would return with Papa as soon as possible, she left them standing at the front door with Helena, and held back the tears until she was on the road heading home. She knew a number of Roman matrons who took extensive journeys and left their little ones at home in the care of nurse maids. She never thought that was the right thing to do. Children belonged with their mothers. Macha had prayed to Mother Goddess Anu she made the right decision and would never have to go through such an ordeal with Young Titus again.

  Helena and Cnidius Rufus had reassured her that the children would be safe and extra security precautions would be taken at their home. Her sister-and brother-in-law knew about the deaths of Metrobius and Nicanor, but Macha informed the two about what Demetrios had witnessed and swore them to secrecy.

  As Macha’s carriage jolted along the dusty driveway leading to her villa, she glanced out the open side and spotted a cloud of dust churning in front of her home. As the wagon drew closer, she saw what appeared to be a Turma of thirty armed cavalryman lingering by the entry to the main courtyard, along with Senator Bassus’ dozen scarlet- cloaked mounted Praetorian Guardsmen. She noticed nearly as many spare horses and six pack mules herded by a number of grooms. What are they doing here? They look as if they are going on campaign!

  At the head of the chained mail spatha-wielding troopers was the arrogant Pomponius Appius. Lately, her thoughts had been so much on Nicanor, his murder, and possible part in the plot, she had forgotten about Appius. She could not help but think he was involved. And now, he was to ride with them. Why?

  Macha ordered her driver to pull up beside the tribune. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Tribune Appius?” Macha demanded. “Why are you here?”

  “Ask the Senator yourself,” the craggy face Roman snarled. “He’s inside.”

  Macha hurried into the Atrium where she found Bassus, in full uniform, handing a wax tablet to a slave. He turned, and upon seeing her, exhaled as if in relief.

  “What is wrong, Senator Bassus? Why the soldiers?”

  “Thank Jove you’ve returned,” Bassus answered. “I was about to leave without you after finishing this note.” He nodded to the wax tablet. “Titus left with an armed escort for Genua last night.”

  She jolted. “Last night? Why didn’t you send me word immediately?”

  “I only learned about it at mid-morning. I sent messengers here and to your sister-in-law. Obviously, they missed you. Valens took it upon himself, without informing me, to send your husband earlier than planned.”

  “How could he?”

  “It’s called abuse of authority, and I relieved him of his command. Had I more time, I would have court-martialed him. Now, that will have to wait until after I am finished in Rome.”

  “Do you think General Valens will just sit back and not interfere any further?”

  “For his sake, he better not. I have my suspicions about his part in this matter, but not enough proof to place him under arrest. Have you finished packing?” Bassus glanced in the direction of the hallway that lead to Macha’s bed cubicle.

  “Almost.”

  “You have fifteen minutes to gather up your things. Take only what is absolutely necessary for the journey. You’ll be traveling by horse, not carriage. We have no time to waste if we are going to reach Titus before he sails from Genua.”

  Chapter 11

  A Little Horse Sense is Required

  Prior to leaving, Macha changed from her cumbersome stola and gown to a tartan tunic and padded breeches. Running half-way up her calves and tied in front with leather thongs, a pair of cow-hide booted sandals over light woolen socks protected her feet.

  Edain trekked behind Macha along the mosaic tiled hallway to the outer yard. The slave carried Macha’s leather satchel stuffed with changes of clothing, including three dresses, small silver boxes containing red ocher and silver antimony for her face and eyes. Titus kept an army issue bag handy for use on short trips. Once in Rome Macha could purchase additional clothing and borrow from the wardrobe kept for guests staying at Senator Bassus’ home.

  As she quickly packed, Macha found herself already missing the children. She was also uncomfortable about Bassus’ interrogation of the slaves two days before. Despite their denials, she didn’t believe they all told the truth. Although Metrobius was taken into custody, she had no doubt his death by food poisoning was murder. Did he know who murdered Nicanor and more importantly, why? Someone within the garrison must have known why Metrobius was arrested and arranged for his so-called food poisoning. The question was, who? She hated leaving with that question unanswered.

  Because Edain and Nicanor had been lovers, Macha ruled out the young woman’s involvement. She suspected nearly everyone else in the household. Edain couldn’t read, but knew the parchment Nicanor had stolen might be important and had intended to give it to Macha. Or did he?

  Macha motioned for Edain to stop. She scanned both directions of the hallway—empty.

  “Edain,” Macha said in a low voice, “I can trust no one in the household but you. I need your help.”

  The slave froze, her pursed mouth slightly parted as she cleared her throat. “Anything, Mistress—I’m honored.”

  “As long as I’m away, you’re to keep your eyes open for any suspicious activity around the household. The same holds if you see strangers on or near our lands.”

  “Yes, Mistress. What shall I do if I see anything?”

  “Seek out Lady Helena—you can trust her. She’ll send word to me in Rome.”

  “May I say something, Mistress?”

  Something about Edain’s tone alerted Macha. “Of course.”

  “Forgive me, if you think I’m wrong, but Jason hated Metrobius and Nicanor.” Edain bowed her head, the close-set eyes looking blankly at the ground. “I d
on’t think he cares that both of them are dead.”

  Speechless, Macha stared at Edain. Did Jason play any part in either Nicanor’s murder or that of Metrobius’ death at the stockade? He was only a horse groom and stable slave. Edain had informed her earlier that Jason’s only ambition was to be a freedman and a horse trainer. Under the circumstances she thought it strange Metrobius had been arrested and not Jason. Was he that good of a liar? Perhaps, he was.

  “Are you saying Jason was involved with Nicanor’s and Metrobius’ deaths?”

  Edain pulled the long flaxen hair away from her face. “Oh, no, Mistress, I have no proof but more than once I heard him say Nicanor was your favorite and Metrobius was the best of stewards.”

  “I treat everyone fairly.”

  “Of course, Mistress, but Jason has never liked them. Metrobius was always chasing him away from the house.”

  “As I have ordered him to do. What was he doing here this time?”

  “He was looking for me.”

  Macha groaned. “Again, when I had forbidden him to see you?”

  “He found me after Metrobius was arrested. He wants me for his woman. Now, that Nicanor and Metrobius are dead, he will be even more aggressive.”

  “That will stop. If I had more time, I would personally lock up Jason, but I don’t. I will give instructions to Zeno, the new steward, to confine him to the isolation cellar for the next three days. There he will live only on bread crusts and water.”

  It was Macha’s right to beat or kill her slaves, but she abhorred those practices as much as she did torture. She found punishing slaves by isolation, confining them to the deep and cold chamber below the slave quarters just as effective. They were stripped of all clothing and forced to sit and sleep on the dirt floor in total darkness. When released, they would stagger outside shivering, hungry and thirsty, and blinded by the light, falling to the ground begging forgiveness. Fortunately, Macha seldom had to resort to this form of discipline.

  Edain shook her head. “Oh, please, Mistress, I’m afraid Jason will only make things worse when he is released and you are gone.”

  “No, Edain, he won’t bother you, I promise.”

  “But, Mistress?”

  “Edain,” Macha said in a low but firm voice, “that is enough.”

  “Yes, Mistress, forgive me.”

  She nodded. “I will give orders to Zeno with instructions also to Juba, that once Jason is released, if he comes near the house again, he will be sold.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble, Mistress. Was I right in telling you about Jason?”

  Her slender fingers touched Edain’s rough hand and withdrew them. “You did no wrong, Edain. Unfortunately, I have to leave, but I will remember what you said to me. Don’t forget to see Mistress Helena if you see anything suspicious.”

  Macha found Edain’s accusations about Jason more upsetting than she realized. A stable slave involved in the killing of two of her most indispensable servants sounded too absurd to believe. Edain sounded like a grieving lover ready to accuse anyone of her loved one’s murder. Petty jealousies were all too common among slaves. Yet, she could not afford to brush off this possibility without someone at least keeping a watch for her.

  She stopped and called to a passing slave to find, Zeno, and send him to her at once. Because of Metrobius' death, he was now her permanent house steward.

  Within a minute, Zeno of Corinth arrived. Macha took the wax tablet and stylus he was carrying and quickly wrote a note to Helena. She explained Edain’s suspicions and asked her to keep in contact with her hand maiden and a watch on her household. After Macha finished, she instructed Zeno to immediately confine Jason and deliver the message himself to Helena. At this point she entered the courtyard.

  * * * * *

  Macha caused a stir among the troopers when she appeared in the yard, trailed by Edain. Casually standing by their horses, the soldiers muttered among themselves, making no effort to hide their contempt.

  “A woman wearing breeches is barbaric. It’s not befitting a lady,” Pomponius Appius remarked. He and Bassus stepped from the shaded entrance leading to the stables.

  Bassus said nothing and knowingly grinned.

  She expected this reaction by the troopers, especially to her heritage. Most Roman men preferred women to be helpless and submissive. No doubt they looked forward to seeing her bitten or tossed from her horse as she climbed into the saddle.

  “You consider me a barbarian anyway, Tribune Pomponius Appius,” Macha said. “What difference does my clothing make? Your troops wear trousers—are they barbarian?”

  Macha had learned from her husband that each legion was assigned three hundred soldiers to its cavalry detachment who served as scouts and couriers. Unlike the Alae, foreign cavalry cohorts recruited from the provinces, these were Roman citizens.

  She sniffed. Her people, the Celts, were better horse riders than the Romans.

  The men glared at Macha and grumbled in low voices. Contrasting with the dull blue woolen breeches and red tunics worn by the horse soldiers, Macha was arrayed in a riot of vivid blue, green, and yellow plaids. Her scarlet hair added to the collage of colors.

  “That’s enough!” Bassus barked to the troopers. “You shall give Lady Macha Carataca the respect entitled to the wife of a Roman Officer.” Instant silence fell over the turma and Bassus’ Praetorian Escort.

  Dust churned on a mild breeze, and the earthy smell of horse sweat and leather permeated Macha’s delicate nostrils. For a few seconds she studied the horses ridden by the troopers. They were African and Spanish Barbs. The little horses, barely fifteen hands tall, traveled sixty to seventy miles a day on poor forage. Macha thanked the gods they were traveling in Italy. At least the detachment would stop at way stations to water and feed on decent fodder. Of course, the way stations would not have enough food and replacement mounts for an attachment this large. It was necessary to bring along the extra feed and horses to change off periodically so they wouldn’t wear down.

  “Did you bring a horse for me?” Macha asked Bassus. Her Arabs possessed the speed, but not the stamina of the Barbs.

  “Over here,” Pomponius Appius said. He nodded in the direction of the spare horses. “I found one especially for you, my lady.”

  His sarcastic tone alerted Macha. She glanced to Edain whose hand flew to her mouth.

  Upon Appius’ signal a trooper led a bright chestnut mare forward. A white blaze ran down the middle of her nose. For a cavalry mount, the confirmation of her body was better than average. The shoulders, limbs, and hind quarters were well-proportioned. Like most army horses, she didn’t wear shoes. Fortunately, the hooves were well-trimmed and not split. The animal stood a good chance of surviving the trip to Genua without turning lame.

  As Macha approached the mount, the mare flattened her ears, swung her head and lunged forward attempting to nip Macha. Instinctively, Macha stepped back to one side, barely avoiding the animal’s big teeth. Turning to the horse she shouted, “Quit!” and smacked the animal across the soft muzzle of the nose with the palm of her hand.

  Wide-eyed, the mare jolted backward, churning dust and clattering the metal pendants hanging from her leather breast collar. The trooper grabbed the reins behind the animal’s mouth and after a brief struggle managed to settle her down.

  The men hooted and bantered among themselves. “Feisty wench for a lady, isn’t she?” one soldier said.

  “No fear of horses in her,” Macha heard another say. “Nor men either, I’ll wager—must be Epona’s sister.” Macha smiled to herself. Being identified with the horse goddess, Epona, even in a jocular manner, was an honor.

  Moving closer to the mount, Macha stared into its liquid brown eyes. “You need to learn manners, mare,” she said evenly. She knew how to deal with cantankerous horses, and in her experience, mares were far worse than geldings.

  “Is this your idea of a joke, Tribune Appius?” Bassus growled.

  Appius took off his iron helme
t and wiped the perspiration from his weather-beaten face. “No sir, I had no idea she was a biter. Maybe she’s in heat—the horse I mean,” he quickly added. He placed his helmet back on his head and glanced away from Bassus, his face crimson.

  Bassus flicked his eyes to the spares and back to Appius, giving him a withering look. “Get her another mount.”

  “No, Senator, I’ll keep her,” Macha insisted. “So long as we’re on the road, I’ll make it my purpose to teach this beast to behave.”

  Macha faced the square-jawed soldier restraining the mount. “What’s this mare’s name, trooper?”

  “Artemis, my lady,” he replied.

  She nodded. “Give me the reins.” The animal certainly hadn’t acted like the Greek goddess of motherhood and children. Macha snatched the leather reins from the soldier. Holding them tightly in one hand, she drew closer to Artemis and quietly stroked the coarse hair on her bony nose. The mare made no move to flee.

  “Artemis, you and I shall become good friends, won’t we—whether you like it or not.”

  A few seconds later Macha stepped away and confronted Appius. “As for you, Tribune, make no mistake about me, I’m an accomplished rider—and no, I’m not in heat either.” She glared at the cavalrymen and then laughed, breaking the tension as they joined in.

  Holding the reins Macha, grabbed the front pommels of the saddle, and pulled herself onto the mare. Her long legs dangled freely down each side of the horse. Edain handed Macha the goatskin pack and said a tearful good-bye.

  Macha turned to Bassus, now mounted on his dark bay gelding. “I’m ready to ride, Senator.”

  Chapter 12

  The Road to Genua

  Escorted by Tribune Pomponius Appius, a turma of thirty cavalrymen and a dozen Praetorian Guardsmen, Macha and Senator Bassus departed the villa in a clatter of hooves, squeaking leather, and jangling pendants. Heading south, they streamed down the country road to the Via Amelia, churning up a cloud of hot choking dust.

  “Why do we need such a heavy escort for the trip to Genua, Senator?” Macha asked. “I know you usually don’t like large numbers.”