“No. I’ve never met a Druid before….Of course, you spoke to me in Latin; that ought to have told me something. But you’re right, I never suspected him—I mean you.”
“It was rather a good disguise. I had a little help from Dardanio.”
“Your actor friend?”
“If you knew anything about the theatre, you’d know that Dardanio isn’t just a fine actor, he’s an expert in costume and make-up. A real artist. He gave me some useful lotions and potions. You noticed how my eyes looked black?”
“Yes. It was all very convincing. But if you were that Druid, then you know my answer to your threats and your campaign of terror. I’m not leaving the Oak Tree.”
“It seems to me you’ve already left it,” he said.
There was no answer to that. We sat in silence, sipping our wine.
“Aurelia dear,” he went on. “For friendship’s sake, I’ll give you one more chance, although it’s more than you deserve. Will you give me your word that you and all your household will leave the Oak Tree, and get out of Britannia? If you do, I’ll give you
my
word that we’ll let you go in peace.”
“No thank you.”
He sighed. He appeared genuinely sad. But by now I knew how deceptive appearances could be, where he was concerned.
“It puzzles me,” he reflected, “why you put yourself through all this. You’re actually prepared to lose your life defending your little parcel of land and your few buildings, and your right to be an innkeeper, waiting on drunks from morning till night?”
“Sneer all you like,” I said, “but the Oak Tree is my home, and it’s where I belong. I love Britannia, and I want to live here, as a Roman settler, part of the Roman Empire. And whatever may happen to me, there are thousands like me, hundreds of thousands probably by now. You and your killers won’t ever succeed in driving us out.”
He got up and began pacing about the cave, his purple cloak swishing and swirling. As he strode around he moved in and out of the pool of light, and his appearance changed from a bright familiar friend into a dark brooding threat, and back again. And I suddenly saw that this was how his whole life was. He had divided it into two separate compartments, each with its own personality, and he could switch from one to the other as easily as walking in or out of the shadows.
I’ve mentioned in this report that I’ve been scared on occasion. But the way Felix frightened me was quite unlike anything else. The idea of someone I knew, or thought I knew, turning from friend to foe in the blink of an eye was so terrifying it made my head spin. While he paced I felt fear seep through me, paralysing, numbing.
What could I do? What was the point of even trying? And yet we had to try. We had to do something, to keep him in his brightly lit persona, as Felix the civilised urbane Roman, the former friend. Because from the flashes of temper we’d already seen, when he stepped from light to dark and became the ruthless Shadow of Death, we were in mortal danger.
Quintus broke the silence, and his familiar voice, calm and half-amused, jolted me out of my panic. “Felix,” he drawled lazily, as if making conversation at the dinner table. “Adviser to the High King of the Britons! Now I’ve heard everything! We underestimated you, all of us.”
“If you want real power in politics, you don’t need to be a Caesar or a tribal king,” Felix answered. “You can achieve whatever you like as an adviser, as long as the king needs you. I’ll be the ruler in all but name, because I can help the natives drive the Romans out, and keep their freedom afterwards. They need me, and they know it. The Shadow of Death needs the Chief—but equally, the Chief needs the Shadow of Death.”
Felix sat down again and picked up the wine-jug. “Do have some more of this excellent wine, my dears. It’s from near Pompeii—well near where Pompeii used to be. I thought, for our first meeting here, I’d provide something special. I hope you approve. Aurelia, tell me what you think, truthfully. You’re a connoisseur of wines.”
I told him it was very good, and again, as I complimented him and he refilled my glass, I had the strange feeling that we could be making small-talk at his villa. Except that the surroundings were richer, and darker, and very much scarier.
Quintus leaned forward, holding his glass between his hands and gazing at Felix with close attention. “Felix, there’s something I’ve always wanted to know about the Shadow of Death and the way he operates.”
“Indeed? The all-seeing, all-knowing investigator still has a teeny question unresolved?”
“About a hundred of them, actually,” Quintus smiled. “You pulled the wool over my eyes, I’d be a fool to deny it.”
“Ask away then.” The smug look on Felix’s face was sickening, but also encouraging. I listened as Quintus threw out more bait, like a fisherman on a river bank, waiting for his prey to swim in close.
“This business of the masked figure—or figures, I should say. Who helped you there?”
“Dardanio created the mask for me. I wear it as a symbol, like a legionary standard in a way. And of course it helps keep my identity secret. Only Vitalis and a few senior men have ever seen me without it.”
“But you’re cleverer than that,” Quintus countered, almost teasingly. “There are times when the masked chief has been seen and yet it couldn’t have been you. At the Druid ceremony, for instance. We saw you there in your Druid robes, and simultaneously we saw the Shadow of Death in his mask.”
Felix said seriously, “It wasn’t I in the Druid costume; that was a real Druid. True, I impersonated him when I came to the mansio to talk to Aurelia, but I wouldn’t dare do that at one of their ceremonies. It would be blasphemy.”
Blasphemy, indeed? Yet this was the man who had ordered two corpses to be placed in a sanctum dedicated to Jupiter and Juno!
Quintus was looking deeply impressed. “But there were other times—the masked figure has been seen often in this area, far oftener than you could have managed by yourself. Did Vitalis wear the mask sometimes too?”
Felix nodded. “We wanted to give the impression that the Shadow of Death could appear anywhere at any time. So sometimes he impersonated me, yes. But usually it was me. I was there the night you were attacked, Delfinus; and I was there when a certain message was painted on your stable wall, Aurelia dear. I even returned the cloak you’d so carelessly lost the night before. And of course I saw the attack on the Oak Tree. I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”
“I’m surprised the Shadow-men didn’t realise that the masked figure wasn’t always the same person,” I said. “But if you never spoke…and then, you and Vitalis are alike in build.”
“Naturally,” Felix agreed.
“I’m sorry?”
“Like father, like son.”
I just sat staring. Had I heard him right? Had I understood what I’d heard correctly? I said at last, “You’re telling us—that you are Vitalis’
father?”
He gave a gleeful hoot of laughter. “I can’t blame you for not knowing. It’s been rather a closely guarded secret.”
“But how…I mean when….All right, both stupid questions. But tell us what happened.”
“Publius’ wife and I had a bit of a fling shortly after I arrived in Britannia.” He got up and started pacing about again. “Twenty-two years ago. I got to Oak Bridges the year that clod Vespasian became Caesar, after several other clods had tried and failed. She was a pretty little thing, but
very
provincial, whereas I was the Roman man of fashion, a courtier who’d lived with an emperor. Publius had always wanted a son, but they’d never had any children. However, she fell pregnant soon enough when I arrived on the scene! Poor Publius was mortified when he found out.”
“You mean he
knows?
”
“Oh yes, he knows. If his wife had lived, it might have been difficult, but she died when Vitalis was born. So Publius and I agreed the boy should be brought up as his. One or two servants knew, inevitably—we sold them. Nobody else has any idea. Except Vitalis himself of course, now.”
His pacing took him into a shadowed corner of the cave, and I looked at his dark figure, feeling a sudden stab of anger at the thought of how completely poor Silvanius had been betrayed.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” I said. “You’ve betrayed a man who thought of you as his best friend. Not content with stealing his wife, you’ve turned his son against him; and now you’ve given his enemies every last one of his secret plans.”
He smiled. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Actually, yes, it is,” I snapped, anger making me incautious. “When I think of all of us at Clarus’ meeting, believing we were among friends, taking our oath to keep our plans secret—and you broke your oath, and told everything to Vitalis and the natives.”
He was still smiling. “My dear, you cut me to the quick! I broke no oath. I’m a Cornelius, and in the Cornelius family we don’t break oaths. Especially when it isn’t necessary.”
Quintus said, “Then tell us how you got round it. You did take the oath of secrecy, didn’t you? If you didn’t betray the meeting, who did?”
“It’s not so very hard to work out.” His cat-eyes narrowed as he gazed at me. “You were there, Aurelia, after all.”
I cast my mind back to the scene in Silvanius’ sitting-room: the beautiful décor, the wall lined with scrolls, and all of us sitting round the fabulous citrus-wood table, solemnly planning how to defeat the Shadow of Death. We’d taken our oath of secrecy at the beginning of the meeting, we’d had our discussions, made our plans, then chosen our password.
“But we weren’t overheard,” I said. “We checked. Well, you did—you went and looked to see…oh, Jupiter’s balls! You went to the sitting-room door, because you had someone listening just outside, didn’t you? That bit of nonsense where you stuck your head into the corridor, you were actually making sure there
was
somebody there.”
He nodded, and sat down again. “You see? I knew you could work it out.”
“No, wait,” I said, remembering, “Silvanius left the room after you’d looked outside, to fetch the statues from the shrine, before we took the oath. Why didn’t he see your eavesdropper?”
“I expect he did. What he saw was one of Vitalis’ slaves with a broom in his hand, in the act of sweeping the corridor floor.”
There was a sharp tap on the cave wall, and Vitalis himself pushed through the heavy curtain. He was in his warrior gear. Behind him loomed Felix’s giant slave.
“Vitalis,” Felix smiled. “You’ve taken your time. Everything ready now?”
“Sorry, Father. Yes, all set now.”
I noticed they were speaking in British; and I also saw that Quintus was looking puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand what they said. Yet he spoke the British language fluently, despite an execrable accent.
“Good. Then I’m afraid, Antonius Delfinus, this is where we say good-bye for a while. Vitalis and his friends want to ask you a few questions. I advise you to answer them, otherwise they’re likely to become rather insistent. They’ve got a good hot fire going, some pincers, a saw….What else, Vitalis?”
“Chains,” Vitalis answered, looking Quintus up and down as if measuring him, “with spikes in them, hammers, nails….”
“So you see, you’ll have to tell them what they want to know. Make it easy for yourself, I should.”
There was a pause, and then Quintus said in Latin, “Sorry, I don’t speak your barbarian grunt-and-spit talk. Would you mind repeating all that in a civilised language?”
Felix laughed, and said, still in British, “So the great investigator came to Britannia to find the Shadow of Death, and can’t even understand the local language!” Then he switched to Latin. “Go with Vitalis, dear fellow. That’s all you need to know. The rest will come as a lovely surprise.”
But I couldn’t just sit by. “No!” I cried out. “You’ll get nothing out of him. He doesn’t know anything worth passing on. Well, you’ve just seen why. Haven’t you realised it yet, Felix?
I’m
the investigator here; I work with my brother Lucius, and I’ve sent him all the information he needs about the Shadow-men. So if we’re considering answers to interesting questions, you’d better tell your savages to talk to
me
.”
Felix sighed. “Isn’t it romantic? A girl defending her lover. Almost like a play! Well better, because I’m the writer and the director of the show, so I can decide on the ending. Off you go, Vitalis.”
“I’ll see you soon, Aurelia,” Quintus called, as Vitalis and the big slave began to march him out.
“Very soon. Love you!” I shouted after him.
I sat listening till their footsteps were lost in the flute music that was still incongruously filling the cave. Quintus was gone; I might never see him again. I’ve never felt so completely alone.
What I did then is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I smiled and made a joke.
“Alone at last! Is that how the next line goes in your play? Or is that too corny for you?”
He smiled in return. “Oh, the odd cliché never hurts. How about ‘Now I’ve got you in my power’?”
“To which I answer, ‘You surely know you can’t get away with this.’”
“But I can, and I will.” He stood up and walked towards me. “And that’s quite enough bad dialogue for now.”
He put his right hand on my shoulder; with his left he brushed back some locks of hair that had strayed over my face. “You’re beautiful,” he cooed in my ear. “So very beautiful. I want to touch you, to hold you, to….”
I’ll leave out the rest of his wish list; some of it was quite flattering and some of it plain embarrassing. Eventually his tone became sad. “But you’ve always treated me as a joke, you’ve never even considered loving me. Now, I’m going to
make
you consider it.” He kissed me. I wanted to pull away but he held me close until he’d finished.
My mind was whirling. Perhaps if I offered him what he wanted…if I went to him willingly….
“Well,” I said, “there’s more to you than meets the eye, Cornelius Felix Shadow-of-Death.” And I stood up so that I could press my body against him. The pain of my ankle was excruciating; the hatefulness of what I was doing was even worse.
“I want you, Aurelia.” He kissed me again. “Surely you know how I feel about you? Surely you’ve guessed?” He touched my cheek, and gazed into my eyes. It was disgusting, but I kept still, and let him kiss me again. He murmured, “Well, you’re here now, and I shall have you.”
So, I thought, it’s time for the final throw of the dice. I leaned in close to him, and said softly, “I can’t stop you. We both know you can do what you like. But I don’t want to make love under duress. I want to enjoy it. And if I do, you’ll enjoy it much more too. Won’t you?” I kissed him hard, just for a heartbeat, then I pulled back.
He kissed my face and my neck, and I didn’t stop his hands from exploring my breasts. I let my own hands do some exploring too. He said, “Now who’s full of surprises?”
“That’s just the start, as you’ll find out if you put me in the right mood.”
“But what about your handsome investigator? I thought he was the man to put you in the mood.” There was more kissing, and his hands went lower.
I let him play awhile, then I said, “Forget about Quintus Antonius. You’ll find he knows nothing worth knowing, so stop wasting your time on him. Just let him go, and once he’s safely away, well, he’ll be out of sight, out of mind, won’t he?”
“You’d give yourself to me to save that oaf Antonius Delfinus?”
“There’s an easy way to find out.” I pressed my body hard against his.
He stepped back, and his sudden laughter rang out, peal after peal of it, and I knew I’d lost my final throw.
“My dear, you still haven’t learnt to take me seriously, have you? Why in the gods’ name should I release Antonius? I can have you in my own way, in my own time, as many times as I like. Perhaps I’ll even let your precious Antonius watch us. That’s after he’s told us everything we need to know.”
I moved away and sat down again. He came and stood over me, smiling, gloating. He didn’t need to say anything; he’d won, and I’d lost. We’d both lost, Quintus and I. We were without hope, finished. I felt cast down and defeated. And then I thought of last night’s sacrifice in the clearing, and I had a sharp memory of the Druid raising his dagger and killing a thin red-headed boy, and of Hawk’s haunted look as he confronted us afterwards. The two visions made me angry, and anger gave me strength. Hawk was our only hope now. I wouldn’t give up. I’d try, and I’d go on trying, to keep Felix talking, and reinforce his sense of security. If I was right and his men hadn’t dared to tell him of Hawk’s escape, then it might be a false sense of security.
I picked up my glass, which was empty, and held it out. Felix fetched the jug and refilled it automatically, and I took another drink. I said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything you like, dear heart.” He sat down on the purple-covered throne, and took a drink himself. Good.
“I can see why the natives will follow you and Vitalis. They want to be free. But I’m puzzled how you got Marius to help you—a loyal Roman tribune. How did you manage it?”
He swirled the wine in his glass so the light made it sparkle. His insufferable smugness was back. “Yes, Marius was under my control for some time. Doing whatever I told him—and doing it well. I thought I’d get Junius too, but the fool fell in love with your precious sister. Love!” He sneered. “I ask you,
love!
They could have had power and wealth they’d never even dreamed of, those two. I told them, as Roman generals in our native army, they’d have been chiefs in our new free province, rich and powerful and…and Junius threw it all away for love! Ridiculous! And then he started trying to talk Marius out of helping us, making him doubt what he was doing. Sadly, I had to finish them both.”
“Junius never believed the Shadow-men would succeed,” I said. “I spoke to him, you know, when he was dying. It was thanks to him that we found your hideout here. Your native poisoners slipped up there, Felix. They didn’t kill Junius outright.”
Yes, I know, not the wisest of remarks. But the look of fury on his face, though it was alarming, was also wonderfully satisfying. He must have realised it, because he deliberately relaxed, and smiled.
“It makes no real difference,” he said. “The Shadow-men and the other Brigantian war-bands are on the move now. We shall frighten the Romans out of this area, and when the tribes further south see how easy it is, they’ll flock to join us. The rebellion will engulf the whole of Britannia, and in a year from now, two years at the most, we’ll be free of Rome.”
He sounded so sure, and just for a few heartbeats, I wondered if he could be right. “All Romans will be killed….” No, he was deluded, mad. But I’d gain nothing by arguing the point and making him angry. The trick was to get him boasting about his brilliance again.
“You still haven’t told me why Marius helped you in the first place. Was it for money?”
“Not money, no. I doubt if he’d have done it for money. But sometimes information will serve where money won’t.”
“You blackmailed him?”
He nodded. “I discovered a nasty little scandal in the ranks of the Marius family.”
“It must have been a ripe one.”
He laughed. “It is—it was. Marius’ father was in the army, a camp prefect in Gaul. He owed a lot of money to a local tradesman, a potter, and to avoid paying him, this Marius sent some army bully-boys along to smash up the pottery and make the potter move out….Yes, I see you’ve guessed the rest of the story.”
“Balbus?”
“Balbus. Who left Gaul and moved to Oak Bridges, and settled and grew rich. But however rich he grew, he never forgot, and he swore he’d be revenged on the commandant, or on his family, if he ever met them again.”
“So if he’d discovered who Marius’ father was, he’d have killed him, after all this time? You really believe that?”
“Who knows? Marius believed it. Especially after I’d arranged some drastic alterations to Balbus’ shop display. I could so easily have told Balbus that Marius had done it.”
“You’ve just demonstrated a saying of my grandmother’s,” I remarked. “What people don’t know, can’t hurt them. It’s what they do know, that isn’t so.”
Felix clapped his hands with delight. “How very profound! I’d no idea you had philosophers in your family. And it gives us a whole new game to play, doesn’t it? You and me, just the two of us. What do we know, that turns out to be wrong? Let me see….” His smile took on its malicious twist again. “You think your brother Lucius will bring you help from Eburacum, because you know you’ve written to him begging him to come.” He laughed shortly. “What you don’t know is, I had all those letters intercepted. He hasn’t heard from you at all for months! I even had the note that Antonius left for him in Eburacum quietly thrown away….Oh yes, I know all about his trip to Eburacum. I forged the letter that made him go there.”
“But how could you get hold of my letters? You couldn’t have known which couriers I’d use.”
“No need. Our postal service is truly amazing, isn’t it? You can send letters to any military base in the Empire, carried by trusty messengers galloping over mountains and through forests, and even braving the stormy seas. The letters will always reach their destination. That doesn’t mean they’ll ever get to the person they are intended for.”
I remembered the army bases I’d lived in as a girl. “The camp’s mail-clerk?” I said. “You bribed the clerk at Eburacum not to deliver mail for Lucius?”
“Persuaded, I’d call it,” he smirked. “He’s a very good friend of mine, young Tullius. A keen theatre-goer, never misses a performance. I introduce him to all the visiting actors, and they make a great fuss of him. In return for which….” He mimed tearing up a scroll, and sat back, looking for my reaction.
His words made me realise just how much I’d been counting on my brother’s help coming sooner or later. But if Lucius hadn’t had my letters, he might not realise how dangerously urgent our plight was. Disappointment crept around me like a cold fog. Desperately I tried to fight it off, to think of something bright and witty to say.
There was a rap on the rock wall behind me, and a slight breeze as the heavy red curtain was pushed aside. Vitalis strode in, excited and triumphant.
“Father, I’ve done it. Antonius is willing to talk.”
“Excellent!” Felix said. “And almost disappointingly easy! I rather thought he’d give you more trouble than this. Bring him in, and let’s hear what he has to say.”
I felt numb with horror. To have Quintus tortured into revealing his secrets was bad enough; to be forced to watch it would be unbearable. Felix saw my expression and said, “Aurelia will enjoy the spectacle, I’m sure.”
Vitalis shook his head. “He won’t say anything in front of her. He wants to talk just to you, with nobody else there. Don’t ask me why. He says if you come to the lower cave now, he’ll spill the whole bag of beans.”
I kept still, but it was an effort. Bag of
beans?
Quintus’ password! It meant there was some hidden meaning to his message. But what was he trying to tell me? That he wasn’t going to betray any secrets—or maybe just a few unimportant ones? I needed more information. I’d try to stir the pot a little.
“I’m not surprised he won’t talk in my presence,” I exclaimed. “He wouldn’t get a word in because of all the abuse I’d be hurling at him! The lousy, cowardly….”
“He doesn’t like you much either,” Vitalis interrupted, grinning. “His exact words were, ‘I’m not saying anything in front of that hard-hearted harpy. She can rot in her cave, for all I care.’”
I contented myself with an expression I’d learned from Father, though he’d have been shocked to hear me use it. But my heart was singing inside me. I’d got the message.
“So sad,” Felix said, standing up, “when two young lovers fall out.” Father and son left, laughing.
I jumped up, disregarding the pain in my ankle. Quintus was recalling the Harpy’s Cave tavern in Pompeii, the one with the secret exit at the back. He must be telling me there was a hidden way out of the Shadow-men’s lair. And he’d arranged matters so I’d be alone, with perhaps enough time to escape by the concealed exit. If I could find it….
There was only one place to look. Another cave led from this one; Felix had emerged from there when we first came in. Its entrance was dark, but as I entered I saw there were a couple of lamps on a table. This smaller cave appeared to be a more intimate version of the outer one. There were woven wall-rugs, and a bearskin on the floor, and it was furnished with a sleeping-couch and a couple of stools. And in one corner, surprise, surprise, was Felix’s statue of Apollo, which had not, after all, been smashed to bits by the Shadow-men. So he’d fooled us yet again. We had never seen the remains of the Apollo, and never even thought to ask about them. I only wished I’d time to smash the thing up now.
I turned to examine the walls. Two of Felix’s colourful Roman tunics were hanging up against one of them, and next to them there hung—holy Diana, a skull!
I stopped myself crying out, and told myself sternly not to be so foolish. It was the Shadow of Death’s skull mask. It wasn’t bone, but made of wood and plaster, and it would be a choice piece of evidence, if I ever escaped—no,
when
I escaped. I took it down from the wall, and looped its cord through my belt.
Though the light was dim, I could see clearly enough that there wasn’t another doorway leading from this sleeping-cave. So if there was a way out, it had to be from here. Felix, like the cunning fox he was, must have made an escape route from his private quarters. But where?
I began to prowl round the walls, moving the heavy rugs, vainly searching for anything that could be a door, however small. Perhaps there was just a crack in the rock, indicating a false wall of some kind? I went and fetched a lamp and began to examine the surface carefully. If there was a way out, it must be a tunnel that led upwards to the hillside somewhere, and quite steeply too. So I must look up—to the tops of the walls, even to the ceiling.
I raised the lamp above my head; the ceiling was so low I could almost touch it, and it was uneven and marked, like most rough rock. But it was hard to see details. The wretched light was so small, and the stupid thing kept flickering….
Flickering? Yes,
flickering!
There was a breeze making the flame flicker. A draught of air. It was blowing from the doorway, but—where was it blowing to? There were no more caves. The air must be escaping through an opening in the rock.
I licked two fingers of my left hand and held them up, feeling the slight but definite current of air. I followed it to the far wall, where the breeze was strongest, and pulled aside the heavy wall-hanging, raising the lamp high.
There was a vertical crack, running from the rock ceiling about two feet down the wall. It wasn’t a wide crack but it was dead straight—much too straight to be natural. It must indicate an artificial bit of walling.