by Jack Whyte
"In so doing I was the direct cause of the death of the Legate Antonius Lepus Cicero. Commander of the garrison at Camulodunum. Loyal to his Emperor, he marched against Magnus and died.
"As soon as Magnus had declared himself, I withdrew into hiding, and have remained in hiding ever since that time, awaiting the outcome of Magnus's venture, and knowing that if he failed I could emerge as a loyal officer who had taken his affairs into concealment to protect them.
"Now I am brought to judgment for a crime that I had not even considered to be worthy of remembrance; a faceless woman, murdered in my search for the man who mutilated me. She lived in Verulamium and her name, I know now, was Phoebe. It is in memory of Phoebe that I accuse myself and stand condemned by my own seal and hand. " I raised my head and looked at Seneca. "There is your choice, " I said.
"You may either sign this, or refuse to sign it. Either way, it will be found beside your corpse. "
His face had the pallor of death and his eyes were wild. "You are insane,
" he whispered. "Do you really believe I would sign that thing?"
"Tertius Pella here is hoping you will not, " I answered him, "because if you refuse, he will flog you to death and enjoy every swing of the scourge. Thirty lashes. You will not survive them, nor would you wish to. " I saw him flinch at the thought of thirty lashes. The one he had already received had made a major impression on him. "I, on the other hand, I am prepared to offer you a fighting chance for life. Not that I hate you less than Pella does. We could quarrel, Tertius and I, over who loves you least."
I paused, waiting for him to react to what I had said. He stretched upwards, seeking some relief from the agony of his hanging position, keeping his face expressionless.
"If you refuse to sign, " I went on, "as I have said, you will die under the lash. That is as certain as the death of Phoebe, whom you killed. If, on the other hand, you choose to sign the confession, you will have an opportunity to live. Not much of an opportunity, but more than you have allowed others. I will give you a sword and we will fight. Should you kill me, you will be free to go, that is if you can kill Pella too, for I think he might dispute your going. Victorious, you will have the document and satisfaction for your scars. If you die, however, and I intend to kill you with great pleasure, your confession, signed by your hand and bearing your seal, will be found beside your corpse as a final and unimpeachable condemnation richly deserved. I have already sent word to the garrison at Aquae Sulis. They will be here, looking for you, in a short time. " There was a flash of something in his eyes, but I killed it.
"There is no other way out for you, Seneca. Not even if the soldiers were to arrive early and save your life. They are no longer yours to influence. Magnus is dead, months ago, and the news is known. Britain has already reverted to Theodosius. " I let him think on that for a time, then, "Well?" I asked. "Are you ready to decide?"
"What if I were to sign? You would kill me before I had finished. " Rage surged in me, and I turned away from him to quell it. I turned back only when I had controlled myself.
"That would make me no better than you, Seneca, and I am a better man than you in every way. But what if I did kill you? It would still be better than being flogged to death by Tertius Pella. Once you are dead, your confession can no longer hurt you. For once in your rotten life, Seneca, you are going to have to trust someone to be more honourable than you are. Had I wanted simply to kill you. you would have been dead days ago. I want to kill you sword in hand, to beat you and to know you know that you are being beaten by a grey-bearded cripple. " I nodded to Pella. "Cut him down and take off those shackles. " Pella cut the rope and Seneca fell at my feet.
"On your face. " I commanded, prodding him with the point of my sword. He rolled and lay face down as Pella undid his leg irons. "Now, roll over. " He did so, and I held the point of my sword at the base of his throat until his hands were freed. When he had finished, Pella went and fetched a length of rope and knotted it in a noose about Seneca's neck. I nodded to him and he hauled Seneca unceremoniously to his feet.
"Choose now, " I said, fighting to keep my voice emotionless. "Sign or be flogged. "
From some deep well inside of himself, Seneca had found new resources to sustain him. The look he threw me was almost a defiant sneer, and, in spite of my hatred for him, I felt respect for his hardness stirring in my gut.
"I may sign, " he said, quietly, "but where is the sword I am to fight with?"
I looked at Pella. "Give me your sword. "
His face went black as a thunder-cloud. "No, by the Christ, I will not! If this whoreson has my sword at all it will be between his cursed ribs!" I spoke to the guard who had been standing quietly, watching what was happening. "Randall, give me your sword. "
The guard unsheathed his sword and handed it to me. I took it and stuck it in the ground, about five paces in front of the table. Having done that, I paced out ten long steps and stuck my own sword in the ground, after which I retraced five of those steps to stand between the two swords.
"There, " I said. "No advantages to either of us. Tertius Pella will tell me when you have signed fairly. After that, we fight and you die. " This time he did sneer. "Your courage is wondrous, cripple. I have not eaten properly, or moved about in six days. "
I shrugged. "Weep if you want, Seneca. You are fortunate to have even this chance. "
He pursed his lips, seeing no mercy in my eyes. "So be it, " he said. "I will sign. " He moved forward to the table and took up the stylus I had placed there beside an open jar of ink. Pella moved with him, not allowing the rope around his neck to slacken too much. "Bring me a firebrand, " Seneca said. Pella glowered at him and then at me. I nodded to Randall, who went to the fire and picked up a burning stick and took it to where Seneca stood reading the scroll.
Seneca motioned with his head for the guard. to come closer, and when Randall had approached him, our prisoner smiled, a smile of frightening charm, considering his case. "I will hold the parchment, " he said. "You melt the wax on to it. " He watched the wax dripping to form a pool and then he imprinted the cooling puddle with his seal. "There, " he said. "And now my name. " He dipped the stylus into the ink and signed his name with a flourish. Even from a distance, I could see that his name was clearly legible. Tertius Pella examined the scroll and nodded to me.
"Good, " I said. "Now undo the rope, Tertius, and stand away. " As he started to obey me, I walked towards my sword.
As soon as the rope was clear of his head, Seneca sprang forward and snatched up the other sword. He crouched, panting, staring at me with a feral grin on his lips. "Now, cripple, you die!" I looked at him, stark naked, his phallus dangling between his legs, and I felt invincible.
We circled each other warily for a spell, each taking the measure of the other, and then came together in the middle of the circle we had described. Our swords met with a clang as each of us slashed brutally at the other, hoping to finish the matter at one blow. There was no technique here, and no need of it; neither of us had a shield. This matter would be settled by strength, swiftness and chance. I watched his eyes, looking for the message of his next move, and he almost had me, because he moved in again to the attack as swiftly as an adder and with no warning. The point of his sword flashed within an inch of my face as I threw myself backwards and away from him with no chance of a counterstroke. He followed me, fast, his sword poised to stab, and there was nothing laughable now about his nakedness. I was aware only of his ferocity and of the fact that I had underestimated him in every way. I had looked for the weakness and cowardice of the bully, and for the effeminate inadequacy of a limp-wristed homosexual. But where I had imagined weakness, I found strength and bitter determination, and I quickly lost all feelings of invulnerability in my scramble to stay away from his sword. He actually laughed aloud as he pursued me, and my limp felt more pronounced than it had in all the years since I had acquired it. Again his point slashed across my chest, missing, yet fanning me with its closeness. He came agai
n, and I backed away, waiting for him to commit to his next move. He rushed; I stepped aside and swung at him and missed, and he kept moving forward. Forward, to where Randall, the guard, stood watching with his arms folded on his chest. The swipe of the treacherous blow that followed took all of us by surprise. Randall fell backwards, clutching at the gaping wound in his throat that sprayed his life's blood up and around his falling form like a cloud.
Before I could move or react, Pella flung himself into the fray with a vicious oath, drawing his sword and plunging at Seneca, who seemed still off balance after his killing blow at Randall. As Pella's hurtling body came between us, depriving me of a clear view of Seneca, I saw Seneca twist and dodge, and then Pella was rigid, drawing himself up onto his toes, his entire body expressing outrage and violent death. I heard the grating thud of the blow that killed him and the scraping sound of Seneca's blade plunging home through his breastbone. Like a cat, Seneca moved forward, braced one foot against Pella's sagging body and kicked the corpse free of his sword.
Astounded by the turn things had taken, I was conscious of my mind screaming "No!" and of both of my companions still kicking and squirming, although both of them were dead.
Now Seneca faced me alone, and he was laughing, his eyes shining insanely with the joy of battle and of killing. "Two gone, Greybeard, " he said. "Now, before you die, will you tell me your name?" I settled my feet squarely and braced myself to meet him head on. "I told you earlier, " I snarled. "For you, my name is Death — Death and Vengeance. " He sprang at me again, watching to see which way I would evade his charge, but I stood my ground, leaned forward to take his weight and stabbed hard, feeling my blade go deep in the killing thrust. His chin snapped forward onto his chest and his eyes flew wide, and for a space of heartbeats I held the whole weight of him upright on the end of my sword. I felt a savage exultation flow from my head to the muscles of my straining forearm. "Vengeance, " I whispered. "Vengeance and Death. " I jerked my arm back hard, wrenching my blade from his chest, and watched as he fell, first to his knees and then forward onto his face. I stood there above him for a long time, looking down. He did not jerk or squirm, and he still breathed, but I knew I had my vengeance. I raised my arm again to strike off his head, and suddenly found I had no wish to strike one more blow. I opened my hand and let my sword fall to the grass, and then I looked around me at the slaughter-ground. The soldiers would be there soon. I brought the scroll from the table, rolled it up loosely and stuck it between his right arm and his chest, feeling as I did so the flaccid deadness of his muscles.
I wiped my hand on my tunic, turned on my heel and walked away to where we had left our horses, leaving the clearing with its carnage behind me forever.
XXXIII
In due time, I confessed my sin and was shriven by Bishop Alaric, but I never did tell Caius or Luceiia what I had done. Not that I had any shame of my actions, but I had no pride in them either, and I decided that no purpose was to be gained by spreading the knowledge among those I loved. It would be sufficient that their lives were the safer for my removal of Seneca. The how and the when of his treachery and his demise would be known soon enough. The catalyst that brought about his death had no need to be named.
The good Bishop went on his way eventually, and life in our Colony resumed its normal pace. We continued to be isolated from the rest of Britain, to a very great degree, and I did not find it too surprising that the news of Seneca's quietus should fail to reach us. His family, I surmised, would have gone to great lengths to conceal his perfidy from the eyes of the people. In the meantime, our crops continued to improve from year to year, and Ullic aided us greatly by decreeing that each of his people who came to visit should bring a stone to raise upon our walls. This made a major difference to the pace of our building activities, for there was much traffic between his land and ours. Soon our masons were working mounted on scaffolding, so high were our walls, and the old hill fort inside the citadel had become a permanent camp, housing our growing army in stout log buildings.
Our governing Council had seen some changes, too. All of its members now lived in the Colony and met together once a month. None of them was selected for his timidity, so we had some stormy sessions, but by and large our lives went on peacefully.
On one of my first visits to Ullic's kingdom in the mountains, he and I discussed strategy in the event of Saxon raids. His men would guard the entry from the river, and he would keep outposts overlooking the main road from the north. We, for our part, would police the approaches from the east, south and south-west. Anyone threatening from the west itself would have to cross his lands. I was content.
And marriages had been celebrated between his Celts and our Britannic Romans. Only a few, but they happened. Life was good to us. On a rainy evening in March, in the eighth year of my stay in the Colony, I sent my daughter Victoria to bring Caius to the smithy. She was his favourite, his first-born niece. As a child, unable to pronounce his name, she had called him "Uncle Cay. " Quintus Varo had been calling him Cay for years, but now, given new currency by the love of a child, the name stuck, and he had been called Cay by the family ever since. He came into the smithy with his hand resting on her seven-year-old head as they walked together. I was waiting for him, Luceiia by my side, standing at my workbench. I stepped to greet him and surprised him mightily by throwing my arms around him in a hug and swinging him off his feet.
His eyebrows were arched high when I put him down, and he threw his sister an eloquent look of long-suffering tolerance. "Thank you for that, Publius, " he said with dignity when I'd put him down. "Now, will you explain this summons? And this greeting? Victoria tells me you had something 'portant for me. " He smiled indulgently as he repeated his niece's pronunciation.
"Of course, Caius, " I said. "You shall have an explanation. Let me see, now. " I pretended to think about it. "Luceiia, why did I ask Cay to come here?" She said nothing, and merely looked at me indulgently. I snapped my fingers. "Aha! I remember. Cay, I want you to meet someone. " He looked around. The smithy was empty, save for the three of us. My daughter had gone.
"To meet someone. I see. And where is this someone?"
"Here. "
He spoke gently to me, humouring me as he would a madman. "Publius, my friend, we are alone in here, you and Luceiia and I. "
"Not so, Cay, " I said, smiling. "There is another here. "
"Really?" This was a languid drawl. "Where? Where is he?"
"He's a she, Cay. A female. A lady. "
"A lady. Well, in that case, where is she?"
"Over there, " I nodded towards the back of the smithy.
"Where? I see no one. "
"Then approach! She is there, Cay. "
He started to protest, and then he saw her. He looked back at both of us, smiling uncertainly.
"Go on, " I urged him. "Move closer!" Mystified, he did so, staring in perplexity.
"She" was a statue, a female figure, two feet high, large-breasted, ample-bellied, abundantly buttocked and faceless. A rough-sculpted, iron woman standing on a plinth of solid metal that rippled from her footless legs in a puddle.
"Who is she, Varrus? What is she?" There was wonder in his voice, for he had never seen the like of this.
"Coventina is her name, Cay. She's Celtic, " I told him. "The Celtic goddess of water. She is a water nymph, and her spirit has lived for centuries in every body of water in this country. She's the reason all these Celts throw coins and offerings into pools. I call her the Lady of the Lake. "
"The Lady of the Lake. " And then he saw it and swung towards me. "Of the lake! You mean... ?"
"Aye, Caius. I mean!" I could no longer control the great grin that spread across my face. "She's made of iron from the skystone. I smelted it last month. "
His eyes grew wide. "Last month? And you said nothing? All this time?
How could you? And you, Luceiia, how could you let this go by?" Luceiia shook her head, looking at me. "Do not blame me, Brother. I knew nothing of
this until now. My secretive husband sent for me only a short time before he sent for you. Until that time he had said nothing, not even a hint. "
I smiled and shrugged, saying nothing again.
Caius looked mildly confused, then. "But why a statue, Publius?"
"Why not?"
He looked again at the Lady. She was crudely made, but still, she had a certain beauty.
"Indeed, why not?" he said. I joined him, gripping his shoulder as we looked at her together.
"What else could I do with her, Cay?" I asked him. "I didn't want to end up with a simple ingot, after all. Seven years of effort deserves more of a symbol than a metal ingot. And yet I have no urgent need to use the metal. Some day I will. Some day I shall find the perfect use for it, but until then I thought to leave her in your care. I promised you that if you left me to my own time, you should have iron from those stones. So, until I find a better use for her, she's yours. "
He ran his hand over her, feeling her substance. "The Lady of the Lake!
Why doesn't she shine, Publius?"
"She will, Cay, " I assured him. "She will. The lustre is there in the raw metal. She will shine bright, some day, when I have found the perfect use for her. "
"What does this mean, Varrus?" His voice was hushed.
"What does it mean?" I sucked in a great breath and touched the head of the statue, caressing its cold, solid hardness. "I don't know what it means, Cay. Maybe it doesn't mean anything, apart from the fact that my theory was right. Then again, it means that in spite of what your mind tells you is impossible, stones full of iron do fall from the sky. " I was rubbing the ball of my thumb against the smooth surface of the Lady's face, and I felt the smile on my own face as I added, "It means, my friend, that God still has some secret wonders that He chooses to hide from men."
"Aye, that it does, " he whispered. He reached to pick her up.
"Careful, Cay, " I warned him. "She's heavier than you think. Here, let me help you. "