Saturnalia (24 page)

XLVII

I had brought my own sword, but could not immediately unsheathed it from its scabbard's cosy nook under my armpit. At first I was too busy dodging. There were plenty of trees to jump behind, but most were too slender to provide real cover. My opponent sliced through the sapling stems with all the hatred of a gardener slashing giant thistles.

Once I got my sword out, I was in a real predicament. I learned to fight in the army. We were taught to parry a stroke as violently as possible, jar the other man half senseless, then plunge in and kill him. I was happy to send this madman straight to the River Styx--but the investigator in me yearned to know first why the suicidal menace was attacking me. As we danced around and clashed blades, the effort seemed pointless. I was on the verge of ending it with one brutal stab through his ribs.

He was desperate. Every time I lunged forwards, he managed to stop me. I stabbed again: he accepted it like a gladiator who knows he won't leave the arena alive. Soon it was all defensive work; every time I attacked, he furiously protected himself If I slacked off, he should have gone for me with renewed vigour, but he seemed to have lost his initiative.

In the end I took a chance. I let my sword dangle from my hand, point down. I held open my arms, baring my chest for a death blow. (Believe me, I was out of range and I kept a good grip on the sword.) 'So kill me,' I taunted him.

The moment seemed ageless and endless. Then I heard him whimper.

I whipped up my sword, jumped across the clearing, knocked him flat and fell on top of him. My sword point was pressing on his neck. I noticed it was slitting the complicated gold braid of a rather fine long white tunic--out of keeping with its wearer. He had a face like a milk pudding, with a dumpling where his nose should be and his body was degraded by rickets. His manner was an odd combination: bombastic authority mingled with sheer terror. The closest I had seen to this clown was a bankrupt financier when the bailiffs came--immediately before denial and self-justification set in.

'I know who you are!' the curious specimen gurgled.

'I bet you bloody don't... Who are you? Apart from a raving maniac?'

'I am nameless,' he wavered. This mission was full of spooks.

'Well that was an oversight on your father's part.' I released him abruptly and stood up, taking his weapon. I sheathed my own sword immediately, and stood back.

'Can I get up?'

'No. Stay there on the ground. I've had enough of you jumping around like a Spanish flea and trying to do me in.'

'I've been following you. I watched you searching--'

'I wasn't searching for you. Not unless you are a woman and extremely well disguised. Now listen to me. Whoever you think I am, my name--given to me by my mother, in fact, since my father was off buying a statue in Praeneste at the time--my name is Falco. Marcus Didius Falco, son of Marcus--a free Roman citizen.'

He gasped. By then I thought he would.

In a quieter tone I said encouragingly, 'That's right. Calm down; I am neither a slave nor a runaway. So I haven't come for you. You are the King of the Grove, I presume?'

'Yes I am.' The Rex Nemorensis spoke proudly, even though he was lying on his back in his own grove, covered with leaf litter and squashed toadstools, while being insulted by me. 'Now you know what it is all about, can I get up please?'

'You can't get up until you've answered my question.' I kept my tone rough. I was tired of my quest and ready to be ruthless in ending it. 'The woman I am looking for is a high-status German, who would have skulked here very recently. Good-looking number; sent on from Diana Aventinensis; seeking sanctuary. She may be ill. She has good reason to be desperate.'

'Oh that one! Arrived two days ago,' said the Rex Nemorensis, grateful that my demands could be met so easily. He did not care about Veleda. All he wanted was his own survival. 'Claims she is a victim of international injustice, hounded by violent elements in her own country, kidnapped against her will, due for intolerable punishment, under a death threat--the usual foreign woes. You'll soon find her moping around if you look.'

'I was looking, when you jumped me,' I reminded him.

'I thought my time had come,' pleaded the King of the Grove, his belligerent spirit now collapsed like a rotten gourd.

'Not yet,' I said kindly, gripping his arm and pulling him back on to his feet.

'Oh you have no idea what it is like, Falco, hiding behind trees all day, just waiting for someone new to turn up and kill you.'

'I thought they'd put a stop to all that.'

'So they say--but can I believe them? I took sword lessons from an old gladiator before I came, but I've forgotten all the theory. Besides, I'm not getting any younger...' I felt as if I was listening to some antiquated fisherman deploring how the younger generation had fished out all the mullet. 'Dead men's shoes,' he muttered. No, he was like some ghastly public scribe, anticipating the day a spotty underling with a sharper stylus finally usurped his place.

I brushed down his long priestly tunic, gave him back his sword, put him on a path with his face to the main road, and left him to his perpetual wait for death.

I quite liked him, once I got to know him. Still, the man was doomed. Being in proximity to inevitable failure is bad news. It makes you start thinking too much about your own life.

The Rex Nemorensis offered to assist me. I wanted to go on by myself, but when I set off, he came tagging along behind me like an inquisitive goat.

I was heading down to the lake again. That was when I spotted her. A woman was standing motionless, right on the shoreline, wrapped in a long dark cloak with its hood up. She had her back to me. She was quite alone, either gazing into the water or simply staring out across it. She was the right height and I thought I recognised her bearing. From behind there was no way of interpreting her mood, but her stillness and her posture suggested deep melancholia.

The King of the Grove could be useful after all. Looking back over my shoulder, I called quietly, 'One question: since she came here, has anybody died a violent death?'

He shook his head, almost sadly. 'Nobody.'

I pulled my own cloak across so it was hiding my sword again, then

I walked cautiouslyout from the woods and crossed the low flat beach until I reached Veleda at the water's edge.

XLVIII

She was older than I expected--
much
older than I remembered. That was a shock. Although the circumstances of our first encounter may have washed my memory of her with a golden haze of romance, being captured by Rutilius Gallicus had brought about one of those abrupt deteriorations that affect some people physically. She must have aged fast over a short period; endless forests notoriously lack discreet little cosmetics shops to remedy that kind of damage.

She recognised me. 'Didius Fako.' Those blue eyes saw what I was thinking about her appearance. Mind-reading is one of the traits that mysterious priestesses always cultivate.
'You
seem unaltered by time!' It did not sound like a compliment. Rats, I was used to that.

'Don't be fooled. I'm married with two children. I grew up.' I wondered if she knew that something similar had happened to Justinus. Presumably when the fool wrote, he told her. Or maybe not...

Away in the forest Veleda had looked every inch a rebel leader, the brilliant inspiration of ferocious warriors who under her guidance not only took on the Empire, but took on Rome and nearly won. My companions and I had seen her walk among her people with magnificent assurance. The wiles that entrapped Justinus had been based on her physical beauty, as well as her intelligence and power (Plus that talent all clever women use against men--showing an interest in him). She still was a striking woman. Tall, erect of bearing, riveting blue eyes, fair--though when her hood fell back as she turned towards me, the shining blonde had faded. If grey was not yet covering the golden braids, it would be rampant soon. None of her confidence seemed to have been sucked from her by the humiliation of capture, yet something had died--or was dying--within her. It was simple enough. The legendary Veleda was no longer a girl.

She felt no change. I could see that. The blur of a bronze or silver mirror would not have shown her those fine lines around her eyes and mouth, or the way her skin had begun to lose its elasticity. It was likely the doctors who attended her at the Quadrumatus house, the men Helena had derided for instantly deciding that Veleda's
problems
were 'women's hysteria', had correctly diagnosed that she had hit the change of life--though looking at her, I could see signs of real illness too. But Veleda was still herself; she faced the future wanting life, influence, success. It meant she was still dangerous. I must remember that.

'Veleda. I never thought that we would meet again. Sorry; that's trite.'

'You don't improve, Falco.' Now I remembered, she had never liked me. She had taken to Camillus Justinus at once because he was uncynical, innocent and--as far as he ever could be on a dangerous mission--honest. Very few Romans would be as open in a tight situation as he was. She had convinced herself the young hero was genuine--and he did very little to disappoint her.

In contrast, she had realised I was trouble. I had been sent to the endless forest where she lived in an old Roman signal tower, guarded by a disgusting crew of hangers-on: male relatives, exploiting their relationship. I was sent specifically to manipulate her, coerce her, stop her fighting Rome. I might even have killed her. For all she knew, that had been my intention. I was not sure myself what I would have done, had the opportunity presented itselPS Whenever I worked as the Emperor's agent, I was the hitman with no scruples, ordered off on dirty tasks abroad that the state would not acknowledge and could not openly condone. I unbunged the blockages in the diplomatic sewers. If elegant conversation had been enough to deter Veleda as our foe, Vespasian would never have sent me.

Last time we met, I was her captive. Now there were just the two of us, standing on a deserted lakeside, me with a sword and her unarmed. Once again, she knew what I was thinking. 'So, are you going to kill me, Falco?'

'If this were Germania Libera...' I sighed. Life was foul and fate was filthy. Here a swift end for Veleda was against the rules. I didn't care about the rules, but somebody might be watching us. 'I don't expect you to believe me, lady, but my version of civilisation says it would be best to kill you cleanly, rather than have you paraded on a cart like a trophy and the life choked out of you by some filthy executioner. '

Veleda made no answer. Instead, she turned away again, staring into the lake as if she glimpsed shifting images of those sunken barges in its peaceful waters.

I moved closer to her side. 'You may have met an old man who told you, there are fantastic ships lying in the lake, ships created for an emperor. I shall never forget that you gave me the precious gift of a general's ship once. You saved our lives. Your tribe must have hated you for it. So, Veleda, are you calling in favours?'

Veleda turned and raked me with a cold glance. 'If I wanted a return of my favour, I would have sent to you as soon as I arrived in Rome.'

'Who did you send to for help then?' I challenged her.

She stood straight as a spear. 'I sent to no one.'

I smiled thinly. 'No need, of course. There was a young man with a high sense of duty--and strong feelings for you that had never died.

So he wrote to you.'

'If you know that, Falco, then you know I never answered him.' I could not decide whether we were making progress, or just swamping ourselves in pointless talk. Now we were both staring into the lake water.

'I believe you, Veleda. We may be enemies, but in the past we dealt with one another fairly. I told you straight why I came to your domain, and you in turn honourably told me the fate of a man whose death I was investigating. When my companions and I left you, we went with your foreknowledge and approval. We had put our arguments for peace before you; you remained free to choose whether to continue hostile activity against Rome or to be swayed by us.' I meant, swayed by Camillus Justinus, for he had been our spokesman. He was the only one Veleda would listen to.

I dropped my voice. 'So still in the same spirit, Veleda, tell me this: was it you who killed Sextus Gratianus Scaeva?'

The priestess stepped forward half a pace and crouched suddenly at the water's edge. Leaning out, she trailed her slender fingers in the lake. Waves trickled against them as she moved her hand one way and then the other. She looked back at me over her shoulder with angry eyes in a pale face. 'And cut offhis head? And placed it in the stagnant water?' I noticed she spoke as if those had been two distinct actions and that she despised the collected rainwater in the atrium pool. She was clearly aware that blame for the atrocity had been assigned to her. Her voice sounded defiant. 'No, Falco!'

She stood again. Now she was too close to the edge of the lake, her sandalled feet actually in the water. Waves wetted her gown hem. At her flurry of movement, waves even tugged the hem of her long cloak away from her a few inches.

I wanted to ask whether she knew who did commit the murder. But I stopped. I saw from her expression that Veleda had noticed something. I glanced behind. Walking down the shore towards us, unhurried but with purpose, came Helena Justina: Helena my wife, the extremely protective sister ofVeleda's one-time Roman lover.

XLIX

As always, as soon as Helena came near enough, our eyes met and I smiled a private greeting. Jacinthus was shadowing her, looking pleased with himself as a bodyguard, but there was no sign of our two other companions, Albia and Claudia. 'Finished?'

'Unsatisfactory. ' 'Claudia?'

'Waiting at the carriage. A little upset.' I saw no reason for that, unless Claudia Rufina was irritated that the priests at the shrine refused to hand over Veleda to be tom to pieces by Justinus' raging bride. Still, it was highly convenient to avoid a confrontation with Veleda at this sensitive stage. 'Albia stayed with her. Who is your friend, Marcus?'

'Introductions--Veleda, this is my wife, Helena Justina.'

Helena went right up to her and grasped her hand formally. 'I was hoping to meet you. Can you understand me?'

'I speak your language!' declaimed Veleda, in the crushing tones she liked to use when proclaiming her knowledge of Latin. It had impressed me the first time. Now she and Ganna were overplaying the act. 'I believe I knew your brother,' stated the priestess then, in belligerent mode.

At that, Helena leaned forward unexpectedly, embraced the other woman and kissed her cheek as if they were sisters. Veleda looked startled. 'Then thank you for what I know you did five years ago to return my two men back to me.'

Released from the embrace, Veleda could only shrug. The motion had disturbed her cloak. Now I saw that below it she wore Roman clothing. Her ears had piercing-holes, but no ear-rings. If she had had to sell her treasures, that was good. I wanted her to be without resources. No jewellery glinted at her slender throat--though I did see she wore a soapstone amulet, carved with a magic eye.

I knew that. It had been given to me by a friendly quartermaster at Vetera, who pitied me for my suicidal mission into Free Germany. Later, I had tucked the thing around Justinus' neck, when he went alone to see the priestess in her tower. He had come out alive, though the amulet had not protected him from misery. Our young hero had carried loss with him wherever he went after that night. I always thought he must have given away the mystical token as a love-gift. Now I was sure. Veleda, presumably, had worn it ever since for the same reason.

Helena was watching me; she had seen me scrutinise Veleda's ornament. In the swift way she had, she turned to the priestess and asked the direct question: 'Will you return to Rome with us?'

'Do I have any choice?' snapped Veleda.

Helena remained patient, her tone courteous and tinged with dry wit. 'Well, you will have to give up your flight, you know. Your
choice
is either to come willingly and have us help you if we can--or to be very efficiently carried back by my husband. You may know that although he is charming and can be a sensitive companion, he is brutally practical. Marcus Didius will be undeterred by priests' protests or a woman s screams.

'I imagine that would add to his sense of importance,' Veleda scoffed, joining in the humour. I could not tell if these women were forming a friendship, though I knew they had assessed one another as high quality opponents. 'How could you help me?' For a woman of mystery, Veleda could be quite direct.

'I really don't know,' admitted Helena, ever frank herself 'But I can promise to try.'

'Is she good?' Veleda then asked me, with a hint of true amusement in her eyes.

'Superb. You can trust her to get the best bargain in the marketplace--if any bargain is available for you. But I suppose you know how bleak it looks.'

'Oh yes!' replied Veleda in a drab tone. 'I know what happens. When the magnificent Vercingetorix was captured and brought to Rome by Julius Caesar, he was kept in a deep pit for five years--then paraded, derided and executed.'

'Crude,' I said. 'But didn't you admit to me that a Roman legate who had been captured by your people was first earmarked as a gift to you and in fact died horrendously--tortured, garrotted and drowned in a bog?'

Stalemate. Veleda made no comment.

'Generals still have their Triumphs,' I told her. 'Your prospects are grim. Simon, the scapegoat for the war in Judaea, died on the Capitol only a few years ago to enhance Vespasian's glory.'

'Cleopatra and Boudicca cheated your crowds their own way,' the priestess reminded me.

'Don't expect me to bring you asps in a basket of figs.'

'Do you know Rutilius Gallicus?' she asked. 'He wants fame and high position. He invaded Germania Libera and captured me so my sordid death can give him an honoured life.'

'I do know him. Clearly he has upped his expectations of personal reward. He was a mediocrity when I met him.'

'I did no wrong,' Veleda said, not interested in Rutilius or my assessment of him. 'I fought for my people. I hate Rome for stealing our land and our heritage.'

It was Helena who agreed and sympathised. 'Your society is as fine as ours. Before Rome imposed itself on mainland Europe, the Celtic empire flourished just as strongly as our own does now. You had magnificent art, skilled metalworking, networks of roads, gold coinage--' It was the gold we went for, naturally. They could keep their naturalistic art; we preferred to steal design ideas from Greece. Our great men wanted their fat faces glittering on golden money. 'you enjoyed trade throughout the known world,' Helena continued. This was our way in interviews; she was tolerant and fair, I was the rude bastard. 'You were moral, civilised people with a rich spiritual culture where women were respected, children, the old and the sick or disadvantaged well cared for--' While the men were drunken braggarts, as famous for starting fights as for collapsing or dispersing in disorder before a war finished. 'You may well ask,' said Helena, 'why should our nation take precedence? And I have no explanation.'

'I do.' I spoke levelly. 'Face it, Veleda. It is our time now.' 'You said that before, Falco.'

'And you did not believe me. But since then, as I have heard, the Bructeri, your tribe, have turned against you. Now here you are, a captive in a foreign land, ill, penniless, without supporters, on the run--and in dire need of assistance. Your one good fortune is that here are two people, who both owe you a great deal, offering you help.'

Veleda stepped away from the lake waters, which had continued to swirl around her skirt hem. She shook her garments, holding the wet cloth away from her ankles. Her chin was up. 'I have been granted sanctuary. '

I laughed. 'How are the dear priests treating you?--I bet they hate you. They may have felt bound to take you in, just because once, according to a legend, Diana gave houseroom in Tauris to a bunch of homeless Amazons. But believe me, your claim is already faltering.

When the Emperor asks the priests to give you up, they will. Don't tell me it would break the rules of sanctuary. The only rule that matters will be this: the Emperor will promise to build a new temple or theatre here, then the priests will find they have absolutely no conscience about you.'

Of course this did mean that if I could lure Veleda back to Rome of her own accord, it would save Vespasian the price of endowing a new temple. That was the kind of benefit the gruff old codger loved. He might even express minor financial gratitude to me.

'Why is your man doing this?' Veleda stormed to Helena. 'Will it bring him renown if he hands me back?'

'No,' replied Helena smoothly. 'This is his job.' She did not directly mention payment. 'But his ethics include moral courage and compassion. If Marcus returns you to the Emperor, he will do it in his own time, and decidedly his own way. So, Veleda--bearing in mind that you will be sent back to Rome anyway--it would be better to come with us now. Marcus has a deadline of the end of Saturn alia; he will find it pleasing to complete his mission on the last possible day. So for a short time we can look after you. We will bring Zosime to attend to your health problems. I promise that I will personally speak to the Emperor concerning your predicament. Please do this. Please come and spend Saturnalia with our family at our house.'

The priestess thought Helena Justina was mad. I was none too confident myself But that was how we persuaded Veleda to return to Rome.

There were logistical niggles.

Since Veleda was coming voluntarily, it would be impolite to put ropes or chains on her, even though I had in fact brought a coil of rope on my saddle-bow. Nor was I letting her loose on one of our horses; the last thing I wanted was to see her gallop off to freedom with a carefree Celtic wave. I ordered her to travel in the carriage--after a tense moment when she first encountered an icy Claudia Rufina.

We did not need to introduce them. Their face-off was brief The dark Baetican Claudia glared down her nose at the golden Veleda, who stared back. I recalled that Claudia had once lost her temper and lashed out at Justinus; it seemed quite likely that if we let her she would attack the priestess. Her eyes flashed; I wondered if she had practised, while her maids held a hand mirror. For a mad moment I was expecting a cat-fight here on the lake shore. There was no chance of reconciliation between these women; not even Helena attempted her usual role of peacemaker. Each loathed the other fundamentally. Veleda saw Claudia as a pathetic Roman collaborator from a subjected people, Claudia saw the priestess as feral. Curiously, my fostered daughter Albia, who could be British, or Roman, or some half-blood mixture, gazed at them with her most quizzical expression, as if she thought they were both barbarians.

Claudia wrapped herself tightly in her stole and hissed loudly that she refused to be anywhere near this woman. Veleda, looking scornful, shook out her cloak and cooed that she would ride outside the carriage with the driver. Claudia at once responded, 'Oh Marcus Didius, this prisoner of yours is supposedly unwell. I am Baetican. We are tough;
I
shall ride outside, enjoying the fresh air and the countryside. '

It was a moot point whether Veleda saw herself as my prisoner. But Claudia clambered up beside the driver, showing more leg than she may have intended, and prepared to freeze for twenty miles. I saw Helena and Albia exchange glances for some reason, then they climbed inside the carriage and placed blankets on the sickly priestess.

I told Jacinthus it was his big moment. He and I would escort the carriage and it would be his duty to guard the priestess when I was otherwise engaged. He looked puzzled; he knew how to play the simpleton. I explained that on a journey this length I would sometimes have to take my eyes off Veleda while I organised food or accommodation, drove away country peasants trying to sell us Saturnalia nuts, or hid behind a tree to relieve myself and enjoy some private peace from him.

'Can I have a sword?' It was a sick reminder of Lentullus.

'No, you can't. Slaves don't carry weapons.'

'What about the King of the Grove? I'd like to have a crack at him, Falco!'

I seriously thought of letting him. Helena put a stop to that crisply. 'You cannot allow it, Marcus. This is the situation when you own slaves. Jacinthus is now part of our family--and our family is civilised. You will show him kindness and a good example, please, not pennit him to go off into a grove of oaks, looking for a bout of fisticuffs.'

'You heard her, Jacinthus. End of story. Don't ask me again.'

Our over-eager slave looked downcast. Veleda put her head out of the carriage window; she asked me who he was. While Helena and Albia smiled at my discomfiture, I then had to tell my famous, high-class prisoner what quality of escort she would have on her re-entry into Rome. She sneered at my hopeful explanation that this was a ploy to deter suspicion. Veleda was showing signs of regret that she had capitulated. She knew what she thought of being taken to her fate in Rome by me and my kitchen staff.

I hadn't even told her that Jacinthus couldn't cook.