The Sacrifice Stone (17 page)

There were far too many Brigantes milling around below the knoll for such a small group as we now were to attempt to get through, so we hid among the trees till darkness fell. Then, in the silence of grief and shock, we set out for Trimontium.

*

It took us the rest of the night to cover the few miles that separated us from the fort. We were in no state to fight — one man had lost his sword, another’s hand was all but severed — so we lay down in the heather at the least sound. I don’t think any of these alarms were actually the enemy — I’m sure the entire Brigantian nation were quite well enough satisfied with their day’s work to be back in camp celebrating. We probably wasted long cold hours hiding from owls and hares, but I make no apology.

The lookouts spotted us very quickly. I’d never had occasion to creep up on one of our own forts before, and I was impressed. Fortunately they were keen-sighted and recognized our gear — it would have been ironic if we’d miraculously escaped from the Brigantes only to be cut down by our own men.

As the senior officer of the group, I was taken before the commander as soon as I’d been seen by the medical orderly; he pronounced me unharmed, but, good man that he was, prescribed a hot meal and (far more welcome) a mug of wine to restore me before I made my report.

The commander looked at me for a long time before he spoke. I knew why: my very presence in front of him meant another of his officers had at best been mistaken. At worst ...

I realized as I stood there that whatever judgement was made on Quintus depended entirely on me.

The commander spoke at last. ‘Quintus Severus informed me that there were no men left alive on that hilltop.’ Obviously he saw no need to specify Roman men; presumably Brigantes didn’t count.

‘Sir.’ I waited.

‘He said he saw many dead, many in the process of being tortured and on the point of death, and a few bodies lying under their shields.’ He looked at me as if expecting my confirmation.

‘Sir.’ I wasn’t going to commit myself.

‘He said he made the decision to retreat in order to save his own detachment, whose lives he judged to be in danger if he stayed.’

‘The lives of his men were certainly in danger.’

The commander nodded impatiently. ‘Naturally, Sergius Cornelius. This is war, not a matrons’ luncheon.’ He leaned across his desk towards me, eyes fixed on my face. ‘What I am asking you is whether you consider Quintus Severus had sound grounds for believing you were all dead. If he did, he was right to call the retreat. If not, then his actions constitute desertion of duty, moreover desertion which endangered the lives of his fellow soldiers. The punishment for that you know.’

I knew. If Quintus was pronounced guilty, he’d be executed. Taken out of the fort by the traditional route of the condemned, either to be hanged, garrotted or have his throat cut.

I didn’t answer.

I swear the commander knew full well why not. He’d been in office over Quintus for long enough to have made up his own mind about him, after all, so perhaps he knew the truth as well as I did. After a moment he said, ‘Would you like some time to consider your response?’

His eyes were on mine. He could have added something about my needing to recover, to get a clear picture in my mind of the relevant events. But he didn’t; he merely dismissed me.

I went to my screened-off section at the end of the dormitory and lay down. Closing my eyes, I saw one of my men having his entrails removed and wound round a tribesman’s sword. The tribesman was laughing, but my man wasn’t. I saw the head of a man I’d got on with particularly well — he’d had a wonderful way with a joke, he could even make you laugh at one you’d heard a hundred times before — but now his head was stuck on the end of a stolen Roman pike, and the expression wasn’t that of a man who’d just told a joke. In my ears echoed the sound of screams.

But if I told the truth, Quintus would die too. He wouldn’t die a slow and agonizing death, military executions were as quick and humane as it was possible for a death to be. Nevertheless, he’d die, and hadn’t there been enough death already?

What was I to do? Lie, and save Quintus’s life? Or tell the truth, and avenge my men’s horrible deaths with that of Quintus?

I can’t, I thought. Can’t betray him.

Yes you can, a voice seemed to say in my head. It is not betrayal. It would be a betrayal of other men if you lied, for your lie would mean Quintus will live to leave other men to die.

The logic was irrefutable.

I got up and requested an audience with the commander.

*

They executed Quintus Severus at dawn. I hadn’t slept all night, and at first light I made my way to a place on the southern wall of the fort from which I’d be able to observe without being seen. Don’t think it was the desire to gloat that made me want to watch: it wasn’t something that gave me any satisfaction. I just felt I owed it to my men. And, in some strange way, to Quintus.

He was led out through the
porta
decumana
, the back gate which, since ancient times, has been the last exit of the condemned. The execution party was already assembled. With swift efficiency he was made to kneel, hands bound behind him. A figure stepped forwards and threw the thin rope round his neck. Another went to stand beside the first, swiftly winding the wooden peg that tightens the rope. There was a faint gagging sound, abruptly cut off. His neck broken, Quintus slumped to the ground.

Turning away, I threw up behind a water butt.

*

I can’t recall what I did for most of that day. No doubt I was kept busy. Towards evening, my duties finished, I went outside the fort and made my way to a place where I often used to go to watch the sunset. That day, the peace which the sight usually gave me was far away.

Returning, I saw a figure lurking in the shadow of the great walls. It approached me, and I felt a shiver of fear.

It was a native woman, her gaudy robe covered by an enveloping garment which looked like an old army cloak. Even with the heavy folds of the cloak, I could see that she was pregnant; I’d have judged she wasn’t far off her time.

No one had spoken up for Quintus, no one had pleaded for his life. No one had mourned him. Until now; for this figure, her hair wild and tangled from where she had been pulling at it in her grief, her face pale, her eyes red and swollen-lidded, was Quintus’s woman.

I recognized her, although I hadn’t been aware she was with child.

I waited for her to come close enough to speak, for that was what I thought was her intent. I was preparing myself to say he died well, and more to the point quickly, and to tell her where he was to be buried.

But, some five paces off, she stopped. She hadn’t come to talk to me after all.

Slowly she raised her right arm. As I watched, horrified into immobility, she spread her fingers into the gesture the Celts use to put on the death curse.

And pointed her hand straight at me.

17

When the first instant of shock faded I realized that it couldn’t be Quintus. Of course it couldn’t — I’d seen him die. And besides, this young man was in his early twenties at most, several years younger than Quintus had been when they executed him.

But if the child that woman had carried had been male, this could well be Quintus’s son.

Questioning him wouldn’t have been appropriate — I don’t think I could have summoned the wits, even if he hadn’t run off as soon as I’d recognized him. It was obvious he knew I had; I felt a sort of numb incredulity spread over my face, which, if his expression of grim satisfaction was anything to go by, he certainly hadn’t missed.

Quintus’s son here, outside my own villa. Which, far from being in the middle of town, well known and readily pointed out to any stranger enquiring after me, was hidden away in the seclusion of a very small village deep in the country.

If this really was Quintus’s son and he’d come looking for me to fulfil his mother’s curse, then somebody must have told him where to look.

The thought that I had a vengeful twenty-five-year-old after my blood, moreover with the active support of someone sufficiently well-up in Arelate administration to know me and the address of my private residence, was enough to make me hurry home and reach for the wine jug.

*

Theo came out on to the terrace to join me, bringing a plate of supper he’d begged from Callistus before he’d gone home. It was difficult at first to put my anxieties aside and act normally, but fortunately Theo was too excited about what he had to tell me to notice.

He’d been out riding, as usual, and had come across a pen containing a young bull.

‘Where was this?’ I asked, not really interested.

‘On the road to Glanum. Sergius, it was great, I tethered your horse and got in the pen with him, he was so playful and I —’

Playful
? Into my mind flashed a picture of those great lyre-shaped horns. ‘You could have been hurt,’ I said severely.

‘No I couldn’t! He was only young, I told you.’

‘They’re
born
with horns,’ I pointed out.

‘They aren’t!’ He laughed delightedly at my ignorance. ‘They couldn’t
be
born if they were! They only have the buds, at birth.’

Technically he had to be right, although I felt he was deliberately evading the point. ‘And just what did the farmer think of you teasing his bull-calf?’

Theo looked puzzled. ‘That’s the funny thing, the bull wasn’t on a farm at all. The pen was hidden in among some trees, out in the middle of nowhere. Oh, there was a big house a bit further down the track, but I didn’t go up to it.’

At least he seemed to have
some
sense. ‘All the same, I don’t think you should ...’

I broke off. A big house down a track leading off the Glanum road. A hidden pen and a young bull. Suddenly I knew where Theo had been today. I knew, too, what that bull was destined for. And if Theo ever found out, he was going to be heartbroken.

‘What don’t you think?’ he prompted.

‘Er ... I shouldn’t go there again, Theo.’

‘Why not?’

‘Bulls are valuable,’ I said vaguely. ‘Whoever owns that one will be keeping an eye on him, or employing some roughneck to do the job for him. You don’t want to get into any more trouble, do you?’

It was mean of me to exploit his guilty past, and I wasn’t proud of myself. I was even less so when he said, his face stricken, ‘I’m very sorry, Sergius. I won’t get into trouble, I promise.’ He looked so vulnerable, as if he was afraid I’d chuck him out on the spot.

‘Don’t look so worried!’ I tried to laugh. ‘I know you didn’t mean any harm. I expect you’re used to a far more free and easy attitude to the bulls, down there on your old delta plains. You weren’t to know how possessive people up here get about their livestock.’

He stared at me for a moment then, apparently satisfied, nodded and got on with his supper.

When he’d gone to bed I thought about the bull. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, I’d have guessed whose it was the moment Theo had mentioned the Glanum road. The temple of Mithras was at Glanum, and that was where the bull would be taken in little more than a week’s time: the pen in the wood, like the big house, belonged to one of the worshippers. And, on that night the week after next, we would celebrate the festival of the god, and our Pater, the father figure of our little group, would slay the young creature in pale imitation of Mithras’s miracle.

There was no way I could tell Theo what was to happen, what act I was to participate in — what was a sacred rite to me would, to an animal-lover like him, be simple brutality. And, gods knew, he’d had enough of that in his life.

Perhaps I should advance my plans and get him away to my farmer friend straight away. It would seem abrupt to the boy, yes, but that was better than me having to tell him lies about where I was going next week. He’d be sure to ask, that was certain — any boy with the natural curiosity of youth wouldn’t watch a man dress himself in his best and set off into the night carrying a mysterious bag without demanding to know where he was going.

My mind shot back to the young man who’d faced me in the lane outside. I’d all but forgotten about him, but now it occurred to me that if he was indeed stalking me, as seemed increasingly likely, then it would be better for Theo to be safely out of the way when the eventual confrontation came.

Getting up to go to bed, I resolved to take Theo out to the farm as soon as possible.

*

Two days later, an appropriate occasion cropped up. Although I didn’t tell Theo, I was due to go to the temple; Theo, who would be deprived of my horse since I’d be riding him, was demanding something else to do.

‘You need hard work,’ I told him. ‘You’re getting soft, idling around here all the time.’

‘I don’t idle! I work hard, when you can be bothered to think of anything for me to do!’

He was quite right. ‘Don’t get angry, I was only teasing. You do work hard, I agree. Tell you what — today you can work hard for someone else. Would you like that?’

He looked cagey. ‘It depends who it is and what he wants me to do.’

‘It’s Cassius Marcellinus, my farmer friend.’

‘Oh, him.’ Theo brightened. ‘And what’s the job?’

I had no idea, since I’d only just thought up the idea. ‘Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. He’ll keep you out of mischief, whatever you’re doing.’

‘I don’t get into mischief,’ Theo said piously.

I let that go. ‘You’ll like Cassius,’ I said. ‘He’s got sons of his own — a daughter, too — although they’re grown up now. I expect he’s got a few grandchildren.’ He was a good sort, Cassius, a sound family man with a warm heart, married to a dumpling of a woman who was the best cook in Provincia, and that was saying something. ‘And he keeps all sorts of animals.’

Theo was looking at me, an odd expression on his face. ‘He’s the man you’re going to send me to live with, isn’t he?’ I didn’t answer. ‘You said you’d find some farm where I could live and work. Is it his?’

I hadn’t meant to break the news so abruptly, but since he’d guessed anyway, there was no point in prevaricating. ‘Yes. But I promise you, Theo, we’ll only go ahead with the plan if you’re happy about it.’

He managed a grin. ‘And Cassius is too.’

‘Quite. What do you say, then? Shall I take you to meet him?’

After a moment, Theo said, ‘All right.’

*

He and Cassius eyed each other warily as I introduced them. Despite my best intentions, I hadn’t got round to having a preliminary word with Cassius, who probably thought I’d produced an illegitimate son whom I was now acknowledging. It would have been impossible to disabuse him of the notion, especially since I couldn’t have told him the truth about how I’d come across the boy; in fact it might well have served to make Cassius more disposed to support me if he believed Theo was my son, because, in a moment of drunken melancholy, I’d once told him about Marcus.

‘I’d be glad of an extra pair of hands today, I’ll tell you,’ Cassius said, smiling at Theo. ‘Good with animals, you say?’ Theo and I nodded simultaneously. ‘Even better — you can have a look at my colt. He’s too nervous, won’t eat, and I’ve been trying to coax him to feed from my hand. I’ve had no luck — you might do better, Theo.’

‘I’ll try,’ Theo said eagerly. ‘Where is he?’

‘In that stall on the end.’ Cassius pointed, and, with scarcely a goodbye, Theo dashed off.

‘Fine-looking boy,’ Cassius commented. With what I thought was admirable restraint, he didn’t ask any questions.

‘He’s in need of a home,’ I said quietly. ‘And, although you haven’t asked, no, he’s not mine.’

Cassius nodded slowly. ‘And you’re not going to tell me anything more about him, are you?’

‘I’m not.’

He was staring towards the stall, into which Theo had disappeared. ‘Well, I’ll see what I make of him.’ He glanced at me. ‘Trustworthy, is he?’

I nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

‘As I say, I’ll see.’

‘Until later, then.’ I mounted my horse.

‘Till later.’

*

All twelve of us were at the temple. We didn’t always wear our masks when we met in the daytime, but we were preparing for one of our most solemn rituals, and today we did.

I had dedicated myself to Mithras more than a quarter of a century ago, in a small dark temple on Hadrian’s Wall; they told me that Mithras would protect all who pledged their lives to the Roman eagle. My god kept faith with me, and my love for him has grown over the years. The temple where we now worshipped was very different from the place of my initiation, but wherever you were, the rites, the costumes and the prayers were the same: you could go into a strange temple anywhere in the Empire and instantly feel at home.

The temple above Glanum was built into the hillside, the inner sanctum cut out of the living rock. Nearby, a small stream ran off the hill and through a sheltered glade. It was the perfect location: Mithras slayed the Great Bull in a cave, and, even when his temples are in towns or on the plains, they are designed to look like caves. Here, we hadn’t had to resort to artifice.

There was a small antechamber which we used as a robing room, and beyond it, down some steps, the sanctum itself. The central aisle was narrow, and flanked by the cushion-covered benches where we lay back to watch the ceremonies. In the end wall, a relief of Mithras slaying the bull was carved into the rock; it was so powerful that it affected me every time I saw it. The temple was kept in darkness until, at a given moment, our Pater lit the torch behind the altar and light streamed out through the ray-like holes in the stone: the dancing golden flame gave the illusion that the god and the bull were moving.

Now, my mind on the ceremony ahead, I stood in the antechamber and put on my mask, arranging my long scarlet cloak round my shoulders. When I came to Provincia I was initiated into a new grade: I became a Lion, and the thunderbolt symbol was tattooed on the backs of my hands. I could never enter the temple without recalling the ordeal of initiation, more harrowing than any I’d undergone before. The grave-like pit where I suffered my temporary ‘death’ was outside, against the outer wall of the temple, and the sacred fire-shovel they used to pile the live coals on top of my stone coffin was kept hidden in the antechamber. Nevertheless, I remembered. It is meant to be that way — we suffer for our god, and he repays our dedication with his love and his protection.

The other men were robing beside me, the Courier of the Sun with his halo and his bright yellow cloak, the Persian dressed in grey, two more Lions, and a pair each of Ravens, Nymphs and Soldiers. One of the latter was the man who owned the bull-calf: he had recently undergone his initiation, and I guessed that the memory of his trial, buried deep in the earth, was still too fresh for him to relax.

When we were all ready, we filed through the opening in the screen and took up our places in the dark temple. After some moments of utter silence, we heard the slow steps of the Pater as he entered and began to walk up the aisle.

The Courier of the Sun ignited his torch, stepping forward to hand it to the Pater, and the Pater placed it behind the stone altar. The sun’s rays seemed to leap into life: an involuntary sigh of awe spread through the temple, and the magic began.

*

Afterwards, disrobing back in the anteroom, nobody spoke. It was always that way — what we experienced in the temple affected us too deeply for the transition back to normal life to be either quick or easy.

As I was leaving, I felt a hand on my arm. It was one of the Ravens, still masked. He edged closer, then put his mouth right up to my ear. In a whisper so soft that I barely heard the words, he said, ‘There is trouble for you.’ Then he drew his cloak around him and turned away, huddling into the corner where his Brother Raven was reverently putting his ritual staff into its concealing bag.

I stumbled out into the daylight, my mind reeling. Everyone was leaving, still observing the silence, and it wasn’t the moment to start asking questions. I untethered my horse from his place in the shade, tightened the girths and mounted.