The Hadrian Legacy

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘Sacrifice?’ said Flaminius. ‘We all must make our sacrifices.’

  ‘I don’t speak of sacrifices of wine,’ she said contemptuously, ‘or beasts even. I don’t speak of Roman ways of sacrifice. I speak of the sacrifices of yore, the sacrifices of the Gauls.

  ‘I speak of the sacrifice of men.’

  Another sigh came from the crowd. Drustica was disturbed to see that the idea was so popular. ‘What men?’ she asked.

  Ignoring her, Cucullata turned to the crowd. ‘Who among you has sacrificed men to the gods, in defiance of the Roman law? Who has brought death at midnight? Death beneath the moon?’

  The roar from the men appalled Drustica. She wasn’t easily scared, but that roar was so primal and savage, it was like finding yourself in the amphitheatre facing wild beasts. She glanced at Flaminius, and remembered what he had said about Bellomarus and his men sacrificing that dancing girl. But he said nothing.

  Cucullata made a cutting motion with her hand. As silence fell, she beckoned the robed druids to her side.

  ‘We have a spy in our midst,’ she told the crowd.

  Cold sweat stood out on Drustica’s brow. The ugly muttering of the crowd made her shiver. How did the druidess know?

  ‘A prying, sneaking spy has come to learn our mysteries. The secrets of the druids are sacred. What is the penalty for those who spy upon the secrets of the druids?’

  ‘Death!’ shouted one of the warriors.

  Drustica stepped close to Flaminius and brushed her knuckles against his surreptitiously. He glanced distractedly at her as other men echoed the first shout.

  ‘Death! Death at midnight! Death beneath the moon!’

  ‘Bring forth the captive!’ Cucullata cried.

  Druids went to an enclosure and brought from it a bound, hooded, struggling form. Drustica stared uncomprehendingly. Who was this?

  Cucullata stood beside the figure; a brawny man, it seemed, who strained against his bonds as the druids held him up.

  ‘Trailing us across the land came this fellow,’ she announced, hand on the hood that covered his face. ‘A spy who would learn our secrets, which are sacrosanct, inviolable, undisclosed to all but the initiated. You know what the old ways say must happen to those who spy.’

  Drustica looked urgently at Flaminius. The druids had many secrets. Was that why Cucullata wore that cowl? It came as a relief that the druidess did not know that they were spies. This was some other spy. But who? Another Roman?

  Cucullata tore the hood away. Blinking in the light of the torches, the man peered around him at the gathered warriors and druids. Drustica thought he looked familiar.

  Flaminius gasped. ‘Junius Italicus.’

  She looked at him. His face was blank. He was holding his emotions in check. ‘Your centurion?’ she whispered. ‘The one who betrayed you?’

  ‘Looks like he came in search of me.’

  ‘All spies must die,’ Cucullata declared. ‘It is the law of the druids. This one will die at midnight as a sacrifice to the gods.’

  Junius Italicus’s eyes fixed on his tribune, but he showed no sign of recognition. Drustica felt strangely heartened; Flaminius’ disguise was good enough to fool a close colleague. Then the centurion looked at her, and his face purpled.

  Then Cucullata turned and pointed a finger with a long nail-like a talon at Flaminius. ‘And it is this new recruit who will sacrifice him—at the culmination of his initiation into our mysteries.’

  —24—

  ‘Very well,’ the Roman said. ‘I will sacrifice him.’

  Flaminius had come here to learn what the druids were planning. Now he was to be initiated, the only thing standing in the way was an obligation to murder his colleague. This must be a difficult choice, even if the centurion had betrayed him—though why Junius Italicus had done this remained a mystery. But Flaminius’ response still came as a shock to Drustica.

  Junius Italicus turned to stare at the speaker, but one of his guard clouted him, and his head drooped.

  Cucullata studied the new recruit. ‘And once you have done so,’ the druidess said, ‘you will be accepted into the inner circle of our mystery.’ Flaminius nodded. ‘I see that you are eager to do this,’ she told him quietly, ‘but remember—there can be no going back. Once this man’s blood is on your hands, you are one of us. Never again can you return to the world of the Romans. You will be a servant of the druids.’ She turned in a flurry of cloak and went to talk with the druids. Guards hustled Junius Italicus back into his pen.

  Bellomarus approached. He clapped Flaminius on the shoulder. ‘Good man, Gaesorix,’ he said, shaking his hand. The others surged around him enthusiastically, even Segovesus, although the latter looked glum.

  ‘Well done, lad,’ Segovesus said, though it clearly pained him to do it.

  A feast was declared, while the slaves made the preparations for the sacrificial rites that would take place atop the highest cairn, under the eyes of all. Drustica went to stand by Flaminius’ side.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ she whispered.

  He looked balefully at her. ‘I can and I will,’ he said.

  ‘You heard what she said,’ Drustica hissed. ‘You’ll no longer be a Roman, you’ll be one of them! And how could you murder a man who is your fellow officer?’

  ‘You heard what she said,’ Flaminius countered. ‘If I’m initiated, I’ll learn all their secrets.’

  ‘And for this, you’re willing to sacrifice your centurion?’

  Flaminius turned his back. ‘He betrayed me anyway.’

  If Junius Italicus had betrayed Flaminius to the druids, why was he now being sacrificed? ‘If it ever gets out that you murdered a fellow officer,’ she hissed, following Flaminius, ‘you’ll be executed yourself. If anyone finds out.’

  Flaminius stopped and looked at her hard. ‘Who will tell them?’ he asked. ‘Will you?’

  He walked away. Drustica followed him with her eyes, furious. ‘I might just do that,’ she spat. With no idea where she was going, she hurried away.

  She found herself following a path up the side of the hill. The full moon hung over the waters of the Hibernian Ocean. Her heart was heavy in her breast. Flaminius seemed to be committed to this terrible course.

  His desperation was understandable. She had been bewildered by what had been happening, but now Flaminius had put it into words, it was obvious. The druids were preparing an attack on the south. A revolt like the one in Gaul that followed on Civilis’ uprising. Did they hope to wrest the province from the empire? With the south up in flames, the Caledonians would gain fresh heart and the legions on the Wall would be caught between hammer and anvil. The massacre would be worse than the one that had decimated the Ninth Legion.

  Everything was still and silent. A night bird’s croak broke the hush, but otherwise all she could hear was the wail of the wind and the distant crash of breakers on the shore. A clink of armour came from below, where moonlight glinted on the spears and helmets of patrolling warriors on the encircling walls. She was alone. In the confusion, in her own confusion, she had escaped from her captors. Could she get over the walls and away?

  The moon vanished behind a cloud, and the darkness grew. She should wait until moonset, then make her breakout. And what then? Steal a horse, ride to the closest outpost, Segontium or Kanovium? A few cohorts of legionaries could crush this uprising before it had begun.

  Except—she had no idea how far the conspiracy went. From what Flaminius said it seemed that it had supporters in Gaul. Did they meant to liberate Gaul as well? For all their dedication to the old ways of the druids, most them were foreigners, not Britons like herself.

  And what about Flaminius? What about Junius Italicus? If she ran away, who would stop Flaminius? He was willing to sacrifice much more than the centurion; he would sacrifice himself—sacrifice himself for Rome. He had learnt his trade in a savage school. The Chief had schooled him well.

  She couldn’t let him do this. What was happening here h
ad to get to the ears of those in authority, and yet Drustica had to remain by Flaminius’ side—to save him from himself. But there was someone who could make the attempt, with help.

  Stealthily she picked her way back down the hillside. Light spilled from the hall of skulls and she heard the clamour of jubilant feasters. Flaminius would be in there with the others, drinking heather ale and honey mead with his barbaric companions. Perhaps it would bring him the dark courage he needed. But if she was successful, Drustica’s actions would make that unnecessary. He would not be initiated into the inner circle of the druids’ mystery tonight. But that was a small matter. They had to find some better way of learning the enemy’s secrets.

  Two guards stood before the pen where Junius Italicus lay. This duty was an honour, of course, but it was a cold night to be out in the wind of the cold hillside. Bored and frustrated, neither noticed the dark shape slinking up to them through the shadows. Just when Drustica positioned herself behind one, her leather belt wrapped round her hands as a garrotte to slip round his neck, the moon came out from behind the clouds.

  Afraid she would be seen, she struck. The guard dropped his spear and shield with a gargling shout and scrabbled at his throat as she twisted the garrotte, her knee in the small of the man’s back. His comrade spun round, spear levelled, eyes wide. Drustica let go of the garrotte and shoved the guard straight onto his fellow’s spear.

  It skewered him, sticking out of his back for a foot or more. Overborne by the unexpected weight, the second guard dropped the spear and his comrade’s body hit the ground with a thump. As the guard went to draw his sword, Drustica struck him across the eyes with her impromptu garrotte and he fell back, clutching at his face. She snatched the sword from his limp grasp and thrust it into his heart.

  Looking round her—the grisly sounds could have attracted attention—she realised that the surrounding space was empty, as far as could be discerned in deceptive the moonlight. The bodies lay in contorted postures on either side of her.

  The druids had their human sacrifice after all.

  The pale oval of Junius Italicus’ face appeared at the bars of the pen. He looked as if he had awoken from nightmares to find the nightmares were real. Drustica went to the gate.

  ‘Who are you?’ the centurion hissed. ‘Wait—I know you! Even dressed as a man, I know you. You were with Flaminius. His Brit friend. So, you’re with the druids! I thought so.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said impatiently, studying the lock as she spoke. ‘I’m setting you free. Don’t talk so much.’

  A thought struck her. She rose and looked him in the eye. ‘Besides, it was you who betrayed Gaius to the druids. Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Betrayed Flaminius?’ The centurion shook his head in wonder. ‘You sent him a message and then he vanished, Brit.’

  ‘I sent no message,’ she said, bending low again. She was having trouble with the lock, a sophisticated device of a kind she had not seen before. ‘Out of the way.’

  She thrust the tip of her stolen sword into the keyhole and pushed. After a few tries, the lock broke into pieces, the sword-tip snapped off, the door sprang open, and Junius Italicus rushed out, hands outstretched to throttle her.

  She fended him off with the broken sword. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed. ‘You fool, you’ll attract attention. I’m trying to free you, not get both of us caught.’

  He halted. ‘Why are you freeing me? This is some kind of trick.’

  She scowled. ‘What do you mean, I sent Gaius a message? You told him I had asked him to meet me and he rode straight into an ambush. In fact, why am I setting you free? You’re in league with them!’ Confused, she lifted the broken sword again.

  ‘If I was in league with them,’ he reasoned, ‘why would they have locked me up? I was given a message. They said it was from you, that you had sent Flaminius a message…’

  ‘Who said I sent Gaius a message? How did you know you could trust them?’

  ‘It was the camp prefect,’ said Junius Italicus. ‘I had no reason to doubt him… Look, this is getting us nowhere, Brit. What’s happening in this place?’

  Drustica explained as best she could. Junius Italicus was surprised to learn of Flaminius’s presence in the city. When she finished, he said, ‘The governor must be told. Let’s get out of here.’

  Drustica shook her head. ‘We can’t both go. It will be difficult enough getting one of us out of here, but we can’t abandon Gaius. Besides, the governor sent the message telling Dumnorix’s Troop to move south, frustrating Gaius’ investigation. It would take too long to send a message to the Chief, even if we had a courier to send the message. Gaius suggested the procurator, but…’

  ‘You can trust Platorius Nepos,’ Junius Italicus assured her. ‘He didn’t send that message—although who did, I don’t know. He’s a good man, though no soldier. The procurator won’t be much use. He’s got no military power, except over his personal guard. We need someone who commands legions.’

  Drustica was willing to trust his judgement. ‘Very well. I will help you get away so you can go and warn him. But I will stay here, and when we know the full story, the full extent of the conspiracy, we will escape with what we know.’

  The centurion looked anguished. ‘Do you really think he meant to murder me?’

  ‘We can’t stand here talking,’ Drustica insisted. ‘You’re to be sacrificed at midnight. We’ve got to get you over the wall and out of here. It must be almost midnight now.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ said the centurion. ‘But how can we get out? You have a plan, Brit?’

  ‘My name is Drustica!’ she insisted.

  ‘What’s your plan, Drustica?’ he replied.

  Drustica beckoned him to follow her. She didn’t want to tell him that everything she had done had been on an impulse. At least the city was deserted now, with the warriors in the hall and the slaves incarcerated in their own huts. She led the centurion at a crouching run from hut to hut until they reached the lane that wound down the hill. It ended at the wickerwork gate in the inner walls.

  ‘How are we supposed to get past that?’ Junius Italicus hissed.

  She shook her head, gesturing him to get into the cover of a stand of nettles. Moonlight glinted on armour. Two sentries stood in the shadows beside the gate. As they crouched there, Drustica heard the clink of weapons from up on the parapet. A glow of torches came from the parapet as the patrol approached.

  ‘Back this way.’

  She led him around the side of the hill, weaving through the shadows between stone walled huts. Now they stood at the foot of the wall, out of sight of the gate. The patrolling guards had passed.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘We climb over.’

  ‘Over that? We’ll be seen!’

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  The centurion gave it some thought, then shook his head.

  ‘Right,’ said Drustica. ‘You first. Unless you’d rather be sacrificed.’

  Junius Italicus gave her a look that she couldn’t quite see in the darkness, then began scaling the dank stone wall. Reaching the parapet, he paused, checking it in either direction. The wall wound along the side of the hill, and the patrols were all out of sight. It was now or never.

  Drustica seized hold of a wet rock and hauled herself up. There were plenty of handholds but it was slippery with moss. When she reached the parapet, the centurion was already on the far side.

  Drustica kept watch while he lowered himself out of sight. The drop was much further on this side. Junius Italicus landed with a thump in the shadows at the foot of the parapet, and Drustica heard a muffled curse.

  She looked about her. The moon had gone behind a cloud but as she crouched there it appeared again, illuminating the dark night like a silver lantern. She dropped over the side and landed next to the centurion, losing balance and crashing into him.

  He cursed through gritted teeth. ‘Clumsy barbarian bitch.’

  Drustica was about to remin
d him she was a Roman citizen when she heard footsteps from the parapet and froze. The guards were coming back.

  The centurion’s face was pale in the darkness. ‘We’re exposed here,’ he panted. ‘We need cover.’

  ‘If we move, they’ll see us,’ she said. ‘Stay still. Keep your face down.’

  It wasn’t difficult to follow her own advice. She was frozen to the spot. Very slowly, she tucked her face into her chest and crouched into a foetal position. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by talking. The red glow of torches flooded the shadows at the foot of the parapet.

  ‘They’ll see us!’ the centurion hissed, tensing to move.

  ‘Keep still!’ She lifted her head slightly. ‘It’s our only chance.’

  ‘You said you’d planned this,’ he said.

  ‘And keep quiet!’

  He went silent. They stared at the muddy turf beneath them, kneeling, crouched. A grassy slope swept away towards more circular huts, whose roofs were dark cones in darkness. The red light from the parapet above grew brighter, as did the sound of approach.

  Cold sweat broke out on Drustica’s body. She was going to die here. She heard more footsteps from the other direction. Out of the corner of her eye she saw more lights coming closer. The two patrols had walked the wall and were coming back again—or had they turned back? Turned back because they had been told that fugitives were at liberty in the city?

  She crouched lower. Maybe they should have made a break for it when they had the chance. They might have been seen, they might not. But now, with two patrols sweeping up, torches blazing and lighting up the night, it was inevitable.

  But if they ran they would also be seen. What chance would they have? She didn’t want to escape the city anyway, she wanted to stay and keep an eye on Flaminius. She couldn’t abandon him. But it was vital that the Romans learnt of what was happening in these western hills. All it would take would be for the garrison at Deva and the Second Legion’s camp at Isca to be reinforced, and these hills would become the druids’ death-trap. She remembered the bagaudae in the Gaulish forests and wondered again quite how far this conspiracy reached.