A chorus of denials greeted her words.
'Anyway,' she sighed, 'let's go back to the past, the Great Wall. The destruction of that Pictish war band.'
'Some eighteen years ago,' Secundus declared, ignoring Stathylus' warning look. 'It happened eighteen years ago.'
'And yet,' Claudia insisted, 'all this time later, two of your companions have been brutally murdered, in a manner very similar to the abuse perpetrated by your Pictish enemies. Now,' she smiled faintly, 'there are no Pictish warriors in Rome. Why such deaths? True, they might be Pictish slaves, but,' she shrugged, 'how would they recognise you eighteen years later? Moreover, doesn't the report say the entire war band you trapped was wiped out?'
Again there was agreement.
'The ambush also took place at night,' Murranus declared. 'I've seen Catephracti, their helmets are like those I wear in the arena, covering the head and protecting the face; even if one of those Picts did escape, how could they recognise a face, only glimpsed in the dark, some eighteen years later?'
'What did happen,' Claudia asked, 'that night of your great victory?'
'Why do you want to know?'
'I can't really answer that,' Claudia replied, 'except I have a feeling that you don't want to talk about it. I can't understand that. After all, it was a great achievement. More importantly, the grisly murder of your comrades, executed in a way so reminiscent of the Picts, may have something to do with the massacre of so many of their people. A matter of logic,' Claudia added, 'unless there is something else you haven't told me.'
All three refused to meet her gaze.
'Ah well.' Stathylus rubbed a hand across his face. 'I'll tell you.' He filled his wine goblet, gulped greedily from it and slammed it back on the table.
'In the winter of our ninth year of service, eighteen years ago last July, the Fretenses, an ala of cavalry attached to the Second Legion Augusta, were guarding a mile fort along the Great Wall. There were only twelve or fifteen of us, under our officer, Postulus, a Gaul from Lyon. We were skilled fighters, a crack mounted force, but we were virtually leaderless. Civil war raged in Britain.' Stathylus raised a hand. 'This pretender, that pretender. The wall was stripped of men, — cohorts and units greatly reduced. At one mile fort there were only three men left; we were the lucky ones. Now we learned that a Pictish war band was on the move, heading south to probe our weakness. Postulus? Well,' Stathylus shrugged, 'he liked to drink…'
'So you were left in charge.'
'Yes.' Stathylus nodded. 'I hate Picts, I always have, cruel bastards, sly and treacherous. By then Postulus was totally inebriated. Anyway, I was in charge, and I thought of a plan. We rode out searching for that band and killed a few.'
'To provoke the blood feud?' Murranus asked. 'To draw them further south? I've heard of that being done.'
'Precisely/ Stathylus agreed. 'Once we had their attention, we retreated back to our mile fort. The Picts followed us south and launched an attack; it failed. Shortly afterwards Postulus died from his drinking.' He grinned sourly. 'In official dispatches, he was classed as killed in action, but that was simply to honour his name. We didn't have time to dress his corpse so we left it there, abandoning the mile fort.'
Stathylus paused to drink; his two companions had turned slightly away from Claudia as if they didn't want her to study their faces. She was sure a lie was being told, just by their posture. Stathylus, more absorbed with his wine, was now back in time at that lonely fort along the Great Wall.
'We left the beacon burning; we even left the pay chest in the cellar. We'd also secured the northern door so it couldn't be opened from the inside. We then pretended to retreat through the southern gate of the fort. The land beyond dropped. At night we sheltered around a fire in the lea of a hill and waited. The Picts found the fort deserted except for the pay chest and jars of posca.' Stathylus shrugged. 'You know what that's like, horse piss and just as strong. They drank and, being hungry for more booty, poured out of the southern gate. I thought they would. We waited until they were out in the open, disorganised and separated, then we charged. The weather had been dry, so we fired the bracken. We could see them clearly and rode them down. There was only one way for the Picts to retreat and that was back through the fort. They did that, hoping to escape through the northern gate, but we'd locked it fast.' He spread his hands. 'We cut many of them down and pinned the rest, together with their leader, within the fort.'
'It was so easy' Secundus spoke up quickly. 'We were mounted archers, there was no escape.'
'No prisoners?' Claudia asked. She stared at them curiously. Their answers were so quick, they reminded her of actors delivering well-rehearsed lines, words tripping off the tongue, though to be fair, this must have been a story told time and time again. 'No prisoners at all?' she repeated.
'That's what war along the frontier was like.' Stathylus got to his feet. 'Life for life and a fight to the death.' He scratched his stomach. 'I've drunk a lot,' he muttered. 'I've got to go out for a while.' He stumbled to the door.
Secundus whispered something about getting extra food and left, stomping down the stairs. Claudia turned to Murranus and winked. Crispus seemed to be absorbed, busy tying a thong on his sandal; she raised a finger to her lips for Murranus to remain silent. Crispus was definitely uncomfortable. He straightened up, playing with the wine cup on the table, then began to hum a tune beneath his breath. He kept looking longingly at the door. Eventually the silence proved too much, and he flung a hand out.
'You don't believe us, do you?'
'I do believe you,' Claudia conceded. 'I think you are telling the truth, but not all of it. Something happened along that wall, something that has come back to haunt you all, but why now, eighteen years later?'
She studied Crispus carefully. He was younger than the rest, and she noticed the small bead of sweat running down from beneath his close-cropped hair.
'What are you frightened of, Crispus?'
'The past,' he mumbled, and stared up at the smoke-blackened ceiling. 'Always the past! You don't know what it was like out there, desolate, empty, nothing but the grass bending under the wind, the lonely call of birds, the cry of animals at night and, when the civil war raged in the south, the wall being stripped. We had this nightmare, or at least I did, that the Picts would stream across the wall and surround us, cut us off, take us prisoner. If we fell into their hands…' He stared at them and blinked. 'If you fell into the hands of the Picts, they'd take weeks over killing you. I've seen their work: men nailed to trees, prisoners slowly tortured…' He wetted his lips, turning his head as if straining for a sound, then muttered something.
'What was that?' Murranus asked. He got to his feet, went closer to the veteran and sat down. 'What is it, Crispus? I have not been a soldier but I know what it's like to fight, to be wounded. What is it you're hiding?'
Crispus opened his mouth to reply but shut it when he heard a sound on the stairs.
'You can't answer, can you?' Claudia asked.
Crispus closed his eyes and shook his head.
'I daren't,' he whispered. 'It had nothing to do with me.'
'You were at General Aurelian's party,' Claudia continued. 'What happened?'
Crispus, relieved at the change in questioning, shrugged and swallowed hard.
'You know the General, or perhaps you don't,' he replied. 'Generous, a great man, a good leader, he looked after his troops. Well, over the years he invited all those who'd served with him to a banquet in his garden. They were marvellous occasions, beautiful lanterns hanging from the trees, serving girls, ladies of the night, musicians, actors, tumblers. This year it was our turn. None of us wanted to miss such an exciting evening. We gathered just before dusk and the celebrations went on well into the next day. The General is a hospitable man; those who wanted to could sleep in the gardens, and when they woke up to quench their thirst, there was more food and wine.'
'Did you see anyone,' Claudia persisted, 'or anything which reminded you of the past?'
Crispus closed his eyes, thinking hard.
'Anything at all,' Murranus insisted. 'Anything untoward.'
Crispus opened his eyes. 'I swear,' he pointed to the Lares on the table, 'I swear by that. I saw nothing, I heard nothing.'
'And the rest?' Murranus asked. 'Stathylus, Lucius, Petilius, Secundus?'
