The Memory of Snow (11 page)

AD 391

‘I request an audience with the Commandant,’ stated Janus. He
was standing at the door of the Commandant’s house, his breath freezing in
small puffs as he faced the man who served as a sort of porter to the
Commandant. The man looked at him.

‘What is it that you wish to discuss with him?’ he asked.

‘I have information relating to the murder of his daughter,’
replied Janus. The porter nodded and closed the door. Janus waited silently,
fingering the item he had brought with him. It had been almost too easy. The
necklace had been simple to unclasp. The ring had slipped effortlessly off her
finger as well; he knew Marcus had paid a good deal of money to have that made
for her. The sentiment it portrayed was practically Christian. Janus grimaced
in distaste. That was why he had disposed of the ring – he had thrown it in the
back of a cart bound for Corstopitum. The less Christian artefacts around here,
the better. Plus, if the Commandant ever saw it, it would be more difficult for
his story to be believable.

After Janus had taken Marcus back to his quarters, he
returned to the temple. The girls’ body was still there. Janus knew that the
cult members would not dare to return to deal with it. At heart, they were all
peaceful men. He was still annoyed that he had been left with the clearing up;
but the men needed to be taught a lesson. He was certain it would have worked.
Secrecy was paramount, and most of the men had family in the fort or lovers in
the vicus. Janus had removed the jewellery and slung Aemelia’s body across his
shoulders. He took it across the moors and rolled it into a disused quarry. He
had returned to the temple afterwards and seen the skull. He had picked it up,
and to his mild disgust it was still sticky with her blood. He had taken the
skull to Coventina’s Well and thrown it in. The water was deep enough; they
would never drain it. It would stay there forever. The corner of his lip curled
into a slight smile. It was quite ironic. The Christian girl had become a
sacrifice and finally an offering to the Pagan gods. Then Janus had slipped
back into Marcus’ room and taken the tiny bone-handled knife from his quarters.
Janus knew that it would come in useful. He hadn’t risen to Pater by hesitating
during moments like that. Then the rest happened just as smoothly as he had
expected. He knew Marcus would come to find him wanting to confess to his sins.
It was in his nature. Janus sighed. He would never have amounted to much in the
cult; he obviously didn’t have the dedication required. A few years ago, it
wouldn’t have mattered so much. But Emperor Theodosius had a lot to answer to;
he was trying to turn the Empire Christian, to upset all the belief systems
that had been in force for centuries. Janus knew it was because he was trying
to keep Bishop Ambrose happy. But why should the entire Empire pay for
Theodosius’ mistakes? It wasn’t their fault the Bishop had excommunicated him.
Had they ordered that massacre he had been involved in? No. So why should they
suffer?

His thoughts were interrupted as the porter opened the door
to the quarters and beckoned him in.

‘The Commandant will see you now. He wishes this matter to be
resolved as quickly as possible,’ said the porter. Janus nodded and followed
the man through the villa and into the Commandant’s private apartments. A small
fountain trickled in the atrium. The icy conditions must not have affected that
too much, thought Janus. He despaired of this place, he really did. Coventina
was supposed to melt the snow and make the rivers run again. Perhaps the
offering he had thrown into her Well had done some good after all.

1650

Meggie looked up at the sky and shivered. It was March, but
the winter seemed to have lasted an age. A heavy, grey cloud was moving slowly
through the leaden sky. She knew it would bring snow with it. Out here on the
moor, there was nowhere to shelter. She would rather stay here, though, than go
back home and face the villagers. Gossip had spread around the place like a
worm – she was being accused of turning on ‘poor Mr Hay’ and attacking him for
no reason. She had come out to Coventina’s Well to try and ground herself; to
find some inner peace and ask the goddess for guidance. She had almost come to
the end of her money and she knew that she couldn’t rely on Hay any more for an
income. She was considering leaving the village and going to one of the bigger
towns – like Hexham, or maybe Newcastle – and finding some sort of work there.
She could go further if she needed to. She could just disappear, and nobody
would bother her.

The first few flakes of snow fluttered down and Meggie pulled
her shawl closer to her body. Her gaze drifted up to the old Roman fort and she
saw the man again. She was used to him now; a dark human-shaped figure,
standing on the side of the hill. A robe flapped around his body and he was
holding a sword in his hand. He usually stayed there for a few moments then
disappeared. Sometimes, she felt his presence beside her at the Well. He didn’t
scare her any more. The one person she longed to see was Alice. If she couldn’t
see her shade, then this man’s was proof that something existed after death;
and in some small way it gave her comfort.

But today, there was something different. Meggie cursed her
poor eyesight and squinted into the snow flurry. The spectral soldier seemed to
be raising his hand and he pointed it in her direction. From behind him, came more
shapes. They broke away from their solid, black mass and separated out into a
group of men. These were no Roman soldiers, Meggie realised. They were as human
as she was. Their voices carried faintly down the hill on the wind and someone
led a horse to the man at the front. He mounted it and began to walk it down
the hillside, followed by a line of men on foot. Meggie watched as they snaked
down the hillside and her heart began to pound. What did they want?

‘You have to leave here,’ said a voice. She jumped and looked
around. There was nobody there.

‘Who speaks?’ she asked. ‘Who are you?’

‘It was a mistake,’ the voice said. ‘If you stay, you will
suffer for your mistake as well. They lied.’

Meggie stood up and turned herself slowly in a circle,
searching for the owner of the voice.

‘Please, show yourself to me,’ she said. ‘Are you the
soldier? Are you the spirit who haunts here? Or do you bring me a message from
the deities of this sacred place?’

There was an almighty crack and one of the stones which surrounded
the Well fractured from top to bottom. Meggie jumped backwards in shock.

‘There have been too many mistakes!’ said the voice. A hazy
figure broke away from the shadows of the Well and stood before her. As he
became stronger, his eyes burned into hers. They were a deep, cornflower blue
and seemed to Meggie to hold indescribable suffering; she sensed a torment that
was somehow keeping him tied to this place. She knew that this was the man she
had seen looking across from Carrawburgh fort so often.

‘What happened to you?’ she whispered. ‘I can help you. I
have been trained ...’

The man shook his head. He looked past her, at the train of
men approaching the Well.

‘We are too late,’ he said. Meggie turned and followed his
gaze. She saw the men coming towards her and her mouth went dry. She looked
back to where the man had been, but he had
gone.          

AD 391

The porter bowed as he opened the door into the Commandant’s
room and stood aside to allow Janus to pass. Janus waited until he heard the
door shut behind him and bowed to the Commandant. Titus was reclining on a
sofa, the remains of a meal next to him. The tragedy regarding his daughter had
obviously not affected his appetite too much, thought Janus.

‘My porter suggests that you have information for me?’ said
the Commandant. ‘I hope this is useful and truthful information. I do intend to
carry out the punishment should this matter not be resolved.’

Janus nodded.

‘I believe I have discovered the culprit, Sir. I have pieced
what little I knew together and followed my instincts. But just to confirm it,
does this item look familiar to you?’ He held out the necklace and watched the
Commandant blanch as he recognised it.

‘The cross. Yes. That is my daughter’s. Where did you find
it?’ He reached out his hand and Janus dropped the necklace into his open palm.
Titus curled his fingers around it and pressed it against his cheek, closing
his eyes. Then he placed it on his lap and rubbed his forehead. He suddenly
looked very old.

‘I found the cross in the possession of the Prefect Marcus
Simplicius Simplex, Sir. He did not report for duty this morning, so, as a
friend as well as a colleague, I took it upon myself to visit his quarters.’ He
dropped his head, as if trying to contain his emotions. ‘I found all I needed
to know, Sir,’ he whispered.

‘Tell me!’ cried Titus. ‘What happened? What did he say?’

Janus shook his head.

‘He did not speak, Sir. When I found him, he was dead. I
believe it was suicide. I found this in his quarters as well.’ He handed over a
wax tablet. The words ego sum rumex were scratched onto it. I am sorry. Titus
turned the tablet over in his hands.

‘Where did he get this from?’

Janus shrugged.

‘I do not know, Sir. I can only suggest that he was
improperly pursuing your daughter and she rejected his advances. Our men often
saw them together. Why, I was with him myself on several occasions, when he saw
you daughter and broke away from me to speak to her.’ He frowned. ‘She did not
look happy with him, Sir. She always seemed to be trying to get away from him;
yet he continued to harass the girl. It makes sense, Sir. He was hot tempered.
He did not like rejection. I wonder, Sir, whether his passions over-ruled him
one final time.’

Titus stared at the wax tablet, not speaking.

‘And where is the body now?’ he asked finally. ‘I take it you
did not disturb the scene?’

‘No, Sir. As soon as I found him, I came straight over to
tell you. I have not mentioned this to any of the men, just in case you
required further clarification. I can take you there, Sir, if you want to see
for yourself?’ Janus offered.

‘Yes. Yes, please. I think I need to see this for myself,’ he
said, suddenly no longer a Commandant but a bereaved father, wanting to see
justice done for his daughter.

‘As you wish, Sir,’ said Janus. Titus stood up and called for
a slave. The man Syrus came in and waited for his orders.

‘Find my wife. Tell her I believe that we have resolved the
situation. I am going to see the remains of the heathen who did this. Then we
shall send the message out that the other men are safe. There will be no
decimation. Send two of my guards to me and we shall take our leave. Syrus
bowed and slipped out of the room. Within moments, two burly guards entered the
room and stood to attention.

‘Come,’ ordered Titus. He turned to Janus and gestured to him
to lead the way. ‘Take me to this Prefect’s quarters.’

Janus led the way across the fort to the barracks. He looked
neither right nor left. He was aware that the men he passed were all staring at
him and whispering as he went by. Soon the story would be out. Or rather, his
version of the story would be out. He would act the concerned friend, of
course; tell them in the taverns that he would never have believed it of his
friend. Make an offering to Coventina and the water nymphs to aid his friend’s
redemption in the afterlife. Then, after a while, recruit a new Corax. But he
would choose the man more carefully next time.

Janus pushed the door open to Marcus’ quarters, and stood
back to allow the Commandant access. Titus walked into the room where the bed
was. Marcus lay on a blood-soaked straw mattress, a bone-handled knife by his
hand. It was clear that the man’s throat had been cut. Titus walked towards the
bed and stood over the body, staring at it in disgust.

‘This man is responsible for my daughter’s death,’ he said.
He stared closely at the body and twisted the head around to see the slash
mark. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘It is a clean cut. A clean, straight cut. The man did
not hesitate. I might have expected a little uncertainty from him whilst he
positioned the knife blade.’ He moved away from the bed, but left Marcus’s head
turned towards the door. The once blue eyes stared unseeingly at Janus; stared
accusingly, even. Janus had the grace to drop his own gaze to the floor and
turn slightly away from the body.

‘Have you seen enough, Sir?’ he asked, anxious now for the
man to leave the room before he made any more comments. Titus shook his head,
moving around the room, fingering items here and there. It was as if he was trying
to get a feel for this man, trying to decide what had made him do it.

Titus moved aside a piece of cloth that was hanging against
the wall. He jumped backwards and roared.

‘An altar!’ he cried. ‘Look! Hidden away in an alcove. The
man is a Pagan. He has an altar to his gods in his quarters.’

‘Most men here are Pagans, Sir,’ said Janus tightly. Titus
held his hand up to stop him talking. Janus pressed his lips together, biting
against them so hard he almost drew blood. This was taking a great deal of self-control.
He willed himself to remain calm.

 ‘Who is this altar dedicated to?’ growled Titus. He
looked around for his guards. One of them stepped forward and bowed. ‘Inspect
it. I refuse to touch anything as evil as this piece of stone,’ he cried. The
man stepped forward and leant into the alcove where the altar was.

‘This altar is dedicated to Mithras, Sir,’ he said.

‘Mithras?’ snapped Titus. ‘The god who is causing so many
problems and so much conflict with the true religion. That temple down there is
dedicated to him, is it not?’ This time he looked at Janus. ‘Answer me!’ he
shouted as Janus stared back at him like a sullen child. ‘Is that temple
dedicated to Mithras or not?’ Janus curled his hand around the wood of the
door, squeezing it so hard he thought a chunk might splinter off in his hand.

‘Yes, Sir. The temple is dedicated to Mithras,’ he said. His
hand moved slowly towards the hilt of his dagger. The second guard moved closer
to Janus and grasped the hilt of his sword, staring at the Prefect. Janus
relaxed his muscles and dropped his hand back to his side. Later, he promised
himself. I will think of a plan later.

Titus whirled around, glaring at the men in the small room.

‘Then I decree that all worship of the Pagan gods is banned
from this fort. It will be banned from Carrawburgh itself. It will be banned
from the vicus. He looked directly at Janus. ‘I expressly forbid the worship of
your deities, as from now,’ he said. He pointed at Marcus’ body. ‘This is what
happens when you worship Pagan gods. The men cannot separate reality from their
beliefs. They murder innocents for their beliefs. My daughter was a Christian.
She was a child of God. This man did not agree with what she believed in and
this is the result. I myself saw the error of my ways years ago, and I
converted to Christianity. This,’ he waved his hand around the room,’ is what
happens when people do not believe.’

He pushed his way past the guards and past Janus himself and
stood on the pathway outside the barracks.

‘Use this murderous Prefect as an example,’ he shouted. ‘The
men will not face decimation. They shall instead be called upon to destroy
their temple. They must destroy their Sacred Well and their shrines. Let this
be a lesson to them. Make it so!’

‘But Sir!’ cried Janus. ‘You do not know if that was the
reason he...’

‘The reason does not matter!’ yelled the Commandant. Janus
flinched, despite himself. ‘The outcome was the same. My daughter is dead and
the man who killed her worshipped Pagan deities!’

Titus stormed back towards the headquarters, calling out
orders to his guards as he went. He would have a meeting of the Cohort. He
would give the order to destroy the temple and the shrines. And it must be
carried out now. Janus stood in the doorway of Marcus’ quarters, seething. He
waited until the Commandant was a safe distance away and grasped his dagger.
With a savage cry, he plunged the blade into the wood with such force that it
snapped. Then he punched the door again and again until his knuckles bled and
until, in his imagination, he had beaten the Commandant senseless.

After the Commandant’s address, the place erupted into
mayhem. Men and horses swarmed across the fort and the hillside like ants,
yelling and shouting at the people of the vicus to run indoors as they carved
their way through the village, spilling out of the fort gates and breaking away
in groups to the three sacred sites of Carrawburgh.

Amongst the general confusion and noise, a voice a lot like
Marcus’s spoke quietly into Janus’ ear. ‘It is your fault that this is
happening. You were named for Chaos.’ Janus shook his head. He was going mad.
It was his imagination. Then he heard a woman’s laugh which went on and on and
on... He roared to drone the sounds out, and turned, bringing his gladius down
on an altar by Coventina’s Well. He could not be party to the destruction of
the temple. He could desecrate this Well if he had to, but he refused to work
on the temple.

The soldiers around him picked up altars and carvings and
hurled them into the well, one after another, directed the whole time by the
Commandant’s guards. The guards surrounded them on their horses, shouting and
brandishing their weapons at anyone who dared to hesitate. The water was
churning up and splashing over the side as the heavy stones were swallowed into
the sacred spring. The men were soaked to the skin in freezing, muddy bog
water, slipping around on the still slushy path by the well. Janus and Lucius
picked up a large relief of the goddess between them and heaved it over the
side of the well, jumping back as a fresh wave swept over the side, drenching
them.

Lucius, shivering and dripping, glared at Janus, blaming him
for the desecration around them.

‘You will pay for this!’ he hissed, looking back towards the
Mithraic temple. A squad of men were tearing the timber roof off it, and others
were throwing their weight against the walls to break them down. Huge warhorses
were being forced to push against the stones to weaken the building, and a pile
of artefacts lay in a scattered heap outside the temple. One or two men were
carrying altars and statues up to the Well, followed by people who had ripped
apart the shrine to the water nymphs. There were guards down at the temple,
pointing to the Well, telling the soldiers to take the artefacts up there for
destruction.  Some men were up to their knees in the stream, pulling items
which had rolled down the hill out of the water. Suddenly, there was a huge
crash and the temple collapsed in on itself. Two of the men who were carrying
altars up to the Well paused for breath and turned to see the resulting
devastation.

‘There were still some altars in there,’ said one of them.
‘And two statues by the entrance. And the big relief over the main altar as
well; they did not get that out.’

The other man nodded.

‘Do you realise that I was on the list to join the cult? It
could have been me next for initiation. After the stories I have heard, I am
pleased it was never so.’

‘You have been spared,’ replied the other man. ‘I always
believed it to be a peaceful religion. It seems that was not the case. It is a
shame that a minority have spoiled it for the rest of us.’

They watched a minute more as the horses settled and the
soldiers were moved away from the temple, then they turned back to their work.
They came past Lucius and flung the altars into the Well, flexing their fingers
and watching as the water churned up again.

‘The cult was always peaceful in the past,’ Lucius said to
the men. ‘Once a madman became in charge, things changed.’ He turned away from
the Well and limped back to the side of the path where he sat down, rubbing his
leg. Janus stared at him in disgust. Another one for my list, he thought and
stormed off to the other side of the Well. He pushed some men out of the way
and began to smash up a carved stone slab, taking out his frustration on that.