Celtic Fire(49)
“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 cocked 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 passage. “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 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 appetite 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 pronouncement, 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 gods. 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 brass tube.
Lucius rubbed the stubble on his chin as he looked from Aulus to the physician. “Despite the fascinating nature of local superstition, 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.