Celtic Fire(11)

Aulus glided past Lucius to the threshold and halted, his transparent shoulders nearly filling the doorframe. Lucius eyed his brother uneasily, loath to step through bone-numbing cold to gain entry to the chamber.

Vetus’s head turned. “Aquila. At last. Why do you hover on the threshold like an old woman? Come in, man.”

Lucius took a cautious step forward and let out a sigh of relief when Aulus moved aside. “Salve, Vetus.”

The tribune rose. He was not a tall man, but carried himself as though he were. “I’m relieved to see you unharmed.” He took a closer look at Lucius and frowned. “There’s a private bath in the house. I might suggest you pay it a visit.”

Lucius spread his palms. “A fine suggestion. But as you see, I’ve yet to remove my armor. You’ve been at the hospital?”

“And to the morgue. Rome lost far too many men today.”

“We were ill prepared,” Lucius said bluntly. “The commander at Eburacum assured me the Celts raided in small bands.”

Vetus peered into his goblet. “Yes. Well. Most Celt attacks are erratic affairs.”

“There was nothing erratic about this one. The barbarians numbered fifty men at the least.”

“So I was told.” Vetus took a delicate sip from his cup. “More than one local clan was certainly involved. Very surprising. It’s been my experience that the Brittunculi fight each other more fiercely than they’ve ever battled Rome.”

“They were united today.”

Vetus made a dismissive gesture. “An aberration, I’m sure. They are a wretched, undisciplined people. Hardly worth the trouble of conquering.” He took another draught of wine. “I cannot conceive why the emperor does not abandon this frontier.”

Lucius crossed the room and lifted a pitcher from a granite table carved in the image of an Egyptian temple. “The strength of Rome lies in her victories, not her retreats.”

“Perhaps, but the riches of the East command Trajan’s attention these days. There’s nothing in Britannia outside of a few lead mines.”

Aulus drifted to the far end of the Egyptian table. Lucius considered the hideous piece of furniture. His brother’s previous post had been as tribune in Egypt.

“That monstrosity is heavy enough to put a strain on any wagon axle,” Lucius muttered. “I cannot imagine how or why you transported it north.”

Aulus sent him a repressive look. He stretched out his hand and stroked the red stone lovingly.

“Eh? What did you say, Aquila?”

By Pollux. He’d addressed the ghost in Vetus’s presence, without even being aware of what he was doing. He covered his dismay by splashing wine into an empty goblet. “I said, the land seems fertile enough here in the north.”

Vetus snorted. “If the barbarians would exploit their resources, perhaps a man could make a profit. As it is, the natives are content to wallow in the mud. Their largest village is a dismal cluster of sheep-dung huts.” The tribune joined Lucius at the table. “And the winter is as cold as a spinster’s tit. At least Assyria was warm.”

“You were in the East?”

“Attached to the Fourth Legion.” His gaze drifted to the granite table. “I would have preferred Egypt,” he said softly.

“What brought you to Britannia?”

“I arrived late last summer to assess the fortifications from Segedunum to Maia. Seventy-five miles of misery. According to my scouts, a barbarian lurks behind every tree.”

“You didn’t travel the road yourself?”

“Are you mad? I much prefer my head attached to my body than dangling from some Celt war chief’s saddle.”

Lucius regarded the tribune in silence for a long moment. “Your report is complete, then?” he said at last.

“Yes. I’m to deliver it directly to General Hadrian. I’ll leave as soon as an escort can be arranged.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Lucius said. At least not before he investigated the circumstances of Aulus’s death.

Vetus’s head shot up, the first swift movement Lucius had seen the man make. “What do you mean?”

“After today’s attack, I must assume the local chieftains have banded together. They could strike again. I won’t be able to spare sufficient men for your safe passage south.”

Vetus swore. “I was to have left a month ago, but the road was flooded.” He refilled his goblet and stared morosely into his wine. “Barely a day passes without rain here. It’s a far cry from the Eastern deserts.” He looked up. “You’ve come lately from Assyria as well, have you not?”