Masters of Rome

CHAPTER V

Vespasian and Magnus picked their way through the piles of bodies that marked the line of combat like driftwood delineating the extent of high tide. Dawn had broken in the east, red as blood as if in mimicry of the slaughter that had preceded it. The dead lay on the field in their hundreds, twisted, broken, dismembered and slimed with offal, blood and faeces. Here and there a groan indicated that life still lingered in some pain-racked body.

As the sun rose the scale of the killing became clear. Valens’ cohorts had joined up with Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries and the Gauls and together they had swung round onto the rear of the Britons, trapping many and consigning them to an inevitable death; no quarter had been offered or expected. Caratacus, however, had seen the danger that had appeared out of the west and, realising that his chance to annihilate one of Rome’s dreaded war machines had passed, had fled back into the night with the majority of his warriors. The Batavians and the surviving Gallic and legionary cavalry had pursued them, harrying the broken Britons and preventing any attempts to rally. They had still not returned but their passage north was littered with corpses that were now being picked out by the rising sun.

‘There must be ten of their dead for every one of our lads,’ Magnus observed as they came across a knot of legionary casualties that were being untangled by one of the many burial parties searching the field for Roman dead and wounded.

‘The first reports indicate that we lost over three hundred with double that wounded,’ Vespasian replied looking into the lifeless eyes of a young legionary and bending down to close them before walking on. ‘Most of our dead or wounded were either from the cavalry or the fourth cohort at the centre of the line, but every unit suffered to some degree. Some will need a couple of days to lick their wounds.’

‘What about the others?’

‘I’ll use them to probe north and make sure that the enemy aren’t regrouping, and whilst that’s happening I’m going to use the time to find Sabinus.’

‘Has Alienus said anything?’

‘Not yet, he’s still groggy but he will; every man has his limit and I intend to find Alienus’.’ Vespasian stopped next to a dead auxiliary. ‘He’s from the cohort that plugged the gap, so they should be around here somewhere.’

After a short while searching amongst the dead they found what they were looking for: the corpses of the druids. Vespasian knelt down next to an older man whose long, grey beard and hair were matted into clumps and festooned with what looked to be the bones of birds. Looking at the dead man’s dirty robe, Vespasian ran his hand over it and realised that the staining was not just the result of years of continuous usage without thought of hygiene; some of it had been put there deliberately. As he pulled his hand away he found it covered with fine off-white threads. On closer examination of the robe he saw that it was coated with these fibres; each area of staining was in fact a colony of thousands of threads interwoven with each other and sewn onto the garment. ‘They look like the roots of some sort of fungus,’ he observed, pulling off a chunk and sniffing it.

Magnus picked off another bit and placing it in the palm of one hand he cupped the other over it and put his eye to the small hole left at the join; after a few moments he looked back at Vespasian, proffering his hands. ‘Have a look.’

As Vespasian’s eye adjusted to the dark he became aware of a faint luminescence within. ‘So that’s how they make their robes glow in the dark. It’s not magic after all, it’s just luminous fungus roots, thousands of them.’

‘You’d better make that known around the legion; the lads will feel much better if they understand that the glowing robes are just a trick and not the result of some spell or influence from one of their accursed gods.’

‘I’ll get the robes stripped off them and display them in front of the praetorium. It’ll help morale.’ Vespasian got to his feet and hailed one of the burial parties; having given instructions to the optio commanding them, Vespasian and Magnus headed back towards the still smouldering camp past where the body of young Vibius had been found. ‘I’ll write to his parents. They should be told that he did his duty despite knowing that my orders would mean his death.’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself for it, sir, he’s not the first man you’ve sent to his death and nor will he be the last.’

‘Yes, I know, but he was the first man I did so knowingly — and he knew it too. I could see in his eyes that he understood in that instant that there would be no career in Rome’s service to bring credit to him and his family, and yet he went.’

‘He certainly wouldn’t have had a future if he hadn’t gone.’

‘He couldn’t have been more than twenty. I keep on wondering what I would have done at that age in his position.’

‘Exactly the same. When Fortuna grabs you by the foreskin and leads you to an early death there’s fuck all that you can do about it. It’s just the way the dice roll and it don’t do to brood on it. Give him a decent funeral, praise his name to the lads and then forget about him because one thing’s for sure and that is he ain’t coming back from across the Styx; but what he did last night prevented Charon from being very busy today ferrying the entire legion over to the far bank.’

Vespasian nodded. His face tensed as he contemplated what might have happened.

‘And stop looking so strained; it’s not good for the legate to appear as if he’s struggling with a solid stool.’

‘I nearly lost the legion last night because I marched into a trap! I’m not surprised that I look shaken; even had I survived, it would have been the end of my career, and everything that I’ve worked for would have disappeared.’

‘But you didn’t lose it, did you? You saw the trap just before it was sprung and it was your actions that turned what would have been a crushing defeat into some sort of victory. Now whether you want my advice or not, you’re going to have it. Put last night behind you, stop feeling sorry for yourself because a few people died and look instead at what you gained: another hill-fort garrisoned, a demoralising and humiliating repulse of Caratacus’ best move so far that may well make a few more chieftains question his leadership, and, above all, on a personal level, you can claim the glory of another victory, not to mention the fact that you have Alienus who may well hold the information that will help you find Sabinus.’

Vespasian put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. ‘You’re right of course; it’s just that the shock hasn’t quite worn off yet. I need to concentrate on what’s important now: I’ll send for Cogidubnus; I need to talk with him before we question his cousin.’

Alienus suppressed a scream and shook his head repeatedly, sending sweat arcing left and right in the brazier’s glow; the stench of his scorched flesh filled the dim interior of the tent whose only piece of furniture was the wooden chair to which the naked spy was strapped.

‘I’ll ask you again before the iron goes further up your thigh: who has my brother and where are they keeping him?’

‘I’ve told you, he’s dead!’

‘Then tell me where his body is.’

‘I don’t know!’

Vespasian nodded at the optio standing next to the brazier; with his hand protected by a thick leather glove the man pulled the iron from the fire, its tip glowing red. ‘Near the top of his thigh so that his cock and balls feel the heat; but don’t touch them — yet.’

This time Alienus could not stifle the scream that pulsed through his whole body together with the searing agony of the burn; his wrists and ankles strained against the straps that bound them as his cry of torment wafted the smoke rising from the blackened flesh.

Both Magnus and Cogidubnus winced at the suffering but Vespasian remained resolute. ‘The next one will roast your genitals and you’ll be pissing like a woman for the rest of your days.’

Alienus hyperventilated for a few moments after the iron was withdrawn and replaced in the brazier; blood had started to flow from beneath his bindings. ‘You’re going to kill me anyway so that’s no threat.’

‘Who said anything about killing you? How can I expect you to tell me the truth if you’ve nothing to gain by doing so? I’m going to let you live; Cogidubnus has agreed to vouch for you and keep you under house arrest in his kingdom. It’s just up to you to decide in what condition you take up his generous offer: whole or with crucial bits missing?’

Alienus lifted his head; his mouth was set rigid with pain but his eyes narrowed in hatred as he regarded his cousin. ‘Live at the whim of that piece of filth? The man who, along with my grandfather, betrayed our people and sold our freedom to Rome.’

With one fluid motion, Cogidubnus stepped forward and slapped the flat of his palm across Alienus’ face, jerking his head right in a spray of sweat and blood. ‘Now you listen to me and try to do so without your callow mind being clouded by the confused thinking of youth. For the last two years you have aided Caratacus, the man who supplanted your grandfather from his throne and forced your people, the confederation of the Atrebates and the Regni, to pay tribute and provide men to fight for him. Your grandfather freed them from that shame and I preserve that freedom, whereas you would hand us back into the thrall of Caratacus.’

‘I would free us from Rome! We pay tribute to the Emperor and our men fight in his auxiliary cohorts; what’s the difference?’

Cogidubnus sneered, shaking his head, before carrying on slowly as if talking to a bright but misguided child. ‘The difference is that we get something for our money when we send it to Rome: we get peace and the chance to live on our own land under our own laws with our own king.’

‘You!’

‘Yes, me. But what did we get when we paid tribute to Caratacus? Poorer, whilst his tribe, the Catuvellauni, got richer. We had a king who did not live amongst us or even speak our dialect yet expected our men to fight and die for him in his endless petty wars away to the north and west, waged solely for his own glory. Did our men get paid for fighting for him? No, yet they were forced to; however, Rome gives them silver and will give them citizenship when they finish their service and they fight as volunteers, not conscripts.’

‘But they fight their own countrymen.’

‘Countrymen who two years ago looked down on them as the spawn of a defeated kingdom and treated them little better than slaves.’

Vespasian stepped back into the light of the brazier. ‘Rome is here to stay, Alienus, and it makes no difference to us how harsh the terms of surrender are for each tribe or each individual; that’s something that your cousin here has realised. Help me get my brother back and you can live under the supervision of Cogidubnus with the chance of reconciliation with Rome. Thwart me and I shall burn you bit by bit not for your submission but for the pleasure of doing it. You have my word on both of those assertions.’

Alienus glanced at Cogidubnus and then back at Vespasian. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Because I want Sabinus back more than I want you dead, and if giving you your life is the price that I have to pay then so be it. I won’t go back on the bargain, as Mars is my witness, because to do so would put Sabinus’ life in jeopardy.’ Again he nodded at the optio who once more took up the glowing iron. ‘So, I’ll ask you one final time as an intact man, who has my brother and where are they holding him?’

Alienus’ eyes flashed around the room, looking at each man in turn; indecision played in them.

‘Take the hair,’ Vespasian whispered to the optio, who smiled.

With a quick jab, the iron was thrust into the thick growth of pubic hair; with a flash it ignited, encircling Alienus’ genitals with a brief ring of fire. The young man yelped, looking down at his burning crotch. ‘The druids! The druids have him!’

‘That’s better. Where?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Of course you do. Optio.’

Alienus watched the iron being withdrawn from within the brightly burning charcoal and brought slowly towards his singed groin. He looked in terror at Vespasian who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Alienus broke. ‘I left him with the druids at the Great Henge of Stone, up on the plain, east of here. They’re keeping him for sacrifice at the summer solstice. I was meant to lure you after him to this place where we were going to crush your legion and capture you so that it could be a double sacrifice.’

‘Which druids did you give him to?’ Cogidubnus demanded, stepping forward.

‘Druids from the sacred springs.’

‘Does that mean anything to you?’ Vespasian asked Cogidubnus.

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, they maintain the rituals of an ancient goddess, one our forefathers found already here when we arrived. She lives in a valley about thirty miles to the north and never leaves it; she constantly has to tend to her five hot springs and her sacred groves. She commands great power — she can heat water so that it’s too hot to touch. Her name is Sullis.’

‘We could be there and back in two days; three at the most,’ Vespasian said, holding his arms out for Hormus to untie the straps securing his back- and breastplates.

‘Assuming we don’t run into the remnants of that army that fled in the same direction,’ Magnus pointed out, slumping down on a couch.

Cogidubnus looked dubious. ‘It’s one thing travelling to and fro; it’s quite another snatching your brother, if he is there, from Sullis’ valley. Who knows what powers protect it; you felt the malevolence that surrounded those druids last night.’

Vespasian rubbed his sore shoulders as Hormus bent to remove his greaves. ‘But you managed to break through whatever was shielding them.’

Cogidubnus pulled a pendant from under his tunic. ‘This is the Wheel of Taranis, god of thunder.’ He held out a golden, four-spoked wheel, the size of his palm, which Vespasian recognised as having belonged to Verica. ‘Taranis is a true god of the Celts; he rules the heavens and spins his celestial wheel to produce thunder and lightning. He has great power and my people have worshipped him since we came out of the east, long before we crossed the straits from Gaul to Britannia. My uncle gave me this on his deathbed; every king of the Atrebates and Regni who wears it can expect Taranis’ protection, even against the dark gods that the druids awoke on this isle. So wearing this I had no fear when I attacked those druids; the power they wield is only effective if men are frozen by its malice and fear to oppose it.’

‘Frozen? That’s exactly how it felt; it was a deep chill in the very marrow of my bones, creeping up me so that all I could think of was the horror of being engulfed by it. I was helpless. But tell me, is it a trick like their luminous robes or is it real?’

‘It’s real, I can promise you that, but what dark gods they conjure to create it, I don’t know; the druids keep the secrets of their lore buried deep.’

‘Next time I shall sacrifice to my guardian god before facing them.’

‘That might help against the power we experienced last night but against Sullis in her own valley? I don’t know.’

Vespasian sat as Hormus took his armour away for cleaning. ‘What do you suggest then, Cogidubnus? I have no choice but to go; it’s my brother.’

‘Firstly, if we go we can’t take a large force; if they suspect we’re trying to rescue Sabinus, they’ll kill him. Ten men at the most; I’ll pick the best of my auxiliaries and get some clothes stripped off the dead for us all. Secondly, we need to protect ourselves somehow. There is a man that I’ve heard about but never met; he came here from one of the eastern provinces of the Empire about eight years ago. I’ve been told that he has an understanding with the druids; for some reason they fear him. Perhaps he could help us.’

‘How?’

‘He preaches a new religion and is said to have great power; not the cold power of the dark gods of this land but power of a different sort, a power that helps him withstand malevolence.’

‘Is he a Jew?’ Magnus asked.

‘A Jew? I don’t know what that is but if it’s someone who believes in just one god then he could be, for that’s what I’ve heard about his beliefs. He prays to one god and believes that a crucified kinsman of his was that god’s prophet.’

Vespasian looked at Magnus, understanding dawning on his face. ‘You don’t think that it’s him, do you?’

‘I certainly hope it is because he owes you a massive favour for freeing him from those slavers in Cyrenaica.’

‘And he owes my brother for releasing the body of his crucified kinsman to him and not the Temple Guards when Sabinus was a quaestor in Judaea. He’s honour-bound to help us if he can. Where is he, Cogidubnus?’

‘I’m told that he was given land on a large tor by Budoc, King of the Dobunni, between here and Sullis’ valley, about fifteen miles away. If we leave at midday, after a couple of hours’ sleep, we could be there before dusk.’

‘Do you know this man’s name?’

‘It was a name like I’d never heard before.’

‘Is it Yosef?’

The King thought for a few moments. ‘Yes, that sounds right, Yosef.’

Vespasian walked into his sleeping quarters to find Hormus still wiping the congealed blood from his armour with a damp cloth. ‘Leave it, I won’t be needing it during the next couple of days; you can do it while I’m away.’

The slave rose, keeping his eyes to the ground. ‘Yes, master. Shall I prepare something to eat?’

‘Let me sleep for two hours first.’

With a deferential bow of the head, Hormus turned to leave.

‘Hormus,’ Vespasian said softly, stopping his slave. ‘What’s the greatest achievement in your life?’

‘I’m sorry, master, I don’t understand the question.’

‘Yes you do; tell me what it is.’

‘I have never achieved anything other than to stay alive.’

Vespasian sat down on the low bed, undoing his belt. ‘And in achieving that today you’ve also achieved much more, Hormus; it was your warning to me last night that saved almost five thousand legionaries and nearly the same number of auxiliaries. Although they don’t know it, every man in this camp owes you his life. What do you think of that?’

Hormus looked baffled. ‘If what you say is true, then I don’t know what to think.’

Vespasian smiled as he lay down and closed his eyes. ‘You’ve got a couple of days to think about it. Send a message for Maximus and Valens to report to me when I wake.’

Vespasian rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the headache that had assailed him since waking as Maximus and Valens marched smartly up to his desk and saluted. ‘Sit down, gentlemen; some wine?’ He indicated that they should help themselves from the earthenware jug on the desk. ‘What’s our situation, Maximus?’

‘All but the fourth cohort from the legion could be considered combat ready,’ the veteran replied, pouring a cup. ‘However, the auxiliaries are a different matter: the two Gallic cohorts you left with Caepio to guard the camp took a battering as they prevented a flanking move and then had a hard time of it removing a band of long-hairs that had broken into the camp. The damage wasn’t as bad as it looked, it was mainly the palisade that was burning; the Gauls kicked them out before they got to the tents.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it; I shall personally commend Caepio and the two prefects.’

‘They’ll be busy for the next day; between them they lost nearly a third of their centurions and nearly as many optios and standard-bearers. They could fight if pressed but the chain of command is fractured. Of the other two Gallic cohorts only the one that was with Valens here is fit for immediate action — the other one lost nearly fifty dead and almost two hundred wounded plugging that gap.’

Vespasian grimaced even though he had known that the toll would have been high. ‘What about Cogidubnus’ Britannic auxiliaries?’

‘Minimal casualties; and I think they proved their willingness to fight for Rome.’

‘They certainly did; they have no love for Caratacus. And the Hamians?’

‘They’re fine, better than the cavalry; the Gauls need a hundred and forty remounts to bring them up to just over half strength and the legionary cavalry are down to an effective force of two turmae.’

‘Just sixty-four left?’

‘I’m afraid so; only the Batavians came out of it relatively unscathed. They came back in about half an hour ago reporting the enemy scattered over a large area; most seem to be heading northwest. And there’s no sign of Caratacus.’

Vespasian digested the information for a few moments. ‘Well, it’s not as bad as it could have been, gentlemen. Tomorrow morning we’ll probe northwest to make sure they don’t regroup and double back. Then we’ll head back down to the sea and rendezvous with the fleet to resupply before moving west along the coast to this season’s objective. I’ll leave Blassius here to garrison the fort with the badly mauled cohorts. Valens, you take five legionary cohorts, the Britons and Batavians and head northwest for a couple of days; I want every male of fighting age you come across in chains. Maximus, you take the other four fit legionary cohorts and the Hamians and the Gallic infantry and push north. There’s a valley thirty miles in that direction — Cogidubnus will lend you some scouts to help find it. All being well I’ll rendezvous with you there at dawn the day after tomorrow.’

‘May I ask where you’re going, sir?’

‘I’m going to get my brother out of that valley and when I have done that we’re going to destroy everything in it.’

‘That must be it,’ Cogidubnus said as a high tor, devoid of trees, about three miles distant and standing apart from other hilly features, came into view as they crested a hill. ‘If we hurry we should be there well before sunset.’

‘Provided we don’t run into any remnants of that army,’ Magnus grumbled, adjusting his sore behind in the saddle of the stocky native pony that had borne him, stoically, the last ten miles.

‘We’re safe enough with the scouts ranging around us!’ Vespasian snapped, fed up with Magnus’ complaining, which had been going on ever since he had donned the chafing trousers four hours earlier.

During the course of the short journey they had seen a few groups of straggling warriors from the defeated army but had paid little heed to them other than to avoid them; dressed in their Britannic disguises, they passed as just another unremarkable band of fugitives heading home.

Having dismissed his officers that morning, Vespasian had prepared for the journey and the coming encounter with the druids with a carefully observed sacrifice to Mars of a young ram. The animal had willingly come to the altar and had not struggled unduly under the threat of the blade; its liver had been in perfect condition and there had been no tumours or unsightly blemishes on any of the other internal organs. It had been a perfect sacrifice and yet his unease at facing the strange power of the druids again had not abated; indeed it had grown with every mile they had travelled from the camp, hence his short temper. He looked sidelong at Magnus who sat hunched in his saddle scowling, refusing to meet his eyes, and he berated himself for taking out his nervousness on his friend. It was in sullen silence that the small column made the last part of the journey.

They ascended the tor from the less steep western side, passing through ancient abandoned earthworks, on up towards a rectangular wooden building perched right on the very summit; smoke spiralled up through a hole in the centre of its thatched roof. Whilst still fifty paces away from their destination the door opened and a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a black headdress stepped out; he wore a long white robe and had a black and white patterned mantle over his shoulders. In his left hand he bore a staff which he held up as a greeting. ‘Welcome, Legate Vespasian, I’ve been expecting you for some time now, but when I saw the fugitives from Caratacus’ beaten army this morning I felt sure that you would be here by nightfall.’

Vespasian looked into Yosef’s kindly dark eyes, dumbfounded; he had only been told of the man’s presence in Britannia a few hours ago and yet he had been expected.

Yosef turned to Cogidubnus. ‘And welcome to you, King of the Atrebates and Regni; I am told that of all the kings on this isle you are the one that has your people’s interests paramount in your heart. I pray to God that it is true because the Britons will have need of strong leaders if they are to submit to Rome and not be trodden under.’

‘You do me honour.’

‘No more than a man who stood up to Rome before bowing to her irresistible strength deserves.’ Yosef held out his right hand to help Vespasian from his pony as he dismounted. ‘You look surprised that I knew you were coming; you shouldn’t be. I’ve known that you and Sabinus were here in Britannia since the day you both landed at Rhudd yr epis, or Rutupiae as you Romans call it. I’ve watched your progress west with interest.’

‘Then you’ve heard about Sabinus?’

‘Yes, I have and I know that’s why you are here and what you require of me. And although I am well aware of how much I stand to lose, I will help you and honour the debts that I owe you both.’ Yosef smiled at Vespasian and put his arm around his shoulder, as if he was an old friend, and led him to the door. ‘Righteous men like you and your brother can always expect help in the dark.’

Vespasian’s eyes took a short while to get used to the gloom of the interior, which was lit solely by a fire burning in a hearth at its centre and a single oil lamp on a table next to it that was prepared for four people. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a couple of benches laid out opposite what looked to be an altar at one end and a curtained-off sleeping area at the other.

Yosef indicated the chairs around the table as Magnus and Cogidubnus followed them in. ‘Please sit, my friends.’ As his guests took up his invitation, Yosef walked up to the altar and retrieved two jugs, a loaf of bread and a shallow earthenware cup. ‘If you would humour me, I’d like to offer a prayer for the safe return of Sabinus.’ Yosef placed the items on the table and then poured wine into the cup and mixed it, Roman style, with water from the second jug. He then picked up the loaf of bread and said a prayer over it in the language of the Jews before breaking it into four pieces and handing one each to his guests; he placed a morsel of his portion in his mouth. ‘Eat.’

Vespasian tore off a hunk and chewed on it as Yosef picked up the cup and raised it to eye-level whilst reciting another prayer; having finished he placed the cup to his lips and drank. ‘Share this with me,’ he said, proffering the cup to Cogidubnus; the King took a sip and then gave it to Vespasian.

Vespasian took it; it felt rough to his touch and it had a dent in the rim as if the potter had mistakenly put too much pressure on it with his thumb as he placed it in the kiln. Vespasian drank and then passed the cup to a puzzled-looking Magnus who drained it in two mighty gulps; its residue dribbled down his chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand while handing the empty vessel back to Yosef.

Apparently satisfied with the ritual, Yosef sat down and poured wine into the cups placed in front of each of his guests while they ate their remaining bread. ‘We will sacrifice a lamb before we leave tomorrow at dawn. Yeshua has gone to fetch one.’

Vespasian recognised the name. ‘Yeshua? Wasn’t he your kinsman who was crucified?’

‘Yes, you have a good memory, that was his name, but it’s his son that I was speaking of. He and his mother and sister have been living with me here in Britannia for the past couple of years.’

Vespasian remembered the woman, Miriam, kneeling before him in gratitude after he had saved her and her children from the ravaging mob of Jews in Cyrene who had howled for their blood, urged on by the agitator, Paulus. ‘I thought she said that she was heading for southern Gaul?’

‘She did but even there it became too dangerous for her. You remember that Paulus of Tarsus was sent by the High Priest in Jerusalem to kill them in order to wipe out all trace of Yeshua’s bloodline.’

‘Yeah, that was some riot the bow-legged little arsehole caused,’ Magnus put in from behind his cup.

‘But we saw him four years later in Alexandria,’ Vespasian said, ‘and he had become a follower of Yeshua’s; he was preaching something about eating his body and drinking his blood to gain redemption and the kingdom of heaven through him. It seemed to be complete nonsense.’

‘It’s not nonsense, he was talking figuratively; but as I told you back in Cyrenaica, Yeshua’s message was for the Jews alone. He preached that to be seen as righteous in God’s eyes a Jew should treat others as he would be treated himself. But Paulus has now corrupted that message; he claims that Yeshua was God’s son and died on the cross to cleanse the world of sin for both Gentile and Jew alike, whether they follow the Torah and accept circumcision or not. Anyone who knew Yeshua would know that he was just a man, a good man, a prophet even, but nothing more; if he had been the Messiah he would have fulfilled his role. Obviously it’s a blasphemy but it’s a very powerful one. The idea that your sins are forgiven provided you follow Paulus’ version of Yeshua and through him you will be allowed into God’s presence in an afterlife that Paulus has invoked from nowhere is a message that sits well, with the poor especially. Those who have nothing in this world would dearly love to believe that they will have everything in another.’

Vespasian thought back to Hormus telling him that no god would even have noticed his existence. ‘Yes, I can see that being very attractive, especially to slaves.’

‘Quite so. And to make it more appealing and easier to understand for the better-off, Paulus has added facets of Mithraism. He is very well acquainted with it, having been brought up in Tarsus, one of the biggest Mithraic cities in the Empire. He has created a virgin birth for Yeshua, which would make his mother laugh if she still lived, and, like Mithras, has it witnessed by shepherds. He’s also encouraging the Mithraic hierarchy of priests even though Yeshua rejected priests and temples, arguing that no man should have dominion over another when it came to understanding and worshipping God. But Paulus calculates that the educated classes will be attracted to the power that priesthoods would give them. Paulus knows that a new movement consisting only of the meek will get nowhere; he needs the wealthy and the powerful. But the worst thing that he has done is to create the idea that Yeshua was pure, almost as if sex was a sin, and should only be performed for procreation. So now, instead of wanting to kill Miriam and her children in order to wipe out Yeshua’s bloodline, he now wants to kill them because they are proof that his version of Yeshua is nothing like the real man. His lies would be undone and this new religion that he is trying to create would fall apart if his followers knew of Miriam’s existence.’

‘But surely all those who knew him in Judaea knew that he was married and had children?’

‘Oh, yes, but it is not them that Paulus is preaching to. Yeshua’s other disciples preach his real words to the Jews in order to make them better Jews; but Paulus travels all over the East preaching his lies to people who never knew Yeshua and therefore can be made to believe anything about him. Paulus is afraid of Miriam and calls her a whore; he sent men to Gaul to murder her, young Yeshua and young Miriam. They nearly succeeded but she managed to escape and fled to take refuge with me here, out of the Empire.’

‘But now the Empire has come to find you?’

‘Exactly. Where can she and the children be safe now? But that’s a problem I’ll address after I’ve helped you retrieve Sabinus.’

‘Cogidubnus tells me that the druids fear you.’

Yosef chuckled softly into his beard, lines creased around his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t put it that strongly but, yes, they are certainly wary of me. The powers of their supposed gods cannot affect me because I know them for what they really are: lesser daemons; angels that fell from God’s grace with their master, Heylel, the Son of the Morning. These daemons who masquerade as gods are pale shadows of their master; what power they do have is in their malice, but that is also their weakness because they cannot use it to do Good. The power to do Good is the greatest force in this world; it is a God-given power. Yeshua had it and through his teachings I have learnt how to use it.’

Magnus looked unimpressed. ‘What are you going to do then, walk into their valley, do them a couple of favours and say nice things to them?’

Vespasian shot his friend a venomous glance. ‘That’s not helpful.’ However, he could not help but sympathise with Magnus’ cynicism. ‘But I have to admit, Yosef, that I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’

Yosef put up a conciliatory hand. ‘That’s all right; I can see how strange it must sound to someone who does not believe in the one true God. I cannot explain it to you; you’ll just have to trust me and see for yourselves. The daemon that they will conjure is known as Sullis. She is full of wrath and her anger heats the springs. Heylel, her master, dragged her down with him against her will when God expelled him from His presence. He keeps her locked in that valley and she cannot escape, however much she would like to. That will be the key to it; I know, I have been there. We will rest tonight and then travel to the valley tomorrow. To have our best chance of success we must go in at the dead of night, once the moon has set but before the morning star rises, which is, as his name suggests, the embodiment of Heylel or, as you could say in Latin, Lucifer.’

Vespasian stared at Yosef, trying to decide if the man was in earnest. As when he had first met him all those years ago, he could find no guile in his eyes; he quite evidently believed what he had said. It now came down to whether Vespasian felt that he could put his faith in this strange mystic. He turned to Cogidubnus. ‘What do you think? Can we really defeat the power of Sullis as Yosef says?’

Cogidubnus pulled on his moustache for a few moments, observing Yosef, who returned his look with a serene smile. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the Wheel of Taranis. ‘If faith in this sign can work for the Kings of the Atrebates then I see no reason why this man cannot do as he claims if he has equal faith in his god.’

Yosef nodded. ‘You are right, my lord.’ He pulled on a leather thong about his neck and brought out a pendant.

Vespasian saw with surprise that it was the same as Cogidubnus’, a four-spoked wheel; but then he noticed the downward spoke had been extended so that it looked like a cross with a circle around its top.

Yosef held it up to Cogidubnus. ‘You may be surprised that I too have my own version of the Wheel of Taranis. I have adapted it to symbolise my faith and yet keep it recognisable to the people of this land whom I hope to convert to Yeshua’s teachings of Judaism and bring them close to the love of the one true God.’

Magnus grunted. ‘I can’t imagine that anyone here is going to be too keen to have their foreskin cut off.’

‘It’s a small price to pay to come closer to God.’

‘You can keep your god and I’ll keep my foreskin.’

Magnus’ theological musings were brought to a close by the opening of the door; a handsome woman in her mid-thirties walked in accompanied by two children, a boy in his early teens, holding a lamb, and a girl a year or two younger. It was more than ten years since Vespasian had seen Yeshua’s woman, Miriam; he had not thought about her once and could only vaguely recall what she looked like.

Miriam, however, recognised him instantly. She walked quickly across the room, knelt at Vespasian’s feet and clasped his knees. ‘Legate Vespasian, every day when I look at my children I think of your mercy and how you saved their lives; every day I say a prayer for you.’ Behind her the two children looked at Vespasian in awe.

Vespasian placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face. ‘Thank you for your prayers but I can assure you that they’re not necessary; please stand.’

Miriam got to her feet. ‘I will always pray for you, legate, as I shall always pray for your brother who gave me my husband’s body back. I have seen him, you know?’

Vespasian grabbed Miriam’s hand. ‘When and where?’

‘A few days ago. Yosef sent me to the valley of Sullis once he was sure that you would be arriving soon. The druids allow people to take the hot water from the springs for medicine. They have Sabinus there in a wooden cage hanging from an oak tree in one of their sacred groves by the hottest of Sullis’ five springs; he’s naked and filthy but he’s not without hope. I made sure that he saw me and he recognised me; he knows that someone is coming for him.’

‘He’s always known that someone would come for him; that I would come for him.’

Magnus frowned, chewing on the last of his bread. ‘Let’s hope that it’s just Sabinus who knows that someone’s coming and not everyone else in that valley.’

Yosef stood and walked over to Yeshua. ‘I’m afraid that is a vain hope; the druids will be expecting us. The very fact that they’ve made no attempt to hide Sabinus means that they want you to come.’ He took the lamb from Yeshua and cradled it in his arms. ‘Tomorrow at dawn I shall offer this lamb and ask that God blinds them to our arrival and confounds their plan to capture you, Vespasian, and make a double sacrifice of two brothers, both legates. They think that will be very powerful; so you see, they’ve always wanted you to come.’