In the Shadow of the Wall (57 page)

“Not particularly. She has a way about her that is attractive, I suppose, but she’s no beauty. Not like you.”

Mairead gave him a playful slap. “Flatterer! You noticed that much about her then?” Brude, though, was not concerned about Julia Domna. It was the emperor’s health that occupied his mind. He found himself offering silent prayers to the gods he had ignored for many years, wishing for the emperor’s death. If the emperor died, surely his sons would return to
Rome
? He mentioned his thoughts to Cleon the next day.

“You are probably right,” Cleon agreed after some thought, “but that does not mean all of the army will go with them. They can leave their legions to finish the job.”

Brude was forced to agree but Veleda’s words and her own self-sacrifice had laid a compulsion on him. He needed the emperor to die. If Severus died and the Roman army stayed, Veleda’s geas would have no power over him. He would have to make the best life he could, with Mairead and Castatin, under Roman rule. But if the emperor recovered, Brude would have to think of a way to kill him. He had promised himself not to kill again, but Veleda had forced him into a position where the fate of the Pritani rested on whether the emperor lived or died. And Brude was the only one of the Pritani who could do what had to be done. He wanted to forget it, to persuade himself that he had a family to care for, that he had no obligation to a dead druid, but the old woman had done something to his mind. She had laid a spell of some sort on him and he feared to go against the order of a druid.
Cut off the head and the beast will die
. As would Brude, together with his family and friends.

He had to get Mairead and the others away. He did not feel able to discuss his plans, even with Mairead, but he considered buying a wagon or carriage so that Barabal would be able to ride in comfort. The army, though, had commandeered every spare vehicle so that they could keep supplies going north by road during the winter when the seas grew too rough for their ships. Which meant they were stuck in Eboracum, with winter approaching.

Crowds gathered at the temple of the imperial cult to offer prayers for the emperor, sacrificing in honour of his image. Brude took everyone along to join in. “Questions might be asked if we are seen not to worship in the Roman way,” he explained. “If someone denounces us as Christians, we might find ourselves in trouble, so it’s best to go along with it.” So they joined the crowd who gathered in the forum outside the temple, watching while a bull was sacrificed and the priests offered up prayers for the emperor’s health.

“I thought the emperor was a man,” Castatin challenged, as they made their way back to Caralugnus’ home afterwards.

“He is,” Brude replied.

“But wasn’t that his image on show along with the other gods? I recognised the face and the curly beard.”

Once again Brude was reminded of his own curiosity when he was a boy. He smiled in pleasure at Castatin’s questions. He told Cleon what Castatin had asked. “Just like you,” the old Greek said.

“You’d better explain it to him,” said Brude. “I always struggle with that sort of thing.”

Cleon was usually never one to turn down a chance to mock the Romans but the language barrier presented some problems so Brude had to try to explain it to his son. “The emperor is a man,” he said, “but he has a divine quality because he is blessed by the gods.”

“Why?” Castatin asked.

“Well, it is self-evident, surely?” chuckled Brude. “He would not be emperor unless he had divine qualities, would he? The very fact that he is the emperor shows that he is blessed by the gods. That means he can intercede directly with them on behalf of the people.”

Castatin did not look convinced. After some thought, he said, “I heard he was emperor because he commanded more legions than his opponents when he seized power.”

Cleon’s eyes shone with amusement when Brude translated the question. “That is correct.”

“So was he divine before he was emperor?” Castatin asked.

“Of course not!” exclaimed Cleon after Brude told him what Castatin had asked. “That would be impossible.”

Castatin said, “So he only became divine when he became emperor and he must be divine otherwise he would not be emperor. Is that right?”

“Something like that,” Brude agreed.

“Yes, that’s about it,” Cleon confirmed. “One fact confirms the other. It’s very simple really.”

“It sounds complicated to me,” observed Castatin.

“Me, too,” said Mairead, who had been listening in with interest.

Brude smiled. “The Roman religion is more about ritual than belief. You can believe what you want as long as you are seen to worship the way they do. Their gods are happy as long as the proper sacrifices are made at the appropriate time.”

Cleon nodded when Brude repeated that in Latin. “That’s right,” he agreed. Then he looked at Brude with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Have you told the boy about Epicurus yet?”

“Not yet. Our language does not have the right words to explain all the concepts.”

“Then he’d better learn Latin quickly,” Cleon grinned.

“You could always learn our language,” Brude suggested again.

“Latin is bad enough, thank you very much.”

Brude’s silent hopes that the emperor’s health would fail were eventually dashed. Severus recovered from his sick bed and was seen, weak and frail but still taking an active part in governing the empire. Eboracum was much busier now as emissaries came and went, travelling from all parts of the empire to see the emperor. Brude saw little of Lucius as all officers were kept busy with the countless tasks required for the smooth running of the empire, but Cleon still visited most days to keep Brude informed of what was happening. “The army is in winter quarters but they expect to complete the conquest next year,” Cleon said. “Although, from what I can gather, it seems your people are being stubborn. They are refusing to fight in open battle. The Romans can’t seem to pin them down. But they are still destroying towns and villages so eventually there will be nowhere for the Picti to hide.”

Samhain came and went. Caralugnus held a small private celebration with a few guests. It was not the wild, open-air, firelight feast and dance that the Boresti were used to, but there was plenty of food and wine and the servants had made some lanterns from hollowed-out turnips. By their ghostly light, Fothair told some suitably gruesome tales of the evil spirits that stalked the land during that night.

A few weeks later, the emperor invited many of the local dignitaries to a feast to celebrate Saturnalia. Cleon managed to ensure that both Brude and Mairead were included. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground as they made their way to the legionary fort with Caralugnus. Brude was uncomfortable at being seen to be so close to the imperial family but Mairead was delighted. She had bought herself a new dress for the occasion, a Pritani-style long dress of brightly coloured cloth. “Stop worrying,” she told him, “there will be lots of people there. The emperor probably won’t even notice you.”

Mairead was right. The great hall in the Principia was crowded because the emperor wanted to demonstrate to as many people as possible that he was still very much alive and in command. He looked thin and the skin on his face was wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and he appeared to be in good humour.

Mairead’s exotic appearance in her native-style dress combined with a small, freshly-painted Pritani design on her face created something of a stir. She enjoyed the evening, trying as many of the dishes as she could and talking animatedly to any of her neighbours who spoke the local tongue.

Despite apparently enjoying the Roman lifestyle, she told Brude later, “It was nice but this life is not for me. I still want to go home. Barabal really can’t travel all that way, but once she has the baby we should leave.”

“That probably won’t be until the spring,” he pointed out. “The way things are going, home will be part of the empire by then.”

“Well, if we have to become Romans, I’d rather do it among my friends than here, among strangers,” she said firmly.

Mairead insisted on discussing it with Barabal and Fothair who both agreed, so they at least had something to look forward to. Mairead reckoned that Barabal would have her baby around the time of the Imbolc festival, which heralded the start of the month the Romans called February. They set their sights on heading for home two months after that.

Brude could still not tell Mairead about Veleda’s injunction to him. He hated keeping it a secret from her but the consequences were so dire that he could not bring himself to talk of it.

A few days after Saturnalia Cleon arrived, looking sombre. He brought bad news from north of the Wall. “I heard Lucius discussing the latest dispatch from Caracalla,” he told Brude. “He says that he discovered a conspiracy among the Boresti.”

Brude’s heart sank. Mairead’s Latin was not good enough to follow what Cleon was saying but she made out the name of their tribe. She saw Cleon’s expression, so she gripped Brude’s hand, asking him what was wrong.

Reluctantly, he translated what Cleon told him, speaking slowly, hating what he was saying. “There is a report that the Boresti rose in arms against the Romans. At a place where there is a river crossing, they attacked the soldiers who were guarding the bridge, killing a great number of them. They drove the garrison out and then destroyed the bridge.”

“Peart,” Mairead breathed. “That must be Peart.”

Brude nodded his agreement as on went on, “Caracalla sent a strong force to crush the revolt. His report says that all the rebels were either killed or enslaved. The Romans are rebuilding the bridge.” He shook his head sadly. “I am sorry.”

“Did they say who led the revolt?” Fothair asked.

“No, there were no names mentioned.”

“What about our village? What about Broch Tava?” Mairead struggled to stifle a sob.

“There was no mention of anywhere else. Just the place where there was a river crossing.”

That was something at least, but the dreadful news had shocked them all. Fothair’s face wore a pained expression at the thought of what had happened to his hometown. Brude just stood there, feeling numb, while Veleda’s face appeared in his memory and her words drummed through his head with an inexorable beat.
Cut off the head and the beast will die.

Brude could no longer keep his thoughts from Mairead. He spoke to her that night, when they were alone in their bedroom, telling her what Veleda and he had discussed that night in Dun Nechtan. He explained to her the meaning behind Veleda sacrificing herself and Nechtan.

“She wants you to kill the emperor?” Mairead asked, reacting more calmly than Brude had expected.

“It is the only thing that might stop all the Pritani being crushed.”

“Might?”

“I cannot be sure it will work. The emperor’s sons will certainly return to
Rome
but they might leave some legions to finish what they have started. But if I do nothing, the war will continue. The Caledonii and the Maeatae will be destroyed, just like the Boresti. Veleda knew I am the only one who could possibly get close enough to the emperor to have any chance of success.” He held her hand, squeezing it gently. “But I do not want to lose you a second time. Not after we have only just found each other again.”

Mairead put her arms around him. They held each other in silence for a long while. He did not know what else to say but the embrace told him that she did not want to lose him either. After a while, Mairead lay back. Her expression, illuminated by the solitary oil lamp, which cast flickering shadows around the room, was calm but determined. “You know I love you,” she sai. “I always have. I know you were worried that I was enjoying life here too much, that I might have wanted to turn my back on what is left of our people. But this life we are living just now, pleasant though it is, is built on the work of others. I sit here with no wool to spin, no food to prepare, no cloth to sew. Slaves bring me everything I want. Above all, I cannot help but remember what happened at Dun Nechtan. The people there were of the Boresti and now any of them who survived are slaves too.” She gripped his hands firmly in hers. “I understand what you meant when you told Caralugnus about the price of Roman life being too high. We are in danger of losing everything our people have cherished for generations.”