Mortuus Virgo

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘You misunderstand me, Sister,’ he replied, ‘I do not criticise your commitment or indeed your devotion. You worship that which is placed before you, yet it is but a veil that blurs the truth.’

  ‘You’re making no sense,’ said Bernice.

  ‘I have said enough,’ he said and turned to leave.

  ‘So why, Max,’ asked Bernice, ‘Why tell me this, now.’

  The caretaker turned back around and stared back at her.’

  ‘Because I like you, Sister Bernice,’ said Max, ‘You have always been kind to me and see me as an equal, not a servant. The order is very strong with important friends across the world. They can look after themselves. But I feel times are changing, and not for the better. This new age of computers and the like is beyond me. I don’t claim to understand such things but what I do know is this. It is only a matter of time before the order’s secret is unveiled, and when that happens, I fear our secure little world will come crashing down around us. You don’t deserve to be caught in the fall out. Now, I have to go, but before I go, let me give you a piece of advice. You are a lovely person, Sister, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Do yourself a favour and keep your distance from the senior sisters.’

  ‘But Max…’

  ‘I have said enough,’ said Max, glancing down at the last sandwich, ‘Do you mind if I take this for Jacob?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Bernice.

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ said Max, ‘Stay safe!’

  Bernice watched him leave and sat for a while mulling over the strange conversation. Max seemed genuinely concerned for her safety, but rather than frighten her off his comments only aroused her curiosity. Her thoughts were racing and there were far too many unanswered questions to let the matter drop, and, by the time she left the kitchen to return to her cell, she had formed a rudimentary plan.

  Brandon and Murray walked up to the closed gate blocking the road. They had driven around for hours looking for the convent but eventually had come across a farmer who had pointed them in the right direction. Finally they had found the right road and had travelled over half an hour along a winding country road before coming across the obstruction.

  Beyond the gate, the road was un-surfaced and disappeared into a wood that spread as far as the eye could see. A brand new chain and padlock secured the gate to the post, its message absolutely clear. Keep out!

  The two men climbed over the gate and walked towards the tree line, but hadn’t got within a hundred metres when a man emerged from the trees and walked towards them. Brandon and Murray slowed but continued walking.

  The man was dressed in lightweight green trousers and a waxed Barbour jacket, with a pair of green Wellington boots on his feet and a deerstalker hat on his head in an obvious attempt to meet the cliched uniform of a gamekeeper, however, it was the shotgun cradled in the man’s arm that focussed their attention.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the man.

  ‘Yes, I’m looking for a convent,’ said Brandon, ‘I was told it was somewhere up here.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the man, ‘This is private property and I have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t realise. It’s just that I am doing some research for a book and was wondering what is actually up there.’

  ‘Nothing that concerns you,’ said the man, ‘Now if you don’t mind.’ He pointed back down the track, making the instruction to leave crystal clear.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ asked Murray to the gamekeeper, ‘We won’t cause any damage, can’t you allow us half an hour? You’re boss wouldn’t need to know.’

  The man took a few paces towards him.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘You have climbed over a locked gate and are on private property. I have already explained that we cannot help you. Now, I will ask you one more time to leave. Otherwise, I will have you removed by force.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ snapped Murray, ‘I don’t see any signs saying private property, so I can walk wherever I damn well want to.’

  ‘Really, well this says otherwise,’ said the man un-cradling the shotgun.

  ‘Oh for fuck sake,’ said Murray, ‘Like you’re going to shoot us just for trespassing.’

  Brandon grabbed his arm, holding the taxi driver back. As the gamekeeper had un-cradled his shotgun, his jacket had swung open slightly and he had seen the strap of a shoulder holster.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he said, ‘You heard the man, it’s private property. Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘Listen to your friend, stupid,’ said the game keeper with a sneer, ‘Or you may get hurt.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Brandon with a smile, ‘Sorry for bothering you, come on Murray, let’s go to the pub.’ He pulled the reluctant taxi driver and walked back down the path, closely followed by the gamekeeper. Five minutes later they were driving back down the road towards the town.

  ‘Do you believe that Pratt?’ snarled Murray, ‘Gamekeeper my arse, nothing more than a jumped up gardener as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘He was no gamekeeper,’ said Brandon looking out of the window.

  ‘Looked like one to me,’ said Murray, ‘Even had all the clobber.’

  ‘He did,’ said Brandon, ‘But I’ve never seen a gamekeeper wearing Ray-Bans, have you?’

  Murray looked in the rear view mirror.

  ‘Yeah, I noticed that too,’ he said, ‘And he had a strange accent.’

  ‘Italian!’ said Brandon.

  ‘So who do you think he was?’ asked Murray, ‘Some sort of security guard?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘But I intend to find out. Stop here.’

  ‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere,’ answered the driver

  ‘Pull over,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’ A few minutes later, they were both stood alongside the taxi. Brandon was scribbling an address in his notebook.

  ‘I want you to drive to this address,’ he said, as he wrote. ‘Pick up a bag for me and bring it back here as soon as possible. I have made the arrangements. All you have to do is pick it up. But I need you back here by dark. Do you think you can do it?’

  Murray looked at the address.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘But what about you? Forecast says there’s a bad snowstorm coming, you can’t stay out here all day, you’ll freeze your nuts off.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Brandon, ‘Just make sure you get back here as soon as you can.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Murray, ‘But then we are done. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Brandon, ‘Now go. My number is on the pad. Ring me when you’re on the way back.’

  He watched the taxi disappear down the lane before climbing over a stile and making his way back up the hill, keeping close to the hedgerow to avoid being seen.

  In the car, Murray glanced at the address on the pad. ‘Oxford,’ he read.

  Brandon walked around the hill, keeping to hedgerows and dead ground wherever possible until he found a relatively sheltered area overlooking the track leading into the forest. For hours he watched the gate, catching occasional sightings of the two security guards located just within the forest edge. Throughout the afternoon a few vehicles drove passed into the forest, including two cars and a white transit van. The van in particular caught his eye, as, unlike the cars, it was quite old with an odd door on the passenger side, obviously the result of an amateur repair. He watched for a few more hours before making his way back down the hill and waiting in a small copse, huddling beneath his coat as the temperature dropped. After what seemed like an age, his phone vibrated and his head sprung from his chest where he had dropped off into a light sleep.

  ‘Murray?’ he asked.

  ‘Who the fuck is Murray?’ asked a voice.

  ‘Sorry, Mike, You caught me having a power nap. Any news?'

  ‘Well, sort of,’ said Mike, ‘We reviewed the CCTV on all the entrances and there is no sign
of her entering the station.’

  ‘Shit!’ cursed Brandon.

  ‘Hold your horses,’ said Mike, ‘I also reviewed the cameras outside the station and it seems like two people matching your descriptions got out of a cab and entered a house halfway between the train station and the bus station.’

  ‘You think it was them?’

  ‘Sure it was,’ said Mike, ‘We managed to get someone inside, but it seems the place is hardly used.’

  ‘What happened?’ interrupted Brandon sitting up, ‘Was she there?’

  ‘No, one of the guys had a good look around and there’s no sign of her. The only thing we can think of is that they left the building via the car park.’

  ‘Car park?’

  ‘Yes, underneath the building there is a small car park that exits onto the road at the side of the building.’

  ‘Anything on camera?’

  ‘No, that’s the thing. The only vehicle to come out after the time she went in was a battered old van.’

  Brandon looked up the hill towards where he had spent the last few hours, thinking about the vehicles he had seen a few hours earlier.

  ‘Describe it,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Describe the van,’ said Brandon tersely, ‘Was there anything strange about it?’

  ‘No not really, it was a bit shit, really. Old, white, battered.’

  ‘Go on,’ thought Brandon, ‘Say it.’

  ‘Oh and it had a black door on the passenger side,’ said Mike, confirming Brandon’s suspicions. By the time we realised the connection it had long gone, and I can’t access the London CCTV grid without a warrant. Sorry, Brandon, I have no idea where it went.’

  That’s okay, Mike,’ said Brandon, ‘I know exactly where it went.’ His phone beeped once in his hand. ‘Mike, I have to go,’ he said, ‘I’ve got another call on the line. Talk later, cheers.’ He pressed the red button on the phone, quickly followed by the green one.

  ‘Murray,’ he said, ‘About fucking time.’

  ‘Calm down,’ he said, ‘I got stuck in traffic.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘About ten minutes away,’ he said, ‘You okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Brandon, ‘Just shift your arse and get back here.’ He hung up and made his way down the last few hundred yards to the lay-by. A few minutes later, the taxi pulled up and Murray got out.

  ‘Got it?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘In the boot,’ said Murray, ‘Nice lady, you’re mother.’

  ‘Yeah, diamond,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Got you something else, too!’

  Brandon looked as Murray reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve a carrier bag.

  ‘Your mother sent me on a side errand on the way back,’ said Murray, ‘Figured you may be hungry. Fish and chips and a can of coke do you?’

  ‘Murray, you’re a fucking legend,’ said Brandon with a smile, taking the bag. He sat on a log and got stuck in to the greasy meal with enthusiasm. He had not realised how hungry he actually was. Murray leaned against his cab, eating his own bag of chips.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ he said, ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Murray, ‘I’ll add it on your bill.’

  Brandon smiled.

  ‘So what happens now?’ asked Murray.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Up there,’ said Murray, ‘At the convent. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ said Murray, ‘That bag in the boot, it’s special forces issue isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Look mister,’ said Murray, ‘Many years ago I did some time in the Territorial Army. Nothing special but some of my mates are still in the mob and I know a squaddy when I see one. I reckon you intend to get into that convent to find your girlfriend or whoever she is.’

  Brandon stared at him for a moment before laughing.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he said, ‘Everyone’s an expert these days, so much for secrecy eh?’

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ said Murray.

  ‘Look, mate,’ said Brandon opening the boot of the car, ‘You probably know too much already, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He unzipped the oversized air-force blue holdall.’ The less you know the better,’ he continued, ‘Nothing personal, you understand, it’s just safer that way. At least five people have died that I know of, and I would hate you to be the sixth.’ He started to undress, placing all his civilian clothes in the boot, before donning a pair of black denim cotton trousers, and pulling a black, fleece lined buffalo jacket over his head.

  ‘Look,’ said Murray, ‘I know you can’t tell me what’s going on but if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask yeah?’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Brandon, tying the last lace on his combat boots. He stood up and looked thoughtfully at Murray, ‘Actually, there is something you can do,’ he added, pulling out his phone, ‘What’s your number? ‘

  Murray told him his number and watched as Brandon punched something into his own phone.

  ‘I’ve just sent you a number,’ said Brandon, ‘If you don’t hear from me in twenty four hours, I want you to call that number and ask for Mike. Tell him everything. He will know what to do.’

  ‘You sure about this?’ asked Murray.

  ‘Positive,’ said Brandon, pulling out a pre packed rucksack from the holdall, ‘You do that, and when this is all over, you can treat me to a couple of pints out of that grand you swindled me out of, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ laughed Murray, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be watching that clock like a hawk.’

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ said Brandon.

  Murray held out his hand, and after a second, it was taken by Murray in a handshake based on trust.

  ‘Good luck, mate,’ said Murray.

  Brandon nodded and climbed over the stile to the field beyond, retracing his steps up the hill he had checked out earlier. Murray pulled a cigarette and leant against the cab, drawing the smoke in deeply as he watched the stranger disappear into the gloom. A few minutes later he held out his hand to flick the butt of the cigarette over the hedge, but froze dead in his tracks as the feel of a cold pistol barrel pressed gently against his Temple.

  ‘Hello again, stupid,’ said a voice with a foreign accent, ‘Remember me?’

  Chapter 29

  Britannia 64 AD

  The first couple of weeks had been difficult for the fugitives. They had travelled by night, heading westwards away from the coast, avoiding any contact with locals and the occasional Roman patrols. The ship’s Captain had given them what dried meat, he could spare but it wasn’t much and they had to supplement what they had with roots and berries wherever they could.

  Eventually, however, the food inevitably ran out, and in desperation they had to risk interacting with the locals. By carefully selecting their targets and with Dragus’s basic knowledge of the language, they somehow managed to scrape through, but eventually, Rose approached him with a look of concern on her face.

  ‘Centurion, I would speak with you,’ she said.

  Dragus opened his eyes and looked up at her. He was sat with his back against a tree, one of many temporary resting places they had been forced to take as they struggled through the never ending forest. The fact that they were avoiding the main tracks meant that it was much harder going and the effort was taking its toll on the women. This was the third break since morning and the sun was still not yet halfway through its journey.

  ‘How is she?’ asked Dragus, nodding towards the resting figure of Rubria who was sat on the banks of a small stream, bathing her sore feet.

  ‘Not good,’ she said, ‘We really need to find somewhere a bit more permanent so she can rest properly.’

  ‘I know,’ said Brandon with a sigh, ‘Another few weeks and we will be in the lands of the Atrebates. They are known to be a frie
ndly people and welcome strangers to their midst.’

  ‘We cannot wait a few weeks,’ said Rose, ‘We have to find somewhere soon or I fear the worst.’

  ‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said Dragus, ‘I know there is little food but we are not doing badly.’ He looked over towards Rubria. ‘I’m afraid her beauty and frailty comes at a price. Her hands were not designed to fend off the thorns of the forest, and blisters are a curse she was never intended to bear.’

  ‘You underestimate her,’ said Rose, ‘I have not heard one complaint escape her lips yet I know she is exhausted.’

  ‘We will take more rests,’ said Dragus, ‘Give her chance to regain her strength.’

  ‘Another few weeks and we will be relatively safe.’

  ‘We don’t have the time,’ she interrupted, ‘We have to find somewhere soon.’

  ‘That is not an option…’ started Dragus.

  ‘Dragus, for the love of Vesta, will you listen to me?’ she hissed, ‘She is with child!’

  ‘What?’ said Dragus, ‘That is impossible.’

  Rose glanced over at Rubria before continuing.

  ‘I have seen this a hundred times, and she has all the signs.’

  ‘She can’t be,’ said Dragus,’ She is a Priestess of the Goddess Vesta, one of her Holy Virgins. They are betrothed to the order for thirty years. Surely she would not have broken her oath so easily.’

  ‘Not by choice,’ said Rose, ‘Don’t forget what she suffered at the hand of our illustrious leader.’

  Dragus looked over towards Rubria.

  ‘Has she discussed this with you?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Discussed it?’ said Rose gently, Dragus, the Priestess is so innocent, I don’t think she even knows she is pregnant.’

  They both looked at the Priestess, leaning back on her elbows as she dangled her feet in the cool stream. Her head tilted back to face the sky, drinking in a sunbeam that managed to break through the foliage and her eyes closed for a few seconds, enjoying the rare feeling of warmth on her skin.

  Dragus took in the detail with growing concern. He had been so wrapped up in getting them safely to their destination he had not noticed the deterioration in the Priestess. Her once long golden hair was tangled and her face was smeared with stains of sweat and grime. Her clothes were torn and her face was gaunt. As he watched he saw her brow furrow slightly and her hand went unconsciously to her stomach, reacting to an unfamiliar feeling within.