In the Shadow of the Wall (36 page)

He cursed himself for a fool for coming on this trip but the truth was that Brude was the only real friend he had. Their nominal relationship of master and slave was a facade that Fothair knew Brude was maintaining only because of Colm. Brude was more like the older brother he had never had than anything else. Fothair did not really have anyone else to look to, nor anywhere else to go. His father had never returned from that fateful raid, which had been the cause of so many deaths among the Boresti and which had marked the start of Brude’s captivity. His mother had died of a fever four winters after his father had vanished and both of his brothers who had survived infancy had also died, one breaking his neck when he fell off a horse and the other drowning in the Tava when his small coracle had overturned. Fothair had been left to bring himself up from the age of eleven. He had attached himself to Oengus, Gartnait’s son, becoming one of his followers even though he did not really like the chieftain’s son. Living with Brude, despite being nominally a slave, had been a year of more freedom and happiness than he could ever remember.

Now Brude was still inside Dun Nechtan while Colm and Lutrin were back. The warriors were rising to their feet, leaving the comfort of the fires they had lit, to greet their leader. Fothair quietly joined the thrso many an attempt to discover what had happened.

Colm was in a furious temper, kicking out at small stones and twigs, his face contorted with rage. “We should storm the place!” he yelled. “Drag that old man out and slit his worthless throat. That would show him who is the real man among the Boresti.”

Lutrin tried to agree while also providing the voice of reason. “You are quite right, Lord. But they have armed men watching us to thwart just such an attempt. It would be better to return home to gather more men before trying such a thing.”

“Do you think I am afraid of them?” Colm rounded on Lutrin.

“Of course not, Lord,” Lutrin replied, holding his hands up to calm Colm down, “but I suspect that Nechtan wants you to try something now. Far better to wait until he has let down his guard and then pounce.”

Colm stared at Lutrin, then up at the Dun. He nodded and some of the fire went out of his mood. “You are right, as always, Lutrin. Let him think he is safe and has scared me away. We will strike when he least expects it. Then I will have my new bride and see him and all his brood with their heads on spikes on the walls of their fort.”

Lutrin gestured for the men to back off, telling them all to get some sleep. Colm made his way to the fire that had been prepared for him, and one of the men took him a plate of roasted meat. Fothair, not really understanding what had caused the problem, and confused over Colm’s reference to a new bride, decided it would be more sensible to speak to Lutrin than to try to approach the manic chieftain. He sidled up to the bearded man and caught his attention. “Excuse me, Lord,” he said in a low voice. “What has happened to Brude? Why did he not return with you?”

Lutrin gave him a look of surprise, as if he had not expected anyone to ask after Brude, but he nodded his head towards the Dun. “Nechtan’s witch woman has him,” he said.

“What for?” Fothair was really alarmed now. Then he saw the look on Lutrin’s face and hastily added, “Lord.”

Lutrin shrugged. “Who knows? We do not question the desires of Veleda.”

“Forgive me, Lord, but will he be coming back?”

“I neither know nor care,” said Lutrin angrily. “Now be gone, Slave.” He turned his back to Fothair and went to speak to some of the warriors, posting sentries and organising the changes of watch. He may have persuaded Colm not to attack Dun Nchtan but there was no saying Nechtan would not try to attack them. It was too dark to set off for home, so they would have to stay where they were.

Fothair returned to the small fire he had made, picked up his pack and looped the strap over his head, then did the same with Brude’s pack, hanging it down over his other shoulder. Retrieving both of their staffs, he slipped away from the camp site, heading towards the Dun.

The guards on the gate watched him as he climbed the path. He had half expected Lutrin to send some men after him but the men of Broch Tava were too busy to worry about one slave. It was almost fully dark by the time he reached the gate where a group of warriors waited, spears and shields at the ready. “What do you want?” one of them challenged.

“I am looking for Brude, son of Anndra.”

“And who are you?”

“His slave,” Fothair said, managing not to choke on the words. The men laughed but they opened the gate. One of them took the staffs away from him while two others grabbed his arms and marched him inside. The great gates were swung shut behind him. At least he had managed to get inside, he thought ruefully. Whether he would get out again was another matter. He was taken, unprotesting, round the side wall, following a path between some roundhouses, past the edge of the great hall towards the rear where they approached another hut. One of the men knocked on the door frame. A woman’s voice called out for him to enter. The man pushed aside the leather curtain, which served as a door, and went inside. He came back out again after only a few moments. He nodded to Fothair. “You can go in.” To the other warriors he said, “Give him back his staffs.”

Gathering the wooden poles with as much dignity as he could muster, Fothair ducked through the thick curtain. He found himself in a small house with a blazing fire in the central hearth. An iron cauldron sat over the fire with a glorious smell of food coming from its steaming contents. He suddenly realised that he was hungry. More important, though, were the two occupants of the hut who sat cross-legged by the fire. One was an elderly woman with long, silver-grey hair. The other one was Brude.

Brude waved him in with a long wooden spoon he was using to sup some broth. “Glad you could join us,” he said with a smile. “How is Colm?”

“I’ve rarely seen a man so angry,” Fothair replied. “But I see I shouldn’t have worried about you. Quite comfortable are you? Not too worried about me?”

“This is your slave?” the old woman asked. “You need to teach him some manners.”

“He is my friend,” Brude said. “Which is why he has come here, despite the danger.”

“What danger is there here?” Veleda asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Well, there is said to be a witch woman in here somewhere,” said Brude.

Veleda smiled a thin smile. “Well, what is in a name? Witch or druid? Slave or friend?”

“He’s my friend,” Brude repeated firmly.

“Not that you’d know it from him leaving me out there with thirty angry warriors,” grumbled Fothair. He dumped down the staffs and packs then sat beside Brude. “Cold and hungry, with no idea what had happened to you.”

“There was not a lot I could do about it,” Brude told him. “But I reckoned that someone as resourceful as you would either get in here or would lie low until morning.”

“I should have run away,” said Fothair, accepting a bowl of steaming broth from the old woman with a nod of thanks.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Brude said.

The old woman waved them to silence. “Enough!” She looked at them both sternly. “I am Veleda, last of the druids in these parts. I have heard of you, Brude, son of Anndra. Stories reach me from all over the lands of the Pritani. I know you returned last year from the lands of the Romans. Many things I know, but much of it I learned only from tales told to me long ago by those who taught me. They in turn learned it from those before them. Nechtan looks to me for advice and guidance but to give this, I must know as much as I can.” She fixed him with a piercing gaze. “So now you must tell me about the Romans and their army.”

A.D. 207

Lucius was to join the army in
Germania
as a military tribune on the staff of Quintus Aemilius Terus, the imperial legate who commanded three legions stationed on the banks of the Rhenus, the great river which divided
Gaul
from
Germania
, flowing from the hills and forests of southern
Germania
to the northern sea. Despite the best efforts of the empire to expand beyond it, the Rhenus marked a natural boundary between the civilised
land
of
Rome
and the barbarians of the forests.
Aquila
was delighted with the posting, for this was the first step for his son in his path to glory.

To cap off
Aquila
’s delight, he had also arranged a marriage for Vipsania Secunda. She was now fifteen years old and would be married later that year to the son of another knight who lived in
Ostia
and who
Aquila
knew from his shipping business. Vipsania herself, though, had caught a winter chill, which had turned to fever, so she was confined to bed by the doctors. Brude was not impressed with the prescribed treatment, which seemed to comprise applying warm poultices and praying to Aesculapius and various other gods. He mixed a potion from the collection of herbs he had been accumulating and took the girl a warm drink, which she accepted gratefully. “Will you be leaving us soon?” she asked him as she cupped the warm beaker in her hands.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. If Lucius was leaving then there was no reason for Brude to stay, except that he liked the family and had found a true friend in Cleon.

Aquila
broached the subject too, summoning Brude to the room with the
Neptune
mosaic, where they had first met.
Aquila
, ever formal and business-like, got straight to the point. “My wife and my daughter, as well as Cleon, have asked that I find some other position for you within the family,” he told Brude. Brude was surprised that Agrippina had said anything for even though he had been living in the house for two years, their paths rarely crossed. She had hardly ever spoken to him, except to ask questions about Lucius’ training or to discuss some domestic issues. Even when Brude acted as an escort to Agrippina and Vipsania when they visited the forum or went to the baths at the appointed time for women and children to bathe, Agrippina did not often speak to him directly. She was always very formal, always very correct and rather aloof in her behaviour.

Aquila
continued, “For my own part I had hoped that you would accompany Lucius in some capacity. Tribunes are allowed some attendants and even though they are usually slaves, that is not always the case. Freedmen are permitted to actas servants and I know Lucius values you as a companion.” He paused to let that sink in, his piercing blue eyes studying Brude carefully. “I will let you think on it,” he said after a few moments. “I am going to
Ostia
tomorrow and will be away for two or three days. Let me know your preference when I return. Lucius does not leave until the end of the week so there is plenty of time for you to make up your mind.”

“Thank you, sir. I will give the matter careful consideration.” Which he would have to.
Aquila
had let him know what his preference was. Brude knew that he could have ordered him to accompany Lucius, for the head of the family had the final say in all things. Aquila, though, always listened to advice and if Cleon, Agrippina and Vipsania were all asking for Brude to stay, then he knew that Aquila would not object, even if it was not what he wanted himself. Still, to go against the head of the family’s choice would be a bold move, even if his own inclination was to stay.

He discussed it with Cleon who urged him to stay, though Brude had known that the old Greek would say that. Cleon was always telling him that he was like the son he had never had. Cleon was a friend, a teacher and a confidant, but he was hardly impartial.

The following day
Aquila
left for
Ostia
, taking Cleon and Lucius with him. Brude, left with no duties, visited Vipsania in her room. The elderly slave woman who acted as her nurse sat disapprovingly in the corner, watching his every move while Brude checked the girl’s temperature. She was still hot, so he mixed her another drink, telling the slave to cool her down by washing her in tepid water. “The doctors say we need to pray to Aesculapius,” the woman told him, with a reproachful frown.