He threw the tool aside and plunged his hands into the muck. Aulus’s body had been cremated and his bones wrapped in linen. He hoped the bones would be enough to identify his brother.
“You need not lift it all.” Demetrius crouched on the edge of the pit. “The lower half of the right legbone should be sufficient.”
Lucius nodded. Aulus had broken his leg as a youth and Demetrius had splinted the injury. Lucius wrenched the remains of the skeleton’s right limb upward. Drawing his dagger, he sliced through the knee joint as if he were butchering a stag. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it back. His need to be certain far outweighed his disgust.
He handed the leg bones to Demetrius, then set to the task of climbing the slippery walls of the grave. By the time he’d heaved himself out of the pit, Demetrius had finished his examination.
“Well?”
The physician lifted his eyebrows. “Your hunch is correct. These are not Aulus’s remains.” He rubbed the corner of his sodden mantle over the shinbone, then thrust it into Lucius’s hands. “See?” he said, pointing. “Unmarred. If this were Aulus’s leg, there would be a bump, right here, at the site of the break.”
“You are sure.”
“Yes.”
Lucius closed his eyes and let out a sigh. When he looked up again, it was toward Aulus, who had moved from the gravesite and fallen in a crumpled heap against the cemetery wall. He twisted, trying to avoid an unseen boot or stick.
His lips parted. Lucius heard his brother’s cry in his mind as clearly as if it had sounded in his ear.
Chapter Fifteen
“Please, Gwenda, ye must help me.”
“Nay. The Roman will be having my head if I do.”
Rhiannon grasped the laundress’s arm. “He’ll not be knowing ’twas you, nor will any of the others. The kitchen is nearly deserted.” It was the day of the month allotted for the slaves’ use of the bathing rooms and everyone save the porters had gathered at the pool.
Gwenda shifted the bundle of soiled clothing in her arms. “I dinna know … There’s Cormac to be considering as well.” She glanced about the storeroom as if expecting the dwarf to leap from behind a flank of boar’s meat.
“Do ye know? About Cormac?”
Gwenda lowered her voice. “Aye. ’Tis my brother that carries his messages to Edmyg.”
“He’ll not know ye helped me.” After a moment’s hesitation, she touched the amber pendant at her throat. “I’ll give ye this for your trouble.”
“By Briga! Such a piece would feed my family for a year.” Gwenda’s eyes narrowed. “Where did ye come by it? If ’tis stolen, I want no part of it.”
“Nay. ’Twas a gift.” Rhiannon’s hands shook as she drew the chain over her head. She couldn’t shake the memory of Lucius’s face as he’d placed it there. How hurt he would be to see her give it away! But if parting with a bit of gold and amber might save his life, she had little choice.
She had to leave, had to get to Owein’s side. But she wouldn’t forfeit Lucius’s life to do it—couldn’t let him face the clans and the betrayal of his own men if there were another path. If Lucius wouldn’t leave Vindolanda, it was up to Rhiannon to stop the attack on the fort. She had a plan to do just that.
The warriors Edmyg gathered came to fight in her name. If she ordered their swords sheathed, she was not sure whether they would obey her or follow the man who was to be their king. But if she renounced Edmyg and chose another, less militant chieftain to be her consort, some would shift their allegiance. If she chose a man with a steadier hand on his sword, the attack on the fort might be abandoned. But who? Her consort must be a chieftain who was a strong warrior and respected by many, but one who would not bow to Edmyg.
Kynan was the only man who fit that description. Rhiannon shuddered as she thought of the older warrior’s mutilated face, but there was little choice. He was the only chieftain who dared to spit in Edmyg’s face.
Yes. It would have to be Kynan, and even then Rhiannon was not so sure the attack on Vindolanda could be entirely avoided. Her people had borne the weight of Rome for far too long to give up their thirst for vengeance. But even if the clans didn’t abandon the siege, her actions would cause a delay at the least. During that time, she would steal Aulus’s head from the Druid circle and bury it, ending Lucius’s torment. By the time the chieftains finished quarreling and staged their attack, Lucius and Marcus would be long gone.
The strategy was a good one. Rhiannon’s kinsmen could fight amongst themselves for years without ceasing. They had done as much when Cartimandua renounced one king and took another. Her heart plummeted. Despite Madog’s careful tutelage, she would repeat her grandmother’s folly. Would her people end by hating her for it?