Get Out or Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

are what identify people, I thought. Look at me, in my workaday yellow linen tunic and sensible sandals, anyone would know I’m Roman; yet if I put on a shapeless hooded cloak and clumsy shoes like the local women, I could pass for native myself. Or could I? Is it more than clothes, maybe something about the way people move, how they carry themselves?
    Albia interrupted my musing. “It’s perfect weather. Just right for giving everyone a real thirst.”
    “How are things in the kitchen? Did you manage to liven up that cow’s meat stew?”
    “Yes, Cook added some extra herbs and it’s quite tasty now. I don’t think cow’s meat will ever be anyone’s idea of a delicacy, but the natives seem to like it. And there’s plenty of good fresh bread.”
    “Fine. That deer the tribunes brought in yesterday will go down nicely tonight.” We went on discussing the catering as we turned to go back inside.
    “Mistress Aurelia? Could I ask you something, please?” It was the lad in the tan tunic. He spoke good Latin with only a slight Brigantian accent.
    “Make it quick then. Your boss will be inside there, wanting his beer and his food.”
    “He’s not my boss. I just watered his oxen ’cos he forgot. Poor beasts get thirsty this weather. I bet them piggies in the sacks could do with a drink too, but if I let ’em out….”
    “No, don’t even think about it. What is it you want?”
    “I hear you’re short of a stable-lad.”
    So he was after a job. “Yes, I am a lad short.”
    He looked at me earnestly. “They said one of your horse-boys has run away.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Why?”
    “Cheeky young pup,” Albia remarked, and went on into the bar. Hiring and firing are my department.
    But it was a fair question. Presumably he was wondering whether the lad had run off because we beat him, or gave him mouldy bread for his rations.
    “To be honest,” I said, “I don’t know why. He seemed happy enough, but a few days ago he just disappeared without a word. It happens sometimes. Now I haven’t got all day to chat. You’re a horse-boy, are you?”
    “Aye.”
    “Well, horse-boys are common enough in these parts, lads that I know already. I’ve never seen you before. Why should I hire you?”
    He smiled. “Because I’m good.”
    I couldn’t help smiling back. “And modest, obviously. All right, convince me.”
    “I can handle horses. Mules, too, and oxen. I can drive, and mend tack, and I’ve done a bit of horse-doctoring. And I don’t mind hard work. You’ll wonder how you managed without me!”
    I looked at the youngster properly. He was small and compact, with bright red hair and light green eyes. He had a rather angular face, with a stubborn chin, and ears that stuck out. His tunic had once been a good one, but was faded now, and one sleeve had a tear in it.
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    “Gaius Varius Victor. But everyone calls me Titch.”
    “A Roman name! Are you a real Roman then, Gaius Varius Victor?”
    He smiled proudly. “I’m Roman, born in Britannia. In the camp at Eburacum.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Fourteen.”
    “ Fourteen? Don’t make me laugh!”
    “It’s true, honest. I’ve always been small. Like me mother was. She used to say size isn’t everything.”
    “Did she now? Who’s your father? What does he do?”
    The smile got even prouder. “My dad’s a veteran, a cavalry trooper. He was attached to the Ninth Hispana at Eburacum. He’s done his time and come out, and settled down just outside the town. My ma was there, and they got married when he came out, but she died in the spring. My dad was real cut up about it, and he’s talking about re-enlisting, in an auxiliary squadron this time, where there’s more chance of promotion. So he may be posted away, even abroad, and he says I have to go out and fend for meself till I’m old enough to join up. I’m going into the cavalry, too.”
    “Have you any proof of who you are?”
    He fished in his