Celtic Fire(70)

“But sir …”

“That will be all, quartermaster. You are dismissed.”

Brennus hesitated, then apparently thought better of further argument. He saluted, gathered the sealboxes from Lucius’s desk, and left the room.

Aulus stirred, his chest heaving with labored breath. Lucius could almost imagine he heard the rasp of air as it dragged into his brother’s lungs.

He stared at Aulus’s battered form. “By Pollux. Who did this to you?”

Aulus tried to rise, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Lucius jumped from his stool and grabbed for his brother’s arm. It was like trying to seize a swarm of bees—a violent shimmer of energy with no sensation of weight or form. He shook his tingling fingers and gaped at Aulus. The ghost was writhing on the floor, hands raised as if shielding himself from unseen fists. Lucius’s throat closed on a feeling of utter helplessness.

He fled the chamber. Aulus struggled to his feet and staggered after him into the courtyard. The rain that had begun in the night fell in gray sheets from a mottled sky, but Lucius scarcely cared if he got soaked. He turned his steps toward the south gate, dreading his intended destination but unable to turn from his path. Some primitive instinct compelled him.

He ordered the gate sentry to unbar the stout timber doors, revealing a cluster of huts huddled along a muddy road. At the far end of the village, a path veered off a short distance to the edge of the forest, where a low stone wall encircled the remains of Vindolanda’s dead. To Lucius’s surprise, a figure stood within the enclosure, head bowed.

Vetus. What lunacy could have caused the tribune to stir from his bath on such a miserable day? Lucius approached slowly, suddenly hesitant to complete the last few steps to the cemetery.

But he found he could not turn away. He halted at Vetus’s side and gazed on the stone column bearing Aulus’s name. Distant thunder rolled.

Vetus raised his head. “How I miss him. It’s odd, really. I knew Aulus only a few short weeks and yet …” He raised his head and Lucius saw that tears mingled with rain on the tribune’s face.

“You loved him.”

“Yes.”

Lucius touched Vetus’s shoulder. “Then we are brothers in grief.”

They stood in silence for a time before Lucius spoke again. “Aulus’s death must not go unavenged.”

Vetus gave a furtive glance in Lucius’s direction. “What do you mean? It was an accident.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lucius said. “Do you know anyone in the fort who might have wished him harm?”

Vetus hesitated, then shook his head. “No one. Only …”

Lucius caught his arm. “What?”

“The men with whom Aulus went that day …”

“Sextus Gallus and Petronius Rufus.”

“Yes.”

“They are dead.”

“Yes. I know.” Vetus glanced toward the fort’s high battlement, where a sentry was just visible through the rain. “The two of them hunted often.”

Lucius’s fingers loosened their grip. “There’s nothing unusual in that.”

Vetus’s shoulders shook. “Aulus abhorred the hunt. I should have tried harder to dissuade him from accompanying them.” He touched Aulus’s monument. “I had it erected at my own expense.”

“Thank you,” Lucius said softly.

A bolt of lightning flashed and Vetus started as if suddenly coming awake. “It’s as if the gods are always angry in this place. I’ll not rest easy until I reach Rome. Until then …” He turned toward the gate. “I’ll warm myself in the bath.” He paused. “Will you join me?”

Lucius shook his head. “I think not.”

“Then I’ll take my leave.” Lucius watched Vetus move off. His gut told him the tribune had had nothing to do with Aulus’s death. But if not Vetus, who? The two men who had seen Aulus die, only to meet with fatal accidents soon after? That was far too convenient a circumstance.

He watched the rivulets of muddy water course over his brother’s grave. It made little sense that life should turn to ashes so easily, but Lucius had seen far too much death on the battlefield to doubt the power of the Fates. Life: a fragile thread, easily snapped.

Lucius stood motionless a moment longer before realizing Aulus had not entered the cemetery. The ghost huddled at the perimeter of the burial ground, fingers gripping the top of the stone wall. His shredded tunic hung in limp scraps about his hips.

Lucius shuddered, but could not tear his gaze from his brother’s tortured eyes. “What ghost is frightened of a cemetery? Most especially of its own grave?”