The Dead Virgins (The India Sommers Mysteries Book 1)

by K. M. Ashman

  Blackthorn stood up and walked around him, looking at his dishevelled appearance.

  ‘We don’t have much here, Roman,’ he said, ‘we live hand to mouth and struggle to feed our own people. How can we feed three more mouths?’

  ‘I am strong and can work to support the three of us,’ said Dragus, ‘all we ask is shelter and a chance to contribute until the birth of the child. As soon as the mother regains her strength, we will move on.’

  Blackthorn fell silent, taking in all Dragus had said.

  ‘Your story intrigues me, Roman,’ he said, ‘bring your priestess to my hut so I can gaze upon her. If my eyes tell me she has the aura of a goddess, then I will grant your request. However, if I feel you employ falsehoods as allies then your heads will hang from my saddle by dawn.’ He stared at Dragus. ‘Life is hard in Britannia, Roman,’ he said, ‘if you want to live in our world then this is how it will be.’

  Dragus stared back at the chief for a long time, the implications spinning around his mind. If he agreed he would be putting all their lives on the line but no matter which way he looked at it, he knew he had no option. The food was all but gone, the weather was turning, there was a baby on the way and they were on the run from a madman who commanded the greatest army in the world. There was no choice, this village and the protection of Blackthorn was their only hope.

  ‘So be it,’ he said eventually, ‘I will return to the priestess and bring her back here by midday tomorrow.’

  ‘First you will eat,’ said Blackthorn, nodding an unspoken instruction to an old woman in the corner. ‘Two of my men will accompany you with spare horses and we will have them back here by nightfall.’ The old woman brought some warm bread and Dragus took it gratefully.

  ‘You have my gratitude, Blackthorn,’ said Dragus, ‘and will have the blessing of Vesta herself.’

  ‘We will see, Roman,’ said Blackthorn, ‘we will see.’

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  Chapter 30

  England 2010

  Brandon crawled through the bracken toward the edge of the hill. Below him, the slope fell away to the forest he had watched earlier in the day. The snow was falling fast now but though it was dark, he could just make out the locked gate where the security guard had turned them away with his shotgun. A few seconds later, a tiny glow gave away the position of one of the armed men as he enjoyed a cigarette in the dark.

  ‘Bloody amateur,’ thought Brandon to himself.

  He took off his rucksack and unzipped the pouch on the top flap, removing a soft bag. From within he took a small electronic telescope and flicked a switch on the side. An almost imperceptible whine indicated the batteries were powering up the starlight technology within and he waited a few seconds before lifting it to his eye. Immediately, the dark landscape before him opened up into an eerie green vista, revealing everything in surprisingly clear detail. The space age technology took the ambient light available from the surrounding area and used it to illuminate the ground before him. To his eyes, it was almost like looking into daylight.

  He scanned the edge of the forest, pausing on the gate where the two guards were now crystal clear, before continuing along the fence line. When he was happy there were no more guards he flicked the switch on the side of the scope to a different setting. The image immediately turned grey and though the landscape was less clear, this was for a completely different purpose. Within a few seconds, the infra-red setting picked out a heat source further back in the woods, the blurred white images revealing two previously unseen guards patrolling just inside the forest edge.

  ‘Hello,’ said Brandon to himself quietly, ‘just what is it you are hiding in there that warrants so much muscle?’

  He watched for another half an hour, working out the best approach to avoid the guards, until finally, he shouldered his rucksack and made his way to the streambed he had seen earlier. Crouching into the dead ground, he followed it down to the fence line and within minutes, he was making his way carefully into the depths of the forest, stopping every few seconds to check the way was clear with his night scope.

  Eventually the ground started to rise again and the presence of more guards along the path meant he was forced to go further into the undergrowth to give them a wide berth. Finally, he topped the rise and found himself looking down into a tiny valley located deep at the heart of the forest, edged on three sides by trees and on the fourth by a steep cliff. At the base of the crag, a perimeter wall enclosed an old complex of stone buildings and Brandon could see another two men guarding the only visible entrance.

  ‘Bingo,’ he said and switched the scope to starlight mode. He spent an age scanning the building complex, seeking a way in but soon realised that, even without the regular patrols by the guards, the high walls on three sides and the towering cliff on the fourth, meant that the convent was as secure as any prison.

  ‘Only one thing for it,’ thought Brandon and retreated into the undergrowth, following the edge of the trees up toward the cliff edge. He used the scope to select a possible route and withdrew a coiled rope from his rucksack. The kern-mantle rope was of a typical climbing construction, though at only 6mm thick, it was thinner than anything on the open market. Its lighter weight meant a man could carry longer lengths and was a recent innovation in the field of insurgency and counter terrorism.

  Securing one end around a tree, Brandon connected a purpose-made, carbon Karabiner to a clip on his belt. Finally, he placed his pistol in the chest pocket of his jacket and without wasting any more time, started to abseil slowly down the cliff face into the cemetery at the back of the convent.

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  Inside the main building, Bernice was unusually quiet at the evening meal. In fact, the atmosphere in the whole room was sombre. Since the Mother Superior’s death, Sister Agnes had taken on the role of washing the feet of the undeserving prior to the meal and until they had decided the Mother Superior’s successor, had become the temporary head of the convent. Despite everyone’s best efforts to protect them from the terrible truth, all those present had now heard of the way the Mother Superior had died and fear was evident on many faces. Before the meal started, Sister Agnes stood to address the hall.

  ‘Fellow sisters,’ she said quietly, ‘these past few days have been very challenging and I thank you all for your patience and understanding. I know many of you are tired, confused and even frightened. What happened to the Mother Superior was dreadful and shook us all to our very souls.’

  All present made the sign of the cross and kissed their rosaries at the mention of the Mother Superior.

  ‘Some may even question their safety here,’ she continued, ‘and wonder why we haven’t involved the authorities, or ask why it is we are so…’ she paused, searching for an alternative to secretive, ‘private in our day to day lives. Well, let me tell you this. It is precisely because of situations like this, we have not called the police. Our ways are strange to the world and often, when we become visible to society in general, the unenlightened have tried to change us, either by way of indoctrination or force. Over the centuries many such people have tried to impose their ways upon us and sometimes, it has to be said, some of our order have lain down their lives to protect that which we hold sacred.’

  A murmur of unease rippled around the room.

  ‘But do not be concerned,’ she continued, ‘for over a hundred years there has been no incident and I am sure this latest affront to our order will soon pass and we can get back to our prayers and charitable work as soon as possible. The unholy actions of one, despicable individual will not be allowed to threaten the sanctity and divine purpose of this order. We may be small compared to others,’ she continued, ‘some may even say, reclusive but I assure you this. We have many supporters across the world and answer to an authority greater than the police or government of this country. Even as I speak, measures have been taken to protect this convent and the safety of everyone therein. We will have to postpone our charity work for a few days while they search for
this madman but rest assured he will be caught and when he is, we will seek retribution for his terrible sins. Until that time, all I can ask is that we all work hard and pray for the soul of our dear departed sister.’

  The speech ended and everyone looked up at her in relief. It was the first time anyone had taken the time to explain the situation and the lifting of tension in the room was almost palpable. Conversation returned to normal as the meal was served and everyone seemed much happier, everyone, that is, except one.

  Bernice stirred her soup aimlessly. The speech was welcome but left her with more questions than answers. Why would they be persecuted just for worshipping the Holy Mother? Who was this authority they reported to and most of all, what did she mean when she said, seek retribution for his terrible sin? That almost sounded like a threat of violence. Surely, if he was caught, they should hand him over to the police. The only other action they should be taking is praying for his soul and begging forgiveness for his misguided ways. That was what the Mother Superior would surely have wanted.

  Suddenly, what little conversation there was came to a stuttering stop when there was a knock on the main hall doors. Everyone looked over in surprise. No one ever interrupted the evening meal and all heads turned to look at the senior sisters at the head table for guidance. Sister Agnes stood up.

  ‘Sister Bernice,’ she said gently, ‘would you be so kind as to attend the door please?’ Bernice placed her spoon on the table and withdrew her chair. She walked over to the door and eased it open. Outside, Jacob stood waiting, wringing his cap in his hands.

  ‘Yes, Jacob?’ said Bernice.

  ‘Sister, please excuse me,’ he said, ‘I have news that must reach the ears of the senior sisters immediately.’

  ‘Jacob, we are at our evening meal,’ said Bernice, ‘and as you are aware, we should not be disturbed. Can’t it wait?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said ‘but this is very important.’

  ‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘I will see what I can do.’ She closed the door and approached the table, passing on the message. A few minutes later Bernice led the caretaker’s son between the tables toward the senior sisters. With every step, he felt the eyes of all the nuns burning in to him and eventually he stopped and talked quietly to Sister Agnes.

  Bernice strained to hear the whispered conversation but was too far away to hear any detail. Finally, the nervous young man left the hall and all the nuns turned to face the top table in anticipation. Agnes stood up once more.

  ‘Sisters,’ she said, ‘I have to bring this meal to an end. Sister Bernice, will escort you back to the cells.’

  One of the younger nuns spoke up nervously.

  ‘Sister Agnes,’ she said, ‘if I may be so bold to ask, is there anything to be concerned about?’

  Agnes’ face did not reveal the annoyance she felt being questioned in public about a private conversation. Still, the girl was young and had a lot to learn and besides, this news could save a lot of distress and awkward questions in the long run.

  ‘On the contrary, Sister Wendy,’ she answered, ‘quite the opposite. The guards have apprehended the murderer and have him in custody. Now, if you don’t mind, we have things to do. Please return to your cells and I will have bread brought to you at the last bell.’

  The gathering stood and filed out of the dining hall. Bernice approached the top table to collect the cell keys from Sister Agnes.

  ‘Bernice,’ said Agnes, ‘I want you to secure our sisters in their cells until this is sorted out.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do?’ asked Bernice.

  ‘No, thank you, just bring them back to the hall after morning prayers.’

  ‘What about the keys?’

  ‘Keep hold of them until tomorrow,’ said Agnes, ‘you will need them to unlock the doors in the morning. These are trying times but hopefully it is coming to an end. Once it is over, we have to get back to normal as soon as possible. There will be a vote for the position of Mother Superior and whoever gets the position, it will leave a vacancy for a senior sister. Quite apart from your spirituality and dedication, your support during this difficult period has not gone unnoticed. If there was any doubt before, there is none now. You will take that role, Bernice, the decision has been made. You will be the next senior sister and will be inducted into the higher order as soon as possible. You keep the keys, Bernice, for I trust you. After all, you will be one of us soon enough.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bernice and turned to follow the other nuns leaving the hall.

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  Bernice spent the next half an hour locking her fellow nuns in their cells before returning to her own. She cleaned her room and washed herself head to foot from the water bowl on the simple sideboard before reading passages from her bible, seeking succour from its comforting pages but found her mind wandering, her eyes often drawn to the convent keys hanging on the back of her cell door. Finally, she gave up and replaced the bible on the bedside table. With a big sigh she rose to get the keys from the door. She knew what she had to do but now she had the opportunity, her nerve was failing. Gathering her courage she started to take the keys off the giant ring, seeking the only one she would need if she were going to see this thing through. At last, she left the cell and walked down the dark and silent corridor, one hand playing with the hall key she had placed in her pocket.

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  Chapter 31

  Britannia 64AD

  Dragus, Rubria and Rose stood before the chieftain’s hut, waiting patiently for him to emerge. It seemed half the village had assembled to see the three fugitives brought back from the forest and everyone knew that the day would end in bloodshed, if Blackthorn wasn’t happy. Rubria looked around in fascination. She had never even seen a true Celt before, let alone been in the midst of a Celtic village.

  ‘Who are these people?’ asked Rubria quietly.

  ‘They are a clan of the Atrebates tribe,’ said Dragus, ‘one of the smaller tribes of Britannia.’

  ‘Are they friendly?’ asked Rose nervously

  ‘That depends on the mood of the chieftain,’ said Dragus, ‘over here the leaders hold total control of their clans. They have the power of life or death within their own villages and their word is law.’

  ‘These are not the same people that are sold as slaves in the markets of Rome,’ she said. ‘There, they have unruly hair with wild beards and the smell from their bodies is awful. These people are clean, with trimmed beards. Look at the colours of the children’s clothes, such hues are expensive in Rome yet here they are worn by the children.’

  ‘Don’t forget,’ said Dragus, ‘the captives you refer to in Rome, were often kept in cages like animals for months. They were probably half- starved and had travelled across the known world before gracing the markets of the eternal city and were certainly no stranger to the whip on their travels. Is it any wonder they looked like savages?’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ said Rubria, ‘we were told they were barbarians who ate their own babies.’

  ‘These people are like you or I, priestess,’ said Dragus, ‘they have hopes and dreams, raise families and look after their elderly. There are no poor here, what little they have is shared equally. They are a proud people and have their own gods and traditions. Rome came to these shores expecting to find heathen. What they found is a fierce nation of tribes whose only fault is their continual infighting. If Britannia had found a way of combining the tribes into a cohesive army then our northern frontier would still be on the shores of Gaul. Caratacus came close, Boudicca closer still but at the end of the day, Roman gold won over more chieftains than Roman swords ever did.’

  The chieftain, his son and half a dozen of the tribe’s elders ducked out of the hut and approached the three fugitives, stopping in front of Rubria. The priestess had washed the grime from her face and brushed her golden hair until it hung down past her waist. Blackthorn and his son walked around her, finally stopping to stare into her astonishingly blue eyes. Some of the
men touched her hair and one actually tried to force open her mouth to look at her teeth.

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ she snapped, causing them all to laugh.

  Finally, they returned to the hut.

  ‘What now?’ asked Rubria.

  ‘Now we wait,’ said Dragus.

  Five minutes later, one of the elders emerged and called out.

  ‘Roman,’ he said, ‘Blackthorn requires your presence.’

  ‘Here goes,’ said Dragus and ducked into the chieftain’s hut. Inside, the elders had taken their places in a half circle, sitting on carved chairs of oak. Dragus stood inside the entrance, waiting to be addressed.

  ‘So, Roman,’ said Blackthorn eventually, ‘this is the priestess you told us about?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I have to admit, she does have something of the gods about her.’

  ‘So you will help us?’

  ‘I will,’ said Blackthorn, ‘but there is a price to pay.’

  ‘We have little coin,’ said Dragus.

  ‘I have no need of Roman coin,’ said the Chieftain, ‘we will give you shelter and our protection. No word of your whereabouts will reach the ears of the Romans or the filth that bend their knee to their control. You will work for your keep but will share in the food of the village. Your Priestess will also be allowed to set up her shrine and worship your goddess, however, after the child is born, the priestess will wed my son.’

  ‘What?’ asked Dragus, incredulously, ‘but she would never allow that to happen. She is a priestess of Vesta and vowed to know no man for thirty years.’

  ‘The rules of your homeland do not apply here, Roman. She will be allowed to continue worshipping this Vesta you speak of but she will do so as the wife of my son. One day, when, the birds pick over the remains of my funeral pyre, she will become the wife of a chieftain. Until that time, the slave will see to her health and you will see to her safety.’