‘Perhaps he did not care?’ Ferox suggested. ‘Do you have them still?’
‘They are safe. You have stopped work, centurion. Have you given up, or are you poised to grope me again?’ Ferox resumed his task. ‘Good. We may not have much chance of getting out, but any chance is better than none.
‘Narcissus had promised to give me the only record of one loan made to a chieftain and to cancel the debt. In return I had some trinkets belonging to grandmother that he wanted. Nothing very interesting or valuable, but they were what he wanted.’
‘And you met him at Vindolanda and found him already dead,’ Ferox interrupted. The knot refused to come free and almost felt tighter again. ‘He was stuffed in the latrine, and you, noble lady and princess of the Brigantes, jumped down into the filth and searched the corpse.’
‘You have worked it out, then? Yes, I wanted that papyrus. And found it as well, so for all his greed he had at least been honest about that. One of my people is released from a great burden.’
‘And you heard Cocceius coming, so ripped open your tunic and flashed your breasts at him to make sure he did not look closely at your face.’ Slowly, Ferox felt the end of the rope work free.
‘Was it that poor boy?’ Enica was not much older than the dead Batavian soldier, but easily assumed a superiority. ‘I wondered why he kept staring at me. Still, most men do – even the ones who don’t think I notice, centurion!’ She sighed. ‘Poor, poor fellow. He remembered, I suppose, and that is how you know.’
‘Did you kill Caratacus?’ She pulled her arms away. ‘Don’t be foolish. This is no time to argue. I merely asked a question.’ She relaxed, and painfully slowly he started to pull the knot until it began to loosen.
‘No.’ Enica spoke loudly. ‘I did not, neither would I have done save at direst need. I liked him, and did not know he was in danger until news came of his murder. I am not the only woman in the world, although I dare say by comparison the rest must fade away.’ Her heart did not sound as if it was in the self-mockery. ‘It was another who killed and stole at Bremesio, and another who went to Rome, murdered the old king, and then brought the torc to Domitius. She and her thugs served him and were well paid. Her name was Achillea.’
‘Was?’
‘We had a disagreement,’ she said mildly. ‘It was after I had saved you from the fire. A worthless deed, since it has brought me no thanks, and I wonder now why I bothered. After that I found her on a ship in the harbour. She died. One of her men joined her. The other dived into the river and so escaped.’
Part of Ferox felt revulsion at the thought of a woman killed by the sword, until he wondered whether it was so unlucky if another woman did the killing. Given that Enica now lay captive and likely to be sacrificed in the next few hours, then perhaps it was.
The thread came loose, but the knot was double and all that meant was that he had to start work on the next one. ‘Your man was the one of the ones who helped lure me to the amphitheatre. Was that on your orders?’
‘No. It was not. He did that for another, although if she had asked I would have told him to obey her.’
A truth he had long fled forced itself upon him at last. Sulpicia Lepidina had sent word for him that night, knowing that because she had asked for his help he would go without question. The woman he loved had sent him into a trap where he ought to have died.
‘Lepidina.’ He said the name softly, as if he still did not want to believe the truth.
Enica leaped to the defence of her friend. ‘She did not have any choice. Fuscus had letters implicating her brother in fresh conspiracy. At first she hoped that you could kill him, but then he said that he had more evidence, enough to convict her of adultery with you. The procurator said he had statements from witnesses, and that they would swear Marcus was your child. You know the price of that? The child declared a bastard, disowned and even killed. Fuscus offered to let her have the statements, but his price was your death, and probably more later, although she did not say what. Neither did she understand why you had become important.’
‘Lepidina.’ He spoke as a man might about a goddess, beautiful, wonderful and implacable.
‘I was not at the house when the word came, but arrived after she had sent my man to you. She told me what she had done, saying that she believed it was a price you would willingly pay for the boy. Perhaps even for her.’
Ferox nodded in the darkness. He had always known that she was a clarissima femina, a senator’s daughter whose sense of duty and honour would come before her feelings for him. She felt affection, even love for him, that was real, but never as real or important as her duty. Ultimately he was expendable.
‘I agreed,’ Enica said. ‘She did what she had to do, and did not expect forgiveness. Then I did what I had to do and I followed you and helped, wearing the helmet in the hope that Domitius would not realise Claudia Enica could be the Thracian gladiatrix.’
‘I did not realise then.’ Acco spoke from the darkness, making Ferox jump and bang his head on the roof. The druid chuckled. He must have been there a long time, perhaps from the very start, waiting behind in the darkness as his men left and listening. ‘My eyes are not as good as they were,’ he explained, ‘especially at night. But when I realised it amused me. You do not disappoint, child.’
‘What do you want of us?’ she asked.
‘For you to fulfil your destinies.’ The faint glimmer of flame seemed like the rising sun and made Ferox blink. Warriors appeared, some of them carrying torches, and he had to turn away because it was so dazzling.
Acco said no more as a pair of warriors gently lifted Enica out of the small room and into the main chamber. Two more brought Ferox out, far less gently. The bonds on their legs were cut, and both of them swayed to stand upright on stiff and lifeless limbs. A blade was pressed to his throat as they undid one manacle and brought his hands round in front before they clicked it shut again. All of the objects had gone, but Cocceius still lay near the door, eyes staring up at nothing. As he passed, the druid reached down and closed them with something akin to tenderness. They were led along the winding passage, and saw one of the prince’s guards impaled on the stakes of the trap.
Outside it was well past midnight and very cold after the close atmosphere of the barrow. Ferox tried not to shiver, for he did not wish to seem afraid. Slowly life was returning to his legs and they were no longer so stiff as he walked. Around twenty warriors stood in silence on the grass, most of them the small men of the island, their club-carrying leader in the centre. One handed the druid Ferox’s sword as he passed and the old man swished at the long grass as he walked. Ahead of them the artefacts were laid out in a circle next to the lake, with a big fire blazing high in the centre. The druid led them to stand in the front of the blaze in the vey midst of the powerful objects. The heat was scorching, the pyre taller than he was, and Ferox wondered whether their fate was to burn.
‘You cannot escape,’ Acco told them, ‘so do not try. Raise your arms out, child,’ he commanded Enica, who obeyed. The druid walked behind her and, using his other hand to steady them, he sliced through the rope. She brought her arms around, rubbing her hands on them with pleasure, as the druid came round and stood in front of Ferox. ‘You shall not be released. You are too much of a fool for me to take that risk. Few Silures know when to lie down. Yet you should kiss my feet in thanks, because I am about to give you a gift that other men will envy.’