“He did. But then we are here to interpret and maintain the law, for whenever the rule of law ends rule by tyranny begins. At least we have our great féis every three years at which we can argue, with others, and attempt to change the laws that are wrong and expand those that need such amendment. But here and now it is not the law which is wrong but lack of evidence.”
“Perhaps sometimes circumstantial evidence should be taken into judgment when it is very strong. . such as when you find an overturned and empty pail of milk and a cat sleeping beside it. It is clearly the cat that is guilty.”
Fidelma smiled mischievously.
“Yet a good lawyer might argue that perhaps a dog happened by, overturned the pail, emptied the milk, which evaporated and afterwards a cat came along and merely went to sleep beside it. Who can with certainty say that the cat was the guilty party?”
THE LOST EAGLE
This is Deacon Platonius Lepidus, Sister Fidelma. He is a visitor from Rome and he wishes a word with you.”
Fidelma looked up in surprise as the stranger was shown into the scriptorium of the abbey. She was a stranger in the abbey herself-the abbey of Augustine. Augustine was the former prior of St. Andrews in Rome, who had died here scarcely sixty years ago having been sent as missionary to the king of the Cantware. It was now the focal point of the Jutish Christian community in the center of the burg of Cantware. Fidelma was waiting for Brother Eadulf to finish some business with the Archbishop Theodore. The religieux who had announced the Deacon’s presence had withdrawn from the library, shutting the door behind him. As Fidelma rose uncertainly the Deacon came forward to the table where she had been seated.
Platonius Lepidus looked every inch of what she knew to be a Roman aristocrat; there was arrogance about him in spite of his religious robes. She had been on a pilgrimage to Rome and knew that his aristocratic rank would immediately be recognizable there. He was tall, with dark hair and swarthy of complexion. His greeting and smile were pleasant enough.
“The Venerable Gelasius told me that you had rendered him a singular service when you were in Rome, Sister. When I heard that you were here in Cantwareburg, I felt compelled to make your acquaintance.”
“How is the Venerable Gelasius?” she rejoined at once, for she had warm memories of the harassed official in the Lateran Palace where the Bishop of Rome resided.
“He is well and would have sent his personal felicitations had he known that I would be meeting with you. The scriptor has informed me that you are on a visit with Brother Eadulf, whom the Venerable Gelasius also remembers fondly. I was also informed that you are both soon to leave for a place called Seaxmund’s Ham.”
“You are correctly informed, Deacon Lepidus,” Fidelma replied with gravity.
“Let us sit awhile and talk, Sister Fidelma,” the Deacon said, applying action to the word and inviting her to do the same with a gesture of his hand. “I am afraid that I also have a selfish interest in making your acquaintance. I need your help.”
Fidelma seated herself with an expression of curiosity.
“I will help if it is a matter that is within my power, Deacon Lepidus.”
“Do you know much about the history of this land?”
“Of the kingdom of the Jutes? Only a little. I know that the Jutes drove out the original inhabitants of Kent scarcely two centuries ago.”
The deacon shook his head swiftly.
“I meant knowledge of this land before the Jutes came here. Before they drove the Britons out. The time when it was called Britannia and a province of Rome. You know that in the days of the great Roman Empire our legions occupied and governed this land for several centuries?”
Fidelma bowed her head in amused affirmation at the slight tone of pride in his voice.
“I do know something of that history,” she replied softly.
“One of the legions that comprised the garrison here was called the Ninth Hispana. It was an elite legion. You might have heard of it?”
“If my memory serves me right, this elite legion was reduced by a Queen of the Britons called Boudicca.” Fidelma smiled with irony. “Something like six thousand foot soldiers and almost an equal number of auxiliaries were killed when she ambushed them. I have read your historian, Tacitus, who wrote about the battle.”
“The Britons were lucky,” snapped Deacon Lepidus in sudden irritation. Clearly his pride was patriotic even though the incident was an ancient one. It had happened a full six centuries before.
“Or Queen Boudicca was the better general,” Fidelma murmured quietly. “As I recall, the legion was cut to pieces and its commander, Petillius Cerialis, barely escaped to the shelter of his fortress with some of his cavalry. I think that there were only five hundred survivors out of the thousands of troops.”
For a moment Lepidus looked annoyed, and then he shrugged.
“It is clear that you have read Tacitus, Sister. The Venerable Gelasius was fulsome in his praise of your knowledge. The Legion, however, saved its eagle and was then brought back to fighting strength. Cerialis, in fact, went on to become governor of the province in recognition of his ability. You know what the eagle symbolizes for a Roman legion?”
“The eagle is the standard of each Roman legion, thought to be divinely blessed by being bestowed personally by the hand of the emperor who was then thought to be divine. If the eagle fell into enemy hands, then the disgrace was such that the entire legion had to be disbanded,” replied Fidelma.
“Exactly so,” agreed the deacon in satisfaction. “The Ninth Legion survived and served the emperors well. It pacified the northern part of this island, which was peopled by a fierce tribal confederation called the Brigantes. .”
The man’s voice was enthused and Fidelma, who disliked militarism, found herself frowning.
“All this is ancient history, Deacon Lepidus,” she interrupted pointedly. “I am not sure why you are recalling it nor what advice you seek from me.”
Deacon Lepidus made a quick gesture of apology.
“I shall come to that immediately. Did you know that the Ninth Legion disappeared while on active service among the Britons?”
“ I did not know. I have read only Tacitus and some of Suetonius, neither of whom mentions that.”
“They would not have been alive to record the event for it happened some sixty or seventy years later. My ancestor, the Legate Platonius Lepidus, was the officer in command of the Ninth Legion, at this time. He was commanding it when it vanished.”
Fidelma began to realize why the deacon was interested in ancient history, but not why he was raising the subject.
“So, your ancestor disappeared with six thousand men or more?”
“He did. He and the eagle of the Ninth Hispana vanished as well as the men. There were rumors that the Legion had disgraced itself and was disbanded. Other stories say that it was sent to fight against the Parthians and eliminated. Yet other stories say that it had lost its eagle and all record of it was then stricken from the books. A few claimed that the legion was marched north across the great wall built by the Emperor Hadrian to protect the northern border of this province from the unconquered country of the Caledonii. You see, all the record books are now destroyed and so we have no knowledge of what happened. .”
“It happened a long time ago,” observed Fidelma patiently. “What is it that you want of me?”
“It happened well over five hundred years ago,” Deacon Lepidus agreed. He was silent for a moment or so as if preoccupied with some thoughts. Then he stirred, as if making up his mind. “The fate of my ancestor, the eagle and the legion has become a matter of contention within our family. It is a matter that pride bids us attempt to resolve the mystery.”