Celtic Fire Part 14

Chapter Eight.

"Consorting with ghosts in the night, Luc?"

Lucius's gaze jerked to the library door. Demetrius stood there, the weariness of his features a match to the limp drape of his mantle. His tone, however, had not lost its customary caustic wit. Lucius's senses went on alert, but it seemed the old man's comment regarding spirits had been an innocent one. Demetrius took no particular notice of Aulus's pale form slumped at the far end of the reading table.

The specter lifted its head and stared dispa.s.sionately at the physician for a heartbeat, then looked away.

"So you've taken leave of the hospital at last," Lucius said, his attention fixed on his brother. Aulus had been lurking in the upper pa.s.sageway when Lucius had let himself out of his room a few hours earlier, all but fleeing from the woman asleep in his bed. He'd not trusted himself to pa.s.s the rest of the night in Rhiannon's presence without making love to her.

One look at Aulus had been more than sufficient to drive any amount of l.u.s.t from Lucius's mind. His brother looked as if he'd met the wrong end of a centurion's cane. Welts and bruises covered his face and forearms. A gash below his right eye dripped gray blood. His ethereal toga was torn in several places and his tunic sagged on one shoulder.

Demetrius stepped into the room and moved toward Aulus's motionless form. Lucius half rose, ready to intervene, but at the last moment the physician frowned and chose another stool. Lucius let out a long, slow breath.

"You look fit to be washed down a sewer," Demetrius commented. "Why are you not abed?"

"I might ask the same of you. Surely there are medics to care for the wounded."

The Greek's grizzled brows drew together. "Certainly, if you wish Vindolanda to lose even more men. As it is, two soldiers died today, despite my efforts."

"Of wounds sustained in the skirmish?" Lucius asked.

"No. These men were not part of our escort. They had been ill with fever since before our arrival. Had they been properly cared for, I suspect they would be playing at dice rather than awaiting their eulogies."

Lucius put aside the scroll he'd been reading. "Are conditions in the hospital so deplorable?"

Demetrius made a sound of distaste. "The pharmacy is depleted. The herb plot is crowded with weeds and it seems the dead physician is the only man in the fort who knew their uses. Zeus knows the soldiers who call themselves medics are idiots." He gazed meditatively at his hands. "Perhaps there's a healer in the fort village who can instruct me in local herblore."

"Rhiannon is a healer," Lucius heard himself say.

"Indeed? She may be of some use to me, then." He shook his head. "But that is but a part of the problem. The sickroom is filthy-the pallets crawl with vermin. I have ordered a thorough cleaning of the entire facility. It will be a start, at least."

"Good," Lucius said. "And now I'll give you an order. Seek your bed. It will do Vindolanda no good if its sole physician takes ill."

Demetrius flicked a hand to the side. "Sleep! As my years advance, its allure diminishes. All too soon I will close my eyes for good. I'm loath to waste my remaining hours."

Aulus stirred. Struggling to his feet, he began a slow circuit of the room. Lucius frowned. Was his brother favoring his left leg?

"You're far too ornery for the grave," he told Demetrius, forcing a light tone. "Hades himself will take leave of the underworld once you arrive."

Demetrius snorted. "We shall see." He waved at the neat row of scrolls lined up like soldiers. "So, my fellow insomniac-what are you about?"

Lucius shot a glance toward Aulus. The ghost had come to a halt behind Demetrius and was gazing wistfully at the pitcher of wine set out near the old man's elbow. "Aulus wrote constantly, about everything."

"Ah, yes," Demetrius said. "To the detriment of serious study, as I well recall."

"He was in the habit of recording every fanciful story he discovered, but wrote of his daily life as well. I hoped he might have recorded an account of the days before his death."

"Ah." Demetrius lifted the pitcher and poured a draught into the accompanying goblet. "Did he?"

Lucius rose with an abrupt motion and paced to the nearest shelf, giving Aulus a wide berth. "Not that I can tell." He slid yet another scroll from its tube and checked its subject against its label. "You might trouble yourself to point a finger," he muttered in his brother's direction.

"What's that, Lucius?"

"Nothing."

Demetrius set down his drink and got to his feet. Halting at Lucius's side, he squinted at the volumes Lucius had slid partway off the shelves. "Phaedrus and Plautus. Fable and comedy." He shook his head. "How like Aulus. Have you found nothing useful?"

"No," he replied. "Aulus seldom wrote anything useful."

Lucius reshelved the two scrolls and chose a third. When he unrolled it, his brother's bold scrawl leapt off the papyrus, so alive that his breath caught. He sat down, weighted the corners, and began to read. "This one appears to be a local fable," he said.

"Indeed?"

Lucius scanned the page. "A horseman pursued a woman for three days, yet couldn't catch his quarry." He made a sound of derision. "A sorry rider he must have been."

Demetrius c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "The women of Britannia are not like those of Rome."

Lucius was inclined to agree.

"Have you bedded her yet?"

"That, old man, is no business of yours."

The physician chuckled. "I thought you had not. You fare about as well as that hapless horseman." He pulled the scroll across the table and rolled the papyrus to reveal the next pa.s.sage. "You would do well not to underestimate any woman of Britannia," he said, peering at the script. "Do you remember Boudicca?"

"Who could not?" Lucius asked irritably. "Thousands fell when the Iceni queen led her tribe into battle against Rome after the death of her husband. But that was in the south, where the Celts thrust their swords with one arm before Rome subdued them. Here in the north, the Brittunculi Brittunculi are scattered and lawless. At least they have always acted so before the attack on our party." are scattered and lawless. At least they have always acted so before the attack on our party."

"Do you think their show of unity will continue?"

"I'm planning for that possibility," Lucius replied.

"As well you should," Demetrius said after a moment. "If this story has any truth behind it."

"What have you found?"

"A bit of local history." The physician's bent finger traced a path across the papyrus. " 'The queen of the Brigantes tribe, Cartimandua, a client of Rome, ruled by right of her mother's bloodlines. Her carnal appet.i.te was vast but tolerated by her people until she renounced Venutius, her king and consort, in favor of the beardless youth who cleaned his armor. A civil war among the Brigantes ensued. Cartimandua, belly swollen with the child of her young lover, was taken prisoner by Venutius's clansmen. The Roman governor sent a Legion to her aid and put down the revolt. The territory of the Brigantes was placed under Roman rule, but not before a female infant, the daughter of Cartimandua, vanished into the northlands.' "

Aulus stopped pacing and came to peer over Demetrius's shoulder. Not for the first time, Lucius wondered why the physician didn't feel the same icy chill that gripped Lucius whenever the ghost neared. "I read as much in a volume published by Tacitus last year," he replied. "Save for the claim of a child. All this took place over fifty years ago. It has no bearing on the present situation."

"There is more," Demetrius said. Aulus drew closer, his fingers tearing at the purple stripe on his ragged toga. " 'Local lore holds that the line of Cartimandua is not extinct. The Brigantes await the day a hidden queen will unite the clans and drive Rome south.' "

"You expect me to believe that a queen is hiding in a sheep-dung hut, waiting to claim her throne?"

Demetrius's finger trailed farther down the papyrus. "Your brother also writes of the Druids." At this p.r.o.nouncement, Aulus jerked as if he'd been struck.

Lucius only just managed to stop from reaching out to him. "Druids? That foul cult was outlawed after Gaius Suetonius burned their sanctuary on the Isle of Mona."

"Some say they are scholars and priests, equal in learning to Rome's."

"That's preposterous. They may speak Greek and Latin, but their religious practices include offering the blood of men to their G.o.ds. Dark altars were found on Mona, hidden deep in the forest and strewn with human bones. No civilized people would countenance such rites."

"Aulus claims the Brigantes hold the Druids in high esteem." Demetrius came to the end of the scroll, rerolled it, and slid it back into its bra.s.s tube.

Lucius rubbed the stubble on his chin as he looked from Aulus to the physician. "Despite the fascinating nature of local superst.i.tion, I would prefer to find an account of my brother's dealings with the fort officers, or anyone else who might have meant him harm. But it seems no such volume exists. I've already searched my bedchamber and my office at the fort headquarters." He walked the length of the shelf and back again, inspecting tags. His brother drifted beside him, shaking his head. "You never wrote about anything practical, did you?" he asked Aulus.

"I? Lucius, I think you need some sleep. You make no sense."

Lucius started. "You are right, Demetrius. I am fatigued." He took a step back toward the table, then changed course abruptly when Aulus barred his path.

Demetrius gestured to the stool. "Luc. For the love of Aphrodite, stop pacing. You are upsetting my stomach."

Lucius dropped onto the stool sideways, straddling it with one leg on either side. "My apologies, old man. We must safeguard your digestion at all costs. I wouldn't wish the aroma of the latrine to worsen."

"Insolent wretch," Demetrius said affectionately. He fell silent for a moment, then asked, "What information has Candidus gleaned from the slaves?"

Lucius frowned. "Aulus kept largely to himself, in the garden or library, until Vetus's arrival late last summer. After that, the tribune was often in my brother's company. The pair dined alone on the night before Aulus's death."

"Their conversation?"

"Light banter." He spread his palms on his knees and rose. "It seems Aulus and the tribune were"-he grimaced-"the closest of friends."

"Ah," Demetrius said, understanding. "Aulus never was one to turn from pleasure."

"Indeed." Lucius had nothing against pleasure-seeking, but Aulus's predilection for male companionship in his bed was a subject upon which he'd never cared to dwell.

"Do you suspect a crime of pa.s.sion?"

Lucius sighed. "It's difficult to say. I have a hard time believing Vetus capable of any pa.s.sion save that for cleanliness. I doubt he killed Aulus over the temperature of the baths." He squinted at the narrow window set high in the outside wall. The sky was lightening. Dawn could not be far off.

Demetrius stood wearily. "Perhaps the dilemma will seem clearer after a few hours' rest."

Lucius glanced at Aulus. He'd sunk to his knees. His upper body rested on the cushion of a stool, face buried in his crossed arms.

"You go," he said. "I'm to address the garrison at c.o.c.kcrow."

"Very well."

"What has gotten into you?" he asked Aulus once Demetrius had gone. "Did my nightmare affect you?"

Aulus didn't look up. Lucius inched closer. He had the sense that his brother had changed in more than demeanor. His shoulders shook with emotion, causing his toga to slip off his shoulder and onto the floor. There were wounds on Aulus's upper arms Lucius hadn't seen before and as he stared at the vicious welts in horror, his mind dimly registered that the blood oozing from Aulus's wounds was no longer gray, but pink. His brother's body seemed almost solid. Almost alive.

Lucius's blood turned to ice in his veins.

Aulus sobbed and though no sound stirred the chamber, Lucius heard the echoes of his brother's grief in his mind. Without thinking, he reached out and laid a comforting hand on Aulus's shoulder. His palm cooled, but the chill was not unbearable. Lucius could almost imagine that something other than air brushed his fingers.

"I'm trying to help you, brother, though I've begun to wonder what good it will do."

Aulus looked up, his pale eyes wet with tears.

Chapter Nine.

The pilfered bra.s.s knife sliced easily, piercing a fine network of roots. Rhiannon lifted the fragile clump of greenery from the garden bed, murmuring soothing words to the plant as if it were a babe. Meadowsweet should catch the sun, not hide in the shade. She settled the herb into the shallow hole she'd prepared earlier and swaddled its roots with a blanket of soil. It would thrive here, away from the spreading branches of the apple tree.

Unless, of course, Edmyg was successful in taking the fort. If that happened, one of his warriors would surely trample it.

She sat back on her heels. In the short time she'd been in the fort, the Roman thorn shrubs-roses, Lucius had called them-had begun to fill out. Tiny leaves covered the arching canes. They were edged in red, as if an unseen hand had dipped them in blood.

Blood. She'd dreamed of blood as she'd slept in Lucius's bed. Once again she'd seen the Druid circle. Madog's sword had thrust deep, plunging through the fragile flesh of Lucius's brother. A red river had flowed from his stomach, even as his hand reached for her ...

Dear Briga. Aulus's soul clung to his brother's side and Lucius suspected she was to blame. He wasn't so far from the truth. She'd awoken at dawn, chilled to her soul, choking for breath.

She'd found Lucius gone. She knew she should be glad of it, but she was not.

Tell him. Aulus's dying plea echoed in her skull. Had he been speaking of Lucius? Did he haunt his brother now, hoping to draw him to the Druid circle, where his skull rode the point of a wooden spike? Unless that skull was buried, neither brother would have peace. Aulus's dying plea echoed in her skull. Had he been speaking of Lucius? Did he haunt his brother now, hoping to draw him to the Druid circle, where his skull rode the point of a wooden spike? Unless that skull was buried, neither brother would have peace.

What she'd told Lucius was only part of the truth. She knew no spell to banish his brother's ghost, but she knew how to release Aulus from his gruesome prison. Lucius had only to bury the skull in some secret place, far from Madog's influence. Such a simple task, yet he would never perform it. She would not lead a Roman sword into the soft belly of her kin. By rights she should lead him to his death.

Her knuckles went white on the handle of her knife. She was born of a long line of queens, many of whom would not have hesitated to deliver their enemies to the sword. Yet she knew she could not bear to watch Lucius suffer in the Druid circle as his brother had. She would sooner slit his throat with her own hand.

"Have you a knowledge of herbs?"

She dropped the blade and whipped her head around.

Magister Demetrius's black eyes frowned down on her. "Are you feeling quite well, child? Your wound has not putrefied, has it?"

"No," she said faintly, shoving a damp lock of hair from her eyes. "It's healing quite well. You startled me, that is all."

To her surprise, the old man adjusted his elegant mantle and hunkered down at her side. His age-spotted fingers touched the thin leaves she'd just settled in their new nest. "I am unfamiliar with this herb. What is it called?"

"Meadowsweet. It eases pain. I've moved it from the shade. It prefers a sunny location."

Demetrius uttered a gruff sound that might have been a laugh. "If that is true, you should waste no time in carrying it to Greece. I vow Apollo has not shown his face in Britannia for more than a few hours since I set foot on the island."

" 'Tis the season for rain," Rhiannon said. "The sun will show itself once summer is here."

"One can only hope." He straightened, pressing one hand against his back. Rhiannon rose quickly and offered him her arm. He took it, his lips curving in a genuine smile at odds with his weathered features. "Lucius tells me you are a healer."