Whispers of the Dead

under there. Or, that smaller stone building next to the granary may have been part of original villa and we will find the hypocaust there.” She hesitated a moment. “Let us try the stone building first. It is clearly older than the granary.”

While they were standing there, a thickset man, dressed in Saxon workman’s clothing, stepped out of the shadow of the granary.

“Good day, reverend sir. Good day, lady. What do you seek here?”

He smiled too easily for Fidelma’s taste, giving her the impression of a fox assessing his prey. His Jutish accent was hard to understand although he was speaking in a low Latin. It was the deacon who explained their purpose, playing down the value of the eagle but offering a silver coin if the man could help them locate what they were looking for.

“This is my granary. I built it.” The man replied. “My name is Wulfred.”

“If you built it, did you observe whether it had holes in the ground or tunnels underneath it?” Fidelma inquired.

The man rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully.

“There were places we had to fill in with rubble to give us a foundation.”

Deacon Lepidus’s face fell.

“The hypocaust was filled in?”

Wulfred shrugged. “I can show you the type of holes we filled in, if you are interested. The little stone building has such holes under the floor. Come, I have a lantern. I’ll show you.”

They were following the man through the doorway when Fidelma suddenly caught sight of something scratched on one of the side pillars supporting the frame of the door. She called Deacon Lepidus’s attention to it, simply pointing. It was a scratch mark. It looked like an “IX.” There was something before it, which neither of them could make out.

“Nine?” whispered Lepidus, with sudden excitement. “The ninth legion?”

Fidelma made no reply.

It was cold and dirty inside. Dirt covered the floor. Wulfred held his polished horn lantern high. It revealed a room of about four meters square. It was totally empty. In one corner was a hole in the floor.

“Down there is where you can see the tunnels under the floor,” volunteered Wulfred.

Fidelma went across and knelt down. The smell of decay was quite prevalent. She asked for the lantern and peered down. A space of about seventy millimeters lay underneath the floor. Little brick piers supported the timbers at intervals of a meter from one another forming little squares.

“A hypocaust,” she said, raising herself and handing the lantern back. “But now what?”

Deacon Lepidus made no reply.

“Perhaps some sign was left. .?” he ventured.

Fidelma glanced on the floor. What she saw made her frown, and she began to scrape at the floor with the point of her shoe. The earth came away to reveal a tiny patch of mosaic. These were the type of floors that she had seen in Rome. She asked Wulfred if he had a broom of twigs. It took a half an hour to clear a section of the floor. The mosaic revealed a figure clad in a Roman senatorial toga; one hand was held up with a finger extended. Fidelma frowned. Something made her follow the pointing finger. She suddenly noticed a scratch mark on the wall. There was no doubt about it this time. The figure “IX” had been scratched into the stonework and a tiny arrow pointed downwards beneath it.

“We’ll break into the hypocaust here,” she announced. “With the permission of Wulfred, of course,” she added.

The Jute readily agreed when Deacon Lepidus held out another coin.

Lepidus himself took charge of making the hole. It was the work of another half an hour to create a space through which a small person could pass into the hypocaust below. Fidelma volunteered. Her face was screwed into an expression of distaste as she squeezed into the confined darkness, having to lie full length on her stomach. It was not merely damp but the walls below were bathed in water. It was musty and reminded Fidelma of a cemetery vault. She ran her hand in darkness over the wet brickwork.

“Pass me down the lantern,” she called up.

It was Lepidus who leaned down and handed her the polished horn lantern, giving its opaque glow to the darkness.

Fidelma breathed out softly.

By its light she could see the brickwork and almost immediately she saw scratch marks. “IX Hispana.” She put the lantern down and began to tug at the first brick. It was loose and gave way with surprising ease, swinging a little so that she could remove it. The other long, thin bricks were removed with the same ease. A large aperture was soon opened. She peered into the darkness. Something flickered back in the lantern light. She reached forth a hand. It was metal, cold and wet.

She knew what it was before her exploring hand encompassed the lines of the object. She knew it was a bronze eagle.

“What is it?” called Deacon Lepidus above her, sensing her discovery.

“Wait,” she instructed sharply.

Her exploring hand felt around the interior of the alcove. Water was seeping in, damp and dark. Obviously the alcove was not waterproof.

Then her exploring hand felt a piece of material. It, too, was wet from the seepage. She drew it forth. It was a piece of vellum. She could not make out the writing by the limited light of the lantern, so she turned and handed it upwards. It was only about a meter in length for it was lacking its wooden haft. She handed it up, ignoring the gasps and sounds from the Deacon Lepidus. Then she passed up the lantern to Wulfred before she twisted on her back and scrambled back into the room above.

A moment or so later she was able to see the fruits of her sojourn in the dank darkness below. Wulfred was holding the lantern high while Deacon Lepidus was almost dancing as he clutched the bronze eagle.

“The eagle! The eagle!” he cried delightedly.

A dark bronze eagle was surrounded by laurel wreaths, its claws apparently clutching a branch. Then, below the circle of laurel leaves, hung a scroll on which the letters “SPQR” were engraved. Senatus Populusque Romanus. Lepidus tapped the letters with his forefinger. “The ultimate authority for any Roman legion. The Senate and People of Rome.”

“Let us not forget this find has been made on Wulfred’s property,” she pointed out, as Lepidus seemed to have forgotten the presence of the Jutish granary owner.

“I will come to an accommodation with Wulfred. A third silver coin should suffice for he has no use for these relics. Is that not so?”

The Jutish granary owner bowed his head.

“I am sure that the reverend sir is generous in rewarding me for my services,” he replied.

“My ancestor’s eagle has induced such generosity,” Lepidus smiled.

“What of the vellum that was with it?” Fidelma asked.

Lepidus handed it to her.

She took it, carefully unrolling it. She examined the handwriting carefully and then the text.

“At least it is short,” Deacon Lepidus smiled.

“Indeed,” she agreed. “It simply says, “I, Cingetorix of the Cantiaci and mathematicus of Darovernum, place the eagle of the Ninth Hispana Legion, for safe keeping, in this place. My son is dead without issue. So should a younger hand find it, I entreat whoever you are, take the eagle to Rome and hand it to the emperor and tell him that the Legate Platonius Lepidus gave his life in its defense, having exhorted me to make the journey to Rome so that the legion might be raised again under this divine standard. I failed but I hope the words I have written will be testament to the honor and glory of the Ninth and to its commander, Platonius Lepidus, may the gods give him eternal rest.”

Fidelma sighed deeply.

“Then there is no more to be said. You have what you wanted, deacon. Let us return to the abbey.”

Deacon Lepidus smiled appreciatively.

“I have what I want thanks to you, Sister Fidelma. You are witness to these events, which will ensure no one questions them. I shall go to the Archbishop Theodore and tell him what has transpired and that you may