Get Out or Die Read Free Page B

unconscious again.
    “Gods!” I said. “That’s weird.”
    Albia giggled. “If this was a Greek love story, I’d say the sight of you has just driven him mad with love.”
    “Be careful,” I warned. “It could end up as a Greek tragedy, where the long-suffering heroine beats her sister within an inch of her life for talking rubbish.”
    One of the maids hurried in just then, to say there was a messenger in the bar-room, and could I please come through.
    “I’m busy,” I said. “Can’t you deal with him? Check his travel pass, get him whatever meal he’s entitled to, make a note in the day book….Holy Diana, we only have about fifty couriers a day through here, you should know the drill by now.”
    “Yes, but he says he’s got a letter for you, Mistress. From the Master, could it be?”
    “Ah, that’s different. I’ll come.”
    Albia said, “We’d better not leave this poor man alone here, Relia. I’ll send one of the slaves to sit with him. Baca can do it, she can bring her sewing basket. I’ll tell her to fetch one of us if he wakes up.”
    “Good idea.” Baca, aged eight, was a bit young for bar work, but a useful hand with a needle. I headed for the bar-room.
    The messenger was a regular, a big tattooed German trooper who quite often changed horses at the Oak Tree on his way through with dispatches to or from the legionary base at Eburacum. He was carrying his usual bulky satchel, and in his hand was a slim papyrus scroll, tied with a cord and sealed with wax. He handed it to me with a mock salute. “I picked it up at Eburacum,” he told me, “but they said it was from down south somewhere.” He sat down to tuck into a breakfast of beer, bread, and sausage.
    Sure enough, it was from my brother, written in his usual untidy scrawl, and dated the middle of July.
    “Lucius Aurelius Marcellus to Aurelia Marcella, greetings.
    I’m still in the far west at Isca, Sis, spending my hard-earned pay on women and wine. But I hope to be home in time for our birthday, so make sure there’s plenty of good Gaulish red in stock. Meanwhile, one of our cousins is on his way to you. He and his friend have business in Brigantia for Uncle Titus, so I told him to look you up, and I know you’ll make them welcome. Do ask him for the story about Aunt Julia wanting an elephant for her birthday. It’s quite a laugh.
    My love to you and Albia. Be good, or is that too much to hope? Write to me when you can, and send it to Eburacum as usual. They know where to find me.
    Keep well, and take care. There’s trouble brewing in Brigantia.”
    “Good news?” The trooper had been unashamedly watching me while he ate. “Don’t tell me—it’s from the Emperor, asking you to dine at the palace in a golden gown.”
    “No, that came yesterday. This one’s from my brother, and it’s very good news. He expects to be home for our birthday.”
    “You have the same birthday? That’s unusual.”
    “Not really. We’re twins.”
    He put on an air of astonishment. “And there was I thinking you were Lucius’ kid sister! Can I come to the party? When’s the great day?”
    “The Kalends of September. Or should I say, the Kalends of Germanicus? Now that our dear Emperor has started messing about with the names of the months, it’s hard to keep up.”
    He laughed. “Yes, our pay clerks keep grousing about that. Just say the first day of next month, that’ll do me. And if your party’s good enough, none of us will be in a state to care what day it is!” He finished his beer. “Well, duty calls and I must head for the coast. See you next trip.”
    “Right. By the way, take care on the road. A man was attacked near here last night.”
    “Another one?” He stopped in mid-stride. “I heard there was a traveller murdered on the Eburacum road last night, the other side of Oak Bridges somewhere. Nasty business, apparently.”
    “Murdered? What happened?”
    “Poor feller had his head cut off.”
    I felt my breath catch.