Julia Domna was a charming and entertaining hostess. She made a point of speaking to each of her guests. When they had arrived, she had greeted each one, standing at the doorway, dressed in a long dress of green silk, her hair curled and piled high on her head. Brude had been introduced to her by Caralugnus as a chieftain of the Caledonii but she had obviously been well briefed. Smiling at Brude, she said, “You must be the ex-gladiator. You have done well to rise to become a chieftain of one of our allies.”
Brude replied modestly, “I am the son of the former chieftain of one very small village, my lady. I was not even elected as head man before I had to leave and come down here.”
“Yes, I hear there was an unfortunate mistake over your son. He is well, I trust?”
“He is fine now, my lady. Thank you.” Brude was impressed at her knowledge. Her description of Castatin’s capture as an unfortunate mistake was a clever piece of political wordplay, designed to ensure that he remained an ally of Rome, however insignificant he or his village were. He wondered how she would have described Cruithne’s death and the burning of the village.
Her attempts to charm everyone were only partly successful because rumours about the emperor’s failing health continued to circulate, despite official announcements that he was recovering.
Lying in bed that night, Mairead was full of questions about the empress. She complained when Brude was not able to give a detailed description of the empress’s clothes, hair and make-up. “Why do men never pay attention to that sort of thing?” she asked him when his answers were too vague for her liking.
Mairead was fascinated by Julia Domna. Even in the short time she had been in Eboracum, Mairead had noticed how little influence women had outside the home, so she was delighted to learn that there was at least one Roman woman who exercised real power. “Is she pretty?” she asked Brude.
“Not particularly. She has a way about her that is attractive, I suppose, but she’s no beauty. Not like you.”
Mairead gave him a playful slap. “Flatterer! You noticed that much about her then?” Brude, though, was not concerned about Julia Domna. It was the emperor’s health that occupied his mind. He found himself offering silent prayers to the gods he had ignored for many years, wishing for the emperor’s death. If the emperor died, surely his sons would return to Rome? He mentioned his thoughts to Cleon the next day.
“You are probably right,” Cleon agreed after some thought, “but that does not mean all of the army will go with them. They can leave their legions to finish the job.”
Brude was forced to agree but Veleda’s words and her own self-sacrifice had laid a compulsion on him. He needed the emperor to die. If Severus died and the Roman army stayed, Veleda’s geas would have no power over him. He would have to make the best life he could, with Mairead and Castatin, under Roman rule. But if the emperor recovered, Brude would have to think of a way to kill him. He had promised himself not to kill again, but Veleda had forced him into a position where the fate of the Pritani rested on whether the emperor lived or died. And Brude was the only one of the Pritani who could do what had to be done. He wanted to forget it, to persuade himself that he had a family to care for, that he had no obligation to a dead druid, but the old woman had done something to his mind. She had laid a spell of some sort on him and he feared to go against the order of a druid. Cut off the head and the beast will die. As would Brude, together with his family and friends.
He had to get Mairead and the others away. He did not feel able to discuss his plans, even with Mairead, but he considered buying a wagon or carriage so that Barabal would be able to ride in comfort. The army, though, had commandeered every spare vehicle so that they could keep supplies going north by road during the winter when the seas grew too rough for their ships. Which meant they were stuck in Eboracum, with winter approaching.
Crowds gathered at the temple of the imperial cult to offer prayers for the emperor, sacrificing in honour of his image. Brude took everyone along to join in. “Questions might be asked if we are seen not to worship in the Roman way,” he explained. “If someone denounces us as Christians, we might find ourselves in trouble, so it’s best to go along with it.” So they joined the crowd who gathered in the forum outside the temple, watching while a bull was sacrificed and the priests offered up prayers for the emperor’s health.
“I thought the emperor was a man,” Castatin challenged, as they made their way back to Caralugnus’ home afterwards.
“He is,” Brude replied.
“But wasn’t that his image on show along with the other gods? I recognised the face and the curly beard.”
Once again Brude was reminded of his own curiosity when he was a boy. He smiled in pleasure at Castatin’s questions. He told Cleon what Castatin had asked. “Just like you,” the old Greek said.
“You’d better explain it to him,” said Brude. “I always struggle with that sort of thing.”
Cleon was usually never one to turn down a chance to mock the Romans but the language barrier presented some problems so Brude had to try to explain it to his son. “The emperor is a man,” he said, “but he has a divine quality because he is blessed by the gods.”
“Why?” Castatin asked.
“Well, it is self-evident, surely?” chuckled Brude. “He would not be emperor unless he had divine qualities, would he? The very fact that he is the emperor shows that he is blessed by the gods. That means he can intercede directly with them on behalf of the people.”
Castatin did not look convinced. After some thought, he said, “I heard he was emperor because he commanded more legions than his opponents when he seized power.”
Cleon’s eyes shone with amusement when Brude translated the question. “That is correct.”
“So was he divine before he was emperor?” Castatin asked.
“Of course not!” exclaimed Cleon after Brude told him what Castatin had asked. “That would be impossible.”
Castatin said, “So he only became divine when he became emperor and he must be divine otherwise he would not be emperor. Is that right?”
“Something like that,” Brude agreed.
“Yes, that’s about it,” Cleon confirmed. “One fact confirms the other. It’s very simple really.”
“It sounds complicated to me,” observed Castatin.
“Me, too,” said Mairead, who had been listening in with interest.
Brude smiled. “The Roman religion is more about ritual than belief. You can believe what you want as long as you are seen to worship the way they do. Their gods are happy as long as the proper sacrifices are made at the appropriate time.”
Cleon nodded when Brude repeated that in Latin. “That’s right,” he agreed. Then he looked at Brude with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Have you told the boy about Epicurus yet?”
“Not yet. Our language does not have the right words to explain all the concepts.”
“Then he’d better learn Latin quickly,” Cleon grinned.
“You could always learn our language,” Brude suggested again.
“Latin is bad enough, thank you very much.”
Brude’s silent hopes that the emperor’s health would fail were eventually dashed. Severus recovered from his sick bed and was seen, weak and frail but still taking an active part in governing the empire. Eboracum was much busier now as emissaries came and went, travelling from all parts of the empire to see the emperor. Brude saw little of Lucius as all officers were kept busy with the countless tasks required for the smooth running of the empire, but Cleon still visited most days to keep Brude informed of what was happening. “The army is in winter quarters but they expect to complete the conquest next year,” Cleon said. “Although, from what I can gather, it seems your people are being stubborn. They are refusing to fight in open battle. The Romans can’t seem to pin them down. But they are still destroying towns and villages so eventually there will be nowhere for the Picti to hide.”
Samhain came and went. Caralugnus held a small pr
ivate celebration with a few guests. It was not the wild, open-air, firelight feast and dance that the Boresti were used to, but there was plenty of food and wine and the servants had made some lanterns from hollowed-out turnips. By their ghostly light, Fothair told some suitably gruesome tales of the evil spirits that stalked the land during that night.
A few weeks later, the emperor invited many of the local dignitaries to a feast to celebrate Saturnalia. Cleon managed to ensure that both Brude and Mairead were included. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground as they made their way to the legionary fort with Caralugnus. Brude was uncomfortable at being seen to be so close to the imperial family but Mairead was delighted. She had bought herself a new dress for the occasion, a Pritani-style long dress of brightly coloured cloth. “Stop worrying,” she told him, “there will be lots of people there. The emperor probably won’t even notice you.”
Mairead was right. The great hall in the Principia was crowded because the emperor wanted to demonstrate to as many people as possible that he was still very much alive and in command. He looked thin and the skin on his face was wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and he appeared to be in good humour.
Mairead’s exotic appearance in her native-style dress combined with a small, freshly-painted Pritani design on her face created something of a stir. She enjoyed the evening, trying as many of the dishes as she could and talking animatedly to any of her neighbours who spoke the local tongue.
Despite apparently enjoying the Roman lifestyle, she told Brude later, “It was nice but this life is not for me. I still want to go home. Barabal really can’t travel all that way, but once she has the baby we should leave.”
“That probably won’t be until the spring,” he pointed out. “The way things are going, home will be part of the empire by then.”
“Well, if we have to become Romans, I’d rather do it among my friends than here, among strangers,” she said firmly.
Mairead insisted on discussing it with Barabal and Fothair who both agreed, so they at least had something to look forward to. Mairead reckoned that Barabal would have her baby around the time of the Imbolc festival, which heralded the start of the month the Romans called February. They set their sights on heading for home two months after that.
Brude could still not tell Mairead about Veleda’s injunction to him. He hated keeping it a secret from her but the consequences were so dire that he could not bring himself to talk of it.
A few days after Saturnalia Cleon arrived, looking sombre. He brought bad news from north of the Wall. “I heard Lucius discussing the latest dispatch from Caracalla,” he told Brude. “He says that he discovered a conspiracy among the Boresti.”
Brude’s heart sank. Mairead’s Latin was not good enough to follow what Cleon was saying but she made out the name of their tribe. She saw Cleon’s expression, so she gripped Brude’s hand, asking him what was wrong.
Reluctantly, he translated what Cleon told him, speaking slowly, hating what he was saying. “There is a report that the Boresti rose in arms against the Romans. At a place where there is a river crossing, they attacked the soldiers who were guarding the bridge, killing a great number of them. They drove the garrison out and then destroyed the bridge.”
“Peart,” Mairead breathed. “That must be Peart.”
Brude nodded his agreement as on went on, “Caracalla sent a strong force to crush the revolt. His report says that all the rebels were either killed or enslaved. The Romans are rebuilding the bridge.” He shook his head sadly. “I am sorry.”
“Did they say who led the revolt?” Fothair asked.
“No, there were no names mentioned.”
“What about our village? What about Broch Tava?” Mairead struggled to stifle a sob.
“There was no mention of anywhere else. Just the place where there was a river crossing.”
That was something at least, but the dreadful news had shocked them all. Fothair’s face wore a pained expression at the thought of what had happened to his hometown. Brude just stood there, feeling numb, while Veleda’s face appeared in his memory and her words drummed through his head with an inexorable beat. Cut off the head and the beast will die.
Brude could no longer keep his thoughts from Mairead. He spoke to her that night, when they were alone in their bedroom, telling her what Veleda and he had discussed that night in Dun Nechtan. He explained to her the meaning behind Veleda sacrificing herself and Nechtan.
“She wants you to kill the emperor?” Mairead asked, reacting more calmly than Brude had expected.
“It is the only thing that might stop all the Pritani being crushed.”
“Might?”
“I cannot be sure it will work. The emperor’s sons will certainly return to Rome but they might leave some legions to finish what they have started. But if I do nothing, the war will continue. The Caledonii and the Maeatae will be destroyed, just like the Boresti. Veleda knew I am the only one who could possibly get close enough to the emperor to have any chance of success.” He held her hand, squeezing it gently. “But I do not want to lose you a second time. Not after we have only just found each other again.”
Mairead put her arms around him. They held each other in silence for a long while. He did not know what else to say but the embrace told him that she did not want to lose him either. After a while, Mairead lay back. Her expression, illuminated by the solitary oil lamp, which cast flickering shadows around the room, was calm but determined. “You know I love you,” she sai. “I always have. I know you were worried that I was enjoying life here too much, that I might have wanted to turn my back on what is left of our people. But this life we are living just now, pleasant though it is, is built on the work of others. I sit here with no wool to spin, no food to prepare, no cloth to sew. Slaves bring me everything I want. Above all, I cannot help but remember what happened at Dun Nechtan. The people there were of the Boresti and now any of them who survived are slaves too.” She gripped his hands firmly in hers. “I understand what you meant when you told Caralugnus about the price of Roman life being too high. We are in danger of losing everything our people have cherished for generations.”
Brude heaved a sigh of relief. “I hoped you would understand.”
“I do. But I do not want to lose you. I am not so naïve as to think that the Romans would not take their revenge on all of us if you assassinate the emperor.”
“You must all leave and hide somewhere.”
Mairead nodded. “We need to get everyone together to make plans. They must understand what is at stake. We need to think of a plan which would allow you to do what you need to do without giving up your own life.”
Brude pursed his lips. “I can’t think of any way to do that.”
“Then we will put our heads together until we do think of a way.” Her determination and strength of will put new heart into him. If there was a way, they would find it together.
The next day, while Caralugnus was meeting with his clients, Mairead called Fothair, Barabal and Castatin into one of the other public rooms. She barred the window shutters and closed the door so that nobody could overhear. She had Brude explain what he had told her the previous evening about Veleda’s plot. When he was finished, Mairead told them all, “We need to know what each of you think before we do anything else.”
Barabal did not hesitate. Her pretty face was a mask of stern determination. “Kill him,” she said without hesitation. She had lost her home, her freedom, her innocence and her sister. Her answer came as no surprise to anyone.
Brude looked at Fothair. The tall warrior scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I remember Dun Nechtan and Peart. I agree with Barabal, but it will mean death for all of us if we do this.” He reached for Barabal’s hand. “I am not afraid for myself, but we have others to think of.”
Brude nodded then looked at Castatin. The boy was still two years from becoming a man but he was in this as well. Brude knew he was no fool. tatin returned his gaze and said, “If it will help save t
he Pritani we must try.”
“It might not make any difference,” Brude warned him. “But doing nothing will certainly mean the destruction of all the tribes.”
“Then we should do it,” Castatin declared, clearly confident that Brude could achieve anything.
“We are agreed then,” said Mairead briskly.
“Then I will do it,” Brude told them. “We have to think of a way of getting the rest of you somewhere safe, so that the Romans cannot find you.”
Fothair held up his hand. “You will surely die if you do this alone. You may be good enough to get close and fight your way past a couple of guards but you will never be able to fight your way through the whole Roman army to get away.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Brude said ruefully.
Castatin piped up, “Maybe you don’t need to fight anyone.”
“What do you mean?” asked Brude, intrigued.
“If you could find a way into the palace at night, you could kill him while he is sleeping.”
“There would still be guards,” Fothair pointed out. “You can’t just walk past them.”
“Maybe you can,” said Brude thoughtfully.
“How?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet. I have an idea, but we would need some help from inside the fortress.”
Mairead smiled for the first time since he had told her of his plan. “Cleon?”
Brude was sure he could trust Cleon not to betray them, but he still broached the subject with apprehension. What he was asking was more than anyone would ever expect to be asked. He persuaded Cleon to accompany him on a walk to the river where they stopped, out of earshot of anyone, looking down on the busy wharves from a low hill. The day was overcast with a westerly wind blowing fallen leaves around and biting at their faces. It was not the best day to choose for a walk outside the city. Cleon was no fool and knew Brude well. “What is this all about?” he asked. “Something is bothering you.”
In the Shadow of the Wall Page 41