by Jack Whyte
Varrus sat forward in his seat. “How?”
“We attacked the house, as soon as we knew he was inside. It was a big place, a courtyard house with extras—well built, containing four large buildings—and it was surrounded by a high wall with only two doors, so we had to be careful. But we were watching, from a tower nearby, and we saw him on the second afternoon.”
“And Endor didn’t have the place sealed off, or occupied by his own men?”
“No. He thought he was safe-hidden, it seems.”
“And how did you know it was him? Did you know him by sight?”
“We didn’t need to. There was one thing about Appius Endor that always stood out. People laughed about it, though never to his face. He wore a massive gold medallion on a chain of solid gold links, awarded to him as a boy by his hero Carausius, when he was emperor in Britain. Endor loved that thing and wore it all the time, so even in full armour he was unmistakable.
“We attacked as soon as we were ready. And discovered he had as many men hidden in there as we had hidden outside. We expected a quick, surprise victory. Instead we found ourselves besieging a fortified, garrisoned stronghold.”
“So, how long did it take?”
“Oh, not long,” the Twin called Thomas said. “Didymus was responsible for that…’twas him who come up with the idea to smoke ’em all out. Three of the four buildings behind the wall was thatched and the upstairs sections was wooden, so we fired the roofs on the second day, and once the flames took ’old, ’twas but a matter o’ time afore they tried to break out, both gates at once. We was ready for ’em, and no more than a handful of ’em got away. We took some prisoners, but not many. These was Endor’s people, after all, so no one felt too fond of ’em.”
Varrus turned back to Ajax. “And what about Endor? Who finished him? You said it wasn’t Rufus.”
“No, it was none of us—I mean none of our group of seven—but someone did, during the final stages of the fight. It had been chaos during the fighting, because the place was full of smoke, so most of us were fighting almost blind. But once the fighting was over and the fires were dying down, we turned the whole place inside out looking for him. We thought at first he must have managed to sneak away again. But then we found him. He had either been stabbed in the neck or chopped in the throat, and had died there in the fire, if he wasn’t dead already. Some rafters had fallen on him and he was burnt almost beyond recognition, but it was him, all right. His bloody sword was still gripped in the clawed bones of his hand—it had his initials stamped into the blade—and he was still wearing that gold chain. The links had melted right into the black char of what had been his chest. Rufus found him, and I still remember how furious he was at having been cheated of his right to kill the man himself.”
“So who did?”
“We never found out. Nobody remembered killing him, so we decided it must have been one of the nine men we lost in the fighting. It might even have been Ludo, for he died right there in front of that same building.”
“What happened then?”
“Rufus struck the head off the corpse and buried it, away from the rest of the body. He then ripped the sword out of the blackened claw and stuck it through the rib cage where the heart should have been, then threw what was left into an open pit and poured salt on it.”
“What about his gold chain? Did no one claim it as a trophy?”
“Nah. It had melted right into his flesh in the fire and none of us wanted anything to do with it, so we left it as it was.” He drained his cup. “It was what happened after that, though, that set the shit flying. As soon as the word went out that we had captured prisoners and killed Appius Endor, Lepodos the Idiot feared the story of his own stupidity might finally be exposed. It had been nearly two years since he’d triggered the fiasco, and not a word had yet been said about his criminal role. We know now that was because his uncle was able to cover up the truth, but anyway, the fool must have written to his uncle, and whatever he said, it set off a shit storm that cost both of them their lives.” He stopped and raised his hands. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It makes me want to vomit. Leon, you tell the rest of it.”
“I’ll need some more wine, then. And less water.” Leon rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “The first we knew of anything strange going on after the debacle,” he said to Varrus, “was when Rufus was arrested and charged with mutiny. He hadn’t been anywhere or done anything, so that caught our attention, believe you me. But according to the official documents, Lepodos had refused to grant leave to six men of his cohort who had requested it—claimed he had not felt able to spare six men at that particular time. But the men had deserted anyway, he said, seduced from their sworn duties and led off on a hunting expedition with their mentor Rufus—that was the word he used, their mentor—which had resulted in the loss of nine legionaries, including the centurion known as Ludo Vicensius, in an unauthorized confrontation with criminal forces close to Londinium.
“Centurion Lepodos had therefore brought charges of sedition and mutiny against Marcus Licinius Cato, known as Rufus. The charges had been tendered through the office of the colonial governor, giving them additional weight and resonance. But they triggered a reaction that Lepodos could never have imagined. Rufus was respected, at every level of our force, and as soon as word of what was happening began to spread, the resources of the entire order came together in his defence. Lepodos was generally acknowledged to be an incompetent fool, but now his connection to the governor’s office was exposed, his uncle’s complicity was clearly indicated, and everyone saw quickly that incompetence was a Lepodos family trait.
“Every aspect of their uncle–nephew relationship was examined, and the story of the earlier betrayal was brought into the light in short order. Both men were dismissed in disgrace, and the uncle killed himself. The nephew didn’t have the balls for that. He simply disappeared. Drifted into oblivion for months, then had his accident with the arrow.”
“And what happened to Rufus?”
“All the charges were dropped and he was completely exonerated, but he had been devastated by the corrupt stink of the people he had been forced to deal with, and by his own failure to deliver Appius Endor to answer for his crimes in person. More than anything, though, he was gutted by the torture and murder of his sister, his best friend, and their four-year-old son.”
Leon shook his head slowly. “And so he simply disappeared. Walked away from everything. Didn’t even say goodbye to us. Packed up his gear and left in the middle of the night to slip out the gates as soon as they opened at dawn. We’ve no idea where he went, but he must be ineither Deva or Eboracum, because he’s still in the army and he wouldn’t desert at this stage of his life. So we think he just went back to his home base in Eboracum and applied for a discharge, then settled down to wait for it to come…And now, as they say, you know everything there is to know about us and how we came to be here.
“But to round this whole thing out, and go back to where we began, Rufus was the one who worked with your grandsire in person, and your grandfather, in turn, is the reason for our wanting to meet you.”
Varrus looked around them then, meeting each man’s eye. “Well,” he said, and then paused, searching for words. “I’m not quite sure what I can say to you, other than to offer you my thanks and assure you that I have no need of guardians nowadays. You have given me an entirely new insight into my grandfather, though, because I really never knew him. I mean, he was my grandfather—a rather ancient, frightening, distant figure, always looming in the background during my boyhood, and the two of us never came to know each other. It has never occurred to me that he might have done anything, in all his life, to earn the respect and loyalty of men like yourselves, and so for that insight, I am truly grateful to you.”
“And that’s the way it should be,” Leon said. “He was a great man…And now Ajax tells us that you’re about to be married, to a lass from Hibernia.”
Varrus grinn
ed for the first time since walking into the room, and he picked up his cup and drank the last of the warm wine it contained. “I am,” he said. “But she believes she comes from a place called Eire. She refuses to believe there is a place called Hibernia, or that such a wintry-sounding place could ever be associated with her lush, green homeland. But yes, she is marrying me the day after tomorrow, and if you gentlemen would care to attend the wedding—Ajax is already invited—it will be our pleasure to have all of you witness our union.”
The others all looked at Ajax, who simply smiled and said, “We’ll be there.”
THIRTY
“I hope you know that if you ever want to learn what it feels like to make love to another woman, you have until tomorrow night to find out.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Varrus rolled towards her and pulled her against him, thinking incidentally that it had not taken them long to throw all restraint aside, once they had discovered how much they enjoyed sleeping together. Now, after only a few nights, it would never have crossed either of their minds to pretend to be less open with each other than they were.
“I already know that, woman,” he said, inhaling her scent. “Tested it, found it vastly overrated, and discarded it as unsatisfactory long ago, before I ever met you, let alone before you ever came to Colcaster.”
“Camulodunum.” She slid one long leg over his thigh. “And what exactly was it you discarded? The issue itself, or the possibility of pursuing—”
“It’s the lack of variety in variety, my love. It’s remarkably unvaried and generally uninspiring in its sameness.”
He stifled her with a kiss before she could say any more, and for a long time after that they said nothing at all, but when he lay back again eventually, with her head upon his chest and the softness of her breast filling his cupped hand, he said quietly, “Besides, I need you too much ever to run the risk of losing you that way.” He tightened his arm at her waist, pulling her to him, hard. “And have you told Shanna yet about what we would like to do?”
He felt her body go tense for a moment, and then she said, in a different voice, “I started to, but Shanna had her own opinion…Are you very sleepy?”
“No, why, would you like to try that again?”
“In a while, perhaps, but not yet. The fire isn’t dead yet, though, and we need to talk, you and I. So stay where you are and I’ll rekindle the flames.”
“No, here, I’ll help you.”
They scrambled out of bed together and went to the brazier in the chimney corner, where Lydia emptied out the contents of the tinderbox while Varrus crouched naked in front of the fire, blowing gently on the coals and stirring them cautiously until he had them glowing again. Then, as Lydia fed dried moss and twigs from the tinderbox to the coals to produce a flame, he fed the flame carefully with larger and larger twigs until those ignited with an audible puff and began to feed upon themselves. He stacked several more finger-thick twigs on top of those, then built a cone of fist-thick logs around them all. Then he took the shawl that Lydia offered him and wrapped it around himself before settling back onto the bed of cushions she had arranged at his back.
“There,” he said. “We have fire. Now what is it that we need to talk about?”
“You think there is only one thing?” Her voice held laughter, but he could see in the strengthening firelight that she was serious. “I can think of three at least, on my side of the family, right at this moment.”
“Three? Then you had better tell me about them. Start with the one that’s bothering you most.”
“That’s Da.”
“What’s wrong with Dominic? Don’t tell me he has changed his mind about us?”
“No. He wants to be married, too.”
“He what?”
“He wants to be married. Says it came to him last night, when he was planning our second wedding in Londuin. He says we could make it a double celebration, father and daughter.”
“Great limping Vulcan! Dominic wants to marry? That seems…outlandish. He’s been widowed for what, twelve years or more? Who would he marry?” He straightened up suddenly, his eyes growing wide. “You can’t mean he’s thinking of marrying Shanna?”
“No, of course not. He barely knows her, and I’m not even sure he likes her much. And it’s been much more than twelve years. My mother died when I was two. That’s eighteen years ago. He wants to marry Camilla.”
“Camilla. The friend who was with you when I first saw you in the marketplace in Londinium? The woman from Gaul with the white streak in her hair? She was your mother’s friend.”
“That’s the one.”
“And? Do you object?”
“How could I object? They are perfectly matched and they are very close. No, I think their marriage will be wonderful.”
“Then why are you upset?”
She reached out a finger to hook a stray lock of hair off her face, then laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “I’m not upset,” she said, though she clearly was. “At least, not about the match…” She hung there, looking for words, then added, “I think I’m most upset that he has waited all this time to tell me how he felt about Camilla. It’s as though he was afraid to trust me earlier—as if he didn’t trust me to accept how he felt about her.”
“Perhaps he didn’t want you to feel slighted, or unwelcome.” Varrus hitched a shoulder, expressing doubt. “He might have been afraid of hurting you for some strange reason. We’ll never know, I suppose. But now that you do know?”
“Well, I’m glad for them, of course.”
“Then we should accept his offer of a joint celebration and enter into it willingly. Which reminds me of something.”
“What?”
“Exactly. What? What am I going to wear on our wedding day? We’ll be celebrating the day after tomorrow, and I should wear something other than my leather apron and thick boots.”
“You should. And I have just the perfect thing for you,” she said, and hitched herself closer to kiss him. The fire was blazing strongly by then, its heat washing over them, and he returned her kiss.
“I should have known you would,” he said. “But how will you know if it fits?”
“It will fit. It was made for you. I want you to wear the white robe you wore that first day. I have it here.”
“The robe that caused us all so much trouble? The robe that forced me to cut my hair and change its colour and take a different name? That robe? I fondly hope you are making fun of me, Lydia Mcuil.”
She moved even closer, pushing the shawl off his bare shoulders and wrapping her arms around him, bringing his skin out in gooseflesh. “That was almost a year ago now, my dear Quintus, and it was in Londuin. Now we are in Camulodunum, and no one in the world, beyond our own little circle, knows who you really are. You will wear it for your wedding rites, and then never again if you don’t want to. But be your beautiful self for that day. Will you indulge me?”
She was far too close to argue with, and her body much too compliant and smooth and soft to permit him to concentrate for long enough to answer, so he did not agree until some indeterminate time later, when they had both recovered their composure. And some time after that again, close to the point of drifting off, he murmured, “You said there were three immediate family problems. What are the other two?”
“Shamus, and Shanna.”
He raised himself up on one elbow, looking down on her. “I’ll talk to Shamus tomorrow and get that dealt with one way or the other. I’ve already worked something out with the man who runs the cooperage at the fort, and if Shamus decides to participate in the plan, then that will take care of the Shanna situation…or will it? You said she has opinions of her own. Tell me about them.”
She shifted lazily beside him, stretching to adjust to his own outline, and then she spoke into his shoulder. “She wants to leave here—leave the house to us—and go home to Eire. She says she has the money to do that.”
“What? Why? That is ridiculous
, Lydia. I don’t care how much money she has put by. What use is money going to be to her over there anyway? From what I’ve heard, nobody uses money in Eire. They barter for everything.”
Lydia turned on to her back and looked up at him. “They may not use money there, but she can buy livestock here before she goes and have them moved in.”
“Moved in how? There are no roads in Eire. No roads! Have you any idea what that must mean to the people who live there, Lydia? What it would mean to you? Where do you go, to escape, if there’s no road? And how do you even get there in the first place? She’s an old woman, and she’s lived here all her married life—thirty years. She’s going to end up all alone in some godless, isolated place where she knows no one and has nothing to live for. How is she going to survive?”
Lydia reached up and laid her hand against his face. “Shh, my love! Shanna’s no older than Da is, and he’s getting married again. But she has already buried two husbands and has no wish to find a third. Don’t think of her as a worn-out old woman. She is far from being anything of the kind. She wants to go home, and we should not stand in her way.”
He pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked down at her. “No,” he said. “I disagree. I think you couldn’t be more wrong. I believe she merely wants to move away and I think we have to stand in her way. Here’s what I think. Are you listening?”
“I am.”
He bent and kissed her briefly, then straightened up again, but placed his hand gently on her bare breast, kneading the nipple softly. “Shanna wants to go home to Eire, she says. I doubt that’s true. I think it’s far more likely that she simply wants to clear out from under our feet. She has her pride, and she doesn’t want to be a burden. She might have some coins saved somewhere, for Liam was thrifty, but she knows nothing about the money I received. So let us assume we paid her well, in gold, for this place, and I arranged to convert some gold into livestock and had the cattle shipped to Eire. But what then? What happens after that? Can you tell me?”
