Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY

The streets were crowded with soldiers, farmers, traders, and slaves, all trying to squeeze out a few more drops of warmth and daylight. It dribbled from the sky like wine from an empty skin. I was running out of time.

I passed Claudius’ gaudy temple, showing off more colors of marble than Agricola’s palace. I grinned to myself, thinking of the statue inside. There were a few soldiers by the steps, obviously new arrivals, probably en route to a Legion somewhere. You could always spot a newcomer by his shiny red knees. Men who lived through a winter conquered their legionary distaste for “sissy” trousers. The recruits looked as out of place as Numa at a Bacchanal.

Nimbus and I continued past the enormous temple, avoiding the hawkers of spurious goods, pots that wouldn’t hold water, bridles that would snap before you got them on the horse’s head. Some men tried to blend into the shadows, their furtive eyes scanning the afternoon crowds for a purse, a play, or a tip. It must be a racing day-Camulodunum was usually more well-bred than this.

We crossed through the eastern arch, a less ostentatious and more effective gate, and turned left, toward the north. It was quiet, and I urged the mare forward. The warmth was fading fast. This road wasn’t as well-traveled as the Londinium route, and I hadn’t met anyone coming or going. The quiet was starting to get to me.

A grassy track led to the right, toward Rhodri’s house. He couldn’t be that stupid, but I had to check anyway. Trees on either side watched me, as we turned and rode toward the farmstead. It was sturdy and well-built. The sound of no sound at all was deafening.

I nudged Nimbus closer to the house, my back stiff from tension. I loosened the scabbard of the gladius tied to my saddle. Nimbus sniffed the air like an elegant greyhound, and carefully picked her way, ears alert and listening, toward the house. We rode cautiously around it.

The main house was a small, one-wing villa, with smaller, separate buildings for different functions-storage, threshing, feed, livestock. There was a back entrance, and it was ajar. I nudged Nimbus in the ribs again, and took out my sword. Without getting out of the saddle, I leaned down and to my right, and managed to use the gladius to open it a little wider.

The inside was a mess. Whoever had been here had left in a hurry, or someone else had come and searched-and had made an obvious job of it. There were clothes on the floor, ledger tablets, some broken crockery. A sparrow landed on the door, and cocked its head at me, its bright eye inquisitive and curious. I straightened my sore back, while it cheeped at me.

I opened a bag on my other side, and took out a bit of bread and tossed it on the ground. It cocked its head the other way, cheeped some more, and flew away. Maybe it was trying to tell me something.

I rode again around the outbuildings, checking to make sure there weren’t cattle needing feed. No livestock. Rhodri had either sold everything, or-more likely-had a neighbor looking after his herds. There was nothing here for me except trouble, and I had enough of that at home.

I pulled Nimbus back toward the road, and urged her to a gallop. Light was starting to fail: long shadows were creeping from beneath the trees, and the thick line of green marking the river was deepening into black.

Where the hell could he be? The shrine? It seemed natural. Someone would know where he was. But they might not want to tell me. I was still holding the gladius with my right hand, and its heft wasn’t much comfort.

I slowed Nimbus to a canter and then to a walk, as we crossed the main road and started down the other track. This was better traveled. Wheel marks were still scratched in the drying mud of a few days ago. The trees on this side of the road were old and thick and full of thought. They loomed over me like maiden aunts over a new-born baby.

The road turned twice, and wound steadily uphill. The trees made it too dark to tell what time it was. When I saw the opening of the grove, the lush, green clearing up ahead on the peak of a small slope, I was hoping it wasn’t too late.

It was filled with a listening quiet. No birdsong. Not even the trees whispered. A faded memory of long-ago magic clung to it like a forgotten lover.

Some statues ringed the glen, rough-hewn stone with a bluish hue. They looked like they came from Mona. At the front was a stone altar, and two stone pillars, hollowed out laboriously, each with two niches. Inside each niche was a human skull. Near the altar was a well, crowned with mistletoe and ivy. And next to the well, staring at me, was a huge, bearded man.

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes never left my face. I very carefully replaced my gladius in its sheath. Then, at a respectful distance from the altar, I dismounted. Nimbus started to tear at the lush grass. I hoped this particular grove didn’t consider the grass holy.

The man, dressed in a rough tunic, came forward. He looked at me like I owed him money. I waited for him. I was taller, but he was thicker. His fists were small hams, and the knuckles were calloused and knobby, as if they’d seen plenty of action.

He stopped about two feet away from me. Then, very deliberately, he looked me over. Even in the long shadows, I could see the corners of his mouth disappear, and his eyes get very hard.

His first words were: “What do you want here, Roman?”

He spoke Latin, but hadn’t heard about the last twenty years. I replied in my mother’s tongue. “I was born in Camulodunum. I know the truth.”

He looked surprised. “And what is the truth?”

“That men die, but the soul lives on.”

“And who decides when men die?”

“The gods.”

“And how do we know what the gods want?”

“From sacrifice and the stars.”

He paused, and looked a bit disappointed. My understanding some Druidic rite made it a little harder to punch me in the face. Harder, but not impossible.

“You speak well,” he admitted grudgingly. “Are you here to worship?”

I answered carefully, smelling a trap. “The time for worship is after the time of understanding.” I pointed upward. “I came because I seek a brother.”

His eyes widened, and gleamed more brightly. “Who?”

It was now or never. I tightened my stomach, expecting a blow, and tried to relax my arms and legs. “I am seeking Rhodri. I want to help him.”

“Rhodri? He’s not here. Why do you look for him?” He took a step closer, and I could feel his breath blowing heat against my face.

“Because he is in danger from Rome. He knows something that makes him wanted by men who want him dead.”

He stepped closer again. He smelled like pork. “And how do I know you are not one of those men?”

I was getting tired of it all, and the light was nearly gone. “Because I said so, and I didn’t ride all goddamn night and day to put up with this.”

I caught a gleam of shining teeth right before I caught one of the fists in my stomach. His muscles were heavy but quick. Luckily, I’d braced myself, and I bent over, pretending to be in more pain than I was, though that wasn’t too hard at the moment.

He was winding up for a punch on the back of my neck when I surprised him by grabbing his knees, throwing him off-balance to the ground. I landed on top, and got in a partially-effective right uppercut to his jaw before he got the knife out. He slashed at my left shoulder and I dodged, grunting, trying to pin down his left hand, the knife hand, before he could connect.

I managed to pin his left, but he wriggled free on the right, and with a neat move crushed me to the ground, where I was still holding down the weapon. Then he started to pummel my back, right by the kidneys, and got in one or two blows that made me wince and grit my teeth before I could let go of his left completely and stand up. We faced each other warily, breathing hard, two gladiators without a crowd.

I could still see the shine of his knife and his teeth. He must enjoy this sort of thing.

“I’m here to help Rhodri, goddamn it! Just tell him Arcturus came, and he’ll see me.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll show him your dead body.”

He made a sudden lunge, and I jumped back in time to avoid it, but a tree root caught my foot and I stumbled. He was on me in a flash, with a hammy fist clenched around my throat.

I dug my fingers into the soft part of his elbow, which wasn’t as soft as I hoped, but soft enough to make him his relax his grip a little. With his right hand, he slapped me across the face, hard enough to leave a mark, and the sting brought tears to my eyes.

Before he could do it again, this time with a closed fist, I used an old trick I’d learned from an acrobat, and threw myself to the ground. He went with me, but on the way down let go of my throat.

I got up before he did, and kicked him as hard as I could in the stomach. He doubled over on his knees, and I didn’t see his teeth gleam. I took a few steps backward in a hurry to where Nimbus was watching in between mouthfuls of grass. I took out the gladius, and walked back over, where he was standing up, holding on to his gut.

I pointed the sword at him. “See a healer if you spit up any blood. Otherwise you’ll be all right in a few weeks. I tried to aim for the ribs.”

He looked up at me, but didn’t say anything. “I know what I’m talking about. I’m a meddygon.”

He grunted, and spit. “I know who you are. I was told to watch out for you.”

I was still breathing hard. “By Rhodri? For what? To kill me?”

He grinned, a little sadly. “No, that was my idea. The message said to keep you here as long as I could, and I figured if I couldn’t kill you I could make it so you couldn’t travel. I probably wouldn’t have really killed you,” he added as an afterthought.

“Listen, you-”

“My name is Lugh. I’m a blacksmith.”

That explained the hands. I hurt all over, in places I’d forgotten about. Anger made my gladius shake.

“I don’t have time to pound any sense in you. It would take too goddamn long. I need to find Rhodri, and fast, for his own goddamn good, even if you’re both too stubborn to realize it.”

He straightened up a little more, and spit again. He searched my face. I lowered the gladius. A little. Finally, he nodded.

“Rhodri doesn’t like you. Maybe he has his reasons.” I didn’t say anything to that. “But I believe you. You could’ve killed me.”

“Rhodri or his men could’ve killed my freedman back in Londinium. That’s one reason I’m here. I think he’s innocent of a crime the Romans are chasing him for.”

Lugh nodded. It was starting to make sense for him. “You don’t like one another. But you both want justice. He is a Druid, and you know some of the ritual. But the other men after him-maybe after you, too-want blood.”

He held his hands out, palms up. “Put away your sword. I’ll tell you about Rhodri. If he’s angry with me, he can fight you.” He grinned.

I put the gladius back in the scabbard and took down the skin of wine on my saddle and offered some to him. He drank about half of it in one toss, and returned it to me gratefully. I swallowed a mouthful. It still tasted of the warmth of the day.

Lugh regarded me steadily. “Rhodri is still in Londinium.”

My face fell to the ground, and almost took me with it.

“He told his woman”-he paused, and I wasn’t sure how much he knew, but suspected he knew more than I liked “-that he was coming here, but all along planned to stay in Londinium and wait things out. That’s why I was supposed to delay you. There’s a hut in the back of the grove. I’ve been here for two days, waiting for you.”

Wordlessly, I offered the wine skin again. He finished it. I stroked Nimbus’ flanks. I hoped she had it in her.

The blacksmith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So what do you do now?”

“Now I go back to Londinium, and hope I can get to Rhodri before the vigiles do. He’s a brave man but very stupid.”

Lugh laughed. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

I smiled sourly at him. It was going to be a long, painful journey, made more painful by my swollen face and bruised, throbbing back. I mounted Nimbus, who looked surprised that we weren’t sleeping in the grove for the evening.

Lugh looked up at me, and fished something out of a pouch in his tunic. The pouch smelled strongly of sweat, iron and beer. He took out a small egg shaped thing and handed it to me.

“Take this. It’s one of the tokens we use. If Rhodri sees it, he’ll talk to you.”

“Thanks. Don’t forget to wrap your ribs.” I put the egg-thing-it was an anguinum, a magic token for the Druids-in my own pouch.

Lugh winced, and said: “Now that I can go home, my woman will look after me. She’s by way of being a good healer. And a little mead will take the pain away. Remember that for the ride back.”

I grunted. “We’ll have to ride all night.”

He patted Nimbus’ neck appreciatively. “There’s a good stream, with a little glen about thirty miles before Londinium, right off the road on the right. It’s about five miles west of Aeron’s inn-the one where the natives stay.”

“Thanks. Be seeing you.”

He waved, and faded into the darkness. Nimbus and I were alone, with the dark, pain, and panic as our only companions. How could I have been so stupid?