‘And what would you use for gold, Princess? It doesn’t grow on trees.’
‘I would do what we do at home, Tribune, when we need gold. Our smiths render down the gold we take from those we conquer. They all have hoards of it. Or we barter with merchants. Or we know of rivers that yield it.’
‘Mmm,’ said Lucan. ‘So what we’re looking for is a man who employs his own smiths, who regularly conquers wealthy opponents, and who has a workshop where the noise of his forge doesn’t disturb the neighbours. Or,’ he added, reaching for another pie, ‘he has his own private river or gold mine hidden away somewhere. Have I missed anything?’
‘Leaving out the conquering bit,’ said Tullus, ‘where is the nearest gold mine in this delightful country?’
‘Huh! Nowhere any of us would choose to go,’ Quintus replied, waving an arm. ‘The only gold mine that’s still working is …’ His eyes followed the direction of his hand, lighting up at the sudden realisation.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on the Tribune as his arm slowly lowered.
‘Is?’ prompted Tullus.
Brighid looked up at him over her shoulder. ‘Is, as a matter of fact,’ he said slowly, ‘over there in the hill-country to the west. Cambria, it’s called. A very wild crowd they are, too, and not easy to reach, but one of our fortresses happens to be where the miners bring up gold. Now isn’t that interesting?’ he said, softly.
‘But if this mine is guarded by your men,’ said Brighid, ‘how likely is it, do you think, that they’d allow the gold to fall into the hands of anyone else? Surely the Roman army could keep it safe, couldn’t they?’
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘but this is something we shall have to investigate. As I understand it, the mine is worked by local men, some slaves and convicts, and partly by concessionaires who are allowed to keep half of the gold they get out.’
‘You mean the concessionaires have to go down …?’
‘No, not personally. They provide a workforce.’
‘Then they must be very unpopular,’ Brighid said, biting into a rolled-up vine leaf. ‘And wealthy. And unscrupulous. What toads!’
‘And they probably speak with their mouths full of food, too,’ said Quintus.
‘Even worse,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’d like another sausage, please.’
‘So we have to find out,’ said Lucan, passing the dish of sausages, ‘the names of these private concessionaires who own a stake in this mine. Would it include anyone from round here?’
‘I don’t see why not. As the crow flies, it’s not all that far, but the journey is not an easy one, although our men have built good roads there. Perhaps we ought to go and take a look.’
‘Er … no, not me,’ said Brighid. ‘You might prefer to leave me here.’
‘Yes, Princess. So I could,’ said Quintus. ‘And pigs might fly.’
‘That would be a very serious omen.’
‘Indeed it would. Very serious. More wine?’
An hour later, the three men sat with their wine in cushioned, creaking basket-chairs that sprouted loose tendrils, their conversation competing with the din wafting through an open window from the street. ‘Close the window,’ Tullus said to a slave, frowning.
The lad wrestled with the catch. ‘It won’t fasten, sir,’ he said.
‘I think,’ said Quintus, waving the lad away, ‘we may have to look for a better place than this. It won’t do for more than a night or two.’
The roomy apartment was no more than adequate, well used by pilgrims and conveniently close to the baths for the infirm, but too close for peace. In Aquae Sulis, even-tide was as busy as noon-tide. The rooms had lost their freshness, cushions were frayed and grubby, walls were scuffed, furniture faded, the ornately decorated ceiling blackened by soot from the lamps. The stale odour of meat and spices leaked through every aperture. The two friends nodded in agreement. ‘What has the lad been up to?’ Quintus said. ‘Anything to report?’
‘Heard nothing, seen nothing,’ said Lucan. ‘If he is indeed the Princess’s brother, they seem to be keeping well clear of each other. Is she …?’ He glanced at the door.
‘Guarded. She doesn’t like it, but I never thought she would. Once we reached this place, the hunt for the suitor was bound to intensify, which is why one of us must attend her at all times. It’s an extra burden we could well have done without, but.’
‘You’d not consider letting her go, then?’ said Tullus, quietly.
‘No, not yet.’
Being experienced, his two friends did not ask him to explain, both of them having noticed how, in an unguarded moment, the eyes of their superior and his captive reflected deeper feelings than their bickering would suggest. ‘Then I shall offer to escort the Princess tomorrow,’ said Tullus, ‘while you and my young friend here go about your business at the tax office. She’ll wish to go to the temple, I dare say, and probably to the baths. While she’s in there, I might make enquiries about a more salubrious apartment for us.’
‘Yes, thank you. I’ll give you some money for her to spend. That should keep her occupied until we return.’
‘And will you be making enquiries about your friend Alexius while you’re there?’ said Tullus. ‘Surely someone must have some information about his disappearance? How long is it now?’
Quintus got to his feet, giving Tullus the impression that it was a matter too private to discuss. But he went to the window, speaking with his back to them. ‘A year,’ he said. ‘He was sent down here to investigate the same kind of forgery problem, but I don’t know whether the two are related. The last anyone saw of him was at the baths. All his belongings gone. And his two slaves. No one’s heard of him since. He was my best friend, a superb soldier and horseman, but he ought not to have been allowed to investigate this kind of thing without the proper training. And he ought not to have tackled it alone, either. I’m going to find out where he’s got to. He cannot simply have disappeared without trace.’
‘No,’ said Lucan. ‘One of your countrymen, was he?’
‘From Cadiz. We shared the same tutor. We were like brothers.’
‘Then we’ll find him,’ said Tullus.
‘I was not going to ask you to become involved,’ Quintus said, turning back into the room. ‘It might become dangerous.’
‘All the more reason to divide it by three,’ Lucan replied.
‘You’ll need us,’ Tullus agreed. ‘You have your hands full already.’
Tullus had not meant it literally, although it was a fair description of how Quintus spent the second half of the night, the first part being spent on the longer of the two couches while Brighid was already asleep on the smaller harder one when he entered. He awoke in the middle of the night, aware that all was not as it should be, to find her standing by the window where the moon, large and bright, filled the room with its soft beam, lighting her upturned face. He thought she might be praying, but after a moment or two he swung his feet to the floor and, making no attempt at stealth, folded her into his arms. ‘What is it, Princess?’ he said. ‘Can’t sleep?’
She hooked her fingers over his bare arms. ‘Something’s wrong,’ she whispered.
‘Where? Out there? Show me.’
‘No, not out there,’ she said with a trace of irritation. It was clear he’d misunderstood. ‘It has happened before. A feeling … a terrible …’ she shook her head as if searching for the word’ … a terrible omen of danger … something bad … very bad … black … threatening.’
‘It has happened before? When? When you were captured?’
‘No, it’s not like the second sight. Nothing as clear as that. It was when my father took my maid. I felt her heart break and I knew she would die from it. And now it’s here again, telling me …’
‘Telling you what? Something here, in this house?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I can’t see what, only that it lies ahead. Perhaps it is this place. Yet I think danger is one step ahead of us, waiting, no matter ho
w we try to evade it. I don’t think we can evade it.’
‘Princess,’ he said, turning her round to face him, ‘listen. You are well guarded from danger. I am an experienced soldier and Tullus and Lucan are strong and intelligent enough to be aware of hazards in a place like this. You are not used to towns. Tomorrow, we shall move to a better place, somewhere quiet and more comfortable. And you will not go out alone. I shall not let any harm befall you. Now come into my bed and sleep with me.’
‘I cannot sleep. And I should not be.’
‘Forget that. I want you close to me, so we shall ignore convention.’
‘I thought you …’
‘Don’t. Not until you know me better.’
That was not likely to happen, she thought as they lay closely entwined, unless she were to ask him about himself before they must part for ever. Surely it would not be long before Math brought her some positive news to add to his latest unhelpful offering. So she coaxed Quintus to tell her about his youth in Cadiz, his ambition to become a cavalry officer in the Roman army, his successful career and quick rise to become a tribune. The Emperor Severus had kept him by his side in more recent years, sending him and his friend Alexius here to the island of Britain ahead of his own arrival. The governor at Eboracum, Gordianus, was a fool, Quintus mumbled into her hair. She did not ask him for details of his wound, for she knew that some men were not so proud of being disabled, even temporarily, and he was the type who would pretend it was better long before it was. She had dressed it before dinner and had been quietly satisfied by the rapid healing, but would not agree to leave it unprotected, as he had wanted.
She was asleep before Quintus had finished his rambling curriculum vitae, so she did not know that he kept sleep at bay on purpose to intercept the first sign of danger, the omens of which had woken her too soon. It was not by any means the first time he’d lost a night’s sleep, but it was the first time he’d watched over a woman whose fears were so convincing. Not for a moment did he doubt the truth of what she felt.
Like all night fears that take on a more rational guise in the light of day, Brighid’s deep inexplicable concerns had now been shared and, if not exactly halved, at least alleviated by the Tribune’s assurance that he would not allow any harm to befall her, which seemed to rule out the slave-merchant threat for the time being. Yet strangely enough, it was not any harm to herself that menaced her, but to him. There was no more to it than that. As before, the fear seemed to concern someone close to her and, like it or not, no one was closer to her than the Tribune. Was it to do with the business he had to investigate? Taxes were a sensitive issue. Provincial Procurators had powers, and had never been the taxpayers’ favourites.
‘Go and make some enquiries,’ she whispered to Math as he dropped a handful of leaves into a pan of boiling water. She had been escorted to the kitchen by one of the guards while Florian massaged his master’s back, making any useful conversation impossible.
Above the bubbling, the clattering, the raking of redhot charcoal, Math managed to mumble a reply of sorts that to Brighid was frustrating in the extreme. ‘I can’t. Not yet, Bridie.’
‘Why not?’
‘Florian and I have to attend you and Tullus while the Tribune’s at—’ He stopped as the guard moved closer to look.
‘Give it a count of thirty, then strain it. Do you think you can manage that?’ she snapped in Latin, missing the look of astonishment that passed between her brother and the guard.
She intended to visit the temple that morning and perhaps to talk to people and to find out the location of the place known as Watercombe where Helm might be found. The escort of Tullus, Florian and Math would not make things any easier. Busy market places, temple precincts and hoards of people going in all directions were, however, still new to her, and even Math did not behave in the way one would have expected of an Eboracum man where that city was several times the size of this. So when Tullus tipped his head at Florian, his sign-language was read as, ‘Keep your eye on him.’
Accordingly, Flavian took hold of his friend’s tunic sleeve, moving him forwards. ‘You’re supposed to be watching out for the domina’s comfort,’ he said, ‘not standing gawping at the buildings. Keep up, man.’
The buildings were impressive, even to a town-dweller, the pale stone carved into elegant pillars, steps and sculptures. There were white-plastered walls, open arcades and the massive barrel roofs of the bath complex, red-tiled and shining in the sun. Everywhere there were colonnades with wide open spaces beyond which people clustered around open shrines, watching unwilling goats being dragged towards red-robed priests. Visitors strolled, gossiped and squatted, many of them infirm, carried in litters and in arms, on crutches, or wrapped closely against inquisitive stares. Yet there was no hubbub, only the sound of double-pipes, the cry of a fretful child, the high intonation of a priest’s voice from the open door of the temple, and the hushed exchange of visitors.
Brighid’s visit to the temple precinct that morning was all the more significant when she discovered the connection between Sulis, the local goddess of the healing spring, Minerva, her Roman counterpart, and Brigantia, yet another manifestation of both goddesses. To find that her own deity was here, albeit under an assumed name, was an indication, surely, that this visit had been planned by Brigantia herself. She would be there at the sacred well, waiting for Brighid’s personal communication. Waiting to make things happen.
‘Up there, see?’ said Tullus, pointing to the triangular pediment high above the temple columns. ‘The Gorgon’s Head. Symbol of the goddess Minerva.’ Surrounded by garlands, winged victories and sea-monsters, the huge stone carving looked down upon the crowds. ‘Do you wish to visit the sacred spring, Princess?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Brighid. ‘But please allow me to go in alone. I cannot abscond, Tullus. Look, if you stand here, you’ll be able to see me.’ The entrance through the portico was, in fact, wreathed in steam from the hot spring, for it was from this source that the water bubbled up from the ground and was piped to other rooms.
‘Shall I go in with the domina?’ Math volunteered.
‘No, you stay here, lad.’
Brighid did not argue. She did not want Math to be with her either.
Half-expecting a small gushing well similar to the ice-cold springs at home, she was amazed by the way this hot spring had been tamed by previous centuries of Romans to surge upwards into a pool completely enclosed by a high-barrelled vault of stone glistening with green slime. Ferns sprouted like tufts of hair from every join, lit by daylight that streamed through an arched opening where steam rolled against the cooler air. The surface of the pool, an irregular oval, steamed and swirled like molten green glass across which Brighid could just make out the outline of two stone water-nymphs and, in the wall behind them, three openings through which people leaned to look down into the waters. The glint of metal flew through the air, followed by a greedy plop as the water swallowed the offerings.
On her own side, three stone columns stood on the water’s edge with lintels across the top and two more nymphs between, their green feet lapped by the water, their frozen gestures imitating the live arms in the openings on the opposite wall. Beside her stood a family gazing down into the depths where, when the steam parted, small objects could just be seen scattered across the bottom, shining gold, copper and pewter, nothing identifiable. One woman stood at the other side of her in silent contemplation, though her expensively clothed shoulders shook with sorrow. As one hand reached up to pull her pale green linen further over her head, Brighid saw a wrist adorned with gold and gemstones, hands long and smooth, lashes wet with tears. Outwardly, she appeared to have everything to be thankful for, yet her distress was unmistakable.
Without thinking how it might be interpreted, Brighid reached out to place a gentle hand on the woman’s arm, closing her fingers tenderly over the fine green stuff to feel the firm arm beneath, although she was not prepared for the slight flinch, as if she had touched an in
jury.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Brighid whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to …’
The woman turned, stiffly, with an attempt at a smile through lips swollen with weeping. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing.’
In those conditions, it was difficult for Brighid to get more than an impression of the woman’s demeanour, although her bearing was that of a woman older by some ten years than Brighid herself and whose eyes, even reddened by tears, were large and dark. Natural compassion prompted Brighid to find out more, to offer sympathy, but presumably the lady had come here to solve her problems by other means, and it was not the place of a stranger to interfere with that. Even if there had been time.
Reminded of her own reasons for the visit, Brighid chose not to impose further upon the woman’s misery. Sliding a gold band down her arm and over her knuckles, she tossed it into the middle of the pool. Help me, beloved goddess, to find safety and happiness before I grow too old to enjoy life. Protect me and those I love. There had been no time to have the bracelet inscribed with a message, but Brigantia would know which offering was hers. She stood for a while before turning to go, only then realising that the lady had disappeared.
Outside, the dark silhouette of burly Tullus was bending over a crumpled heap on the ground when Brighid joined him and immediately recognised the pale green gown of the lady whose arm she had touched. ‘She’s fainted,’ said Tullus, squatting beside her. ‘I suppose it happens all the time. Can you do anything for her, Princess?’
‘Carry her over here,’ Brighid said. ‘Lay her on the steps. Now, let me loosen her scarf. She needs some air. Florian, go and find some cold water … over there under the colonnade. Max, don’t stand and stare. Go outside the courtyard and see if the lady’s litter is waiting. I don’t know what name, lad. Go and ask.’
‘She looks very off colour,’ said Tullus, diplomatically understating, as usual.
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