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Tabula Rasa(116)

By:Ruth Downie


Tilla swallowed. She felt shaky with exhaustion and fear. “Just tell me where they went.”

There was another pause before, “The old hut down toward the stream. But you cannot get there. They will have lookouts.”

She had passed that old hut this afternoon with Dismal. It was two or three hundred paces down through the pasture. The sensible thing would be to hurry back to the fort now and summon help. But if she did that, even if the family escaped, they would be hunted down and executed. Besides, even if Daminius survived, when the officers found out that he had helped her to betray one of his own men he would be in just as much danger from his own people as he had been from the Britons. “I thank you,” she said, and set off to pick her way across the rough pasture alone.

The lookout had not thought to hide. He was standing by the gate, stamping his feet and blowing on his cold hands. It was a simple matter to creep along by the wall and throw a stone so she could slip past while he looked the wrong way. She was almost annoyed. If this was how her people fought, no wonder they lost.

She bent to summon the dog as she arrived. It ran up to her, pushing its nose into her hand and circling around her, its tail thumping against her skirts. The simplicity of its welcome made her eyes well with tears. Dogs knew nothing of guilt.

Once she could make out the wall at the lower end of the pasture, she heard voices raised in argument. The breeze carried the smell of baking bread. It was not a pleasure. There could be only one reason to bake bread down here and at this hour.

She had never seen the threefold death take place, but everyone knew about it. It was something that parents rarely spoke of until their children were old enough to know, but by then it was only one of the many frightening things that the children had already learned about from their older brothers and sisters. That’s what will happen to you if you tell on us!

When older people spoke of the threefold death, they did so with respect, but with no sign of intent. It was a thing for others. The ancestors. The elders. The chosen. The seers. The courageous and the powerful. She had never dreamed that anyone she knew would dare make it happen. But Senecio was a man who sang to dying trees and shouted at the thunder. She had no doubt that Senecio was serious.

Now that she had moved closer, she could hear that they were arguing over whether to kill both of the prisoners or just Mallius the child stealer. Conn, of course, wanted to do away with both. Senecio and Enica thought the life of the child stealer would be enough.

“And we leave the other one around to betray us?”

She had to stop this before it was too late, and before Albanus reached the fort and brought help. It would not take long to feed the sacred bread and mistletoe to the victims. They would be stripped naked and told to kneel. First came the blow to the head, always hard enough to stun. This was not an especially cruel death. It was not about causing pain to the victim. It was a sacred, awe-inspiring gift of a human life to the gods. Second, the offering of breath as the twisted sinew tightened around the neck. Then the offering of the blood as the throat was slit and the head was held down over the bowl.

If a prophecy was needed, the victim’s entrails would be examined for omens. Finally, his body would be offered to the earth: firmly staked down in the wettest patch of ground the gift givers could find. Ideally, where water met land in a bog that never went dry. After a summer like this, there would be no shortage of gift-giving places.

She crept around the outside of the building, testing each step as she picked her way over a jumble of loose stone. The building was ramshackle—she had seen that in daylight—but she could not find any gaps large enough to peer through.

She thought again about running for help. Conn was too bright to leave witnesses alive. Once she was inside, she was a prisoner too, and who would show Albanus’s rescue party where to go? Then she had what she hoped was a better idea.

She took a series of short, shallow breaths and thumped on the door with both fists. “Run!” she gasped. “The soldiers are coming!”

The dog, excited, started to bark.

A voice shouted, “Who is that?”

“Darlughdacha, wife of the doctor! I have seen men from the fort! Get out before they catch you!”

A sliver of orange light appeared, widening as the door was dragged open across the dirt floor. The crowded gloom of the hut smelled of fresh bread, old animal droppings, and fear. People parted to let her approach the fire.

“You must get away!” she cried, glancing from face to face and trying to make each person think she was talking especially to them. On one side stood men she guessed were Conn’s friends. On the other, familiar faces from the farm. “I have seen them on the road! They will be here at any moment!”