‘Got it?’ asked Brandon.
‘In the boot,’ said Murray, ‘Nice lady, you’re mother.’
‘Yeah, diamond,’ said Brandon.
‘Got you something else, too!’
Brandon looked as Murray reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve a carrier bag.
‘Your mother sent me on a side errand on the way back,’ said Murray, ‘Figured you may be hungry. Fish and chips and a can of coke do you?’
‘Murray, you’re a fucking legend,’ said Brandon with a smile, taking the bag. He sat on a log and got stuck in to the greasy meal with enthusiasm. He had not realised how hungry he actually was. Murray leaned against his cab, eating his own bag of chips.
‘Thanks for this,’ he said, ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’
‘No problem,’ said Murray, ‘I’ll add it on your bill.’
Brandon smiled.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Murray.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Up there,’ said Murray, ‘At the convent. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’m not stupid,’ said Murray, ‘That bag in the boot, it’s special forces issue isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’
‘Look mister,’ said Murray, ‘Many years ago I did some time in the Territorial Army. Nothing special but some of my mates are still in the mob and I know a squaddy when I see one. I reckon you intend to get into that convent to find your girlfriend or whoever she is.’
Brandon stared at him for a moment before laughing.
‘Fucking hell,’ he said, ‘Everyone’s an expert these days, so much for secrecy eh?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ said Murray.
‘Look, mate,’ said Brandon opening the boot of the car, ‘You probably know too much already, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He unzipped the oversized air-force blue holdall.’ The less you know the better,’ he continued, ‘Nothing personal, you understand, it’s just safer that way. At least five people have died that I know of, and I would hate you to be the sixth.’ He started to undress, placing all his civilian clothes in the boot, before donning a pair of black denim cotton trousers, and pulling a black, fleece lined buffalo jacket over his head.
‘Look,’ said Murray, ‘I know you can’t tell me what’s going on but if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask yeah?’
‘Cheers,’ said Brandon, tying the last lace on his combat boots. He stood up and looked thoughtfully at Murray, ‘Actually, there is something you can do,’ he added, pulling out his phone, ‘What’s your number? ‘
Murray told him his number and watched as Brandon punched something into his own phone.
‘I’ve just sent you a number,’ said Brandon, ‘If you don’t hear from me in twenty four hours, I want you to call that number and ask for Mike. Tell him everything. He will know what to do.’
‘You sure about this?’ asked Murray.
‘Positive,’ said Brandon, pulling out a pre packed rucksack from the holdall, ‘You do that, and when this is all over, you can treat me to a couple of pints out of that grand you swindled me out of, yeah?’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ laughed Murray, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be watching that clock like a hawk.’
‘Right, I’m off,’ said Brandon.
Murray held out his hand, and after a second, it was taken by Murray in a handshake based on trust.
‘Good luck, mate,’ said Murray.
Brandon nodded and climbed over the stile to the field beyond, retracing his steps up the hill he had checked out earlier. Murray pulled a cigarette and leant against the cab, drawing the smoke in deeply as he watched the stranger disappear into the gloom. A few minutes later he held out his hand to flick the butt of the cigarette over the hedge, but froze dead in his tracks as the feel of a cold pistol barrel pressed gently against his Temple.
‘Hello again, stupid,’ said a voice with a foreign accent, ‘Remember me?’
Chapter 29
Britannia 64 AD
The first couple of weeks had been difficult for the fugitives. They had travelled by night, heading westwards away from the coast, avoiding any contact with locals and the occasional Roman patrols. The ship’s Captain had given them what dried meat, he could spare but it wasn’t much and they had to supplement what they had with roots and berries wherever they could.
Eventually, however, the food inevitably ran out, and in desperation they had to risk interacting with the locals. By carefully selecting their targets and with Dragus’s basic knowledge of the language, they somehow managed to scrape through, but eventually, Rose approached him with a look of concern on her face.
‘Centurion, I would speak with you,’ she said.
Dragus opened his eyes and looked up at her. He was sat with his back against a tree, one of many temporary resting places they had been forced to take as they struggled through the never ending forest. The fact that they were avoiding the main tracks meant that it was much harder going and the effort was taking its toll on the women. This was the third break since morning and the sun was still not yet halfway through its journey.
‘How is she?’ asked Dragus, nodding towards the resting figure of Rubria who was sat on the banks of a small stream, bathing her sore feet.
‘Not good,’ she said, ‘We really need to find somewhere a bit more permanent so she can rest properly.’
‘I know,’ said Brandon with a sigh, ‘Another few weeks and we will be in the lands of the Atrebates. They are known to be a friendly people and welcome strangers to their midst.’
‘We cannot wait a few weeks,’ said Rose, ‘We have to find somewhere soon or I fear the worst.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said Dragus, ‘I know there is little food but we are not doing badly.’ He looked over towards Rubria. ‘I’m afraid her beauty and frailty comes at a price. Her hands were not designed to fend off the thorns of the forest, and blisters are a curse she was never intended to bear.’
‘You underestimate her,’ said Rose, ‘I have not heard one complaint escape her lips yet I know she is exhausted.’
‘We will take more rests,’ said Dragus, ‘Give her chance to regain her strength.’
‘Another few weeks and we will be relatively safe.’
‘We don’t have the time,’ she interrupted, ‘We have to find somewhere soon.’
‘That is not an option…’ started Dragus.
‘Dragus, for the love of Vesta, will you listen to me?’ she hissed, ‘She is with child!’
‘What?’ said Dragus, ‘That is impossible.’
Rose glanced over at Rubria before continuing.
‘I have seen this a hundred times, and she has all the signs.’
‘She can’t be,’ said Dragus,’ She is a Priestess of the Goddess Vesta, one of her Holy Virgins. They are betrothed to the order for thirty years. Surely she would not have broken her oath so easily.’
‘Not by choice,’ said Rose, ‘Don’t forget what she suffered at the hand of our illustrious leader.’
Dragus looked over towards Rubria.
‘Has she discussed this with you?’ he asked eventually.
‘Discussed it?’ said Rose gently, Dragus, the Priestess is so innocent, I don’t think she even knows she is pregnant.’
They both looked at the Priestess, leaning back on her elbows as she dangled her feet in the cool stream. Her head tilted back to face the sky, drinking in a sunbeam that managed to break through the foliage and her eyes closed for a few seconds, enjoying the rare feeling of warmth on her skin.
Dragus took in the detail with growing concern. He had been so wrapped up in getting them safely to their destination he had not noticed the deterioration in the Priestess. Her once long golden hair was tangled and her face was smeared with stains of sweat and grime. Her clothes were torn and her face was gaunt. As he watched he saw her brow furrow slightly and her hand went unconsciously to her stomach, reacting to an unfamiliar feeling within.
‘By the gods, Rose,’ said Dragus, quietly, ‘What have I done?’