by K. M. Ashman
‘And if any Roman patrols come to the village?’ asked Dragus.
‘They will not find you in any of our huts. Back amongst the tree line there is a cave where we used to keep our pigs in winter. It is dry and there is a stream nearby. With a few furs, it will be comfortable enough. This is where you will stay until the child is born. Take it or leave it, Roman. I can just as easily have you bound and handed over to the governor of Londinium, your choice.’
‘There is no choice,’ said Dragus eventually, ‘we accept your offer.’
‘Do you not wish to speak to the priestess, first?’
‘There is no need to worry her about this matter, Blackthorn. There will be time enough when the child is born.’
‘I like the way you think, Roman,’ laughed Blackthorn. ‘Then the deal is done but know this, if you decide to flee, my riders will find you within hours and this time there will be no mercy, understood?’
‘Understood,’ said Dragus.
Blackthorn turned to his son.
‘Reynard, show them to the cave.’
The two men left the hut and joined the women outside.
‘Well?’ asked Rose, ‘how did it go?’
‘Not great,’ said Dragus, ‘but at least we will be safe. Come, Reynard will show us to our new home.’
----
‘A cave?’ said Rose in disgust, looking across the stream to the hole in the rock face, ‘you expect us to live in a cave?’
‘And when did you become so choosy?’ asked Dragus.
‘I may have been a slave,’ said Rose, ‘but it was to the household of an emperor, don’t forget.’
‘This is not Rome, Rose,’ said Rubria, ‘we will make do.’
‘But why didn’t they give us one of the huts?’ asked Rose.
‘They can’t risk us being found by any of the patrols in the area,’ said Dragus, ‘besides, this will see us through the winter until…’ He left the sentence unfinished.
‘Until when?’ asked Rubria.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Dragus, ‘come, let’s see what this place has to offer.’ They crossed the stream and walked up to the cave entrance.
The gaping hole was four large paces across and just over head height. There was an old fence across the entrance and the foreground was a muddy mixture of mud and filth.
‘By the gods, it stinks,’ said Rose, lifting her hand to her nose. ‘We can’t stay in there, it is unhealthy.’
Dragus looked up at the sky.
‘It will be dark soon,’ he said, ‘we will make camp in the tree line tonight. One more night under the stars won’t hurt us. Tomorrow we will clear out the cave and build a wall across the entrance to shelter us from the wind.’
The two women gathered some wood while Dragus built a fire next to the stream. Within the hour, they sat huddled around the flames, chewing on the last of the dried meat they had saved and drinking water from the stream.
‘Do you think it will rain?’ asked Rose, looking up at the sky
‘Who knows?’ Dragus sighed, ‘by the look of the skies we should be all right but there seems to be no pattern to the weather in these lands.’
They lost no time in wrapping themselves in their heavy waxed capes and curled as close as they could to the fire. Within moments, the women were asleep but Dragus lay awake for a long time.
He threw a few more sticks into the flames and glanced at the sleeping figures of the two women. They were all relatively safe and the hunger pains were appeased for another night but he knew that they had an almost impossible task in front of them. They were in a strange country, had little money and were fugitives from the most powerful empire that the world had ever seen.
He wrapped his own cape around him and laid down alongside the fire, staring into its hypnotic flames. As sleep crept up on him, his last thought was for Vesta.
‘Great Goddess,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t know what purpose you have set before us but whatever it is, please benefit us with your grace.’ He dropped slowly into a deep sleep, while below them, the village settled down for the night. In the forest, an owl hooted as if welcoming the strangers to its territory and the surrounding land fell silent.
----
Dragus awoke late. The sun was already above the horizon and the fire had long since died. For a second he struggled to remember where he was but as soon as he gathered his senses, he sat up and looked around the temporary camp. Rose was still asleep but there was no sign of Rubria. He jumped up and walked through the trees, finding her standing before the cave entrance.
‘Good morning, priestess,’ he said.
Rubria turned and smiled at him.
‘Good morning, Dragus,’ she replied, ‘did you sleep well?’
Once again, the depth of her eyes took the centurion’s breath away.
‘A little too good, I think,’ he answered. ‘The sun is already on its way across the sky and there is much to do.’
‘There is plenty of time,’ said Rubria, ‘at least we can now focus on one place instead of moving on every few days.’ Rose joined them and they all stared at the cave entrance in silence. Finally, Rubria removed her cape and placed it across the bough of a nearby tree. ‘No point in putting it off any longer,’ she said, ‘give me a hand to remove this fence.’
‘Leave it to me, priestess,’ said Dragus, removing his own cape, ‘this is man’s work.’ He used his knife to cut the bindings and placed the planks to one side. ‘I can use these to make a door,’ he said, ‘the posts are rotting but will make good firewood.’
When the fence was down the women entered the cave. The limited light revealed a space approximately four times the size of a standard hut. The natural stone ceiling was just out of reach of a tall man and the floor was covered with old straw. Rubria scraped some of it away.
‘We are in luck,’ she said, ‘beneath the filth there is a stone floor. With a bit of sweat and plenty of water, it will scrub clean.’
‘Leave this to me,’ said Rose, ‘it’s nothing that a bit of hard work won’t sort out. You wait outside in the fresh air and I will make it a bit more homely.’ She dropped to her knees and started to pick up the filthy straw that littered the floor but within seconds, was joined by Rubria. At first Rose protested but the priestess would have none of it and they cleared the room together, both gagging as they cleared the filth from the cave.
Dragus spent the day cutting small trees to form a rudimentary palisade across the entrance. When the uprights were solid, he intertwined supple ash boughs between them to make a wall. Finally, he and Rose collected arms full of bracken to fill the holes in the surprisingly solid barrier. Eventually he turned and walked into the cave to see how they were getting on. The ground had been swept clean and one side had been piled up with bracken for bedding.
‘I am impressed,’ he said, ‘you would never know this was the same place and the smell has almost gone.’
‘What we need now is a fire,’ said Rubria, ‘I would rather smell of smoke than pig droppings.’
‘I will get some firewood,’ said Dragus.
‘No, we can manage that,’ said Rubria, ‘why don’t you check the village and see if you can find any food. We ate the last of ours at midday. Here,’ she said and gave him a coin.
‘I’m afraid coins are not worth much here,’ said Dragus, ‘and are best kept for the travelling merchants.’
Rubria thought for a moment before taking her silk scarf from around her neck.
‘Will this bring anything?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Dragus, ‘I will see what I can do.’ He left the cave and walked down into the village.
‘Right,’ said Rubria, ‘let’s get a fire started.’
----
By the time Dragus returned, they had built a circle of stones in the centre of the cave and a fire sent its smoke upwards to escape through the unseen cracks of the natural ceiling. Rose sat tying bunches of dirty straw into tight knots.
‘Fuel,’ she
said, answering his unasked question, ‘shame to waste all this straw.’
She looked at the bag over his shoulder.
‘Were you successful in your task?’
‘I was,’ he said, ‘though it’s not much, just a loaf and a chicken.’
‘Bread and meat,’ smiled Rubria, ‘after what we have endured it is a relative feast. Rose, take the pot and bring some water.’ She took the bag from Dragus and started to pluck the chicken.
Rose took the copper pot given to them by the ship’s captain and after filling it at the stream, placed it on the fire to boil. When Rubria had finished preparing the bird, she took a knife and cut it into tiny pieces, putting everything except the stomach into the pot. Dragus dug into his pockets and added some herbs and edible shoots he had found along the path on the way back from the village.
‘I’d prefer it spit roasted,’ he said whimsically.
‘Me too,’ said Rubria, ‘but we have to be prudent. A roast chicken would last but one meal, whereas this stew will keep us fed for several days.’
‘I know,’ smiled Dragus, ‘but a man can dream.’
Rubria laughed aloud and Rose and Dragus looked at her quizzically.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Dragus.
‘Oh, centurion,’ she laughed, ‘have we sunk so low that our dreams consist of nothing more than a roast chicken.’
‘Priestess, the way my belly feels, I would pay an emperor’s ransom for a slice of beef and die a happy man. However, for tonight, chicken stew will suffice.’ He looked around the cave. ‘There is no privacy here,’ he said, ‘tomorrow I will build a willow screen but tonight I will sleep outside.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ smiled Rubria, ‘you will sleep in here with us.’
‘But priestess,’ said Dragus, ‘modesty forbids but fear not, it will not be the first time I have slept under the stars.’
‘You worry needlessly, Dragus,’ said Rubria, ‘I fear the temperatures dictate we will once more be sleeping fully clothed this evening, so our modesty is ensured. Tomorrow we will concern ourselves with making this hovel into a palace but in the meantime, let us spend one more night together at the fire, a group of fellow travellers on a great adventure.’
Rose glanced at Dragus and smiled. The priestess’s naivety often made her laugh.
An hour later, Dragus sat with his back against one wall of the cave, his belly full for the first time in ages. The cave danced with the light from the flickering fire and Rubria was fast asleep, the effort of the day having caught up with her. Rose walked over and sat beside Dragus.
‘A long day,’ she said eventually.
‘It was,’ said Dragus.
‘Do you think we will be okay?’ she asked, turning her head to look at him.
‘I think so, Rose,’ he said, ‘it’s not going to be easy but in the circumstances, it’s the best we can do.’
She leaned her head on his shoulder and stared into the fire.
‘I hope so,’ she said, ‘for her sake. Not only is she the holiest person I have ever met but her innocence is almost childlike.’
‘She will be fine,’ said Dragus, ‘we will make sure she is. She just needs a lot of attention.’
Rose lifted his arm and placed it around her own shoulders.
‘She’s not the only one,’ she said quietly and snuggled in to his side, closing her eyes as the exhaustion of the day swept over her.
Dragus stared down at the girl in his embrace, confused at his feelings. During all these months, he had devoted his time and attention toward the priestess and though he and Rose had grown close, he had only thought of her as Rubria’s slave. Yet, here he was, holding her sleeping form in his arms and for the first time, realised how pretty a girl she actually was.
----
Chapter 32
England 2010
Bernice placed the key in the lock of the hall door, before glancing up and down the passage one last time. The turning of the latch sounded horribly loud in the silence and she hesitated before easing the door open just enough to slip through. Discreetly placed candles lit the hall and she quickly scanned the room to confirm that it was indeed empty. At this time of night, everyone would be asleep and she knew she had a few hours before first bell to find out where the senior sisters had disappeared to a few days earlier. She locked the door behind her and paused before starting her search for any hidden doorway.
The long tapestries hanging on either side of the hall were the obvious location and she lifted each in turn searching for the door that had to be there. When these yielded no results, she checked the bare walls between them for any sign of hidden doorways, yet all the joints were solid. Finally, she turned her attention to the floor, lifting the rugs to find any trapdoors or hidden stairways. At last, she sat down on one of the benches, tired and frustrated. This made no sense. Perhaps the door had not been locked from the inside on the night of the Mother Superior’s death but had just been stuck. That had to be it she realised and breathing a deep sigh she stood up to return to her cell and was just about to insert the key into the lock when she heard a noise from outside.
She stood, frozen in fear as the footsteps drew closer, hoping they would pass by but her fear turned to horror when they stopped outside the door. Her worst fears were realised as the sound of jangling keys revealed the person’s intention of entering the hall.
She stepped back in panic and spun around, searching for somewhere to hide. There was only one option and she ducked behind the nearest tapestry, hoping that whoever it was did not see the giveaway bulge in its centre.
The tapestry lay heavy against her and she prayed that the dusty smell of age did not make her sneeze. She heard the hall doors open and the sound of keys locking it again before the unseen person hurried down the length of the hall, thankfully not noticing the displaced tapestry.
Bernice lifted the heavy fabric from her face and watched the back of the grey clad figure as she made her way toward the far end of the hall. Bernice recognised the shape of Sister Agnes as she knelt before the image of the Holy Mother in prayer. Finally, Agnes stood up but instead of turning around and returning up the hall, she stepped forward toward the carving.
Bernice watched in confusion as the nun opened her arms as if embracing the image and her mouth dropped opened in astonishment as the whole carving slid sideways in front of her. She watched Sister Agnes disappear into the passage beyond and saw the door slide effortlessly back into place of its own accord.
When the room had again fallen silent Bernice left the security of the tapestry and approached the archway containing the image of the Holy Mother. She placed her ear against the wood and listened intently but could hear nothing. She ran her hands over the carving, looking for some sort of lever to open the door but again, found nothing. Finally, realising she had ridden her luck a little too much, Bernice left the hall and locked the doors behind her. If nothing else, at least she knew her suspicions were well founded and there was something unhealthily secret about the whole order. A few minutes later, she entered the upper corridors and made her way back, anticipating the familiar security of the cell she had long known as home. She closed the door behind her but before she could turn around into the familiar surroundings, a large male hand clamped over her mouth, choking off the terrified scream that was erupting from deep within.
----
Murray sat in the corner of the room, staring up toward the unseen ceiling. The room was pitch black and stank of dampness and stale air. He had seen no one since being brought in at gunpoint many hours earlier and had spent the first thirty minutes banging on the door and shouting abuse at his captors. Finally, realising there was nobody there, he retreated into a corner and waited for someone to come, afraid even to contemplate the horrible possibility that they might not.
Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime, the sound of distant footsteps echoed down the corridor. An overhead lamp switched on and he turned his head away from the unex
pected light. The door swung open and two men entered the room, setting up a small table with two chairs situated opposite each other. A third man came in and sat on one of the chairs, while the other two stood either side of the door.
Murray stayed in the corner, staring at the man at the table, waiting for something to happen.
Eventually, the man spoke, nodding toward the empty chair.
‘Sit,’ he said, simply.
‘I’m okay here, thank you very much,’ said Murray.
The man glanced at one of the guards and gave a slight nod of his head. One of the men marched over to Murray and punched him on the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the floor.
‘What the shit?’ shouted Murray but before he could say anything else, the guard dragged him to his feet and sent another punch deep into his stomach. As Murray doubled up in pain, the thug followed it up with a knee to the face.
Murray’s nose shattered and he slid down the wall in pain and shock. The man returned to their positions by the door as the one at the table lit a cigarette. He blew out a lungful of smoke before repeating his earlier instruction.
‘Sit,’ he said again.
For a second, Murray didn’t move but when the stranger’s eyes rose in mock surprise, he forced himself to his feet and approached the empty chair. Blood poured from his nose and he felt at least one broken tooth with his tongue. One of the thugs walked over to stand behind him.
‘Thank you,’ said the man in the chair.
‘Why the hell did you do that?’ asked Murray through his rapidly swelling lips.
‘Simple,’ said the man, ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer quickly and honestly, leaving nothing out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes but why set your monkeys on me?’
‘You need to understand I am not playing games,’ said the man. ‘Mess me about and you will get more of the same. If you do as I ask and don’t play funny buggers, there’s the slightest chance you may still get out of here alive. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Do you understand?’
Murray nodded nervously, realising he was in a world of shit.
