The Sacrifice Stone (25 page)

‘You’d better start —’

‘I’ve been
after
you’ — he mimicked my words with a viciousness I hadn’t employed — ‘ever since I was old enough to understand what you did to us. My mother had to live out the rest of her life in mourning for her man. She had offers, you’d better believe she did — she was a handsome woman, skilled in ways you can’t begin to imagine, and, even though most were in awe of her, some brave men asked for her hand. But oh, no! She was loyal, she’d given her heart to her man and she didn’t want any pale imitation taking his place.’

I was finding it hard to credit this image of an attractive woman spurning suitors. It didn’t tally with the wild harpy I remembered, but then she hadn’t been at her best that night. ‘It can’t have been easy for her,’ I said neutrally. ‘Or for you.’

‘Easy
? I didn’t want it to be easy! I was glad she didn’t take another man, no one could have lived up to my father! He was the best.’ He shut his mouth in a hard line.

‘But surely —’ I stopped. For some reason he wanted me to think he’d known Quintus, loved him. Presumably he wasn’t aware that I knew it wasn’t possible. He was clever, this one — it showed in his eyes. I sensed a sharp intellect questing after mine: I decided on a different tack. ‘Have you considered the possibility that you only have one side of the story?’ I said reasonably. ‘Quintus and I were fellow soldiers. Do you think I’d have let him go to his death if there had been any other way?’

‘You were the only one who testified against him!’ he shouted. ‘It was your word against his!’

‘But he was lying!’ I shouted back. ‘The very fact that I’m alive now proves that. If he was right, and everyone on that hilltop was dead, how do you explain my presence? I’m no ghost, I assure you!’

He wrestled against the belt again, and I heard the leather creak. ‘He didn’t see you! You were hiding under your shield!’

‘So would you have been, if you’d had fifty screaming tribesmen hacking at you. And he did see me.’ I wasn’t going to emphasize the point, to promise, to swear by the gods: it was the truth, and it stood alone.

‘He didn’t! He can’t have done!’

Because if he did, he couldn’t have been the brave father you want him to be?
Need
him to be? I didn’t speak the thought — there was no point. I said instead, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Varus Severus.’

A Roman name. I was surprised — it meant his mother must have had citizenship, for Quintus would not have been allowed to legalize his liaison with her, and so make their offspring Romans, until he retired from the Legion. I was about to comment to that effect when I came to my senses.

Of course she wasn’t a Roman citizen! How could she have been? Some of her tribesmen acquired citizenship as freed slaves, but that couldn’t have applied to her, she’d have had to serve in some plush Roman household for years to win such a gift. She hadn’t been anyone’s slave, that one.

So his name had to be an assumed one. Making his way from the north of Britannia, through Gaul and on down to Provincia, life would certainly have been easier if he’d passed himself off as a citizen. And language wouldn’t have been a problem: he’d proved in the last fifteen minutes that he was fluent in the everyday speech of the Empire.

Varus Severus. Severus was the family name — Quintus had been Quintus Severus. And Varus — yes, that was more likely to be an assumed name, since not many fond parents actually chose it for their sons: presumably Quintus’s son didn’t know that Varus had been one of the most unfortunate of Augustus’s generals, suffering the loss of three legions under his command in the haunted depths of a forest in Germania. Not a happy association with which to bless a child.

I wondered what his real name was. Not that I was ever going to find out.

But I wasn’t going to let him get away with thinking he’d fooled me.

‘You’re not a Roman citizen,’ I said calmly.

‘I am!’ Again, the leather creaked: he looked as furious as if I’d hurled at him the worst of insults.

‘How can you be? The only way you could have acquired citizenship is to have served in the Legions, or as an auxiliary, and you’re not old enough to have put in the required number of years.’

‘I’m the son of a Roman.’ He sat up as straight as his bound wrists allowed.

‘There’s no disputing that, not for anyone who’s seen you both. But unfortunately the biological fact of being someone’s son doesn’t automatically confer citizenship, as well you know, and your father wasn’t married to your mother, not in Roman eyes, he —’

He died before he had the chance, I’d almost said.

And whose fault was that?

The blue eyes were blazing, his violent frenzy projecting out at me with such power I swear I could feel it. Superstitiously I recalled his mother’s hand in that death curse. Heard again his recent words: she was skilled in ways you can’t begin to imagine.

Oh yes, I could.

I’d seen her, or at least I’d seen women just like her. One winter night I’d been out on patrol along the wall, and we’d been delayed because one of my men got himself stuck in a marsh. We only just got him out, and we were all feeling shaken; quicksand exerts such a pressure on the last part of the body to go under — usually the head, unfortunately — that the blood vessels swell and bulge, and to see someone’s face distort as they scream out for help, feeling that foul stuff creep up their throat, over their chin, into their gaping mouth, is enough to shake the sternest character.

Anyway, we saved him. But, as I said, we were late — those tribeswomen, that coven in their black robes crouched round their foul-smelling fire, wouldn’t have expected a party of legionaries to march by. We worked according to set routines, and it was understandable they’d think us long retired inside our barracks.

We were moving fast, in the lee of the wall between it and the Vallum to the south (the wind invariably seemed to blow from either the north or, even worse, the northeast). We smelt them before we saw them: they had lit their fire in a dell on the other side of the wall, and we probably would have missed them if it hadn’t been for the smoke blowing our way.

We clambered up on top of the wall and there they were. Three of them, chanting, putting gods knew what into the small pot they’d suspended over the fire. I said we were shaken, and it’s possible that, another time, we might have descended on them, kicked over the pot, stamped out the fire, and, their curses notwithstanding, sent them about their business. We might. Although such was the terror I felt at the sight of them that I don’t know for sure — somehow, I doubt it.

And, that night, we’d had enough: we slunk back to the sheltered side of the wall and left them to it.

And, without a doubt, Quintus’s woman — this young man’s mother — had been one such as those. Didn’t they say such powers are inherited?

‘You killed my father,’ Varus said into the silence. ‘And my mother put a death curse on you.’

‘Which you are having to fulfil, since she failed.’ One way to diminish your fear of curses was to remind yourself that they didn’t always work.

‘She didn’t fail! A curse can employ whatever instruments come to hand.’

‘Her own son?’

‘Who better?’

‘So I was right. You’re going to kill me.’ Somehow I felt better for having spoken it aloud.

He was watching me, a slight smile on his face. He looked unbelievably evil, and a shiver of fear ran up my spine. ‘Kill you? Perhaps.’

‘What do you mean, perhaps?’ I shouted. ‘Come on, explain yourself!’

He relaxed against the pillar; quite obviously he was enjoying the moment. ‘You killed my father. You robbed me of someone I loved.’ Again I wanted to protest, to say he couldn’t have loved his father because he hadn’t known him. Again, I kept silent. ‘It would not be a reciprocal blow, would it, for me to kill you?’

I knew before he said it. Knew what he was going to do. As he spoke the words, the whole terrible picture fell into place.

‘Better, don’t you agree, that I kill someone
you
love. You killed my father, I kill your adopted son.’

I tried to swallow, my mouth gone suddenly dry. ‘Theo is out of your reach.’

‘Oh, no.’ He was almost laughing. ‘And, since you inflicted on my father a public death, the boy must have the same.’

The amphitheatre. ‘It’s not possible! You can’t arrange it, you’re a stranger, not even a citizen, you’ve no power to carry out what you threaten!’

‘No power?’ He laughed again. He’d planned it, he must have done, must have been sitting there working away at his bounds waiting for the right moment; as he spoke he wrenched his arms violently forward, the belt creaked again and finally gave way.

I had my sword halfway out of its scabbard when he fell on me. I’d have got it all the way out in my prime, but I was out of practice. He threw his arms round me, momentarily preventing movement, and the respite gave him the chance to draw from somewhere under his cuirass a dagger I hadn’t even suspected he had. I should have searched him: gods, I was out of practice in every way.

‘I could kill you now,’ he said in my ear. ‘I’ve a mind to.’ I felt the blade cut into my throat, felt my own blood wet on my skin. ‘But I shall stick to my original plan. It will prove more painful to you.’

‘You bastard,’ I said.

‘Bastard? Yes.’ I hadn’t meant it that way, but he was right. ‘Now, where were you hit before?’ His fingers went over my head. ‘Ah, here.’

I didn’t know what he hit me with. I discovered later it had been a bronze figurine of Mars, which I suppose was appropriate.

When I recovered consciousness, dawn was lighting the sky. There was, predictably, no sign of him. Crawling over to the edge of the terrace to be sick, I noticed the belt, still wrapped around the pillar.

So much for relying on old equipment. My care had preserved the leather well enough — it was still supple and strong.

But, under the extreme pressure exerted by a vengeful and violent man, the thirty-year-old stitching had given way.

I made my way over to my couch, pulled a warm rug over myself and lay there waiting till I felt sufficiently recovered to start working out what to do next.

24

I dozed on and off till mid-morning. Although I wasn’t sick again I still felt very queasy, and my head felt as if Varus’s dagger was sticking in it, just above my left ear. It wasn’t one of Callistus’s days for coming in early, and I didn’t know if I was glad or sorry: on the one hand he’d have tutted and nagged, telling me (quite rightly) that I was too old for such carryings-on, and now look what had happened. On the other hand, he could have made me one of his herbal pain-killing drinks — the chief ingredient was willow bark, of all things — and he had the gentlest of touches with wound-dressing.

I now had three injuries: a stab wound in my back, quite a deep cut in the skin of my throat, and a very tender lump on the side of my head; he’d broken the skin — I guessed with the point of Mars’s helmet, which was bloodstained — and it took me quite a while to clean the drying blood from the tiles of the terrace.

Callistus could have done that, too.

All things considered, it wasn’t surprising that it took me till mid-afternoon to realize that I was meant to be going to the temple that evening: it was the night of our long-anticipated ceremony, our great sacrificial rite to greet the start of the winter.

Bad enough that I forgot that. Far worse — for there was still plenty of time to get to the temple — was that it didn’t occur to me until then that I should check up on Theo.

He’s safe, I reassured myself as I bathed, no one knows where he is. Cassius’s farm is so far off the beaten track that even people who’ve been visiting him for years sometimes get lost! It took all my willpower not to rush my ablutions: you might be forgiven for thinking I should have set off for the farm straight away, but the correct preparation is an integral part of our ceremonies, and I didn’t want to skimp on it on such an important occasion.

Washed, dressed in a clean white shift under my usual tunic, I checked that I had my scarlet robe and my lion mask. Tonight my hands would be anointed with honey before I lit the sacred incense; I folded the crisp white cloth that my hands would be wiped with and put it on top of the mask.

Then, breathing deeply to keep myself calm, I saddled my horse and rode out of the courtyard.

*

The resolution to travel unhurriedly — to enable me to meditate on the coming ritual as I rode — didn’t last. Perversely, my old horse was for once restless, crabbing and pulling at the reins in his eagerness to move faster than I wanted him to. In the end his impatience ignited mine: I let him have his head, and he broke into a gallop as if he were the impetuous and spirited young creature he was when I first had him.

The shadows were lengthening by the time I got to the farm. Theo’s colt was kicking his heels in the meadow, and the post and rail fence now reached right up to the barn: the boy had been working hard. I dismounted and tethered my horse, then glanced into the outbuildings to see who was about. There was no sign of anyone, so, guessing they were sitting down to eat — they kept irregular mealtimes in that household, working on the very sensible principle that the best time for food was when everyone was hungry — I went across to the house.

Cassius and Julia were seated either end of the long table, with sundry children and grandchildren making the sort of racket you get in a big happy family.

‘Sergius! Come and join us!’ Cassius got up to greet me, and Julia reached for another bowl.

‘Thank you, but no — I’m on my way somewhere else. I — er, I was wondering how Theo’s getting on.’

I’d looked at every face round that table. He wasn’t there.

And there was no vacant place laid ready for a latecomer still washing his hands.

‘He’s doing very well,’ Cassius said, ‘he’s made a grand job of the fence. Want to have a look?’

‘I saw it,’ I said, trying to restrain my anxiety and reply politely. ‘Is he here?’

‘No, of course not!’ Julia, a worried look appearing on her cheerful face, got up and went to stand beside her husband. ‘We sent him off with your messenger, like you said.’

Oh, Mithras!

‘My messenger,’ I repeated. I swallowed. ‘And when did this happen?’

‘Noon,’ Cassius said, his expression puzzled. ‘Just after we’d eaten.’

‘Yes, I remember I said it was just as well Theo’d had a good meal, since he was going to have to walk all the way home.’ Julia, trying to be helpful, nodded her head as if to confirm the accuracy of her words.

‘They were walking?’

‘The man had a horse. But Theo was walking — at least he was when they left here.’

‘And they set off towards my house?’

Cassius and Julia exchanged a glance. Then Cassius said, ‘We don’t know. Nobody actually watched them out of sight — we all got back to work once they’d gone.’

Julia said, ‘Oh, Sergius, I’m so sorry! Did we do wrong? The young man sounded so convincing, he —’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Medium build, medium height. Wore a cloak,’ Cassius said. Then he smiled briefly. ‘Sorry. That could apply to almost anyone.’

‘Dark eyes,’ Julia said. ‘I know now’s a fine time to say so, but I didn’t care for his eyes.’

‘Describe them.’ I realized it had come out like an order. She must have thought so, too, judging by the way she flinched. ‘I beg your pardon, Julia. Can you tell me why you didn’t like his eyes?’

‘They were heavy-lidded. Dark, very dark, and with these round, heavy lids, sort of like a snake.’

‘Snakes don’t have eyelids,’ piped up a young voice from the fascinated audience sitting round the table. ‘They have —’

‘Shut up,’ Julia said. ‘Like a lizard, then — the sort of lid that comes down like a shutter and covers the eye so well you can’t imagine it’s there at all.’

It was a perfect description — I knew exactly what she was trying to say.

I also knew who the messenger had been. I’d noticed those dark hooded eyes, too.

‘You’ve been more help than you can know,’ I said to Julia. ‘Bless you for your observation.’

‘Sergius, what’s the matter?’ Cassius said urgently. ‘Was it a false message, what he said?’

‘What
did
he say?’

Cassius screwed up his face. ‘ “Sergius Cornelius bids you greetings and requests that you release the boy Theo to my care so that I may escort him away, for Sergius has planned an event tonight at which the boy’s attendance is required.” ’ He paused to draw breath. ‘That’s more or less what he said, I think.’

Escort him away, not take him home. They could have gone anywhere. And, even if Flavius had said they were going home, it could have been a lie.

An event planned tonight. My only plan for tonight was the ceremony at the temple. Did he mean that? Did he
know
about it?

My head was aching so fiercely that it took me a moment before I realized.
Of
course
the messenger knew — Flavius was a Raven, he would be there too.

Then what in the name of Jupiter was he proposing to do with Theo?

I turned and strode towards the door. I wasn’t going to find out any more here.

Cassius came with me, trotting to keep pace as I hurried across to my horse. ‘We didn’t know, Sergius! Obviously we shouldn’t have let the lad go, I can see that now, but you didn’t tell us! Oh, we guessed there was trouble, but —’

I turned to look into his kindly face. He was biting his lip, his remorse evident. ‘It’s my fault,’ I said. ‘You’re right, I didn’t tell you. I thought he’d be safe here, I didn’t think I need warn you.’

‘I’ll never forgive myself if something’s happened to him.’ Cassius looked as if he was about to burst into tears. ‘Such a grand lad, we’ve become truly fond of him, he’s —’

‘I know,’ I said. I didn’t want to be unkind, but this was wasting time. ‘Cassius, don’t worry. I think I may know where they’ve gone.’

‘You can find him?’

‘I hope so.’

As I swung up into the saddle he said, ‘Let us know what happens?’

‘I promise.’

This was no time for a leisurely meditative ride: hoping he still felt as energetic as he had done earlier, I kicked my surprised horse into a gallop and we shot out of Cassius’s yard as if the Furies were flapping at our heels.

*

The dilemma was whether to trust that Flavius would be at the temple — even if he didn’t have Theo with him, I could question him — or follow the thought that said the temple was only a blind, he was far more likely to have headed back into town and given the lad to Gaius. If not straight into the hands of the Procurator.

I’d have to make up my mind soon. We were nearly at the end of the track that led from the farm; in a few minutes I’d have to turn right for the temple or left for Arelate.

What would he do, my Brother Raven? He’d told Cassius he was taking Theo to meet me, since Theo was involved in some plan I’d made.
Surely
that was a lie, a convincing tale to lull any suspicions Cassius might have so that he would let Theo go!

I just couldn’t make myself believe that Flavius would take Theo to the temple. Why, there’d be ten other men up there, witnesses to any foul play! What would be the point in arranging for a confrontation there?

But Flavius
had
to be at the temple. Tonight was so vitally important to us, he just couldn’t afford to miss the sacrifice.

Nor could I, although in that moment I knew my god would understand and, I hoped, forgive my absence. Even if the Pater didn’t.

Arelate or the temple? Follow my logic and go to Arelate, where by now Theo could be locked in some dark dungeon? Or do what every instinct was screaming at me to do and go to the temple? Flavius would be there, I knew it in my bones — he must have detailed someone else to take Theo to Arelate, if that’s where Theo had been taken: he, I was certain, was at the temple.

Could I bear to leave Theo imprisoned? Could I get him out, even assuming that’s where he was?

I didn’t know what to do.

Nearing the crossroads, I reined in my horse to a slow walk and tried to think.

Suddenly, powerfully, I felt the presence of the god. Deliberately I emptied my mind so that I could listen to him.

*

When I was a mile or so along the road to the temple I noticed fresh tracks ahead of me. A man’s, walking alone.

Cautiously I rode on. The track was fairly straight; I saw him when I was still a good distance behind him.

He was clearly anxious not to be seen, although his actions suggested he was more afraid of unexpectedly catching up with someone than of being surprised from behind. In all the time I watched him, he only looked over his shoulder twice, and I was well concealed.

I was close enough to recognize him. With ease: away from the centre of town, there weren’t many around like him.

As I led my horse off the track and into the scrubby undergrowth so that I could overtake him unobserved, I wondered what Gaius was doing on the road to the temple.

*

Our rites began with a ceremony of praise, which ended with the formal dedication of the coming sacrifice to the god. We then prayed that he would look kindly on our offering and give us his blessing. The sacrifice itself came later, and was not performed in the temple: at midnight we would convene around the great slab of rock that lay hidden behind the temple glade, where the young bull would be dispatched by the Pater’s knife in his throat.

There was stabling at the foot of the incline, where the path up to the temple began. I rubbed down and watered my horse, then, my bag on my shoulder, set off up the slope.

There had been several other horses already tethered, so I knew I wasn’t the first to arrive. But there was no sign of anyone on the path. As I neared the summit I thought I heard fast breathing, as if some frightened creature was hidden among the brush-choked rocks.

I told myself it was my imagination.

I don’t think I really expected to see Theo, and I didn’t. It was strange, but, catching up with another Lion and then a couple of Nymphs just before we all reached the glade, part of me seemed to have forgotten that anything was amiss. It must have been the peace that proximity to the temple always engendered.

Nevertheless, something
was
amiss. And I had to try to put it right.

We stood round in groups of two or three, speaking quietly, greeting one another. When all eleven of us were there — the Pater wouldn’t join us till we were inside and ready to begin — we went into the antechamber to put on our robes and masks. All but two of us; the Ravens had arrived fully costumed.

As we stood in the temple waiting for the Pater I stared at the Ravens. I couldn’t tell which one was the dark-eyed Flavius; although I’d seen him, studied him, spoken to him even, he could have been either of the two figures in the dark cloaks and heavy-beaked black Raven masks. Their build was similar, and they were roughly the same height.

I have a score to settle with one of you, I thought. Even if I have to tear those masks off you, I shall find out which it is. And I swear by Mithras, here in his own sacred place, you will tell me what I have to know. You will tell me where Theo is, and, with the god’s help, I shall get him back.