Shadows in the Night (26 page)

“Need you ask, Hawk?”

“Good. You’re right to stay and fight. It’s your only hope. Even if you decided to leave of your own accord, it wouldn’t save you. Most of those young hotheads think the presence of Romans here angers their gods. The place will only be purified when you’ve not just been driven out, but….” He hesitated.

“Go on.”

“But also sacrificed to the god of the wood. The talk is that either they’ll kill most of you here, or if you pack up and go, you’ll be ambushed on the road before you’ve gone five miles. You, Aurelia, and Albia, and you, Valerius Longinus, won’t be killed immediately, you’ll be sacrificed at their ceremony.”

“Holy Diana protect us!” I shivered, and it wasn’t with cold. “What can we do?”

“Exactly what you are doing. Prepare to defend yourselves with everything you’ve got, and stay alert day and night, especially night. I’ll help where I can, but I have to be careful. If they suspect, they’ll kill me. Now I must go.”

He reached out his hand for the medicine-bottle. “Thanks. I’d better be carrying something when I leave. In case the trees have eyes.”

“Hawk,” Quintus said urgently, “how long do you think we’ve got? And where will they hold the ceremony?”

“All I know is it’s sometime soon, before the next full moon. They prefer a waxing moon, and they’ll find an omen of some sort to fix the exact night.”

“Like they did with the eclipse,” Quintus muttered.

Hawk glanced up at the sky with its chasing clouds. “It’ll be full moon in about ten days. As to where, I told you, they want to hold it here.”

“But assuming they can’t get us out? They must have other holy groves?”

“If they can’t shift you, then they’ll go to their usual place this time. But I’m afraid they’ll keep trying.”

“What usual place?” I asked. “You mean there’s a Druid holy wood still used near here?”

“Oh yes, quite close. About quarter of a mile downstream, where the trees come right down to the water’s edge. There’s an old ruin of a roundhouse in a clearing, but nobody lives there now. It belongs to one of the Segovax family.”

“I know it. Lovers go there courting sometimes. Quite a nice spot in the summer, although it’s a bit uncomfortable when the insects are biting.”

He nodded. “Your two young tribunes have been down there a couple of times lately. I suppose they were meeting girls, though I never actually saw any. That’s the spot the Druids will use, if they haven’t driven you out of here.” He pulled his cloak closer round him. “So take care, all of you.” And he turned and melted into the shadows.

We three stood gazing at each other in the fitful starlight, too stunned to speak for a while. An attack in the next few days! And if they were strong enough to capture us? Like everyone, I’d heard rumours about how the Druids sacrificed their victims, stabbing them or sometimes burning them alive. Was that the fate they had in mind for us?

“I’m scared,” I admitted finally.

“With good reason,” Quintus answered. “But we can beat them.”

“Oh, I’m not giving in. If they want this place, they’ll have to fight me for every stone, every blade of grass, every tree….I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Quite right, Mistress,” Taurus put in. “I’ll fight too. We all will. If they just want the land back, that’s bad enough. But if they mean to kill us even if we do give it back, they’ve got to be stopped.” As usual, Taurus had summed it up in one simple sentence.

I looked at the two of them: the ruthless, devious investigator, and the honest, uncomplicated slave. With these two, and Albia, and the rest of our people, I thought, we’ll make a real fight of it. We’ll show the Druids what happens when they try to drive Romans from their home.

Quintus and I went back inside, leaving Taurus, who was on first watch. We went to sit by the brazier in the dining-room.

“Hawk’s an unusual native,” Quintus remarked, picking up his wine-mug. “You’re quite sure you can trust him?”

“I am. I know him well. He hates the Shadow-men as much as we do. He doesn’t want warfare here, it’s the main thing we agree on, and it’s why we’ve become friends.”

Quintus nodded. “Good enough. But I tell you something, I’m going to find out when and where the Druid ceremony is. Then I’ll put on a decent disguise and go and watch.”

“You’ll
what?
” I nearly choked. “You can’t, Quintus. It’s incredibly dangerous! If you’re caught, you’ll be killed.”

“I won’t be caught.”

I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t budge. “We need to see what they’re getting up to, Aurelia. And maybe we can identify some of their supporters. I assume the anti-Roman natives would all attend a ceremony like that. So say you’ll help me find out when and where it is. Just make a few discreet enquiries. I will too. And don’t fret, I’ve no intention of becoming their next ritual sacrifice.”

Before I went to bed, I stood before our household shrine and prayed to Diana. As the moon goddess, she might be able to keep us safe. Cloudless light nights would help us and hinder our attackers. So I prayed for moonlight. I prayed as hard as I knew how.

The trouble with praying is, you never know till much later whether the gods have answered you.

Chapter XVII

The night was uneventful, and the dawn brought no graffiti anywhere. What’s more, the wind had dropped and it was a magnificent clear morning, full of birdsong, with a blue sky and a few wisps of cloud. Just the sort of day for a jaunt into town to visit Balbus.

We were taking the medium-sized raeda—Albia insisted on coming too—and three guards, and to my surprise the slave Marsus offered to be one of them.

“I’ve got to, haven’t I, Mistress?” He smiled at me. “When I was a little lad on the farm, before, well before I was captured, like, I used to ride a pony, and when I’d fall off, my father always said, ‘Get back on, boy, before you’ve got time to be scared.’ It’ll be like that, going into town today.”

“Yes, it will. For me too.”

The first courier through from Eburacum brought a report of two overnight killings. And as usual—what a horrible thing to say, “as usual,” but we were getting accustomed to the “usual” gruesome facts—as usual the victims were Roman travellers on the road. Both had been stabbed to death and then beheaded, and each was left with the customary threatening message. Nobody dwelt on this bad news as we prepared to go into town.

I decided I’d do the driving, and we took Marsus, Taurus, and the ex-soldier Brutus, all mounted on good horses and armed to the teeth. But the journey to Oak Bridges was uneventful. The woods in daylight were peaceful and pretty, in their full summer greenery, with birds singing, and sunlight slanting through the oak-leaves onto the quiet ground below.

As we came into town we met a band of Vedius’ night-watchmen, returning to their base after dealing with a house fire. The leader was Saturninus, the old aedile’s son, who was in charge of the new patrols, and we stopped to ask how they were going.

“Pretty well,” Saturninus said, wiping soot off his face with his sleeve. “Though I must say, I’m knackered by this time of the morning, with a day’s work to do as well. We have four patrols out each night now, circling round town. Nobody’ll dare dump any corpses in the forum while
we’re
on the job!”

Very reassuring, I thought. Where else will they dump them then?

Albia asked, “Have you caught anyone yet?”

“No, but my patrol scared off a group of lads who were hanging about near the new temple. Presumably up to no good, because they ran for it when we arrived. I couldn’t get a close look, but one of them was wearing a skull mask. And we’ve had several reports from other patrols that they’ve seen a masked man lurking about. If all of them are this Shadow of Death, he certainly gets around! He must spend all night prowling the roads.”

“Have you had any more slogans painted on walls?” I asked, “because we have.”

“Yes, quite a few. All over the place, too. One on Felix’s front wall, and on one of father’s barns, which made him hopping mad as you can imagine. In the forum, and on several other bits of wall. And of course you know they’ve appeared at the new temple. Some are the full message about all of us being killed, and others are just a skull. All done in a putrid shade of green paint.”

“They must have a good stock of it,” Albia joked.

“Tell you who’s joined our merry band of watchmen,” Saturninus said. “Young Vitalis! Father and I couldn’t believe it when he showed up for training. After all his nonsense about wishing he’d been born in the good old days! I suppose Silvanius pushed him into it. He must be delighted the boy’s finally realised which side he should be on.”

Merda,
that’s all we need. I said, “Whose patrol is Vitalis in?”

“His own. He brought four of his friends to enrol with him, and although I’d have preferred to give them an experienced officer, he insisted they’d be all right on their own. And with him being Silvanius’ son, we thought, well where’s the harm?”

I wanted to scream: Where’s the harm? How long have you got? but I realised it would be better if we kept quiet, so I just said, “Well, good hunting, all of you. We must be getting along.”

“Safe journey to you,” he answered, and we drove on.

“Vitalis and his Shadow-men on patrol,” I said. “And Saturninus is actually
pleased!”

Albia shrugged. “I know. Just because he’s Silvanius’ son.…Did you notice he said green paint?”

***

In the pottery shop we found Balbus, his fair hair neat and his face freshly shaved, and wearing his working garb, a brown sleeveless tunic covered by a leather apron. Both were spotless, because it was rarely these days that he personally threw a pot or loaded a kiln. He was apparently in the middle of bawling out his foreman, and I caught something about “…straighten yourself out, or you’ll be looking for another job.” But he broke off and greeted us warmly.

“Aurelia and Albia! What a pleasant surprise! How are you both?”

“We’re well, thanks, Balbus,” I said. “We fancied a trip into Oak Bridges, and we’ve got a bill to pay, and an order.”

“Fine. And you’ll stay for a drop of wine, I hope? Ennia will never forgive me if I let you go without a drink and a gossip.”

“Thank you, yes. How’s trade?”

“Pretty good, actually.” He rubbed his hands together. “Can’t complain at all.”

Gods, it must be spectacularly brilliant. Normally Balbus’ answer when one asked about trade was “Not bad.”

I paid our bill and Albia showed him our list of requirements: a dozen beakers, a couple of mortars for the kitchen, one large serving dish, three jugs, and four plates of various sizes. Having given our order to his foreman, Balbus proceeded to show us around, pointing out new or unusual items for us to admire.

Balbus’ shop was no cramped booth with the stock piled in disorganised heaps; it was large and airy, with the pots and glass well displayed. I always enjoyed looking round it. Balbus himself had been a good potter when he started out in Gaul, with an eye for style and beauty. Now he was a good businessman, expert in every aspect of the ceramics and glass trade, and he made handsome profits. Most of his pottery these days was imported, everything from cheerful red Samian ware to some exquisite Greek and Egyptian vases that I thought of as too fragile, not to mention expensive, to use. Of course he had his own potters working behind the shop, producing the more basic everyday tableware and kitchen bowls and mortars; but it was the imported items that gave the shop real distinction. As for the glass, some of the flagons and goblets were so beautiful you just wanted to stand there gazing into the depths of their luminous colours.

Another customer came in, a very old grand Brigantian lady, and Balbus went to greet her. She was dressed—well, over-dressed—in a mauve-embroidered gown, and as much gold jewellery as she could conveniently cram onto her chubby arms and hands, and round her plump neck. Well, if Balbus was in some sort of illicit contact with the natives, his shop gave him the perfect cover for it, but from the snatches of conversation I managed to overhear, this was just another customer. A dissatisfied one too, with some complaint about flawed crystal goblets.

But while Balbus fussed around the old dame, and his foreman put together our order, Albia and I had the perfect chance to wander undisturbed, looking at the shelves. Sure enough, we found the pale green paint, not only on shelves, but on the wall behind them too. A small alcove had been coloured green, and was displaying a set of large platters, superb work, each one with a different woodland scene in the centre, and trails of acanthus leaves round the borders. Their shape was stylish, their glazing detailed and delicate, and their price would be too huge to contemplate.

I surreptitiously fished out the wax tablet with the green flakes of paint on it. Yes, a perfect match. Good for Felix. But had Balbus really been involved in defacing our wall? Or had somebody else got hold of the paint, and used it in a deliberate attempt to throw suspicion on the potter? There was only one way to find out.

The old lady departed, leaving Balbus looking unhappy.

“Dissatisfied customer?” I said lightly.

He grunted.