Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua (19 page)

Later when Marcus reported to Ulpius on his patrol of the picket lines he was walking in a less drunken manner. “Well?”

“I think I have missed my calling I should have been in the theatron as an actor.”

“You said the words I told you?”

“Word for word.”

“Did anyone leave just after you, or follow you?”

“No we waited but no one emerged.  The wine was too good.”

“Were there any strangers in there?”

“No.  There were a few fellows we did not recognise but all wore soldier’s garments.”

“Well hopefully one of the many spies will have been in there. You have done well.”

“Well enough for you to tell me where we are going?”

Ulpius smiled. “The Queen tells me that at Yuletide they give a surprise to friends and family. This will be my surprise present to you,” he paused, “I will tell you and the men when we are on the road.”

Cresens had delivered his information to Fainch who had looked more than a little pleased.  His next task was to work out how to poison the Queen and Ulpius. He had decided that the festival of Yule would be the best opportunity for that was when they would eat and drink to excess. His problem was he did not yet know what they would be eating. He knew what Roman tastes were but not Brigante. As he sat in his quarters chewing on the last of the figs stolen from the Governor’s supplies he had an inspirational idea he would ask his slaves. He shouted for Annowre, the woman who cleaned for him and serviced him when he could get nothing better.

“Tell me of this Yule festival.  What do you savages eat?”

“Any of the chickens or geese which will not live through the winter.”

“What special foods?”

“There is a pudding made of the last of the summer fruits, the old meat which we can no longer eat, some spices, when we can get them, and they are soaked in the wine made from the elder tree.”

“And does everyone eat?”

“It is considered a dishonour not to eat,” the Briton was shocked at the lack of etiquette from the Roman. Everyone knew that to eat the pudding brought good fortune for the following year.  Why would people not wish to have good fortune?

He dismissed her with a wave. Here was his chance the alcohol and the spices would mask the taste.  It was one dish they would all eat. He cared not if Lenta and Macha also died.  He just wanted Ulpius to die and he was being paid to kill Cartimandua. He would have to try to keep the tribune away from the food but if he died then he died. Cresens would not risk all to save an alliance that so far had brought him little.

He strode over to the kitchen are with the newly arrived spices from Rome. The cook was pleased to see him, as he knew he would be. Cresens for his part was fulsome in his praise for the cook.

“Thank you Gaius. If it were not for these magic ingredients I would struggle to make the swill they call food here edible.”

“Just so Julius, just so. And what are we making here?”

“This is the pudding the Brigante like to eat.  The queen has asked me to make a special one for her and she has given me this.” He held up a bottle of the spirit distilled from the elder wine, a rare libation reserved for special occasions.  “Here,” he looked around guiltily, “try some.”

Cresens felt his throat burn with a warm sensation.  The taste continued after he had swallowed. “A rare drink indeed. Will you put it all in there?”

The cook leered at the quartermaster. “I feel sure I will have a little left for use to share.”

“Is the pudding finished then?”

“Almost. I have tasted it and it is now ready for the liquid.”

“You do not taste after the wine has been added?”

“There is no point it would only taste of the drink.” There was an almighty crash behind him and the cook turned to beat the slave who had dropped the dishes. Cresens took his opportunity. He poured the phial of poison over the pudding. By the time the cook had turned around the liquid had soaked into the other ingredients.

As he left Cresens almost did a dance of joy; the queen and Ulpius would die in the next three days and when next boats arrived in the spring he would return to Rome a very rich man. He needed now to ingratiate himself with the tribune and governor to make his return to Rome even easier.

Ulpius and his lover were oblivious to their impending danger; as was their normal practice they lay in each other’s arms forgetful of their responsibilities of people and troopers and only mindful of each other. They indulged in the trivialities which had been absent from their lives for so long. They talked of names for the child, their plans for his future and how they would live together. Both were aware of the impracticalities but the queen was certain they could be overcome.

“If needs be I will buy you out of Rome’s service but I am sure, as with Flavius Gerantium, the Emperor will allow to serve me.” She gave a flirtatious giggle. “Not necessarily as he did but serve me you shall.”

He raised himself on one elbow. “What of Marcus and your sister? Will they enjoy life as we have?”

“I am sure something will be arranged. What is the point of being a queen if you can’t make things happen? We might be a client ally of Rome but, until Rome has conquered all of these lands she will need all the allies she can get. I realised that long ago. I saw how Togadunum and Caractactus were destroyed, wafted aside by your legions.  If they could not stand, the most powerful tribe then we had no chance.  Boudicca proved that when she tried to take them on. Some people may resent what I have done but my people still prosper, my people still have their homes and customs and they still have their own ruler.”

“And still a beautiful ruler.”

She reached up and pulled him towards her.  “If that is your way of saying you are ready again well so am I.”

Chapter 11

Eboracum

Considering it was supposed to be the depths of winter, the feast of Yule arrived with a bright sunny day. To the Brigante it was a good day, although the Romans found it far too cold for their taste. The governor had decreed that only essential guards need be on duty whilst the rest could enjoy the feast, He was annoyed that the queen had declined his invitation to join him for the feast and rumour had it that she was to dine with some barbarian cavalrymen. His decision to send them off was a wise one. He picked at his olives and looked around at the senior officers gather around him. He yearned to be in Rome, to be surrounded by beauty and baths not this primitive, cold and unappealing hole. He wondered if he should have insisted that she attend but then thought better of it.  He could have his special pleasures with his special friends in private.

Gaius Cresens was pleased that the tribune was not invited but distraught that the governor was also not to be invited. Fainch would not be happy and Cresens knew that she had information from inside the fort other than his own. He determined to leave sooner rather than later.

That view was not shared by the two auxiliaries for Marcus and Ulpius were being waited on by the queen’s slaves and eating food far richer than they were used to. In deference to her Roman guests the queen had arranged for some Roman delicacies such as roast dormouse, the sauce liquamen and pickled eel. In truth they had never eaten such food but they devoured it in honour to the queen. The wine was honeyed and less watered down.  By the time they had finished the prima mensa they were almost full.

“Before we have, as you Romans would say, the secunda mensa, our Brigante pudding I have a gift.” She signalled to a slave who disappeared into her chambers. “It is the custom at this time of year to give gifts to those we regard as special.  As you, Ulpius Felix, have served us so well.” Lenta and Macha giggled until silenced by a stern look from their elder sister. “And as you are shortly to help me to recover my lands I would like you to have, until our son is born,” Ulpius noted that no-one seemed surprised at this news including Marcus, he would have to have words with his decurion,” my sword.  The sword of the Brigante, the sword of Cartimandua.” The servant presented the sword reverently to the queen who first kissed it and the presented it, hilt first to Ulpius who stood opened mouthed.

“I cannot take this my queen.  It is the sword of your people.”

“It is the sword of my family first and you are now part of our family. You will guard it better than I ready to give to our son and you will use it to help me regain my lands, the lands of my people.”

“I take it my queen and I swear that I will not dishonour this holy weapon and I will use it for you, your people and your land.” He grasped the hilt and slid the weapon from its scabbard.  In the candlelight it appeared to glow with a life of its own.  It was as though its maker had put part of his life in the weapon. Without even testing it he could see how sharp it was.  Marcus came over to admire it.

“While the men admire my sword we will do honour to our pudding.”

The slaves brought out the steaming, gleaming bejewelled dish. The slaves put portions on the platters. Macha and Lenta topped up the warrior’s drinks and so it was that the queen was the one to eat the poisoned dessert. “My love, hurry and eat yours for it is so delicious that I will devour this and finish yours.”

“I forgot that you are eating for two. Fear not I will match you mouthful for mouthful.” Sliding the sword back into its scabbard he sat and picked up his bowl.  He was just about to take his first mouthful when he was stopped by the sight of Cartimandua reaching up to her throat and retching. Macha and Lenta ran to their mistress whose face had taken on a most unhealthy blue colour. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she continued gagging and vomiting.

“I...” the queen looked at Ulpius and tried to say some last words but the rest of the sentence died along with the light in her eyes and the life in her body. Ulpius held her in his arms and looked plaintively at the two Brigante.  Death on a battlefield was something he was accustomed to but he could not even begin to fathom what had just happened.  He had had the most perfect night of his life and he was as happy as a warrior could be and then the Allfather had taken half his life away on a whim.

Macha put her ear to the queen’s chest and shook her head.  “She is dead.”

“But how?” questioned Ulpius who could barely speak.

Lenta looked at the body and the dish lying on the floor. “I have seen this kind of death before. It is from poison, a quick acting poison.  She can only have taken it moments ago.”

“But we all ate the same food, drank the same drink how?” Marcus could not believe what he was witnessing. The evening had gone from celebration to disaster in a heartbeat.

“It must have been the pudding!” Lenta looked the dessert as though it would bite her.

“But how…”

Ulpius changed from a man in shock to a warrior enraged; it was not he Allfather but someone, some person who wished the Queen dead. The idea suddenly rushed into his sharp mind, the poison had been meant for them all...“Never mind that we must tell the governor.  There is a murderer loose in the camp. This food was prepared in the camp kitchens others could be poisoned. This could be the plot of Venutius.” The warrior in Ulpius took over.  He would mourn later.  He would grieve later. He would get his revenge, later. He called to her bodyguards who were stood outside the door. “Guard the queen, let no one touch the body and let no-one in.” They looked at each other, the queen’s body finally they saw the queen’s sword in his hand and nodded assent.

Ulpius and Marcus moved swiftly through the camp to the quarters of Marcus Bolanus.  He was busy feasting with the tribune and other senior officers. Bolanus saw him at the door and murmured something to the prefect who rose to speak to Ulpius.

“The governor is not happy about having his meal disturbed.”

Ulpius look directly at his leader.  “The queen has been murdered.  Poisoned!”

“Poisoned but...are you certain?”

“We all ate the same food except for the dessert.  The queen began to eat it and she died.” Ulpius stared at his leader who seemed unable to function. “The food was prepared in the kitchens here.  Your food may also be poisoned.  There is an assassin loose.”

Finally comprehending, Flavinius raced back to speak to Bolanus. If the situation were not so tragic and serious Ulpius might have laughed for the first thing the governor did was to spit out his food. He signalled the decurion princeps.  “Come. Speak. Are you certain the queen is dead?”

“She is dead.  I have seen enough corpses in my time to know when one is dead.  We must secure the camp, governor, there is an assassin in the camp.”

“Do not presume to tell me what to do decurion princeps.  I am aware of my duties.” He turned to the prefect. “Have the gates locked no-one in or out.” The prefect left taking Marcus with him. “How was she poisoned?”

Once again Ulpius went through the events in the queen’s quarters. “The pudding was not prepared by the queen; she gave the recipe to the cook.”

Bolanus nodded, enlightenment illuminating his face. “You,” he pointed to a centurion fetch the cook and his assistants now, here.” The man scurried out calling to his men who were nearby. Outside they could hear men shouting orders and the noise of arms and movement. “What of the queen?”

“Her sisters and her guards are watching over her.”

Bolanus looked down at the sword in the decurion princeps’ hand. “Is that not the queen’s sword?”

“Aye she gave it to me just before she died and I will use it kill the man who ordered this.”

“That is for me to decide.”

Ulpius looked coldly at the man who seemed to take delight in petty victories. Regardless of what the governor said he would end Venutius’ life. He knew who had ordered this murder.  The ones with blood on their hands would die but he would have his revenge. At this moment he could not mourn. The fact that his heart had been ripped from his body, his future shattered like a glass bauble and all meaning in his life gone did not stop him from hardening his resolve and putting aside all thoughts of tears and the rending of clothes. There would be a time for mourning, for thinking of his lost love and lost, unborn child, but that time would come when her killers were dead, by his hand and by the very sword which she had bequeathed him, the sword of Cartimandua.