Gillian Bradshaw - Island of Ghosts

“I can’t give evidence in court anyway,” he said hurriedly, looking sick. “Anything I said would be weighed as testimony, which doesn’t count as much as evidence… and… and I’m not sure I could repeat it, sir, under torture: please don’t ask me to.”

“Torture?” I asked in surprise.

He looked surprised in turn, that I hadn’t realized this. “The testimony of slaves is always taken under torture, sir.”

“Marha!” I exclaimed in disgust. “No. We cannot say anything to the authorities-not yet. We must wait in silence until we have the power to strike in force. Do not repeat what you have just told me to anyone-and particularly not to anyone in my bodyguard.”

He smiled weakly. “I imagine that they wouldn’t take it quietly if they knew the legate’s wife had tried to kill you.”

“They would decide among themselves who would kill the lady,” I told him, flatly and truthfully, “and that man would swear afterward under any torture that I knew nothing about it. They are brave and honorable men, and have sworn to defend me. I would not willingly lose any of them. And they would not understand that the Romans would be outraged and punish all of us, nor that the authorities are accustomed to lies and would believe me guilty anyway, nor that the conspiracy might survive the lady’s loss, and strike back. I believe that the lady Aurelia heads it, but I have no doubt that she is not alone.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and saw that we both understood that we could trust neither the honesty of the authorities nor the discretion of my subordinates. But perhaps I’d found a solution to another problem.

I told Eukairios about Siyavak and his resolve to discover and expose Bodica’s plans. “Do you have friends in Eburacum as well?” I asked.

He looked nervous. “There is a small ekklesia in Eburacum,” he admitted.

“A what?”

“A… an assembly. Of believers. We use the Greek word.”

“Could someone in this assembly write letters for Siyavak, and send them to me secretly? He is a young man and still impulsive, and I am afraid for him if he’s left entirely on his own with this lady-and even if he should discover something, it might cost him his life if he tried to reveal it himself. But I have no way of contacting him which she would be unable to interfere with-and for that matter, I do not completely trust Comittus not to spy for her in Cilurnum. He is her kinsman, and admires her greatly. I need some method of communication which she knows nothing about and cannot tamper with. Your friends could provide that. And I would welcome it very much if they, and your friend here, could continue to tell us what they learn from these ‘contacts.’ ”

He was silent, looking at his hands, his shoulders hunched again.

“Do your fellow cultists perhaps have more sympathy for these druids than for the Roman authorities who persecute you?” I asked.

“No,” he replied at once, but unhappily. “No, we pray for those in authority, and we know perfectly well that in Britain the druids would be far more ruthless with us than the Romans are. It’s true what Valerius Natalis said: no one has bothered the assemblies in Britain very much. No, it’s just… it’s just you’re suggesting we make an alliance with… with…” — a tribe of bloodthirsty barbarians, he meant to say, but didn’t-“an earthly power, and we…” He stopped himself, reconsidering. “But we are a part of the province of Britain, even though most of us aren’t Roman citizens or British tribesmen. If there were an… uprising”-he brought himself to say the word-“in Brigantia, and invasions by the Picts, we would suffer along with everyone else. We’d suffer more, if the druids had a kingdom of their own. I don’t know, my lord. I can’t answer for the Christians in Eburacum. I must pray, and write to them. Then they can answer for themselves.”

“That is fair,” I said. “Write to them. I will try to arrange for us to ride down to Eburacum when this season is ended.” I remembered the other thing he had told me, and added, relishing the old challenge, “If I am still alive.”

In fact, I didn’t need to think up an excuse to take me to Eburacum. The legate left for the fortress next morning, taking his men and the fourth dragon with him, but before he set out he sent me a letter asking me to visit him early in January to discuss plans about the horses “and some other matters that have come up.”

I was pleased at the invitation, though slightly apprehensive about the “other matters.” I resolved to visit River End Farm as soon as possible, to give Pervica plenty of time to decide her response to the stud farm idea.

By this time, it was the middle of December, approaching the solstice, which we Sarmatians celebrate as Sada, the feast of the winter fire. The Romans celebrate a festival at about the same time, the Saturnalia in honor of the god Saturn, and we’d agreed at Cilurnum to celebrate the holy days together. I was busy making arrangements for this feast-all the officers were-but as soon as I’d recovered fully from the aftereffects of drowning, I decided to take a day out to ride over to see Pervica.

“I’ll come along,” said Longus, when I announced this to my fellows.

I looked at him suspiciously. “That is not necessary.”

“But you might want someone to advise you about the farm! I have a farm in the area myself; I know how many horses they can support. And you might want someone to translate for you-Lucius isn’t the only one who speaks British, you know.” When I still looked at him silently, he raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re bringing half your bodyguard anyway: you’re hardly expecting a cozy chat with the lady.”

I was bringing half the bodyguard only because I’d taken what Eukairios had told me in Corstopitum seriously and involved myself in a lot of exasperating precautions against murder. I’d told the men of my dragon that we must be on guard against intruders into our camp, who might be relatives of the Pictish dead, seeking vengeance: this was a perfectly sensible move in its own right, and it meant that no Britons crossed the palisade unquestioned. I was very careful of what I ate and drank-which had meant finding excuses not to share the food of my Roman colleagues. (I trusted them, on the whole, though with unhappy doubts about Comittus-but I didn’t know or trust all their servants.) I’d also made a will. And finally, I’d forced myself to accept that I must not go anywhere alone, certainly not when others knew where I was going. In spite of all this, I had hoped that I’d be able to talk with Pervica quietly and in some reasonable degree of privacy. I had been wondering whether what I thought I’d seen in her wasn’t a product of my own mind, confused from the touch of death, stunned and overjoyed to find itself still alive. Whether I loved her or not, though, I was certainly indebted to her for my life and bound to do what I could to repay her. I’d chosen a gift for her, and I hoped to be able to discuss the plan for the stud farm sensibly and thoroughly. In none of these things was it likely that Longus would help.

“Why do you want to come?” I asked him bluntly.

He gave one of his doleful grins. “Pure curiosity. But I think you ought to have a Roman officer with you. Have you thought of the effect on the inhabitants of a medium-sized British farm of the sight of sixteen armed Sarmatian horsemen galloping into their chicken run?”

I hadn’t. “The chicken run is at the back of the house,” I said. “We would have no cause to gallop into it. But come if you wish.”

In the end, there were twenty of us who set out: myself, with Leimanos and fifteen of the bodyguard; Eukairios, whom I wanted along to take notes; Longus; and Flavius Facilis-who, however, was not going to River End, but to Corstopitum about some supplies for the festival, and who only joined us for the ride. We were all armed. I would have preferred to leave the armor behind, but (exasperating precaution) thought I’d do better to wear it. Comittus stayed behind to mind the fort.