Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘I did not know that there were women druids,’ Crispinus said. The legate gave him a quizzical look. ‘Sorry, I am just trying to understand.’

‘There were not, my lord, although these days I have heard of women claiming to be druids. In the old days women acted as seers and performed some of the rituals, but they were not druids and did not have their learning. Some were old, and these Prasto had killed, usually through some inventive torture. The younger he took and toyed with, taking pleasures as he willed. I am assuming the details are unnecessary.’

‘Well…’ Crispinus began, before his uncle silenced him with a gesture of his hand.

‘Most he killed in the end,’ Ferox went on, ‘or they took their own lives if they had the chance, and the survivors he kept as slaves.’

Neratius Marcellus sighed and stood up. Ferox had been impressed at how long he had kept still listening to his friend. ‘Bad business, but those were grim years, and if he was a dirty tool for us to use, he did serve a purpose. Now, where does this take us in our present need? I am not sure…’

‘Oh, I forgot about this!’ Ovidius bounded to his feet again, waving the scroll. The legate smiled and nodded for him to continue. ‘It was written for Agricola after he had gone to Mona and was preparing his drive to the north. He asked Prasto to record a good deal of the lore of the druids, in case the cult sprang up again. And the greatest was this list.’ Ovidius unrolled the scroll, coughed and began. ‘The Treasures of Britannia! Prasto calls them artefacts of great potency and symbolism – perhaps what friend Ferox here would call power?’ The centurion nodded.

‘Some will be all too familiar to us. Here we have the armour of Venutius, the mirror of Cartimandua, the cloak of Claudius – odd, that, but I suppose even the enemy has power. The torc of the high king of the Catuvellauni. Oh dear, that was what they took from poor Caratacus, I suppose. The Spear of Camulos and the cauldron of Morrigan. Not heard of those so far, and he says that they are hidden in the cavern of the three-faced god. The shield of Boudicca, but he says that was buried with her corpse and no man knows where her grave was made. After that it is not so much specific items as objects with power, the blood of kings and queens, the tears of the gods – I wonder how you collect those for he does not say – and the skull of a witch or druid.’

‘Is this Prasto still alive?’ the legate asked. ‘I confess that I never heard his name until today, which makes me suspect that he is dead. Can we check?’

Ovidius beamed. ‘Vanished at sea five years ago. He was a very old man, but liked to go out fishing in a little boat along with some of his almost as elderly slaves. One day the weather was bad and they did not come back. The body of one of the slaves and timbers from the boat washed up. One of the procurator’s men sent in a report about it because the emperor was heir to all his estate.’

‘Generous, since we’d given it to him in the first place,’ Crispinus said.

‘Do I take it you had to request this information from the procurator’s office?’ the legate asked, paying no attention to his nephew. ‘Yes, I thought so. Ah well, probably cannot do any harm.’

‘I invented a legal case involving property in the area,’ Ovidius replied. ‘And gave the usual sort of gift to encourage the efforts of the freedman.’

‘Fair enough, and it cannot be helped.’ Neratius Marcellus set off on one of his walks. ‘Let us assume Prasto is dead. Let us also assume that someone, probably Acco, has taken the cuirass, the torc and the mirror. The shield may be lost forever, and we have the cloak. What about this spear and… what was it?’

‘A cauldron.’

‘Truly?’ The legate paused to shake his head and then turned to pace in the opposite direction. ‘Does not seem so very dramatic, but there it is. Any idea where they can be found?’

Ovidius shook his head. ‘The beneficiarius assures me that there is another scroll associated with this one. He reckons it was put back in the wrong place, but has set his men to searching. Perhaps there is something in there.’

Neratius turned to Ferox.

‘Mona would be the most likely place, my lord.’ Ferox wished he had another answer, and part of him wanted to pretend that he had no idea because he feared to go there and could sense what would come next. He was also sceptical that Prasto was right about everything, or that the Romans really understood. Acco’s own power grew as he acquired each treasure. He doubted that all were needed, and the druid might already have enough for his purposes.

‘Very well. If we have learned nothing more certain by the end of tomorrow you will set out for the island at dawn on the next day. See what you can find.’

‘My lord.’

‘Good. You must make the most of the remainder of your time here. Have you heard about the statue? No. At least someone has not. This morning a statue of the princeps fell off its mounting on the wall of the basilica. The head broke off and has not been found.’

‘The work on the pedestal was very poor,’ Crispinus said. ‘It is no surprise that the mortar crumbled and the thing fell down.’

‘That does not explain the theft of the head. It is not as if it was bronze and could be melted down by a sacrilegious thief. And accident or not, people see it as another bad omen. Rumours are spreading that the princeps is ill and not long for this world.’

‘I haven’t heard that.’ Crispinus’ surprise seemed genuine.

‘Then perhaps you should spend more time around the docks!’ The legate’s pacing meant that he was standing behind his nephew and he reached down and grabbed his shoulders. ‘As far as I am aware, it is not true, but it is repeated and some will believe. Nothing has been seen or heard of that rogue Domitius, and that is also worrying.’ The legate paused and faced the double doors. ‘I always know when my accensus is impatient!’ The doors opened slowly. ‘Off you all go. We have already spent too long and I shall be late convening today’s first case.’

Ferox thought the tribune wanted to speak to him, but Ovidius took the young aristocrat by the arm and led him away. That was a relief, because he wanted to go to the principia and preferred to go on his own. Once there he sought out the office of the frumentarii , the soldiers detached from their units to help organise the supply of grain and other bulky essentials to the army in the province. They were a privileged group, who spent a lot of time on the move, as likely as not travelling to Rome to liaise with their counterparts there. An idle remark by the exactus had made him wonder whether he knew the centurion in charge, one Valerius Maximus who for a while had served as regionarius to the east of his own patch.

Thankfully, he was right, and although he had to wait a good hour before the man returned to his office, it gave him the chance to call in a few favours. The most important was to ask for help. Frumentarii heard a lot of things in their job, especially in the markets, inns and harbours, and since many people wanted to secure contracts to help the army they were usually well treated. Ferox wanted to know if they had picked up any rumours about Domitius. Maximus was a sensible man, honourable enough in his way, so he risked a few hints about plots.

‘I’ll do my best, contubernalis .’ Maximus had lost all the fingers on his left hand and his lonely thumb tended to twitch when he was thinking. His other hand closed around it and grinned. ‘I thought you said last time that you would never ask me another favour.’

‘Sorry. Still, it got you this posting and you never really liked it up north.’