‘You should cross with us, lady,’ Crispinus called.
‘Or wait for the second trip,’ her brother suggested.
Enica’s only answer was to hand the bundle she had made by wrapping her things up in her cloak to one of the guards. ‘Have them take this across for me.’
The punt was long enough for five, but one needed to take it back again for the next party, so it would carry the tribune, the prince and two of his guards across on the first trip. With some reluctance Ferox let them take his sword, belt and boots as well. Cocceius had brought an old shield, and they piled their clothes and a dry blanket on top. The lad exaggeratedly showed the hilt of the pugio he had slipped in at Ferox’s request. Thankfully the two Brigantes were too busy watching Enica as she climbed over the bank and then dived gracefully into the water. Without waiting for the others, she swam straight out towards the hill ahead of them.
‘Come on, boy,’ Ferox said and they followed.
They were halfway across the lake before the punt set out, although it had nearly caught them up by the time they reached the far shore. Enica was first, striding up from the waves like Venus. The gracefulness of her movements truly was remarkable, and Ferox felt like some ungainly aquatic monster as he waded ashore. Cocceius was beside him; he rather felt the boy had been polite and kept to his pace, for the Batavians tended to be superb swimmers. They used the blanket to dry themselves a little and then started to dress.
‘Don’t on my account,’ the lady told them. Cocceius’ blush spread again, almost as pink as the clouds around the setting sun. Ferox shaded his eyes against its light. Night was coming. He shivered.
Arviragus bounded off the punt and came rushing up the slope. Crispinus trailed behind with the two guards, one carrying the lady’s bundle.
‘So, where now, centurion?’ The prince was brimming with enthusiasm.
He pointed to the tree. ‘Up there, then the huts on the far side,’ he said, even though he had no real idea what to expect. My lord, has one of your men brought my sword and boots?’
The prince did not bother to ask. ‘Sorry, Ferox. Got left on the boat. They’ll bring it with the next trip.’ The punt was already a fair way out from the shore.
Ferox led them to the tree. Close up, he was no longer sure that this was a hill, for it had an even look, like one of the mounds left by the forgotten people, the users of flint and the makers of the stone circles.
‘I see a yew tree,’ the prince said. ‘I am assuming there must be more.’
They could see the huts now and walked down to them. Enica caught up, dressed again in tunic and boots and with her gladius and curved sica at her belt. The huts were strange, even the roofs made from stone, reminding Ferox of the houses built by the folk in the far north of Caledonia. Perhaps that was no surprise, since by sea Mona was not so very far away. It was often said that the people who lived there were more akin to the northerners and the Hibernians than they were to their neighbours the Ordovices.
The huts were in poor repair, gaping holes in their roofs and walls, but there were tracks by the doors of each one and some of them were fresh, no more than a few hours old. He could not say more in this light and decided not to mention it. None of this felt right. Ferox bent down to go through the door into one. It was dim and all he saw was broken pots and rotting pieces of wood.
‘Be dark soon,’ he said. ‘We will need light. Did you bring the torches?’ The Brigantes had remembered this and when the prince snapped his fingers they set about using a flint to light some kindling.
The second hut had even less inside it. Set in the stone were a number of thick rings, the iron heavily rusted. They might have been meant to tether animals rather than people, but Ferox doubted it. The third hut stank and was full of old sacks, bones and dung. There was a dead fox, belly burst open and covered in maggots, and no doubt the source of the worst smell. Arviragus ducked his head in after Ferox and then pulled back, face screwed up in distaste.
‘Nothing here,’ he said.
‘I need a light,’ Ferox said. ‘And a spear. Come on.’ He kicked at some of the rubbish to clear it. There was no reason for all this to be here unless it was hiding something. Arviragus took a torch from one of his men and came back inside.
‘You,’ Crispinus commanded the other guard. ‘Your spear, man.’
Ferox used the shaft to drag aside some of the filth and debris. There seemed to be bare earth underneath. Then he tapped the butt of the spear down. It did not have a spike and the wood hit the floor and threw up dust.
‘Hollow?’ The tribune crouched down to see better. ‘Hercules’ balls. It is hollow!’
Turning the spear around, Ferox used the head to dig into the earth and scrape it away. It was loose, not packed hard, which made him think that it had not lain very long. He scraped again, and this time it was so easy to push the muck out of the way that he wondered whether it had only been there a few hours. ‘Post a sentry.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Crispinus said. ‘If someone has covered this over they may be around outside somewhere.’
The prince thought, nodded, and gave the order. Four more of his guards had joined them.
‘Have they seen anything?’ Ferox asked.
The Brigantes claimed to have seen nothing untoward, so he kept on clearing the earth and debris aside until the wooden trapdoor was uncovered. It was about two feet square, of thick pieces with almost no gap between them, and with a large iron ring.
‘Stand back,’ he ordered, and used the spearhead to hook under the ring. It needed very little force to lift, confirming his suspicion that they were not the first to come here. As it opened, all he could see below was darkness. ‘Let’s have some light.’ Crispinus came up, holding a torch, and Ferox could see that there was a drop of some four feet to a mud floor of what looked like a long tunnel. There were prints of several people. ‘Someone’s been here within the last day, perhaps even within a few hours, my lords,’ he said, just in case they all continued to ignore the obvious signs.
‘Acco?’ Crispinus suggested. Neither he nor the prince seemed surprised. ‘Has he beaten us to it?’ The tribune frowned. ‘Then why hide this tunnel?’
‘We’ve come this far, my lord, so we may as well find out. I need my sword and a torch,’ Ferox said. ‘This spear will be no use down there. And my boots.’
The footwear was readily provided.
‘We’ll pass the rest down to you, centurion.’ Crispinus grinned. ‘For a moment I was worried you would suggest the shortest of us should go first.’
Ferox sat on the edge and them jumped. Crouching, he stared into the darkness and reckoned that the tunnel was heading underneath the mound. Stories told of ancient tombs filled with gold and gems, but protected by monsters and terrible spells. At least he would not be the first to visit. He reached up and the tribune gave him a torch. ‘Just the blade, my lord,’ he said, when Arviragus appeared, holding out his belt and scabbarded sword from one of the guards. The tunnel might get smaller, and it was better to carry the gladius in his hand than wear it.
The prince of the Brigantes slid the blade out. He felt it, hefting the sword, and flexing his wrist. His eyes glinted in the torchlight.