Paul Doherty - Queen of the Night

The veterans relaxed. They waved the newcomers to the bench, found two more cups and filled each with a measure of water and wine.

As Claudia and Murranus settled at the table, the veterans introduced themselves as Stathylus, Crispus and Secundus; their Latin names belied both their appearance and their accents, which clearly showed them to be provincials. They acted full of confidence, old soldiers who'd seen all the horrors of war and could not be surprised by anything new. Claudia had met their kind before: leathery-skinned, sharp-featured, still wiry despite the folds of fat round the belly and face. They were dressed simply in tunics, belts and sandals. She noticed the war belts heaped in the corner as well as the cudgels and walking sticks lying on top of their cloaks. They were friendly enough, explaining how they met here regularly to share bread and wine and toast former comrades, recall long-forgotten battles and pay homage to their guardian Epona, horse goddess of the Iceni, a tribe which lived along the eastern coastline of Britain. They revelled in their former membership of the Fretenses, and were proud to be called the Vigiles Muri.

Claudia let them chatter on as the wine flowed. Stathylus, sitting at the top of the table, had been a junior officer, a decurion. He was hard-faced, with close-set eyes; he remained both watchful and hostile, aware of what Claudia was doing. Now and again he'd urge his two companions to drink slower or mix more water in their wine cups. Claudia, however, gently encouraged them to discuss their earlier careers, and of course, like all old soldiers, they were only too willing to talk. They were all Iceni horsemen from the flat plains of eastern Britain. Horse-lovers, born cavalrymen, they described how they'd been recruited into the Catephracti, the heavily armed cavalry, and been given various postings in that faraway, mist-shrouded province. Eventually they'd been posted to a mile fort along the Great Wall Emperor Hadrian had built in the north, stretching from coast to coast to seal off the province from the wild tribes beyond. They'd fought under a veteran centurion, Postulus, but during the civil wars, mutinies and the emergence of pretenders such as Allectus and Carausius, their numbers had been depleted. They were proud of having fought for Constantine Chlorus, the present Emperor's father, and of supporting the cause of Helena and her son through all their difficulties. They had as a unit been honourably discharged and given the opportunity to settle outside Rome. Some had brought their wives and families; others had simply deserted their roots for a new future at the heart of the Empire.

Secundus and Crispus did most of the talking. Born storytellers, they described their service in Britain, conjuring up images of deep forests, lonely wind-swept moorlands, freezing winters when all was carpeted in snow, followed by springs bursting with light and summers which brought the brilliant green grasslands and cornfields to life. They talked of warm breezes, a golden sun and rain-washed blue skies. Above all they described the Great Wall. Many of the tribes regarded this as the work of the gods with its soaring crenellated wall, watchtowers, signal posts, mile castles and great five-mile fortresses. The two men described the boredom of military life, offset by the terrors which lay beyond the wall, where savage Picts and Caledonians, superb fighters, slipped like wraiths through the tangled heather to probe, attack and ambush. The savagery and cunning of these tribesmen was something they had never forgotten, a terrifying nightmare constantly lurking just beyond the Roman line, ever vigilant, ruthless and merciless. Claudia listened fascinated, aware of the day dying, the darkness deepening, the flames of the oil lamps growing stronger. She became less aware of the peppery, spicy odour of the room, with its wisps of black smoke, whilst every time she looked at the carving of Epona, it seemed more lifelike. She noticed, however, that all three veterans deliberately skirted the crowning glory of their careers, the ambush and annihilation of that Pictish war band. At last

Crispus drew their story to a close. Claudia waited for Stathylus to step into her trap, which he obligingly did.

'What has this,' he hissed, leaning against the table, 'got to do with two of our comrades being killed here in Rome?'

'Everything.'

'What do you mean?'

'Look.' Claudia pushed away her wine cup. 'Two of your companions have been brutally murdered in this city. Petilius in his chamber, Lucius in an alleyway. The slums of Rome are full of men and women who take a life as easily as they would snuff out an oil-wick. However, both your companions were killed in the Pictish way, a knife to the belly, throat slit, then their genitals cut off, the penis placed in the dead man's hand. I understand the Picts do the same to dishonour enemy dead.'

All three men, eyes on Claudia, nodded. Crispus muttered a curse under his breath; Claudia ignored it.

'So why,' she continued, 'have two of your companions been killed in such a barbaric fashion? The logical conclusion is that it has something to do with your service in the Fretenses along the Great Wall. Some demon from the past has come prowling through the darkness to hunt you.'

Stathylus made a rude sound with his lips and quickly picked up his cup. Claudia could see he was frightened; the gesture was meant to divert her.

'Something else.' Claudia tapped the tabletop. 'General Aurelian recently invited you all to a reunion at his villa. You attended?'

'Of course we did.' Secundus spoke up. 'General Aurelian always favoured his men; this year it was our turn.'

'Yet afterwards, Petilius went to see the General about something urgent but the General was too busy to grant him an audience. Do you know what Petilius wanted?'

'We asked that ourselves,' Stathylus replied, 'but Petilius kept a close mouth; he was always like that. Perhaps he wanted to keep the information to himself so as to get some reward; we never found out.'

'But it followed that reunion,' Claudia insisted. 'Did any of you see anything untoward, something from the past?'

A chorus of denials greeted her words.

'Anyway,' she sighed, 'let's go back to the past, the Great Wall. The destruction of that Pictish war band.'

'Some eighteen years ago,' Secundus declared, ignoring Stathylus' warning look. 'It happened eighteen years ago.'

'And yet,' Claudia insisted, 'all this time later, two of your companions have been brutally murdered, in a manner very similar to the abuse perpetrated by your Pictish enemies. Now,' she smiled faintly, 'there are no Pictish warriors in Rome. Why such deaths? True, they might be Pictish slaves, but,' she shrugged, 'how would they recognise you eighteen years later? Moreover, doesn't the report say the entire war band you trapped was wiped out?'

Again there was agreement.

'The ambush also took place at night,' Murranus declared. 'I've seen Catephracti, their helmets are like those I wear in the arena, covering the head and protecting the face; even if one of those Picts did escape, how could they recognise a face, only glimpsed in the dark, some eighteen years later?'

'What did happen,' Claudia asked, 'that night of your great victory?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'I can't really answer that,' Claudia replied, 'except I have a feeling that you don't want to talk about it. I can't understand that. After all, it was a great achievement. More importantly, the grisly murder of your comrades, executed in a way so reminiscent of the Picts, may have something to do with the massacre of so many of their people. A matter of logic,' Claudia added, 'unless there is something else you haven't told me.'

All three refused to meet her gaze.

'Ah well.' Stathylus rubbed a hand across his face. 'I'll tell you.' He filled his wine goblet, gulped greedily from it and slammed it back on the table.