by Kirsty Ferry
‘Safe passage to Scotland and back would be a pre-requisite, of course,’ he said thoughtfully. Then he turned and fixed the magistrate with his heavy, hooded eyes. ‘And a payment of three pounds, per head, of each and every witch I convict. I shall travel north through all your market towns and small villages. I shall flush them out for you on my way. But it must be worth my while. It is what God wills. These wenches are well-documented in country villages.’
The magistrate nodded, and conferred with his colleagues. They men bent their heads close together, their grey, curled wigs nodding like sheep in unison at muttered comments. Finally, they broke apart. Nicholson remained by the door, waiting politely for the response.
‘We agree to your terms, Mr Nicholson. This evil is widespread. If you are willing to bring trials to these villages, three pounds per head is a reasonable sum to pay.’
‘You will not be disappointed,’ said Nicholson. He nodded at the magistrates and took his leave. ‘Good day, gentlemen. I trust you will arrange my escorts forthwith?’
‘Leave it with us, Sir. Good day. And may God go with you.’
Nicholson made the sign of the cross and bowed to the magistrates. Then he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
AD 391
‘It is true, faithful ones. The new Commandant is a Christian,’ said the Pater. The men were reclining on the benches in the Mithraeum. The detritus of their feast surrounded them and it was Marcus’ job as the Corax to clear up. He moved between the men, emptying flagons of wine into goblets so he could tidy up.
‘It is more important than ever that we protect our identities. Let nobody know you are a member of the cult. Tell nobody your rank,’ continued the Pater. Marcus felt himself flushing. He needed to make a conscious effort to rein himself in. Janus was still waiting for his invitation to join and had been pressing Marcus for information.
‘Perhaps, with Titus Perpetuus here, the cult will need more men?’ Janus had asked eagerly. ‘Will that be a factor in my initiation? I am willing to enter the cult as soon as they need me. We can be strong and fight against this Christian. He is here to change things, and I do not like to think about what he might try and do.’ He had looked across at the temple as he took up his watch, then further afield towards the Sacred Well. ‘Remind me to make an offering to Coventina,’ he said. ‘The more deities we have on our side, the better.’
‘I am inclined to agree,’ said Marcus,’ but here is not the place to discuss it. We must do our duty to the fort and consider the implications later.’ Janus had shot a glance at him in surprise. It was unlike Marcus to deflect a conversation, whether it was at a change of watch or not.
‘Marcus! Where does your allegiance lie?’ hissed Janus. ‘To Carrawburgh fort with this Christian in charge, or to your religion? You can be moved to a different fort as easily as day follows night. But your religion and your beliefs go with you. Unless, of course, you choose to follow Christianity and become Titus’ lapdog?’
‘I do not like your attitude,’ snapped Marcus. ‘It is not the place to discuss this.’ Janus opened his eyes wide.
‘But what is the problem?’ he asked, confused and hurt by Marcus’ outburst. Marcus was one of the most good-natured, trusting people Janus had ever met. Sometimes, he felt this personality did not sit well with a Prefect of Marcus’ rank. Janus was more forthright and confident than Marcus; sometimes Janus had a definite swagger to his walk, a way of fixing a person with a stare that was both quizzical and challenging, yet somehow inviting respect and honesty from the recipient. Marcus was much more relaxed. He radiated common sense and openness, drawing people in like a moth to a flame. They were both excellent leaders; yet where Janus seemed to have been born into leadership and the role appeared to have evolved to accommodate him, Marcus had worked his way up the ranks. Janus could not remember the last time Marcus had been short with him. What had changed?
Janus had looked around him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, as if he could find the answer to his friend’s behaviour in the wild moors and hills around him. Then he saw it; maybe not in the moors, but a little closer to home. Aemelia, the Commandant’s daughter, was walking across the square in the centre of the fort. She was heading towards the gate, escorted by a slave who was carrying her basket. She must be going into the vicus. This girl was allowed more freedom than Janus thought was usual. She often wandered around the fort or disappeared into the civilian settlement. Janus had even spotted her walking across the moors alone. He doubted that Titus Perpetuus knew his only child was walking about the northern territory in such a fashion. His sharp eyes spotted Marcus cast a glance her way and pull himself up straighter as she hurried past them. He also saw Aemelia look up under her eyelashes at the men standing on the ramparts, a smile playing around her rosy lips. Her gaze was only for Marcus, Janus realised. This, then, was what had changed. He would not let Marcus know he had realised yet. But at least he had an explanation for his friend’s behaviour. Not that it was a secret he was happy about knowing. Janus frowned as he walked down the steps and left Marcus patrolling the wall. Things were definitely changing at Carrawburgh. He wondered how this would affect the cult of Mithras and Marcus’ role in that.
Marcus was wondering much the same thing as he moved around the temple after the feast. The worship of Mithras was not at the forefront of his mind any more: and he knew it was something he was loathe to admit to anybody.
AD 391
Aemelia was alone today; at last she had escaped from her mother and the slave she insisted accompanied her daughter everywhere. She checked over her shoulder as she slipped out of the fort gate, then sighed. She had thought she was alone. Syrus, her slave, had other ideas. He was there again, tailing her. He followed at a discreet distance, stopping in the shadows every so often and waiting for her to move on. There was no escape from him. It was like having a bodyguard, she thought. And for what reason? She only wanted to visit the vicus again. It was not as if she was going to come to any harm in the little village.
Aemelia enjoyed wandering around the market stalls and peeping into the taverns. She loved the smells of the meals cooking in the houses, the sound of the children laughing and playing in the little forum whilst their mothers chatted. Occasionally she would see a soldier from Carrawburgh, slipping into certain buildings furtively, or leaving them with a kiss and a wave from a woman who was wrapped only in a blanket. Aemelia couldn’t help smiling. Everyone knew exactly what was going on; yet some of these men tried so hard to hide it. Why, most of these children belonged to serving auxiliary soldiers in the cohort. The families were happy to wait until their men had completed their service, before they could be married and granted Roman citizenship. The Officers were more fortunate. They had quarters in the fort with their families and slaves. Marriage was legal for them. Aemelia always loved it when babies were born within the walls of the forts– it was always a cause for great celebration. And although her father was a devout Christian, he turned a blind eye to the offerings and prayers the families made to the Pagan deities who had blessed them in such a way.
Aemelia had grown up surrounded by men on the forts. She had changed from a chubby, dark-haired toddler, always ready with a smile for the soldiers, through the awkwardness of youth where she blushed and stammered should anyone address her and finally to the beautiful, confident young woman she was now. She enjoyed exploring new places and meeting new people. Any change in her father’s post was a God-given opportunity. She particularly loved it up here. It still amused her to think of the Picts trying to storm the Wall; but to be fair she had never seen any of them attempt it.
Aemelia wound her way down the path to the vicus and headed towards the village; for, to all intents and purposes, a village was what it had become. She walked towards a large, stone wall, which formed the edge of a square building. She leaned over the side and rested her hands on the wall as she sniffed deeply. This place had a special smell – sort of fresh and pure. She couldn’t expl
ain it any better. Water bubbled within it, and like the shrine to the water nymphs by that awful temple, it was open to the elements. It was obviously a shrine as well, or something sacred at least; it had that feeling about it. Aemelia shivered slightly – it always had that effect on her. She didn’t know if part of it was guilt. Lenient though her father was with his soldiers, he was less lenient with her. He made her wear a gold cross around her neck and had taught her to be proud of her Christianity. It was nothing to be ashamed of, he told her. Aemelia knew that; yet she couldn’t help but be fascinated by this shrine. A man walked past her and threw a coin into the water, muttering something as he did so. Aemelia watched the coin sink into the pool and wondered what he had thanked the goddess for. She saw a stone carving leaning up against the wall, depicting a woman reclining on what might have been the edge of stream. There were several smaller altars lining the walls. They showed carvings of leaves and wreathes and patterns and even people. She wondered again what the significance was. There was a carving showing three people at the other shrine. It was enormous; but this one wasn’t quite so big.
‘Do you find this interesting?’ said a voice close by her ear. She jumped and turned to see another man smiling shyly at her. It was the fair haired man she had noticed on her first day here.
‘Oh! I’m sorry – am I in the way? Do you need to be in here?’ asked Aemelia stepping back. ‘Please – don’t let me stop you.’ She waved her arm towards the entrance and smiled.
‘No, I do not need to be in there. I have no need of the goddess today,’ smiled the young man. ‘Forgive me; aren’t you the Commandant’s daughter?’
Aemelia laughed.
‘It is very obvious, Sir, that I am,’ she said, bowing slightly. ‘My name is Aemelia. I am very different to these lovely ladies of the vicus. I do not feel that I blend in particularly well here.’
‘Only because they are used to this weather,’ said the man. He indicated her wraps. She had several layers of furs around her body and looked like she could have used some more, had she been given the opportunity.
‘Hmm, yes. My attire sets me apart somewhat,’ said Aemelia. ‘That and the fact that my teeth are chattering and my nose is red.’
‘It gets colder,’ warned her companion. ‘Much colder. This place,’ he indicated the Well, ‘is dedicated to our marvellous goddess Coventina. She helps, amongst other things, to melt the ice and snow and bring back running water to the countryside. She is a water nymph, but a very special one. Her name means ‘the memory of snow’.’
‘How lovely!’ cried Aemelia. She tugged the animal skins closer to her and fixed the man with a look. ‘So I know that this is Coventina, and you know that I am Aemelia. I do not know who you are, though. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me?’
‘Certainly.’ The man bowed. ‘My name is Marcus Simplicius Simplex. I am a Prefect in the Batavian Cohort, stationed at Carrawburgh. But you will know where I hail from, no doubt.’
‘I had my suspicions, Prefect,’ smiled Aemelia. ‘Are you free for a little while, perhaps? I would like to become better acquainted with the vicus. You have already explained Coventina’s Well to me. I should like you to escort me around the area and point out some places of interest.’
‘That would be my pleasure,’ said Marcus. ‘But will your father be agreeable to it? I should hate to think that I was crossing boundaries...’
‘No boundaries,’ said Aemelia. ‘I am new to the area. I am being escorted and advised by a soldier in my father’s cohort. You are looking after me, a stranger, in a new place. He cannot complain about that, can he? And besides,’ she nodded pointedly behind her where an olive skinned man stood half-hidden amongst some tall ferns. ‘My dear slave Syrus never lets me wander far from his sight.’
‘Then we have no issues. It is perfectly reasonable that I should escort you, under the eagle eye of Syrus,’ said Marcus. He raised his hand in acknowledgment to Syrus and offered Aemelia his other arm. ‘Come with me, young lady, and I shall protect you.’
Marcus had originally intended to go to the Mithraic temple to give thanks to the sun god. It was a brighter day, today, despite it being cold and blustery; the icy wind that blew from the north had not brought snow as they had feared. But he contented himself with throwing a coin into Coventina’s Well, and sent a silent prayer to her instead, thanking her for the absence of snow and ice.
Marcus and Aemelia did not see a man standing at the door of Aelia’s house, watching them walk away from the Well and in the opposite direction to the temple. The Pater watched them disappear behind a building and narrowed his eyes. He had expected Marcus to come to the temple today. He had mentioned that he would be there. It was almost time for the Corax’s next initiation ceremony and the Pater needed to let him know.
AD 391
‘She is rather attractive, is she not?’ asked Janus. Marcus dipped his head and coloured. The disagreement on the ramparts long forgotten, Janus and Marcus had slipped easily back into their friendship.
‘I do not know who you are referring to, my friend,’ Marcus replied, busying himself with mending the leather thongs on his sandals. He had spent the morning on drill and practising swordsmanship. It was not his turn for watch yet, so he had taken the opportunity to tend to his kit.
‘Our Commandant’s beautiful daughter, of course,’ said Janus. ‘I believe she is called Antonia?’
‘Aemelia,’ responded Marcus, too quickly.
‘Ha! So she has been worthy of your notice, then?’ laughed Janus, nudging him good-naturedly.
‘Perhaps,’ smiled Marcus. Janus knew him too well. He couldn’t bluff with him for very long.
‘Then tell me, what do you propose to do about it?’ asked Janus, more seriously now. ‘It would never be allowed; you understand that, don’t you?’ Marcus pulled the needle through the sandals and didn’t answer. He shrugged. He knew that Aemelia was only eighteen. Janus shook his head and looked at Marcus with concern in his eyes.
‘Be sensible, Marcus,’ he said. Marcus ignored him and tugged the leather thongs to test them. He turned and reached for a small, bone-handled knife and cut the thread off.
‘You are a stubborn man,’ sighed Janus. ‘When will you learn to take advice?’
‘I will never take advice from you,’ smiled Marcus. ‘You should know that by now.’ Janus rolled his eyes.
‘Yes. You are a difficult man indeed. So if you will not listen to me, you must tell me more. What is it about Antonia...’
‘...Aemelia...’
‘...Aemelia, that you like?’
‘Ah, Janus,’ implored Marcus. ‘Do not make me do this! It is wrong that I should even have confided in you! Forget I said anything. Look. There is Felix, coming to seek you out.’
Janus looked up and saw one of his men walking towards him.
Felix stood tall and straight before the men and waited to be acknowledged. Janus nodded at him.
‘What is it?’ he asked the soldier.
‘The Commandant has issued a request that we convene in two hours at the principia,’ he said. The principia was the headquarters of the fort. The Cohort met every morning there, and it was unusual that the Commandant should want another meeting. Marcus and Janus looked at one another.
‘And did he advise you why this was the case?’ asked Janus, sitting back and looking at Felix curiously.
‘No, Sir. But I believe a messenger arrived this morning.’
‘Whilst we were training, perhaps. Very well. Thank you. You are dismissed.’
Felix nodded and marched away from the officers.
‘Interesting,’ said Janus. ‘I did not see anyone come. Did you?’
Marcus shook his head.
‘No. Well, it should be interesting what he needs to report,’ he said. Plus, he knew if they were at the headquarters, it was only a stone’s throw to where Aemelia was in the praetor, the Commandant’s house. Perhaps he would be lucky enough to see her. He smiled to himself. He felt
in the pouch that he carried around his waist. Perhaps he would have time to give her his gift before the meeting.
Janus stood up and stretched.
‘Will you be visiting the temple soon?’ he asked Marcus. ‘I was wondering if...’
‘In the name of the gods, Janus!’ said Marcus. ‘I have told you; the Pater will let you know when he can initiate you.’
‘I know,’ sighed Janus, holding his hands up. ‘You are right, my friend. But I have a feeling that this little talk by the Commandant will not help our cause. I am anxious to do my part for Mithras. He has been good to us. Please. If I go to the temple now, will you come with me? I would like to see if I can contact the Pater myself; or at least see if there is some way I can leave a message for him. Is it true that there is a secret place to leave messages for members of the cult?’
Marcus sighed. He looked up at his friend. Janus was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet now, his hands behind his back; a sure sign that he was anxious to get moving. He smiled engagingly at Marcus.
‘Please?’ asked Janus.
‘All right. I will come with you. But I have to return in good time. I have things I need to do.’
‘I understand,’ said Janus. ‘Time, tide and Antonia wait for no man.’
Marcus didn’t bother to correct him.
‘Come. If you want to go, we have to go now,’ he said.
‘So, there is a secret place for contact?’ asked Janus. ‘Wait! I need something to write on.’ He looked around and patted his tunic as if a wax tablet and stylus would leap out at him from nowhere.
‘There are implements at the temple,’ sighed Marcus. He stood up and cast a glance at the Commandant’s house. Was she in? He would make certain he caught her later. But he might as well humour Janus for now. Perhaps if Janus left a message, the Pater would contact him directly and he would stop asking Marcus about his initiation.