She promised.
Of course! Ailm would have hidden her secret inside the great silver urn, the one marked with the birch that she had seen as her birthright. By the flickering lamplight, Claudia flipped through draft after sickening draft.
Does your wife know about your trysts with that slutfrom the locksmiths?
Have you studied your son's profile? Have you studied yours?
The cask is best flavoured by the first fill of wine. This is why brides must be virgins. But can't you smell wine lees on your fiancee?
Page after page of stomach-churning venom, penned by a woman whose only means to fill the void in her life was to make others more miserable than herself. Claudia saw her rich peat-dark hair, her finely pleated robe and exquisite cosmetics. Resenting the other priestesses' busy days and multi-faceted lives, Ailm lavished attention on herself because she had nothing else to do with her time. Another woman might pitch in with the chores, take up outdoor pursuits, even a succession of lovers. Instead, spite became Ailm's reason for living. Well, let's see how she takes to the kitchens! See how much time she has on her hands then!
From the corner of her eye, Claudia caught the glimpse of a shadow below. Saw silver robes flash in the lamplight.
'Good,' she told Beth, 'I'm glad you're here, because not only do I have the evidence to convict Ailm, I know what it is that you're hiding.'
So simple. All she'd had to do was look at the problem with sense and not sentiment and even before Claudia had reached this great painted chamber, she realized Swarbric hadn't killed Clytie.
'I know the reason Clytie died on the spring equinox,' she said steadily. 'I know why she died, I know why that particular rock was selected, I know why the body was moved, why her face was painted, and badly at that.'
Standing stiff, almost rigid, with her hands clasped behind her, the priestess's face was as blank as the stone that surrounded her. Round her neck hung a heavy bronze choker.
'But most of all, Beth, like you I know who took Clytie's life.' Her smile was sad. 'I know the secret you're hiding.'
Then three things happened at once.
First, as Claudia lifted her flame for a better view, she saw it was not a bronze choker round Beth's neck, but an arm. Holding a knife to her throat.
At the same time, the ladder was kicked away from the ledge.
And a man stepped out from the shadows.
Twenty-Eight
Stepping out of the shadows, the Whisperer smiled. Better and better, the Roman whore, too. Proof that the old gods were wise gods, and on his side. He cocked his ear to their low, insistent growls as they rumbled through the tunnels and caves. To their wails and keening cries. The gods were calling out to the Druids for blood. Blood to redress the balance and turn back the tide of neglect. His smile broadened. Who was he to disobey their demands?
'It is time,' he said, testing the rope that bound the bitch's hands behind her back. 'Tonight, at midnight, the battle cry will echo over this land, the earth will drink of the blood of the innocent and there will be carnage like no one has seen.'
He jerked her head back by her chestnut hair.
'Throats will be slit from here,' he touched her earlobe with the tip of his knife and ran it slowly under her chin, 'to here,' he said softly. 'Hands will be hacked off at the wrists, eyes gouged out, tongues will loll in the gutter, then let's see what language you speak, when you're bleeding to death and in pain.'
'Kill me, maim me, this is only one part of life's cycle,' she said, fixing him with her cold brown eyes. 'Do what you like with my body, for my soul is out of your reach.'
He laughed. 'Oh, Beth, Beth, do you seriously think I'm going to kill you?'
He threw her to the ground like the rubbish she was.
'The others, yes. Like that blonde cow this morning, oh, Beth, you should have seen her face! Saw me charging down naked, thought I was going to rape her, the conceited, stuck-up, arrogant cow!'
He shook his head as he tied the bandana around his neck.
'I wouldn't sully myself with one of you bitches, not in a million, two million years. I was naked so no blood would show on my clothing — and oak, Beth. What a masterstroke, to kill her under an oak, don't you think? Using your own beliefs to confuse you. Sowing another seed of fear, making sure you'd not feel safe on your own land. Isn't fear a wonderful weapon?'
'You do not scare me,' she replied steadily, even though he knew she'd cracked her knee when she fell.
'No?' He blew on his ring, then buffed the silver to a shine on his pants. 'Maybe when you see Dora crucified on her own oak, you'll feel differently, or Mavor's head rolling to a stop at your feet. The novices, ah, perhaps that'll change your mind, when I set them alight and use them as torches, or how about seeing babies hacked to death in their crib?'
'Your brutality only serves to reassure me that you will not be reborn again. Your soul will be demolished by the three-headed dragon. Your evil will end with your death.'
'Evil?' He was astonished that she could even think such a thing. 'This is not wickedness for its own sake, you fool. This is expedience, woman. Necessity.'
With the carnage of innocents, Rome would be set buzzing. Blinded by anger and grief, they won't have time to form an organized response. Got you, you bloody bastards.
'Surprise is my weapon, surprise and fear. For in panic and disarray, their armies will be led into traps, cut down in places they hadn't predicted, and the winter is Gaul's ally's, not Rome's.'
By spring, there would not be a legionary left in Aquitania.
The Druids will be returned to their rightful position, men will have power over their own bloody families and Gaul will be the proud nation that it once was. That is not evil, Beth. That is justice. And you,'
He lifted his eyes to the bitch on the ledge.
'Maybe I won't take you as my whore after all. I'll leave you up there to rot, slowly, a symbol of Rome's influence in Gaul. Day by day growing weaker. Withering away, frightened, alone, with only ghosts of the past for companionship. Won't that be nice?'
'What will be nice is watching you paraded in chains round the streets of Santonum, while your own people mock you, because you know what you are? You're a coward.'
'Coward?' He could hardly believe it. 'I am no coward, you acid-tongued bitch. I am Ptian!'
'Ptian?' She was genuinely surprised. 'The Scorpion's deputy? I–I thought you were just one of the guards.'
'For three years I have been all things to all people. Three fucking years, kowtowing to this one, kowtowing to that one, smiling when my heart has been pained, nodding when what I really want to do is put a knife through their ribs, but no longer.' He squared his shoulders in pride. 'Ptian has stepped out of the shadows.'
'Ptian?' she scoffed. 'That's not a name, that's the noise someone makes when they spit.'
She spat and made it sound like his name.
'Be careful,' he warned. 'Do not insult me, for the name of Ptian will live forever among my people. Ptian will save Gaul from itself. With the right military leader and a sound intelligence network, the old order will be restored. Ptian will make kings of the Druids, for he is a warrior, a general, a leader of men. He is-'