Cogidubnus showed no emotion as he stared steadily at his cousin. ‘Don’t let your enjoyment run away with itself and cloud your already suspect judgement, Alienus; if I were you I would think carefully before deciding how to treat us. Judoc won’t thank you for killing us and bringing down Roman retribution upon him and his people.’
‘Judoc!’ Alienus sneered. ‘What does he know? As far as he’s concerned you were sent here to kill him.’
‘Is that what you told him?’
‘Of course; and your prompt arrival proved me to be correct and he’s got no reason to disbelieve my assertion that he’s not the only leader who’s been targeted. At dawn he’s going to send a message to Arvirargus warning him that assassins in Rome’s pay are on their way to kill him; your comrades’ heads are, as we speak, being removed from their bodies to send as proof of the attempt on Judoc’s life. Arvirargus and Judoc will now fight because they think that they have no alternative if they wish to remain alive; so unless Rome wants a permanent thorn in her southwestern flank, she’ll have to commit a legion to subduing the area.
‘How are you going to progress north and west with only three legions whilst at the same time holding the lands that you’ve already gained and keeping those tribes down now that your rapacious tax-farmers have been let loose amongst them? Move yet more troops from the Rhenus and leave Gaul even more open to all those nasty Germans? I think not.’ Alienus stood and assumed a look of innocence. ‘My game, I believe. I shall see you later, gentlemen, once I’ve composed a suitably disconcerting message for Judoc to send to his king concerning Roman assassination attempts. I’ve a little score to settle with the legate before Judoc hands you over to the druids so that Myrddin can decide what to do with you. I don’t know about you but I’ve a curious feeling that Myrddin’s going to get his sacrifice after all.’ He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. ‘But then again, Myrddin always gets what he wants.’
Vespasian sat hunched against the pit wall and drifted in and out of uneasy sleep during the next few hours of the night whilst Cogidubnus paced back and forth. Their attempts at shifting the logs weighing down the grille had proved fruitless: the guards had laughed at them and had not even bothered to crack their spear shafts down on Vespasian’s exposed fingers as he sat on Cogidubnus’ shoulders.
The imminent arrival of dawn was heralded by sporadic birdsong and a persistent cockerel close by; a torch flickered overhead and a stale loaf of bread and some meat of unknown provenance were thrown down through the grille.
‘What do you think the chances are of a rescue party making it ashore during the night?’ Cogidubnus asked, doing his best with a lump of gristle.
Vespasian shook his head. ‘They’ve got five currachs plus the launches on each of the biremes but where would they land? Alienus would have left a force watching the harbour, and the last beach that I noticed that was suitable for a landing was at least twenty miles back.’
Cogidubnus gave up the struggle and spat out a semi-chewed mess. ‘Yes, that’s how I figured it; even if they did that there’s no way they would get here overland before we’re handed over to the druids. And without a local pilot they wouldn’t know where was safe to land further southwest until daybreak. I’m afraid that we have to find our own way out of this. I don’t fancy a meeting with these druids: Myrddin will have heard that it was me who killed his brethren in the Vale of Sullis and I’m sure that he’ll enjoy his revenge.’
Vespasian did not bother to voice his agreement. ‘Who is Myrddin?’
Cogidubnus betrayed the first sign of fear that Vespasian had ever seen on his face. ‘He’s the chief druid in Britannia; the man who possesses all the secrets of their power, which he will hand on to his successor along with his name once he has been found.’
‘Found?’
‘Yes, the druids believe that when they die they are reincarnated in another body, that’s why they don’t fear death; therefore previous Myrddins are always being reborn. It’s the present Myrddin’s duty to identify a previous Myrddin amongst all the new initiates so that he can train him and pass on his lore so that Myrddin is, to all intents and purposes, immortal. The present one is probably here to judge the new initiates.’
‘Immortal like a god.’
‘Yes, sort of like a god.’
‘Do these druids have another god like Sullis?’
‘I’ve no idea but they’ll have something to keep them there, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many of them clustered on that rock.’
Vespasian felt his stomach turn and knew that it was not due to the poor quality of the food. A noise from above diverted his attention.
‘I expect that you’re regretting keeping your word and letting me live, legate?’ Alienus mused, looking down from above, holding in a leather-gloved hand an iron, glowing like the dawn sun, soon to rise outside.
Vespasian struggled against the four men who pinned his shoulders and legs to the wooden table as he had struggled against everything that had happened to him since being forced at spear-point out of the pit. He had fought against the warriors who had eventually managed to tie his hands behind his back; he had kicked out at the men who had secured his legs together with leather thongs. Blood dripped down his forehead from where he had managed to head-butt the first man who had attempted to rip his tunic off — a second man had succeeded with no more than teeth-marks in his hand — and the warrior who had removed his loincloth now had a broken jaw from a double knee-jerk that had left both him and Vespasian sprawling on the floor. But now he had been lifted, writhing and bucking, onto the table and, despite his efforts, he realised that he was now helpless; he ceased to battle and lay, his chest heaving, naked apart from his sandals, looking at Alienus and the red-hot terror in his hand.
‘Well, legate, you seem to be even less keen to have your flesh burnt than I was,’ Alienus observed, thrusting the iron back into the heart of a mobile brazier. ‘Perhaps it would make it easier for you if you were given some questions to answer, as I had to; then it wouldn’t be just mindless torture for the sake of it. Yes, answering questions will give a sort of validity to the exercise — an air of respectability, if you will — and it’ll give us both a purpose; me to find out what you know and you to withhold the information like a soldier should.’
Vespasian spat at the spy but missed.
‘I wouldn’t try to make me cross if I were you; it might jog my memory about which part of my anatomy you threatened to sear off. Now, where were we? Ah yes, questions. What to ask? The trouble is that there are very few things that I need to know from you.’ He pulled the iron from the fire, its tip now as yellow as the midday sun, and brought it close enough to the outside of Vespasian’s right thigh for it to singe the hairs upon it. ‘I know what I want you to tell me: on the morning that you sailed out of the estuary,’ he leant in closer, ‘what did you have for breakfast?’
Vespasian looked at his tormentor, wondering if this was some trick, and then a scorching heat raged up his body. The glowing iron seared through the skin and into the muscle of his thigh and he convulsed in unimagined pain.
‘Well?’ Alienus roared in his ear. ‘What did you have for breakfast?’ He pulled the iron away from the charred flesh, smoke rising from the burn, and repeated his question in a pleasant, friendly tone: ‘What did you have for breakfast on the morning you sailed?’
Vespasian hyperventilated as he tried to work out whether he had heard correctly; another repetition of the question convinced him that he had. With a hiss, the pain hit again. ‘Lentils,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.
Alienus smiled with regret. ‘Lentils? Oh legate, you disappoint me; I would have thought that a man of your rank and dignitas would have held onto such vital information for much longer. I can see that I’m going to have to ask some tougher questions.’