'You?' she replied sweetly. 'Nothing.'
The rod jerked, but only slightly, and it could have been down to a bite on the end of his line.
'I'm looking for the old man. Vincentrix.'
'Then look no further. The old man is right here. I'm Vincentrix.'
She laughed. On the far bank beside the dead tree, Junius was chewing his nails to the elbows because, even though he'd left Gaul when he was a child, his terror of the Druids remained undiluted. Magicians, sorcerers, clairvoyants and diviners, they were supposed to be able to harness the powers of the universe and guide the dead to reincarnation through wicker man sacrifice, the collecting of heads and a lot of other grisly rituals involving mistletoe, oak and castrating knives. Supernatural powers, my arse! Con artists, the lot of them, and this one — supposedly the most powerful Gaul in all Aquitaine — came right at the top of the list.
'You seriously expect me to believe you're a hundred years old?'
Now it was his turn to laugh. 'Is that what they say?' He pulled a face at his reflection in the water. 'I'm ageing worse than I thought.'
She doubted that. He could not be much more than forty, proof, were it needed, that their religion revolved round manipulation, rather than magic. Mixing fear with superstition, then lending an air of fake credibility to the whole hocus-pocus by sending their priests to Britain for a full twenty years on the pretext that doctrines must be learned by heart, since committing their laws to writing was sacrilege.
'So I ask again, Claudia Seferius; what do you want of me?'
'I've come to give my witness statement for the events of yesterday afternoon.'
He nodded slowly. 'Of course you have. Take a seat.'
'Here?'
'Here.'
'Not overly long on hospitality, are you?'
'Interesting that we sit under a clear blue sky gazing over lush water meadows, where larks sing and the bleat of sheep is carried on a breeze fragranced with mint and wild thyme, yet you complain this is not hospitality.'
'I also assume I'm not the first person who's told you how insufferably rude you are.'
Crevices appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. 'You're the one who walked in here uninvited, remember? Do you fish?'
'No, but I'm well used to handling slippery creatures.'
Against the simplicity of his light woollen shirt tucked into belted pantaloons, she felt overdressed. Too many pleats, too much embroidery, and her orchid pink robe stood out every bit as much as the kingfisher that darted upriver. The silence between them stretched like worn yarn, and a water vole plopped into the shallows.
'You don't like me very much, do you?' he asked eventually.
Never confuse liking with respect, for what manner of religion deliberately instils fear into small children — and what manner of High Priest is content to allow it?
'If I say no, will you put a hex on me?'
'Do you think I would?'
'You mean, do I think you could.'
In response, he tipped back his head and roared. 'Are you sure that arrow was intended for Marcia?' Then his expression changed and he became instantly serious. 'My apologies. A boy attempted to commit murder without provocation and the consequences for that are severe. To joke about such a matter is in extremely poor taste, but, all the same, you did not come here to talk about the attempt on Marcia's life.'
Arrogant. But perceptive all the same.
'Why else would I come?'
He cast his line again with studied casualness. 'In that case, I ought to point out that, as much as I appreciate your commitment to justice, I have no need of your witness statement, thank you. For one thing, I do not preside over local courts and, for another, the boy, Garro, has confessed and a confession is all that is needed.'
As befits the Head of the Guild, Vincentrix's house was much larger than his fellow Druids' and it was built of stone, too, though it still retained a thatched roof. Bees buzzed in and out of the wicker hive attached to the west wall, and a pig snored against the wood pile. Through the open front door of imported, carved cedarwood, Claudia could see tables inlaid with ivory and onyx, the rich tapestries that hung on the walls, and she smelled incense and rare oils that burned from silver braziers dangling on chains from the rafters. But, for all its luxury, the eerie thing about this house was its silence. No jabber of children, no clatter of servants, no signs of another presence, full stop.
'You live alone?'
'I live alone,' he replied. 'But that is not your question.'
'No, it isn't.' Claudia skimmed a pebble across the River Carent. Took a deep breath. Let it go. 'I'm trying to find a man, who disappeared from these parts fifteen years ago-'
'Ah.' Something flickered behind his piercing green eyes, then was gone. 'As much as I would like to help you, I cannot,' he said, rising to his feet, and there was a peppery tang from his skin that was far from unpleasant. 'Druid training lasts twenty years and I was in Britain fifteen years ago. You will need to enquire of others, I'm afraid.'
Yes, and there was as much chance of them talking as Vincentrix's pig soaring over the rooftops on little white wings.
'I bid you good day, Claudia Seferius. May the Gentle Healer be with you.'
'Healer…?'
Vincentrix's smile did not reach his eyes. 'You have been suffering from insomnia since you arrived, no?'
But before she could lie and deny it, the Druid was gone. Swallowed up in the camouflage of the island. Him and his damned tabby cat.
Five
Back in Santonum, surrounded by schoolchildren tunelessly reciting their numbers and vendors hawking their wares as merchants in togas strutted back and forth and barbers clipped hair on street corners, it was easy to imagine oneself back in Rome. Caulkers, furriers, locksmiths and chandlers laboured away in workshops down side streets lined by stone porticoes. Cobblers hammered hunchbacked over lasts beneath the shade of an awning, perfumers mixed exotic unguents and lyre-makers strummed on their finished instruments, an incitement for people to buy.
Except this wasn't Rome. This was the town where her father had come fifteen seasons before, and Claudia could only imagine the impact on the tribespeople as the army came tramping over a bridge wide enough for two legions to pass six abreast. At the head of this column, the eagle. This would be flanked by standard bearers dressed in animal skins, which, in her father's unit, were of the leopard. Behind the swell of legates, tribunes, prefects and bearers, legionaries in gleaming breastplates marched with such precision that their hobnailed approach could be heard a mile distant. And, finally, the baggage train brought up the rear. Mules and wagons protected by cavalry whose mounts boasted ornate leather masks studded with silvered bronze that blinded bystanders and enemy alike. When you added in the various veterinaries, physicians, secretaries and carpenters, the engineers, orderlies and blacksmiths, the whole thing would have taken hours to pass.
Santonum was a lot different back then, very much in its infancy. Her father would not have seen any of these six-storey apartment blocks, none of the fountains, statues or other fine monuments, and certainly not the aqueduct that brought fresh water into the city. A lot of the temples were still in the throes of construction even now, though the theatre had been finished in his time, being no more than a temporary arrangement made of wood. Had her father laughed at the comedies that were being performed there? Dried a tear or two for the tragedies…?
Settling herself on the steps of the basilica, Claudia waited for the lump in her throat to subside. It was inevitable, she supposed, that Vincentrix closed the subject before it had opened. She'd been clutching at straws with that visit, and she had no doubt that it was the Druid Guild that silenced the Gauls in the first place. But why? What could possibly have happened that both Rome and the Santons wanted hushed up? And why — after so much time had elapsed — was it still a thorn in their sides?