Celtic Fire Part 3

Vetus. The man who had penned the improbable account of Aulus's death. Lucius's hand dropped to his side. "Tell the tribune I will greet him at once."

"Yes, my lord."

Lucius took a step toward the door, then halted and returned to the bed. With a swift movement designed to preclude any protest, he dipped his head and placed a brief kiss on the nymph's lips. "Until tomorrow."

She stared up at him, eyes wide, her fingers clutching the edges of her blanket until her knuckles turned white. "I will kill you for that, Roman."

Her expression was so serious that Lucius couldn't suppress a smile. "You're welcome to try, little one. I'll look forward to it."

Aulus was waiting outside the chamber door.

Lucius shot him a dark look. "Have you been lurking out here the entire time?"

The specter shrugged.

"Come along, then," Lucius said in disgust. He headed toward the stairwell at the far end of the upper gallery, navigating the pa.s.sage by the light of the torches burning in the courtyard garden below. Once on the ground floor, his footsteps slowed outside the reception chamber.

Tribune Vetus lounged in a low chair, his face half turned from the open door. Though dressed in full military uniform, the young patrician somehow managed to project an air of graceful indolence. A bronze goblet rested in his right hand; his left stroked the intricate carvings on the chair's armrest. A junior officer, two years into his obligatory decade of military service, if Lucius's memory served.

Aulus glided past Lucius to the threshold and halted, his transparent shoulders nearly filling the doorframe. Lucius eyed his brother uneasily, loath to step through bone-numbing cold to gain entry to the chamber.

Vetus's head turned. "Aquila. At last. Why do you hover on the threshold like an old woman? Come in, man."

Lucius took a cautious step forward and let out a sigh of relief when Aulus moved aside. "Salve, "Salve, Vetus." Vetus."

The tribune rose. He was not a tall man, but carried himself as though he were. "I'm relieved to see you unharmed." He took a closer look at Lucius and frowned. "There's a private bath in the house. I might suggest you pay it a visit."

Lucius spread his palms. "A fine suggestion. But as you see, I've yet to remove my armor. You've been at the hospital?"

"And to the morgue. Rome lost far too many men today."

"We were ill prepared," Lucius said bluntly. "The commander at Eburac.u.m a.s.sured me the Celts raided in small bands."

Vetus peered into his goblet. "Yes. Well. Most Celt attacks are erratic affairs."

"There was nothing erratic about this one. The barbarians numbered fifty men at the least."

"So I was told." Vetus took a delicate sip from his cup. "More than one local clan was certainly involved. Very surprising. It's been my experience that the Brittunculi Brittunculi fight each other more fiercely than they've ever battled Rome." fight each other more fiercely than they've ever battled Rome."

"They were united today."

Vetus made a dismissive gesture. "An aberration, I'm sure. They are a wretched, undisciplined people. Hardly worth the trouble of conquering." He took another draught of wine. "I cannot conceive why the emperor does not abandon this frontier."

Lucius crossed the room and lifted a pitcher from a granite table carved in the image of an Egyptian temple. "The strength of Rome lies in her victories, not her retreats."

"Perhaps, but the riches of the East command Trajan's attention these days. There's nothing in Britannia outside of a few lead mines."

Aulus drifted to the far end of the Egyptian table. Lucius considered the hideous piece of furniture. His brother's previous post had been as tribune in Egypt.

"That monstrosity is heavy enough to put a strain on any wagon axle," Lucius muttered. "I cannot imagine how or why you transported it north."

Aulus sent him a repressive look. He stretched out his hand and stroked the red stone lovingly.

"Eh? What did you say, Aquila?"

By Pollux. He'd addressed the ghost in Vetus's presence, without even being aware of what he was doing. He covered his dismay by splas.h.i.+ng wine into an empty goblet. "I said, the land seems fertile enough here in the north."

Vetus snorted. "If the barbarians would exploit their resources, perhaps a man could make a profit. As it is, the natives are content to wallow in the mud. Their largest village is a dismal cl.u.s.ter of sheep-dung huts." The tribune joined Lucius at the table. "And the winter is as cold as a spinster's t.i.t. At least a.s.syria was warm."

"You were in the East?"

"Attached to the Fourth Legion." His gaze drifted to the granite table. "I would have preferred Egypt," he said softly.

"What brought you to Britannia?"

"I arrived late last summer to a.s.sess the fortifications from Segedunum to Maia. Seventy-five miles of misery. According to my scouts, a barbarian lurks behind every tree."

"You didn't travel the road yourself?"

"Are you mad? I much prefer my head attached to my body than dangling from some Celt war chief's saddle."

Lucius regarded the tribune in silence for a long moment. "Your report is complete, then?" he said at last.

"Yes. I'm to deliver it directly to General Hadrian. I'll leave as soon as an escort can be arranged."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," Lucius said. At least not before he investigated the circ.u.mstances of Aulus's death.

Vetus's head shot up, the first swift movement Lucius had seen the man make. "What do you mean?"

"After today's attack, I must a.s.sume the local chieftains have banded together. They could strike again. I won't be able to spare sufficient men for your safe pa.s.sage south."

Vetus swore. "I was to have left a month ago, but the road was flooded." He refilled his goblet and stared morosely into his wine. "Barely a day pa.s.ses without rain here. It's a far cry from the Eastern deserts." He looked up. "You've come lately from a.s.syria as well, have you not?"

"Yes," Lucius said. "I commanded the Thirtieth Legion."

"You left a prestigious post to come north. A step in the wrong direction, most would say. All of Rome expected you to claim your father's seat in the Senate after his death last year."

Lucius could hardly reveal that a ghost's urgings had brought him to Vindolanda. "I came to retrieve my brother's belongings."

The tribune gave a sidelong glance to the Egyptian table. "A prodigious undertaking, I'm sure, but you need not have taken over his command as well."

"A temporary position. The governor's permanent replacement will arrive before winter." If Lucius couldn't avenge Aulus's death and send the ghost to its rest by then, he would surely go insane.

Vetus's expression turned hooded. "You resemble your brother quite keenly, you know."

"It was always so, though he was eight years my junior."

Vetus's gaze darted toward Aulus.

Lucius froze. Had the tribune sensed the specter's presence? If so, it would be the first indication that another person shared Lucius's vision. He searched for a glimmer of recognition in Vetus's eyes.

But the tribune's attention slid to the high window set in the outside wall. "Aulus's death was a grievous waste."

Lucius narrowed his gaze. Only close family members dared to call a man by his forename. Just what type of relations.h.i.+p had Aulus and Vetus shared during their brief a.s.sociation?

"Did you witness my brother's death?"

Vetus twisted his goblet in his hands. "No. The First Centurion and two junior officers issued him an invitation to hunt. Your brother felt he could not refuse."

Aulus moved more fully into Lucius's line of vision and gave a swift shake of his head. Why? Because he had declined the invitation? Or because Vetus knew the outing had been a sham?

With an effort, Lucius tore his gaze from the ghost. "What happened?"

"The hounds flushed a boar from a thicket. Aulus took up his spear and pursued the beast. He never rejoined the group. By the time his body was located, it had been badly gored." Vetus placed his goblet on the table, leaving it teetering dangerously close to the edge. "A waste."

Lucius moved the cup to the center of the table, near his own. "I would speak with the First Centurion."

"You'll need to travel to Hades then, for he is also dead. Thrown from his mount while on patrol. As for the others ..." Vetus shrugged, but it seemed to Lucius the gesture was forced. "I cannot recall. Speak with the quartermaster, Gaius Brennus. He is-was-acting commander."

"Brennus? That's a Gaulish name, is it not?"

"Yes. He's of the Tungri tribe, from Belgica, as are most of the men stationed here. The unit has been in Britannia for several generations."

Lucius nodded. Conscripted soldiers were routinely posted far from their homelands, lest they join with the local populace in revolt against their conquerors.

Vetus poured himself another cup of wine, then paced toward the door with the bowl of the goblet cradled in his palm. "The hour grows late. If we wish more than a brief rest before c.o.c.kcrow, I suggest we seek our beds."

"Of course."

Vetus exited the receiving room and disappeared in the direction of the stairs. Lucius set out across the courtyard. At the moment, a bath appealed to him far more than sleep.

A slave boy started awake when the door to the bath's anteroom opened. He ran to load the furnace. The fire had been stoked earlier, however, for fragrant steam already wafted from the hot room. A fresh tunic and sandals, along with a linen towel, lay in the changing cubicle, causing Lucius to bless Candidus's un.o.btrusive efficiency.

He removed his sword, war belt, and armor and gave it to the boy for cleaning, along with additional instructions to replenish the coals in the nymph's brazier.

The boy scampered from the room. Lucius retrieved his dagger from the changing alcove and set it at the edge of the pool. He would take no chances, even in his own residence.

He stripped off the remainder of his soiled clothing and plunged into the hot pool. Settling himself onto the seat, he heaved a resigned sigh as Aulus shed his own toga and tunic. The ghost sank into the water, taking the bench opposite.

Lucius grabbed a bottle of oil from a niche at the water's edge and smoothed the fragrant balm over his battle-stained skin. Picking up the accompanying bronze strigil, he pointed the curved blade at his brother. "I'd offer to sc.r.a.pe your back, but I'm afraid I might run you through. Of course," he added, "since you're already dead, it hardly would matter."

Aulus opened one eye and shot Lucius a disgruntled look. Lucius laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles of the bath chamber. By Pollux, if he had to go insane, at least he could take some small pleasure in it. He drew the blade over his skin, sc.r.a.ping away the odor of death along with the oil.

The blood and grime of the skirmish dissolved into the scented water. Lucius's tense muscles relaxed, leaving him free to pursue his thoughts. Vetus's mantle of innocence covered him like the whitest candidate's toga, and yet ...

He looked at Aulus. "I'm certain he was lying. You would sooner scour a latrine with a toothpick than charge a wild boar with a spear."

The Horned G.o.d's favor was capricious.

The thought weighed heavily on Owein as he leaned on the st.u.r.dy branch he'd chosen as a walking stick. His breath was short and his chest ached, but he had no choice but to go on foot. His pony carried one of the wounded warriors rescued from the scavenging Romans.

A reluctant dawn cast gray light over the fens. The Romans had resumed their march toward Vindolanda just before sunset. The Celts had hunkered in the forest most of the night, tending their wounded. Some warriors had slept, but Owein hadn't been among them. His head had ached with the dull pain that preceded a vision. He'd had no desire to close his eyes and look upon yet more blood.

"How many?" Owein heard Madog ask.

"Eight of our clan is missing," Edmyg replied grimly, striding to the Druid's side. "Though only six that I am sure died in battle. The others will have fallen on their swords rather than be taken."

Madog spit on the ground. "Yet the Roman commander walks free." His pale blue eyes flashed with annoyance. "Could ye nay have taken him yourself, Edmyg, rather than let Owein be attempting the task? The lad is lucky to be among the living. Rhiannon will flay ye alive when she hears of it."

Edmyg's expression, already set in stone, grew even harder. "I killed more than any, old man."

Owein caught his breath. No one dared insult a Druid, not even a king. Did Edmyg wish a curse on his head?

An older warrior, scarred by more years of battle than Owein wished to count, chose that moment to approach the duo. Kynan stood as tall as Edmyg, but his frame was much leaner, as if time had burned away his bulk along with the impetuousness of his youth. Owein repressed a shudder. The man's nose had been severed in some long-ago battle, leaving him with a visage few could dwell on for long.

"Near half my warriors be lost, Edmyg," Kynan said. "Had ye sent a competent scout to verify the enemy's strength, no doubt my kin would walk still."

Owein gripped his walking stick and edged closer, his heart pounding. How would his arrogant brother-in-law react to Kynan's challenge? Owein half hoped the older warrior would strike Edmyg down.

"The Romans ne'er march with so many," Edmyg retorted, his face flus.h.i.+ng dangerously. "The commander's escort was to number no more than twenty men."

"An' who was it telling ye this?"

"Cormac."

Kynan let out a bark of disgust. "The misbegotten gnome?"

Edmyg bristled. "My brother brother is inside the Roman fort." is inside the Roman fort."

"A poor spy he is, then. His blunder killed twelve of my kinsmen. The rest will be loath to join ye in warring again." With that, Kynan spun about, barking orders to his warriors. The band vanished into the clouded depths of the forest.

Edmyg uttered a curse, his fist clenched at his side. "If Kynan turns the other chieftains against us, 'tis little hope of taking the fort we'll be having, even with the alliance Cormac has gained us."

Madog stroked his beard. To Owein's surprise, the Druid didn't seem perturbed at this revelation. "The clans will come," he said. "They willna turn away from Rhiannon."

Edmyg snorted. "Rhiannon is a woman, not a warrior."

"Aye," Madog replied. "A woman who represents all that the Brigantes have lost. All they can regain. Our people look to her and see their freedom. When the time is right, they willna look away, no matter what path Kynan urges."

"I hope ye have the right of it," Edmyg said. He retrieved a Roman sword from his saddle and ran a thumb along the edge of its blade. "At least we've increased our store of arms."