by George Green
‘But sometimes they tell the truth,’ Serpicus said.
The old man nodded. ‘Yes, sometimes they tell the truth.’
Serpicus sat up straight. ‘Then I will take that chance.’
Bocalas looked at him once more and Serpicus saw that he had made his decision. The old man blew out the torch and Serpicus heard him moving around in the gloom. There was a rustling sound behind him and then someone – presumably Bocalas’ silent boy – placed a cloth bag over his head and pulled it tight over his eyes. The cloth was thin, but the evening was already nearly over; he could see nothing. A deep emotionless voice – not that of Bocalas – told Serpicus to put his hands out, rest them in front of him and follow where he was led. His hands settled on thin shoulders. As soon as Serpicus complied, he heard the noise of the door to the barn opening, and whoever was in front of him started walking slowly in the direction of the forest.
Serpicus had no idea who he was following, nor how long they walked for, nor how deep into the forest they went. It could have been that they walked for a good distance in a straight line or for a long time in a series of small circles. The ground underfoot was flat, like a well-worn path, with nothing to step over or walk around, that much he knew, and little else. He soon stopped thinking about it and turned over in his mind what lay ahead. He knew nothing, so his imagination had full rein. He remembered that, when he was a child, he was told stories of what the druids’ ceremonies were like, and he had nightmares about them, all the children did. It was possible that the stories were designed to keep the children away from the druids’ sacred places. If so, they succeeded.
In Rome, after the German campaigns, veterans regaled dinner-parties with tales of the druids’ debauchery, of ceremonies of licentiousness and human sacrifice. Serpicus had always been fairly sure that these stories were not true, but, as he walked into the forest like a blind man with his hands outstretched on a stranger’s shoulders, he realized he had no idea what was about to happen. He knew that they were on a small island connected to the rest of the world by a neck of land which had a Roman army camped across it, and yet he heard no shouts and smelt no fires. He heard the noises of a forest at night, and yet there was no forest on the island, and he walked for a long time, much longer than it would take to cross the village.
He had questions, but no answers. He dealt with the confusion by allowing the questions to slip away, until his mind was only aware of walking and listening.
The shoulders in front of him came to a sudden stop. Large hands took Serpicus by the wrists, lifted them off the shoulders of his guide and let them drop by his sides.
‘There is a seat beside.you,’ said the deep voice. ‘Rest a moment.’
Serpicus stretched out a hand and found a flat rock beside him at waist height. He was tired after the walk, but wondered if whether he sat or not was some kind of test. He compromised by leaning against it as casually as he could.
A short distance away he heard the aak-kraak sound of the hawk, made deep in its throat.
Serpicus knew it must be dark but he could see no torches through the cloth around his eyes. The air was cool and damp. The ground was sodden from the rain. He listened hard, trying to anticipate what would happen, but there was almost complete silence. He heard the scrape of metal on rock, and then the faint but exact click of two pebbles striking each other. Of the normal forest night sounds, Serpicus could hear nothing. No hollow owl-call, no rustling as a fox or rabbit passed through the undergrowth, no yelp or growl or whine. The atmosphere thickened. His senses seemed unnaturally sharp in the silence, and yet he had no idea what was going to happen. He wondered if the feeling of anticipation was real or a product of his blinded imagination. The forest around him was wound tight like a catapult, waiting for something to happen.
Serpicus stood still for what seemed a very long time.
He was suddenly aware that someone was standing next to him. Then there was a voice, unnaturally loud as it broke the silence, and Serpicus recognized Bocalas’ tones, but more stern and formal than before.
‘In a moment I will take off your blindfold. Do not look to left or right, there is nothing to find out and it does not matter where you are. The God is in front of you. Stand before him and wait for your answer.’
‘How shall I know when to ask my question?’
‘Do not speak. The God already knows what you wish to ask him.’
The cloth bag was lifted over Serpicus’ head in one movement as if a conjuror were revealing his head to an audience, and he blinked in the sudden light of several torches placed in carved holders in a number of large stones set out at intervals nearby. Two large braziers glowed red and yellow, one at either side of a low altar.
Immediately in front of him was Bocalas’ outstretched hand, holding a golden cup.
‘Drink this,’ Bocalas murmured. ‘It will help you hear the God’s voice clearly.’
Serpicus took the cup. The metal was warm. The liquid inside it was dark like wine and tasted of bitter herbs. It was strong but not unpleasant. Immediately he drank he felt fumes rising from deep in his belly, roiling in dizzying circles to his head. His mind had never been so clear and he felt wonderfully well. Everything came into sharp focus. Even though it was dark beyond the torches he could see every twig on the nearby branches, every blade of grass on the ground, every hair in Bocalas’ beard. It was a feeling of absolute clarity, as though he could understand everything.
‘Go to the altar,’ said Bocalas.
Serpicus wondered if it was another test, if he should kneel or not. He waited, unmoving. It seemed the best thing. When the God appeared he would know what to do.
Suddenly Serpicus knew the God was there. Not because he could see or hear him, but because he just knew, could sense it. The God had appeared inside him.
A bright light appeared in front of him, as if he had been in a dark room and opened the door to the rising sun.
You seek knowledge of your loved ones.
The voice was light and musical, and strangely emotionless.
‘Yes.’ He wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or not.
They cannot speak to you here.
His heart thumped and rolled around in his chest. ‘Shall I never speak to them again?’
You will speak again, one day soon.
He didn’t know what he should say. He waited.
You seek knowledge of the battle to come.
‘The villagers do not seek to fight. They wish only to be permitted to continue their lives as they always have done.’
The voice became thoughtful. Change surrounds us always.
‘But the Romans worship other gods of their own. Do not you, our own gods, protect us?’
Sometimes men think they serve one set of ends, but the gods have other plans. Nothing is certain.
‘Will the village fall to the Romans?’
A pause.
You ask too much.
There was a heavy silence. Then Serpicus felt himself turned around by large hands, as if he was a doll in a child’s game made to face another way, and he saw…
He saw Antonia in a pure white tunic that reached to the ground. She was standing against a background of thick mist, her hair spread out around her as if on a pillow. Her hair had the deep reddish glow of the setting sun. She was smiling languidly. He felt a warmth in his heart, which cooled as – somehow – he became aware that the person she was smiling at was not him. Without warning her face changed, tensed, as if she was suddenly lifting a weight from the ground. The glow of her hair darkened and began to flow outwards onto the mist like tendrils of thick smoke. Serpicus knew the smoke was blood.
Her eyes widened, then closed.
Then darkness.
Serpicus waited, his heart not beating.
‘What does it mean?’ he whispered, almost silently. The darkness lifted. Bocalas was beside him, and the boy stood nearby. The hawk was nowhere to be seen. ‘Bocalas, what does it mean?’
&nb
sp; The druid’s face was impassive. ‘You asked the question, only you can understand the answer.’
The strength drained from Serpicus’ legs and he sat down heavily. Bocalas looked at him. For a moment Serpicus thought the druid was going to call him a fool, but then the old man’s expression softened. He lifted his robe and sat down beside him.
‘I’ll let you into a trade secret,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked Serpicus.
The druid gave him a wistful smile. ‘I’ve known a lot of men who have undergone what you’ve just done. Every one has asked the same question, wanted to know what the vision meant. I’ve given every man the same answer, and every man has gone away to come to his own decision. And do you know what?’
‘What?’
Bocalas’ expression turned rueful. ‘Every single one of them was wrong.’
Serpicus stared at the darkness for a long time without speaking. Then the druid and the boy helped him silently to his feet and they made their way slowly back the way they had come.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The village was in turmoil. Heavily armed men with stern expressions were everywhere. Some paced purposefully, looking around as if enemies might jump out at them at any moment. Others stood still, tense and expectant, waiting. Serpicus stopped a fierce-looking warrior.
‘What’s happening?’
The German’s eyes narrowed. ‘You were with those Romans. Stay away from me if you want to live.’ He pulled his arm free and walked quickly away.
Serpicus hurried to the barn. It was surrounded by armed men. Some of them stood on agitated guard, others were engaged in furious argument. Serpicus looked around and saw a familiar face, red with passion.
‘Hansi, what’s happened?’
Hansi turned to him in surprise. The man he was arguing with reached for his sword. Hansi’s hand went out to stop him. ‘It’s all right.’
‘It bloody isn’t,’ said the man. ‘He’s one of them.’
‘One of who?’ asked Serpicus.
‘A Roman,’ he said. ‘A bloody assassin.’
Serpicus’ expression of bewilderment gave Hansi time to grab the man’s wrist and push the sword back into its scabbard.
‘He’s not a Roman and he certainly isn’t an assassin. He was born here, he’s one of us.’
The warrior looked at him doubtfully. ‘Men change,’ he said. ‘Men can be bought. Even Germans.’
Serpicus pulled Hansi around to face him. ‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Hansi looked at him with curiosity.
‘You don’t know? Where have you been?’
‘With Bocalas. What happened?’
‘One of your men killed a guard and tried to kill Drenthe.’
Serpicus felt his heart dip and lurch. ‘What? Is she all right? Who did it?’
The man beside Hansi narrowed his eyes. ‘Does it matter who? You brought them into our village. They ate with us and all the time they were planning to betray us. We should kill you all, now, and be done with traitors.’
Serpicus concentrated on the important things.
‘Where is Drenthe?’
‘You think we would tell you?’
Serpicus fought down his exasperation. ‘Don’t be stupid. Take my sword, tie my hands if it’ll make you feel better, but I must see her.’
Hansi looked at Serpicus, then reached out and pulled the sword from his belt. ‘You must understand the situation. Walk in front of me, don’t try and get beyond my reach, don’t do anything sudden. If you move too fast or do anything I don’t like, I will kill you, understand?’ He pushed Serpicus forward and walked behind him, just out of reach, the sword pricking the skin between his shoulders. The other man strode behind him, fingering his sword and muttering darkly.
They went to a small house behind the Hall. Hansi pushed Serpicus against a wall and hammered on the door. There was the sound of footsteps inside. The door opened slowly and light from a torch fell onto the ground.
‘Who is it?’ said a female voice. Hansi stepped into the light, pulling Serpicus by the arm. The voice became alarmed. ‘What do you want? Why have you brought him here? He should be in the barn with all the others. He’s one of them.’
‘No, he is not,’ said Drenthe’s voice from inside before Hansi could reply. ‘Let him in.’
‘But he…’
Drenthe said something indistinct and the door was grudgingly opened. The guard stood beside it looking suspicious, her sword drawn and ready. The other three were between Serpicus and the inside of the room, their eyes alert and their weapons ready. Serpicus stepped through the doorway and the woman nearest him put her hands on his shoulders and spun him around, then pushed him roughly against the door and searched him thoroughly for weapons. Serpicus said nothing until she was finished, then turned and raised his hands in warning.
‘I am unarmed. I am of your tribe. That is enough.’
The woman moved towards him angrily.
‘Leave him,’ said Drenthe. She sounded weary.
The woman hesitated but didn’t lower her sword or take her eyes off Serpicus as he went over to Drenthe. Everything about the four guards oozed suspicion. Even if Serpicus had been an assassin, he didn’t think he would have had a chance to strike.
She was sitting on a low stool near the fire. There was fresh blood on her forearm and more smeared down her thigh. An old woman was using a broad-bladed knife to smear a foul-smelling ointment around a deep cut on Drenthe’s left shoulder. She winced as the cold metal crossed the wound.
‘What happened?’ asked Serpicus, kneeling beside her.
‘You should know,’ said the woman who had searched him. Serpicus ignored her.
Balant strode into the room, a drawn sword in his hand. The women all jumped forward with their weapons ready, then relaxed slightly as they recognized him. Serpicus stood up, not wanting Balant to be above him.
Drenthe looked up and nodded to Balant, then growled with pain as the old woman made a final pass with her spatula and raised the wounded arm up so that she could bandage it.
‘Who did this?’ demanded Balant.
‘It was the tall thin one who came with you,’ Drenthe said, looking at Serpicus.
Serpicus thought for a moment, then Snake’s warnings rose up inside him. ‘Do you mean Cato?’
‘I don’t know his name. After you left he came to me and said that you needed to see me, that I was to come alone.’
Serpicus leant forward. ‘I never sent any message.’
‘That’s what you say,’ snarled one of the guards.
Drenthe smiled faintly at him. ‘I know. I should have realized,’ she said.
‘What happened?’ said Balant.
‘He showed me into this house, saying that you were waiting for me here. As I came in I must have sensed that something was wrong, because I turned around just as he struck at me. His knife missed my throat, or I would not be here.’ She looked at the bandage with distaste. ‘Once I had my sword ready he hesitated, then he heard footsteps and ran out into the dark. By the time I got to the doorway he was gone.’ She smiled at the women standing beside her. ‘Then these four came running up. They had disobeyed my strict orders, came creeping after me. I owe them my life, again.’
Balant pointed at Serpicus with his sword. ‘She got this wound because of you.’
Drenthe put a hand on Serpicus’ arm as he turned to defend himself. ‘It is not his fault that the assassin used him to attack me, but mine that I did not suspect that someone might do so.’
Balant looked seriously at Drenthe. ‘You defend him for the sake of the past, but you do not know if he is still to be trusted.’
Drenthe looked at Serpicus and then at Balant. ‘I know him. I trust him. The tall thin man is the guilty one, and him alone. Find him for me.’
‘I have men searching the whole village,’ said Balant.
He stood and extended his arm to Serpicus. ‘If Drenthe trusts you then I must too. I am sorry
for what I said.’ Serpicus took his hand. ‘Thank you. I ask that you go to the barn where my friends are. Your men there are angry and blood will be spilt.’
Balant nodded. ‘I will. I suggest you stay here for now. It is safest for everyone.’ He turned and left.
Serpicus furrowed his brow, thinking hard. Cato had earned his trust, not least by saving his life. And yet there could be no doubt. He was a spy, an assassin. Everything had been a front, a trick. Serpicus looked at Drenthe’s wound and felt sick. Snake had warned him about Cato and he had ignored it. As a result of his misjudgement she could have been killed.
Drenthe exhaled slowly as the woman finished bandaging her arm. ‘Do you know why anyone would want to do this?’ Serpicus shook his head and stood up. She looked at him enquiringly.
‘I must see that my friends are all right, and help them get ready to leave,’ he said, and hesitated. There was more to her question. ‘I don’t know who Cato was or why he did this,’ he said, ‘but I shall find out.’
To Aelius Sejanus, from his Servant:
I am now with the legion camped around Gelbheim. I deemed it proper to leave the village once I had gained all the intelligence I could. The woman Drenthe is wounded, possibly fatally. It was not possible to stay to verify this. The village is entirely surrounded and completely secure, and no German will pass in or out.
Preparations are well in hand for the attack on the German village. I have personally taken command of the intelligence-gathering operation. I have also assured the General of my support, while ensuring that he is aware of the consequences of failure.
I shall write as soon as the village has surrendered, informing you of the situation.
Looking out of the door of the barn, Serpicus guessed that the dawn was perhaps an hour away, although the clouds were so low and grey that the day was never likely to bring much relief from the dark. It was raining hard again and bitterly cold.
‘Just the weather for a swim,’ Galba said cheerfully. Several of the men looked at him in a way that made further remarks unlikely.