by Jane Finnis
I called the dogs away, and Quintus bent over him briefly, and nodded. “Your hounds have finished him off.”
“Good.”
“Lucky they were with you. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. I had to keep in cover and work my way round to you. I was near the stables when I heard you yelling, and I saw you run across the field, but there was no point both of us behaving like idiots.”
I stared at him. “Is that what I did? Behaved like an idiot?”
He cleaned his sword-blade on Veric’s tunic, then surveyed me like a drill-master looking at the lowliest recruit. “Racing across open ground, charging blind straight into the enemy when you couldn’t see them….It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
“You must have led a very sheltered life then,” I snapped. “In my book, it’s not stupid to take risks, if you’re defending something you value.”
I turned my back and started to walk away, too angry to say any more. I mean, when you’ve scared yourself nearly to death trying to save something precious, what you don’t need is some arrogant man telling you you’ve been stupid. Even if he’s just saved your life. Especially if he’s just saved your life.
“Aurelia, look, I didn’t mean it like that…” he said, but I ignored him. I headed back across the open paddock, and saw Hippon there, squatting down by the body of the shot foal. The other horses were calming down, now the excitement was over.
As I strode on, Quintus came up beside me and touched my arm. “Please wait.”
I walked faster.
“Stop, Aurelia, let me explain. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I was so terrified, thinking of what they might do to you. If anything happened to you I’d…I’d….”
“You’d what? Laugh yourself sick, presumably, at my stupidity in getting myself killed!”
“I don’t know what I’d do. I love you. I don’t want to think about life without you.”
At that I did stop. The rest of the conversation isn’t relevant to this report.
Diana gave us a moon that night. She also provided a sky full of beautiful stars, or perhaps that was Venus’ doing, because there was even a little time for Quintus and me to gaze at them, and make love in my favourite private spot in the garden. It was wonderful; we forgot our troubles for a while, and I wouldn’t have believed I could be so happy, with my whole world threatening to collapse around me.
But we couldn’t relax for long. We had to check our defences, post guards, and distribute supplies of fireballs and boiling cauldrons. Albia, Quintus and I took watches in turn. We’d have included the tribunes in the roster, but they hadn’t come home by dark. Their two servants appeared eventually, and reported that their masters had gone off to spend the evening with a couple of natives down by the river. Marius’ man smirked and said, “They’re only young, they’ve got to sow their wild oats.”
The officers still hadn’t come home by morning. Albia was desperately anxious about Junius, and I was uneasy too, but I tried to reassure her. Junius must be involved in his investigations, but he and Marius were due to be at the temple dedication, and they’d have to return to the mansio first, to put on their parade armour. And as she wasn’t coming to the dedication, she’d be there to welcome them. She’d been invited, of course, and would have liked to attend. But she realised that with things as they were, I needed to leave someone I could trust in charge at the Oak Tree.
It was a beautiful day, and I was in high spirits as I got through my morning chores. There was plenty of time, because the dedication was to take place about an hour before noon. In Rome or Londinium I daresay they do these things differently and it would have begun at dawn, but here in our small town, people would be gathering from many miles around, and needed time to travel there.
I chose my clothes carefully. This was a grand occasion, Silvanius’ Big Day, and I didn’t want to let the Oak Tree down. I wore my pale blue embroidered tunic, with the sky-blue over-tunic that exactly matched the colour of the embroidery. I also wore my pale blue scarf made of silk, a wonderful thing, so light and delicate; Lucius had brought it back from the east, and I kept it for very special occasions. I completed the outfit with two gold brooches with blue and white enamelling. Though I say it myself, I was pleased with the effect, as I studied the reflection that gazed back out of my bronze mirror. From the look in his eye, Quintus was happy with it too, and I was pleased with his appearance. Freshly bathed and shaved and in a gleaming new toga, he would do the Oak Tree credit, and me.
We took the largest carriage, with four of the best mules. Milo drove us; he was a good driver, but I felt a pang as I thought of Titch and wondered if we’d ever see his cocky smile again. Taurus, Brutus and two field-hands rode alongside as guards. As we set off for Oak Bridges, I felt a thrill of pride—and of excitement. After all our troubles, today would be a holiday, and I was all set to enjoy it.
Chapter XXIV
The temple looked superb. The workmen must have toiled day and night to get every last thing ready, but they’d done it, and the result was magnificent. In the bright sunlight the white marble-clad columns were dazzling, and the white walls of the sanctum displayed their beautifully painted pictures to perfection. They showed a whole variety of gods and goddesses who were intended to bring us peace and fertility. I saw Apollo with his lyre, Minerva with an owl, Neptune with a dolphin, and I was especially pleased to see Diana there with a crescent moon, and offered her a quick prayer.
As Quintus and I went up the steps to the big, open forecourt in front of the sanctum, the statues of Jupiter and of Juno gleamed brilliantly, that wonderful pale gold of newly cast bronze. They hadn’t been painted at all; this was unusual, but the effect was stunning, because the figures had been so expertly sculpted. The big stone altar stood waiting to receive its first sacrifice, flanked by tubs of ornamental trees; the water in the pink marble basin glittered in the sun and cascaded gracefully away over the stones. A tripod held a holy flame in a bronze urn, and the smell of frankincense wafted from it. Well, all right, you don’t want a lyric poem in praise of every stick and stone; suffice it to say that no expense had been spared, and the temple was rich, stylish, and impressive.
The wide open space was large, but it was quite full, and more people were arriving all the time. I looked round the assembled worthies to see who was present; everyone who was anyone, that’s who. I pointed some of them out to Quintus. The town council of course were out in force in their best togas. Even Felix wore formal dress today, and very handsome he looked with his yellow hair combed straight for once. I waved to him and he waved back, but the crush was such that we couldn’t easily get over to him. As the crowd grew, quite a few curious glances were directed at Quintus and me. I introduced Quintus Valerius Longinus the bridge builder to one or two couples within reach, including Balbus and Ennia. I was glad to see them there; I don’t suppose they were feeling much like celebrating, but they’d come to do their Romans-standing-together bit for Silvanius.
The councillors’ wives hadn’t missed the chance to wear their best finery, and I was glad I’d gone to some trouble over my appearance. I saw that Ennia and several other ladies had a new hairstyle, a particular way of piling up curls with gold netting and ivory combs. I hadn’t seen it before, and I made a point of complimenting Ennia and asking where the style came from. She said one of the other wives had recently returned from a trip to Rome with news of the latest hair fashions there. It did look good, new and interesting. I know it’s ridiculous how we all still follow Roman fashion, even though by the time the style gets to us in the wilds of the north, Roman ladies will have long ago moved on to something else—they were probably all wearing red wigs with green feathers by now.
Silvanius was a member of one of the Colleges of Priests at Eburacum, a useful honour for an aspiring Roman politician, as long as he’s rich. This meant he would take an important part in the dedication himself, and when everyone was assembled he took centre stage t
o start the production off. Sorry, no irreverence intended, but we all know that religion and theatre aren’t all that far apart, and I could tell that Silvanius was relishing his leading role. He would be assisted by two full-time professional priests, one from Jupiter’s temple at Eburacum, the other from Juno’s. There was an augur to read the omens, and several underlings hovered about in the background. Vitalis was in the main crowd, near Felix; his part must come later. The priests, including Silvanius, were in white robes with ritual head-dresses like crowns, with plaques of silver and gold hanging from them, flashing as they moved in the sunlight. Yes, I thought, this is just right. The gods should be worshipped in style, and today they will be.
The ceremony was along conventional lines, so I’ll just summarise it. First Silvanius took up his place in the open space in front of the sanctum, between the bronze statues, and made a short speech of welcome; and yes, you’ve guessed, it did include a sentence about Romans standing together. Then he began the formal prayers invoking the blessing of the gods. He had all the prayers off by heart; he must have been rehearsing for ages, and he delivered them clearly, with just the right amount of expression. Felix had a hand there, I assumed, and had coached him well.
Then a pure white bull-calf was sacrificed on the altar, and some of the blood was caught in a bronze bowl. The augur examined the entrails and pronounced that the omens were good, which in view of later events just goes to prove what an unreliable business augury is.
There were more prayers to Jupiter and Juno, and a sort of eulogy in parenthesis in praise of the Divine Augustus—it never hurts to have the approval of the deified Emperors. For the climax of the proceedings, Silvanius moved to the entrance of the sanctuary to offer a white ram and to make the final dedication.
We, the worshippers, wouldn’t follow him there; the sanctum was for priests and gods only. So we all stood outside in respectful silence, waiting for him to make the offering and come out to tell us that the gods had accepted the dedication and the place was now up and running, I mean, truly sacred.
Silvanius had his back to the congregation as he walked to the entrance, arms raised up for another prayer. He started the ritual words, and then he froze rigid, like a statue himself. For a few heartbeats I thought he’d just forgotten his next few lines; there’s a lot to learn in these religious ceremonies, and even the best of priests get lost sometimes. If you know the rituals well, you can often spot how the experienced priests just make it up if they lose the thread. They have to keep going, because if they hesitate too long, it’s taken as a sign that the ceremony hasn’t been carried out correctly, and everybody has to start all over again. In practice this means you always allow plenty of time for these performances, and make sure there’s a spare sacrificial animal handy just in case.
But when Silvanius turned to confront us all, he was as white as the marble wall behind him, and looked close to fainting. My heart stopped in my chest. Something was dreadfully wrong.
All the same he kept calm, managing to retain his remote, priestlike manner. “My friends,” he said, “a great impiety has been perpetrated here today. A most monstrous, an unheard-of blasphemy against the gods. I call on you all to witness, and I call on the gods to witness, that I am a loyal Roman and a faithful Priest of Jupiter, and I must and will cleanse this horror from the temple.”
There was complete silence. I could hear birdsong, and the gentle breeze, and I could almost hear everyone’s brains whirring as we all tried to work out what in the gods’ holy name this “horror” could be. What had he found in the sanctum? After the last few days it could be anything. And from Silvanius’ stricken look, it was truly terrible, not just a minor slip-up, like a box of tools accidentally left by the workmen. I felt my stomach knot itself into a ball as I started to speculate. Beside me, Quintus was rigid, his face taut and pale.
“I must consult with my priestly colleagues about what is to be done,” Silvanius went on. “I do not know yet whether this, whether what has happened means the gods are angry with us, and what we must do to appease them if they are. But we will perform the rituals that are needed for cleansing the sanctum, and proceed with the dedication in due course.”
We all just stood dumbly there, still too stunned to move or speak.
“Meanwhile, my friends, the dedication is only postponed, not cancelled. So I ask you all to bear a short interruption with patience, and we will resume the ceremony as soon as we can.”
Now the congregation moved, breaking up into small groups, and everyone began talking at once. The two priests who were helping went into a huddle with the augur and Silvanius, and Balbus and Felix joined them. They all went inside the sanctuary and came out again, looking appalled. After a few heartbeats Silvanius glanced round, caught my eye, and beckoned me over; Quintus came too.
“Clarus, this is dreadful for you,” I said. “But what is it? What’s gone wrong?”
“I don’t understand!” he moaned. Now that we were close I could see that he was shivering. “We purified the sanctum at dawn and nobody’s been into it since. How could it have happened?”
“But what has happened?”
He motioned for us to go in and look.
The entrance was narrow, but the high windows let in plenty of light. The inner walls were whitewashed and painted with figures of gods; the room was sparsely furnished, and what there was, including the floor, was made of gleaming white marble, so the effect was almost dazzling. In the middle of the floor there was a small marble altar, and against the back wall, almost touching it, a polished table holding a bronze bowl of water and two ornate incense burners, unlit. But our gaze went straight to the back of the room, under the table, where two bodies were lying. They were side by side, with their heads pointing into the middle of the room and their feet hidden by the table top. They were in military clothing, and they were dead.
They were Junius and Marius.
On each man’s chest was pinned a bone disc; I bent to look, and sure enough, it was the usual threat, with a slight twist to the wording:
ALL ROMANS WILL BE KILLED
WHEN THEY DEFY THE SHADOW OF DEATH
I don’t know how long I stood there just gaping. Eventually I heard Quintus mutter, “That’s odd.”
“Odd? It’s hardly the word I’d choose.”
“Look at the bodies. There’s no blood.”
He was right; there wasn’t a drop, and their faces looked tranquil. My brain started slowly to work, like a wheel being dragged through mud.
“So they weren’t killed here. That’s something to comfort Silvanius. They weren’t murdered in the temple itself.”
“No,” Quintus agreed. “And they weren’t stabbed or beaten up. There are no marks of strangulation either. That only leaves poison.”
Vitalis appeared in the sanctum entrance. His eyes darted everywhere as he took in the scene, though he said nothing. But seeing him there made me angry. Had it all been a pretence, his talk of helping his father with the dedication ceremony? Had he known what the Shadow-men intended to do here today? Because there was no doubt the Shadow-men were responsible for this horrifying act. Had Vitalis himself had a hand in it?
“Vitalis,” I said. “Do you know anything about what’s happened here?”
He shook his handsome head. “Me? Why should I?”
“Don’t play games. We know you’re involved with the Shadow-men, you’ve made no secret of it. This outrage is their work, and how you could bring yourself to take part in desecrating your father’s temple, the gods alone know. And they’ll punish you for it in their own good time.”
“I don’t fear the gods of Rome. I worship the old gods, and they will stand fast in the face of their enemies,” he replied calmly, and turning away, walked out across the forecourt.
“For two bronze pins,” I muttered, “I’d chase after that little scum-bag and denounce him in front of everyone!”
Quintus growled, “I know, but it wouldn’t help.”
/> “But how could he? It’s just…so awful.”
He touched my hand briefly. “Aurelia, we need the public cleared off the site here, with the minimum of fuss. Silvanius is in no state to do it, so somebody else must. Then you and I can investigate what’s happened, without everyone looking on. Who can we ask to speak to the crowd?”
“I’ll find Vedius Saturninus.” I looked outside and saw him coming towards the sanctum. When I beckoned him in, he was aghast.
“Saturninus,” Quintus said. “This is clearly the Shadow-men’s doing, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I would. By the gods, the blasphemy of it…defiling a holy temple with death, with deliberate murder. It’s beyond belief!”
“We need your help,” I said. “Can you get everyone to leave quietly, without causing a panic?”
“But shouldn’t Silvanius?…” He glanced outside, and said, “I see what you mean. All right, I’ll do it. How much should I tell them?”
“As little as possible,” Quintus said. “Just say there’s been an unfortunate accident, an irregularity in the ceremony, and the sanctum needs purifying. So the dedication is postponed for today, until the rituals for cleansing have been taken care of.”
He did it well. He’d had a Roman education, and all that emphasis on public speaking comes in handy in a crisis. In no time at all people were leaving calmly, till soon the forecourt was empty but for Silvanius, the priests and the augur, Felix, Saturninus and Balbus, who all crowded around the altar. Vitalis had vanished. The only other people left on the site were about twenty slaves and building workers, gathered in an anxious group near the steps leading down to the street. It was a sorry and depressing scene, so utterly different from an hour ago.
“This is the Shadow-men’s work all right,” I said to Quintus. “The deaths of the tribunes are bad enough in themselves, but they’ve been deliberately associated with the new temple, to make it seem contaminated and unclean. Poor Clarus! Everyone will think the gods have turned against him. How can we prove that this is a mortal crime, not a divine omen?”