Celtic Fire(51)

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.”

“I am,” she said, wondering what else Lucius had told him.

“Are you skilled in herb lore?”

“Yes.” She moved her hand from his arm. “There are many healing plants here. I wonder who planted them.”

“Lucius’s brother, most likely.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. “Aulus loved to tend his garden.”

“Did he have a healer’s hand?” Perhaps that was why his soul had touched hers so readily.

“No.” Demetrius’s smile was sad. “But not for lack of instruction on my part. He had no interest in crushing roots and steeping teas. He preferred to capture the rose with his pen.”

She gave the thorny canes a doubtful glance.

“Ah, you have never seen a rose in bloom, I imagine.” He pointed to the thorn bushes. “They do not grow wild in Britannia. These were brought from Rome.”

“Why would anyone bother to transport shrubs as ugly as those such a long way?”

Demetrius chuckled. “They are not much to look at now, I’ll grant you that, but come summer, the thorns will be hidden by flowers too numerous to count. The scent of them will fill the air.”

“That is hard to imagine.”

“Wait and see,” Demetrius replied and Rhiannon felt her gut clench. If Edmyg’s siege was successful, there would be no summer garden.

“There is a plot in the fort hospital,” Demetrius was saying. “Planted with herbs I’ve never seen. Perhaps you would accompany me there and tell me of their uses.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. She’d tried this morning to leave Lucius’s house, but had been denied by the porters at both the front and rear doors. Now the perfect opportunity had presented itself. If she could gain an idea of Vindolanda’s layout, she could figure an escape plan without Cormac’s help.

“I’m most happy to help you, if it means I may leave this house.” As soon as the words left her lips she wished she could call them back. Would the healer suspect she meant to escape?

Demetrius only chuckled. “Lucius should know better than to expect a wild bird to be happy in a cage,” he said. “Though I fear the trip to the hospital will not be a pleasant affair. Shall we go now? Marcus is translating a passage from Aristotle’s discourse on metaphysics. That should give us plenty of time,” he added dryly.

As if on cue, Marcus’s head appeared from behind the low wall encircling the fountain. “If you please, Magister, might I accompany you and Rhiannon to the hospital? I should be glad to learn of medicine rather than metaphysics today.”

Rhiannon hid a smile as the healer glowered at his young charge. “How long have you been crouching in the dirt?”