I sat down to put my boots on, the wagon creaked, and they all looked round and greeted me. In another minute I had my coat over my shoulders, a cup of milk in my hands, and was sitting beside them. It was a relief not to have to put the armor on, for a change.
“My sister tells me you’ve installed the lady Pervica with her again-with three servants this time,” Longus remarked. “She said to tell you that she likes having Pervica, but that the posting inn is actually down the road, next to the fort. She thought maybe you didn’t know that.”
“Thank your sister for me again,” I replied. “It was late when we arrived last night, and there was no time to arrange other accommodation. I will try to rent a house today.”
“Oh, don’t! Flavina would be most offended if you did,” said Longus. “The posting inn was a joke; she does like Pervica. So do we all. I’m glad you persuaded her to come to the fort: I didn’t like to think of her out there alone, after that tablet they found at Corstopitum.”
Facilis grunted agreement. I almost asked him what kind of accommodation he’d found for Vilbia-the girl was not in my wagon, and Kasagos had told me that she’d been found a refuge somewhere-but I remembered that Longus knew nothing about her and probably shouldn’t be told. So I simply nodded instead. For my part I had no intention of telling the Romans about Arshak, knowing they would certainly try to prevent the duel if I did. Even Eukairios would, I thought, struggle with his conscience and then tell Facilis: he understood a little what honor meant to me, but he would not believe an insult worth dying for. I’d warned Banadaspos and the rest not to discuss the matter in front of any Roman and made Pervica promise to keep quiet about it as well.
“I’ve been telling Gaius what happened in Eburacum,” Facilis growled, shattering the peace of the morning.
Longus snorted. “Gods and goddesses! I should have realized, Ariantes-but you should have said something. Why won’t you tell the legate who’s trying to kill you, if you know?”
I glanced at Facilis quickly; he shook his head: no, he had not told Longus more than I had told Priscus.
“Without evidence, it would only cause trouble,” I answered, making a quick decision. “But I can tell you a little more than I told him. Banadaspos, Leimanos-”
They both looked up, then stood, looking suspicious. “You don’t mean to send us off?” asked Banadaspos.
“My dear brothers, there are some things I must say which concern the honor of a colleague. I believe he’s innocent of wrongdoing, but he will have to be questioned. I would not subject you to such questioning before your men, and you should not witness this, though the Romans must.”
I could see that Banadaspos had told Leimanos about Comittus: they both understood instantly who I meant. They looked still more suspicious. Longus watched blankly, not understanding the conversation, which was held in Sarmatian.
“It does not concern my safety-unless he’s guilty,” I told my men. “And I will tell you the outcome.”
They sighed, bowed, and walked resignedly off. It would console them, I thought, when I sent one of them with a message to Arshak to arrange the meeting and it was the Romans’ turn to be excluded from a secret.
“Shall I go as well?” asked Eukairios. He did understand Sarmatian, enough to follow most of what had been said.
I nodded. “But fetch that document you drew up in Eburacum, and bring it to headquarters later. We should have some witnesses for it there.”
That cheered him up: he walked off almost jauntily. I turned back to Longus and told him what I knew of the druids and the plot to establish a Brigantian kingdom by the help of the Picts and my own people. He was horrified and profoundly shaken. But when I finished by telling him of the list, and the fact that it contained Comittus’ name, I was amazed to find that it didn’t surprise him in the least.
“Oh, Lucius isn’t one of your extreme sect! He’s very much of the main school of druidism, and pretty junior in that,” he exclaimed, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world to say. “And he’s been in an absolute stew over the whole business ever since that tablet was found. He told me all about it after the Saturnalia-though he was a bit surprised to find out I knew it already.”
“You knew he was a druid?” asked Facilis in bewilderment.
Longus shrugged. “People are, you know. Some of my squadron always slip off from the Saturnalian celebrations at night to go to the temple of Mithras over at Brocolitia, which is legal-and some slip off to celebrate the midwinter solstice at the sacred grove down by Blackwater Stream, which isn’t. I don’t ask for details about either, but I know about it. When I saw Lucius riding back into camp with a few others in the middle of the morning of the solstice, with the edge of a white robe sticking out from the corner of his saddlebags and a sprig of mistletoe in his cloak pin, it didn’t take much guessing. There’s a lot of druidism about-it is the old religion, after all, and people who’re allowed to worship the gods unhindered don’t see any point to banning the priests. Nor do I, for that matter. In my view, they ought to legalize it and set up a proper druidical priesthood like they have in Gaul. Then all this murder-in-the-dark business would shrivel away.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Facilis shouted, going red in the face.
“I didn’t know it was significant!” Longus snapped back. “Not until that tablet was found, and you and Ariantes nipped off to Eburacum pretty shortly after that. I tried to talk to Ariantes about it, but all I got was the I-didn’t-hear-you look and a change of subject. Lucius tried as well and got the same treatment.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “I was concerned for Pervica.” I was suddenly amused. Pervica had been right: foreigners like Facilis and myself obviously understood nothing about druidism. Even Eukairios, a Gaul, hadn’t understood its commonplace nature in its own country. He’d seen only its dark, secret and illegal side.
Longus snorted. “Well, as I said, I’m pleased you persuaded her to come back to Cilurnum. The murder-in-the-dark business isn’t something it’s safe to be the wrong side of. I suppose you told me this, and sent the others off, because you wanted me to be a witness when you talk to poor Lucius.”
I nodded, finished my cup of milk, set it down, and got to my feet. “I thought we might discuss it with him now.”
“I think I should do the talking,” growled Facilis. “I was appointed to investigate, after all.”
“Poor Lucius,” Longus repeated, now very unhappy. “Gods!”
Comittus was in the dining room of his house, reading. I noticed again at the door how pleasant the room was-its mosaic paving of birds and animals, the good glass windows that made it light but not cold, its decorated plaster walls. The floor was deliciously warm underfoot, heated by the hypocaust without smoke. For the first time I wondered if I might live in such a house-one day in the future, still distant but no longer out of sight.
Comittus noticed us standing silently in the door, and stopped reading in midsentence. He smiled widely and jumped up, rolling up his book.
“Welcome back!” he exclaimed, putting the book down, and he came over to shake hands.
Facilis ignored the outstretched hand, and Comittus took a step back, the smile fading from his face. He looked at Longus in alarm: Longus shook his head sadly.
“I have some questions to ask you, Lucius Javolenus,” said Facilis. “I think we’d better sit down.”
When Facilis charged him with being a druid, Comittus admitted it, and wept. He turned to me and sobbed, “I’m sorry, Ariantes!” But it soon emerged that he had not actually done anything he needed to be sorry for. He was a druid because he wanted to worship his people’s gods in the way they had always been worshipped, and he was, as Longus had said, still very junior, studying the sacred teachings of his religion at a very basic level and assisting another priest. He’d known nothing about the killing in the grove near Corstopitum until the news had reached the whole fort after the Saturnalia-and then, again as Longus had said, he’d got into “a stew” about the whole business. The killing, and the fact that it had been done to injure me, his colleague and a man he knew had never committed any sin against druidism, had shaken his faith in everything he’d been taught. And he had instantly associated it with the Pictish invasion and seen that his friends were guilty of rebellion against Rome. Roman and British, a legionary tribune and a student of druidism, a nobleman of the Coritani and a member of the equestrian order-all his life he had stood with one foot on each side of a gaping crevice. Now it had torn apart beneath him and left him plunged in confusion, racked by contradictory loyalties. He almost welcomed Facilis’ accusations, though he assumed that he was about to be arrested and carted off to disgrace, ruin, and possible death. Facilis bullied him cruelly, trying to find out more about how many druids there were in the region, how they were organized, and who was behind the murder. But Comittus knew little more than the Christians in Eburacum had, and was reluctant-honorably, in my opinion-to name any names. He did not mention Aurelia Bodica. He admitted that “some friends” had asked him about me, and that he’d answered them freely, but only until the raid. Then he’d become suspicious. After the curse, he’d refused to see those friends at all, though one of them had sent him a message asking for a meeting. He said passionately that druids weren’t all like that, that some druids were opposing the extreme sect, that there was going to be a convocation to consider whether the human sacrifice had been blasphemous…