The Iron Hand of Mars (36 page)

He had never been exposed to
women
, but perhaps we were safe there.

“Are foreign priestesses virgins, sir?”

“I believe it's not obligatory.” Only Rome equated chastity with holiness; and even Rome installed ten vestals at a time, in order to give latitude for mistakes.

“Is the tribune going to—”

“He's going to talk about politics.” Even so, the novel combination of the destiny of nations and the most attractive woman he had ever had to talk to might prove a heady mix.

“The witch might have other ideas!” They were bolder now. “Maybe the tribune doesn't know what to do—”

“The tribune seems a lad who can improvise.”

But I certainly hoped I never had to tell his sister that I had let some mad-eyed prophetess make a man of her little brother at the top of a signal-tower.

*   *   *

When the torches had waned and the feast died down, I ordered our lads to rest. Later, I left Helvetius on watch, picked my way between the slumbering Bructeri and stole near the tower. One guard with a lance lolled asleep on the entrance steps. I could have grasped his weapon and closed his windpipe with its shaft, but I let him be. Others were inside the tower base, so entering was impossible.

I walked round outside. Moonlight draped the wall with sheaths of startling white. High above shone a faint glimmer from a lamp. I could hear voices. Difficult to tell which language they were using; the level of conversation was too low. It sounded like discussion rather than argument. It sounded more as if they were talking over a concert or the merits of a wall fresco than ascertaining the Empire's horoscope. At one point the tribune said something that amused the prophetess; she answered, then they both laughed.

I could not decide whether to groan or grin. I went back to my men.

Helvetius thumped my shoulder. “All right?”

“They're talking.”

“That sounds dangerous!”

“More dangerous when they stop, centurion.” Suddenly I confided, “I want to marry his sister.”

“He told me.”

“I didn't think he knew I was serious.”

“
He's
worried,” said Helvetius, “that you may not be aware it's what his sister has in mind.”

“Oh, she's a frank woman! I imagined he thought I was just a low-life adventurer who was playing around with her.”

“No, he thinks you're the man for the business.” Helvetius clapped me on the back. “So this is cosy—now we all know where we are!”

“True. The man I want to be my children's favourite uncle is—”

“Is likely to come back to us with a rather stiff walk and a queer look in his eye! You can't make his choices. He's not a baby.”

“No, he's twenty, and never been kissed…” Well, probably. With anyone else I might have wondered whether he had acquired his slick mastery of German from a girl. “He's never had his throat cut with a sickle in a sacred grove either, centurion!”

“Get some rest, Falco. You know what he's like when he gets an interesting chat going. If the lady feels just as talkative, it's going to be a long night.”

*   *   *

It was the longest night I spent in Germany. When he came back, all the others were asleep. I was watching out for him.

It was dark. The moon had travelled into a deep band of cloud, but our eyes were adjusted. He saw me stand up. We clasped hands, then spoke in whispers, Justinus in a light, excited tone.

“Lot to tell you.” His adrenalin was running at a fierce rate.

“What's going on? Are you on parole?”

“She wants time alone. I have to go back when the moon comes out, and she'll tell me if it's war or peace.” He was exhausted. “I hope her lunar forecast is reliable…”

I surveyed the sky. The heaviness above was an unshed storm; I could see it would pass over. “She's right—and like all magic, that's observation, not prophecy.”

We crouched down by a tree. He gave me something. “A knife?”

“Yours. She had her presents on a coffer; I recognised it. I told her it belonged to my brother-in-law.”

“Thanks—which includes the compliment. It's my best knife, but if she's handing out hospitality gifts I can suggest more useful things.”

“I think she gave me the knife to show she was detached, and not influenced by presents.”

“Or on the make!”

“Cynic! What should I have asked for?”

I made a silly suggestion, and he laughed. But his task was too oppressive for jokes. “Marcus, I've nothing to offer. We should have brought presents.”

“We brought the cash box.”

“That's to pay the recruits!” He had a strange simplicity.

“They'd rather be living than dead but paid up.”

“Ah!”

“I'll fetch the money from where you left it. Orosius can show me. Now tell me what you and Veleda talked about.”

“It was quite an experience!” That sounded ominous. “We talked ourselves all round the forum. I've done what I could for the Emperor's mission. I told her we all ought to accept that the people on the west bank of the Rhenus have
chosen
to be Romanised, and that unless there is a threat to their security, the Emperor has no ambitions for crossing to the east.” Justinus dropped his voice. “Marcus, I'm not so certain that will always hold.”

“It's policy. Things may change along the Danube, but don't complicate the issue with what may never happen. She's shrewd enough to draw conclusions for herself.”

“I've no training in this. I feel so badly equipped!”

Our one hope was that Veleda might trust him for his transparent integrity.

“Have faith. At least she's listening. Before you did your parade-ground stunt, I spoke to her myself—”

“I heard some of that. Orosius and I were hiding in the trees. We couldn't get close enough to catch everything, but I've tried to follow up what you said about the legions being in power again.”

“She has to be convinced that if the tribes fling themselves against the disciplined might of Rome it can only be suicide.”

“Marcus, she knows that.” He spoke quietly, as if with loyalty to her.

“That's not what she said.”

“She was in front of her people—”

“And arguing with a shyster of course…”

“No, I think your words went home. She seems deeply troubled. I fancy she was brooding on the future before we ever came here. That may be why she called the tribal gathering. When I urged her to tell the tribes the truth about what she foresaw for them, I could tell from her face the responsibility alarms her.”

“Use that.”

“I don't have to. Veleda is already suffering.”

“Dear gods, this is just like talking to you about the barmaid at the Medusa!”

I had meant it as a joke, but Justinus dropped his head. “Something I should have told you. I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” Our rissole lunch at the Medusa seemed a thousand years ago.

“After you left for Colonia there was a rumpus at the tavern. Somebody noticed a funny smell, and it wasn't the dish of the day that time. They found the body of the legate's bedchamber slave buried under a floor. Regina confessed. When they were quarrelling she lost her temper and hit him too hard with an amphora.”

I said it made a change from battered barmaids anyway.

“You knew she was trouble. So Marcus, tell me about this one!”

“Use your initiative—you seem to have plenty. I keep away from prophets; my mother says nice boys don't mess with venerated girls.”

We were still giggling when the moon re-emerged.

*   *   *

“Marcus.”

“Justinus.”

“It's Quintus,” he offered wryly, like a someone making friends rather belatedly after going to bed.

“I'm honoured. I didn't even know your private name.”

“I don't tell many people,” he said quietly. “Now, what am I doing?
Exchanging gifts, ending the battles
—”

“A snip! And
exercising caution.
Don't end up like Lupercus.”

“Ah!
Asking about Lupercus.
” I myself had been prepared to forget what had happened to Lupercus, in case the recollection gave Veleda bloodthirsty ideas. “The first thing is to persuade her to release the rest of you … I hope you get back.” He could not disguise the crack in his voice.

“I hope we
all
do! Listen, when you climb the tower again, if you find Veleda in her best gown with her hair braided specially, my advice is forget the Empire and do a runner straight back here.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” he answered, in a rare mood of tetchiness.

*   *   *

At least during this absence I found an occupation. I woke Orosius and we crept off through the woods to where he and Justinus had left their tent and supplies. We packed everything and brought it nearer to the tower. Then we led forward the horse with the cash box, and I whistled an alert to the tribune.

The prophetess herself pushed out of the doors through a clump of her relatives; Justinus was not with her. She was extremely pale, and tightly gripping a cloak around herself. We dumped the strongbox on the ground and I opened it to show her the silver. Veleda inspected the money cautiously while I tried to sound as clean-living as Justinus. “I know: the Bructeri cannot be bought … That's not the intention, lady. This is a sign of the Emperor's friendship.”

“Your negotiator made that plain.”

“Where is he?” I asked bluntly.

“Safe.” She was sneering at my anxiety. “You are Falco? I wish to speak with you.”

She led me just inside the lower portion of the tower. There was a bare octagonal basement, with stairs leading up several storeys round the neatly coursed Roman brick of the inner walls. Each storey was slightly reduced in diameter to provide stability for the tower; only the top was floored, since only the open roof had been built to be used. That, with some modifications for comfort, was where the prophetess lived. She did not invite me to ascend.

Veleda was frowning. I tried to sound sympathetic as I asked, “Do I deduce that Luna reappeared prematurely?” I was right. Veleda had still not decided what to do. The uncertainty was knotting her like a snaggled fishing net.

“I have two things to say.” She spoke hurriedly, as if she had been pressurised into this. “I have agreed to your departure. Go tonight. No one will hinder you.”

“Thanks. What's the other thing?”

“The death of Munius Lupercus.”

“So you do know? A woman among the Ubians told me otherwise.”

“I know now,” she said coldly. Obviously they had less in common than Claudia Sacrata had convinced herself. She handed me a small fold of crimson cloth. Inside were two more trifles from her curio cabinet—miniature silver spears of the kind legates receive as good service awards from the Emperor. Lupercus would have been due for his third at the end of his fatal tour in Vetera.

“So he did come here?”

“He was never here.” She spoke with her usual assurance, perhaps relieved to be distanced from the sordid tale. “Those were brought to me later. I am content that you should return them to the man's mother or his wife.”

I thanked her, and then she told me what had happened. Even Veleda looked subdued when she had finished. I had no sympathy with legates, but it set me back. “Have you given this information to the tribune Camillus?”

“No.”

I understood why. She had established a friendly pact with Justinus; this could wreck it.

Civilis had sent Munius Lupercus across country with what Veleda chose to call a mixed group from various tribes. I did not press her for more detail; she was right not to provide fuel for recriminations. The legate had been wounded; he had lost his fort and seen his legion slaughtered; he had thought the Empire was disintegrating too. Whether he begged for release or for death, or whether his guards simply lost patience and wanted to be back with Civilis at the fighting, they suddenly accused Lupercus of cowardice. Then they treated him to their version of a coward's fate: he was stripped, bound, half garrotted, thrown in a swamp, and pressed down with hurdles until he drowned.

*   *   *

To do her justice, Veleda looked as though she hated telling it as much as I hated hearing it. “They had deprived me of my gift, so the truth was slow to emerge.”

I buried my jaw in my hand. “This truth were better submerged in the swamp with him.”

“If I were his mother or wife,” said Veleda, “I would wish to know.”

“So would my mother and my future wife, but like you, they are exceptional…”

She changed the subject. “That is all I can tell you. You and your men must depart discreetly; I have no wish to insult the chief who brought you here by exchanging his present too openly.”

“Where's Camillus?” I demanded suspiciously.

“Above. I still wish to talk to him.” Veleda paused, as if she read all my thoughts. “Naturally,” she said softly, “your friend will say farewell.”

I was desperate. “Does it have to be an exchange?”

“That was what was offered,” smiled the prophetess.

*   *   *

At that point Justinus himself came out on to the stairs above us and clattered down to the basement. “So what happened to Lupercus?”

“The legate,” I relied carefully, thinking as I spoke, “was executed on his way here. Too much time has elapsed for the details to be known.”

Veleda's mouth was pinched, but she went along with it. Then she passed Justinus and left the two of us together. As she climbed the stair her cloak slipped. I could not see what gown she wore, but her rich gold hair was now braided extremely neatly into a plait the thickness of my wrist. Justinus and I avoided each other's eyes.