‘May I ask where you’re going, sir?’
‘I’m going to get my brother out of that valley and when I have done that we’re going to destroy everything in it.’
‘That must be it,’ Cogidubnus said as a high tor, devoid of trees, about three miles distant and standing apart from other hilly features, came into view as they crested a hill. ‘If we hurry we should be there well before sunset.’
‘Provided we don’t run into any remnants of that army,’ Magnus grumbled, adjusting his sore behind in the saddle of the stocky native pony that had borne him, stoically, the last ten miles.
‘We’re safe enough with the scouts ranging around us!’ Vespasian snapped, fed up with Magnus’ complaining, which had been going on ever since he had donned the chafing trousers four hours earlier.
During the course of the short journey they had seen a few groups of straggling warriors from the defeated army but had paid little heed to them other than to avoid them; dressed in their Britannic disguises, they passed as just another unremarkable band of fugitives heading home.
Having dismissed his officers that morning, Vespasian had prepared for the journey and the coming encounter with the druids with a carefully observed sacrifice to Mars of a young ram. The animal had willingly come to the altar and had not struggled unduly under the threat of the blade; its liver had been in perfect condition and there had been no tumours or unsightly blemishes on any of the other internal organs. It had been a perfect sacrifice and yet his unease at facing the strange power of the druids again had not abated; indeed it had grown with every mile they had travelled from the camp, hence his short temper. He looked sidelong at Magnus who sat hunched in his saddle scowling, refusing to meet his eyes, and he berated himself for taking out his nervousness on his friend. It was in sullen silence that the small column made the last part of the journey.
They ascended the tor from the less steep western side, passing through ancient abandoned earthworks, on up towards a rectangular wooden building perched right on the very summit; smoke spiralled up through a hole in the centre of its thatched roof. Whilst still fifty paces away from their destination the door opened and a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a black headdress stepped out; he wore a long white robe and had a black and white patterned mantle over his shoulders. In his left hand he bore a staff which he held up as a greeting. ‘Welcome, Legate Vespasian, I’ve been expecting you for some time now, but when I saw the fugitives from Caratacus’ beaten army this morning I felt sure that you would be here by nightfall.’
Vespasian looked into Yosef’s kindly dark eyes, dumbfounded; he had only been told of the man’s presence in Britannia a few hours ago and yet he had been expected.
Yosef turned to Cogidubnus. ‘And welcome to you, King of the Atrebates and Regni; I am told that of all the kings on this isle you are the one that has your people’s interests paramount in your heart. I pray to God that it is true because the Britons will have need of strong leaders if they are to submit to Rome and not be trodden under.’
‘You do me honour.’
‘No more than a man who stood up to Rome before bowing to her irresistible strength deserves.’ Yosef held out his right hand to help Vespasian from his pony as he dismounted. ‘You look surprised that I knew you were coming; you shouldn’t be. I’ve known that you and Sabinus were here in Britannia since the day you both landed at Rhudd yr epis, or Rutupiae as you Romans call it. I’ve watched your progress west with interest.’
‘Then you’ve heard about Sabinus?’
‘Yes, I have and I know that’s why you are here and what you require of me. And although I am well aware of how much I stand to lose, I will help you and honour the debts that I owe you both.’ Yosef smiled at Vespasian and put his arm around his shoulder, as if he was an old friend, and led him to the door. ‘Righteous men like you and your brother can always expect help in the dark.’
Vespasian’s eyes took a short while to get used to the gloom of the interior, which was lit solely by a fire burning in a hearth at its centre and a single oil lamp on a table next to it that was prepared for four people. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a couple of benches laid out opposite what looked to be an altar at one end and a curtained-off sleeping area at the other.
Yosef indicated the chairs around the table as Magnus and Cogidubnus followed them in. ‘Please sit, my friends.’ As his guests took up his invitation, Yosef walked up to the altar and retrieved two jugs, a loaf of bread and a shallow earthenware cup. ‘If you would humour me, I’d like to offer a prayer for the safe return of Sabinus.’ Yosef placed the items on the table and then poured wine into the cup and mixed it, Roman style, with water from the second jug. He then picked up the loaf of bread and said a prayer over it in the language of the Jews before breaking it into four pieces and handing one each to his guests; he placed a morsel of his portion in his mouth. ‘Eat.’
Vespasian tore off a hunk and chewed on it as Yosef picked up the cup and raised it to eye-level whilst reciting another prayer; having finished he placed the cup to his lips and drank. ‘Share this with me,’ he said, proffering the cup to Cogidubnus; the King took a sip and then gave it to Vespasian.
Vespasian took it; it felt rough to his touch and it had a dent in the rim as if the potter had mistakenly put too much pressure on it with his thumb as he placed it in the kiln. Vespasian drank and then passed the cup to a puzzled-looking Magnus who drained it in two mighty gulps; its residue dribbled down his chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand while handing the empty vessel back to Yosef.
Apparently satisfied with the ritual, Yosef sat down and poured wine into the cups placed in front of each of his guests while they ate their remaining bread. ‘We will sacrifice a lamb before we leave tomorrow at dawn. Yeshua has gone to fetch one.’
Vespasian recognised the name. ‘Yeshua? Wasn’t he your kinsman who was crucified?’
‘Yes, you have a good memory, that was his name, but it’s his son that I was speaking of. He and his mother and sister have been living with me here in Britannia for the past couple of years.’
Vespasian remembered the woman, Miriam, kneeling before him in gratitude after he had saved her and her children from the ravaging mob of Jews in Cyrene who had howled for their blood, urged on by the agitator, Paulus. ‘I thought she said that she was heading for southern Gaul?’
‘She did but even there it became too dangerous for her. You remember that Paulus of Tarsus was sent by the High Priest in Jerusalem to kill them in order to wipe out all trace of Yeshua’s bloodline.’
‘Yeah, that was some riot the bow-legged little arsehole caused,’ Magnus put in from behind his cup.
‘But we saw him four years later in Alexandria,’ Vespasian said, ‘and he had become a follower of Yeshua’s; he was preaching something about eating his body and drinking his blood to gain redemption and the kingdom of heaven through him. It seemed to be complete nonsense.’
‘It’s not nonsense, he was talking figuratively; but as I told you back in Cyrenaica, Yeshua’s message was for the Jews alone. He preached that to be seen as righteous in God’s eyes a Jew should treat others as he would be treated himself. But Paulus has now corrupted that message; he claims that Yeshua was God’s son and died on the cross to cleanse the world of sin for both Gentile and Jew alike, whether they follow the Torah and accept circumcision or not. Anyone who knew Yeshua would know that he was just a man, a good man, a prophet even, but nothing more; if he had been the Messiah he would have fulfilled his role. Obviously it’s a blasphemy but it’s a very powerful one. The idea that your sins are forgiven provided you follow Paulus’ version of Yeshua and through him you will be allowed into God’s presence in an afterlife that Paulus has invoked from nowhere is a message that sits well, with the poor especially. Those who have nothing in this world would dearly love to believe that they will have everything in another.’