The Last of the Legions and Other Tales of Long Ago

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  III

  THROUGH THE VEIL

  He was a great shock-headed, freckle-faced Borderer, the linealdescendant of a cattle-thieving clan in Liddesdale. In spite of hisancestry he was as solid and sober a citizen as one would wish to see, atown councillor of Melrose, an elder of the Church, and the chairman ofthe local branch of the Young Men's Christian Association. Brown was hisname--and you saw it printed up as "Brown and Handiside" over the greatgrocery stores in the High Street. His wife, Maggie Brown, was anArmstrong before her marriage, and came from an old farming stock in thewilds of Teviothead. She was small, swarthy, and dark-eyed, with astrangely nervous temperament for a Scotch woman. No greater contrastcould be found than the big tawny man and the dark little woman, butboth were of the soil as far back as any memory could extend.

  One day--it was the first anniversary of their wedding--they had drivenover together to see the excavations of the Roman Fort at Newstead. Itwas not a particularly picturesque spot. From the northern bank of theTweed, just where the river forms a loop, there extends a gentle slopeof arable land. Across it run the trenches of the excavators, with hereand there an exposure of old stonework to show the foundations of theancient walls. It had been a huge place, for the camp was fifty acres inextent, and the fort fifteen. However, it was all made easy for themsince Mr. Brown knew the farmer to whom the land belonged. Under hisguidance they spent a long summer evening inspecting the trenches, thepits, the ramparts, and all the strange variety of objects which werewaiting to be transported to the Edinburgh Museum of Antiquities. Thebuckle of a woman's belt had been dug up that very day, and the farmerwas discoursing upon it when his eyes fell upon Mrs. Brown's face.

  "Your good leddy's tired," said he. "Maybe you'd best rest a wee beforewe gang further."

  Brown looked at his wife. She was certainly very pale, and her dark eyeswere bright and wild.

  "What is it, Maggie? I've wearied you. I'm thinkin' it's time we wentback."

  "No, no, John, let us go on. It's wonderful! It's like a dreamlandplace. It all seems so close and so near to me. How long were the Romanshere, Mr. Cunningham?"

  "A fair time, mam. If you saw the kitchen midden-pits you would guess ittook a long time to fill them."

  "And why did they leave?"

  "Well, mam, by all accounts they left because they had to. The folkround could thole them no longer, so they just up and burned the fortaboot their lugs. You can see the fire marks on the stanes."

  The woman gave a quick little shudder. "A wild night--a fearsome night,"said she. "The sky must have been red that night--and these grey stones,they may have been red also."

  "Aye, I think they were red," said her husband. "It's a queer thing,Maggie, and it may be your words that have done it; but I seem to seethat business aboot as clear as ever I saw anything in my life. Thelight shone on the water."

  "Aye, the light shone on the water. And the smoke gripped you by thethroat. And all the savages were yelling."

  The old farmer began to laugh. "The leddy will be writin' a story abootthe old fort," said he. "I've shown many a one ower it, but I neverheard it put so clear afore. Some folk have the gift."

  They had strolled along the edge of the foss, and a pit yawned upon theright of them.

  "That pit was fourteen foot deep," said the farmer. "What d'ye think wedug oot from the bottom o't? Weel, it was just the skeleton of a man wi'a spear by his side. I'm thinkin' he was grippin' it when he died. Now,how cam' a man wi' a spear doon a hole fourteen foot deep. He wasna'buried there, for they aye burned their dead. What make ye o' that,mam?"

  "He sprang doon to get clear of the savages," said the woman.

  "Weel, it's likely enough, and a' the professors from Edinburgh couldna'gie a better reason. I wish you were aye here, mam, to answer a' oordeeficulties sae readily. Now, here's the altar that we foond last week.There's an inscreeption. They tell me it's Latin, and it means that themen o' this fort give thanks to God for their safety."

  They examined the old worn stone. There was a large deeply-cut "VV" uponthe top of it.

  "What does 'VV' stand for?" asked Brown.

  "Naebody kens," the guide answered.

  "_Valeria Victrix_," said the lady softly. Her face was paler than ever,her eyes far away, as one who peers down the dim aisles of overarchingcenturies.

  "What's that?" asked her husband sharply.

  She started as one who wakes from sleep. "What were we talking about?"she asked.

  "About this 'VV' upon the stone."

  "No doubt it was just the name of the Legion which put the altar up."

  "Aye, but you gave some special name."

  "Did I? How absurd! How should I ken what the name was?"

  "You said something--'_Victrix_,' I think."

  "I suppose I was guessing. It gives me the queerest feeling, this place,as if I were not myself, but some one else."

  "Aye, it's an uncanny place," said her husband, looking round with anexpression almost of fear in his bold grey eyes. "I feel it mysel'. Ithink we'll just be wishin' you good evenin', Mr. Cunningham, and getback to Melrose before the dark sets in."

  Neither of them could shake off the strange impression which had beenleft upon them by their visit to the excavations. It was as if somemiasma had risen from those damp trenches and passed into their blood.All the evening they were silent and thoughtful, but such remarks asthey did make showed that the same subject was in the mind of each.Brown had a restless night, in which he dreamed a strange connecteddream, so vivid that he woke sweating and shivering like a frightenedhorse. He tried to convey it all to his wife as they sat together atbreakfast in the morning.

  "It was the clearest thing, Maggie," said he. "Nothing that has evercome to me in my waking life has been more clear than that. I feel as ifthese hands were sticky with blood."

  "Tell me of it--tell me slow," said she.

  "When it began, I was oot on a braeside. I was laying flat on theground. It was rough, and there were clumps of heather. All round me wasjust darkness, but I could hear the rustle and the breathin' of men.There seemed a great multitude on every side of me, but I could see noone. There was a low chink of steel sometimes, and then a number ofvoices would whisper 'Hush!' I had a ragged club in my hand, and it hadspikes o' iron near the end of it. My heart was beatin' quickly, and Ifelt that a moment of great danger and excitement was at hand. Once Idropped my club, and again from all round me the voices in the darknesscried, 'Hush!' I put oot my hand, and it touched the foot of another manlying in front of me. There was some one at my very elbow on eitherside. But they said nothin'.

  "Then we all began to move. The whole braeside seemed to be crawlin'downwards. There was a river at the bottom and a high-arched woodenbridge. Beyond the bridge were many lights--torches on a wall. Thecreepin' men all flowed towards the bridge. There had been no sound ofany kind, just a velvet stillness. And then there was a cry in thedarkness, the cry of a man who had been stabbed suddenly to the hairt.That one cry swelled out for a moment, and then the roar of a thoosandfurious voices. I was runnin'. Every one was runnin'. A bright redlight shone out, and the river was a scarlet streak. I could see mycompanions now. They were more like devils than men, wild figures cladin skins, with their hair and beards streamin'. They were all mad withrage, jumpin' as they ran, their mouths open, their arms wavin', the redlight beatin' on their faces. I ran, too, and yelled out curses like therest. Then I heard a great cracklin' of wood, and I knew that thepalisades were doon. There was a loud whistlin' in my ears, and I wasaware that arrows were flyin' past me. I got to the bottom of a dyke,and I saw a hand stretched doon from above. I took it, and was draggedto the top. We looked doon, and there were silver men beneath us holdin'up their spears. Some of our folk sprang on to the spears. Then weothers followed, and we killed the soldiers before they could draw thespears oot again. They shouted loud in some foreign tongue, but no mercywas shown them. We went ower them like a wave, and trampled them dooninto the mud, for they were few, and the
re was no end to our numbers.

  "I found myself among buildings, and one of them was on fire. I saw theflames spoutin' through the roof. I ran on, and then I was alone amongthe buildings. Some one ran across in front o' me. It was a woman. Icaught her by the arm, and I took her chin and turned her face so as thelight of the fire would strike it. Whom think you that it was, Maggie?"

  His wife moistened her dry lips. "It was I," she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. "That's a good guess," said he. "Yes, itwas just you. Not merely like you, you understand. It was you--youyourself. I saw the same soul in your frightened eyes. You looked whiteand bonnie and wonderful in the firelight. I had just one thought in myhead--to get you awa' with me; to keep you all to mysel' in my own homesomewhere beyond the hills. You clawed at my face with your nails. Iheaved you over my shoulder, and I tried to find a way oot of the lightof the burning hoose and back into the darkness.

  "Then came the thing that I mind best of all. You're ill, Maggie. ShallI stop? My God! you have the very look on your face that you had lastnight in my dream. You screamed. He came runnin' in the firelight. Hishead was bare; his hair was black and curled; he had a naked sword inhis hand, short and broad, little more than a dagger. He stabbed at me,but he tripped and fell. I held you with one hand, and with theother----"

  His wife had sprung to her feet with writhing features.

  "Marcus!" she cried. "My beautiful Marcus! Oh, you brute! you brute! youbrute!" There was a clatter of tea-cups as she fell forward senselessupon the table.

  * * * * *

  They never talk about that strange isolated incident in their marriedlife. For an instant the curtain of the past had swung aside, and somestrange glimpse of a forgotten life had come to them. But it closeddown, never to open again. They live their narrow round--he in his shop,she in her household--and yet new and wider horizons have vaguely formedthemselves around them since that summer evening by the crumbling Romanfort.