breath.
‘Mighty God who is everywhere!’ She had never tried praying in Latin. It felt like trying to run in somebody else’s shoes. ‘This is Tilla, Darlughdacha of the Corionotatae amongst the people of the Brigantes in Britannia.’ Nobody else had bothered to introduce themselves, she remembered now, but the god who was everywhere might have been busy somewhere else when she was named the first time. ‘I pray you will free my people from the Army who have stolen the land that is rightly ours and hunted down and murdered our holy men and women.’
She paused to draw breath. The ‘Amen’ that filled the gap was hesitant. ‘I pray you will heal the Medicus’ foot even though he is proud and stubborn and will not rest it.’
This time the ‘Amen!’ was fulsome.
‘Make his family wise and his sisters honourable.’
‘Amen!’ She was doing better now.
‘And I ask you to reveal the true poisoner so he will not be blamed for it.’
Silence. She opened her eyes and caught several worshippers swiftly closing theirs.
‘Great God, make his sister-in-law strong and comfort her mourning for her brother and may she know she will see him in the next world.’
There was a chorus of ‘Amen!’ and ‘Yes, Lord!’
‘And the man or men, or woman or women, who gave them that rotten old ship, may they never rest!’
A lone ‘Amen!’ from one of the old women.
‘May their crops wither and die!’ Someone coughed. ‘May their intestines tangle and rot!’ Tilla was conscious of a stifled giggle. She had to concede that traditional curses did sound rather odd in Latin.
‘Give them toothache that cannot be cured,’ she continued. ‘May their eyes fail and their skin itch and flake and be covered in warts!’
A fervent, ‘Amen, Sister!’ from the same old woman.
‘Amen,’ she concluded, and opened her eyes. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. Evidently they had never heard a British prayer before.
‘Ah — thank you, Sister. That was a very unusual prayer.’
‘I am not used to praying in Latin.’
‘Never mind. I think everyone understood.’
‘Well done, Sister!’ observed the old woman. ‘That was the best praying we’ve had in weeks!’
The leader gave a message of blessing from the lord who had, as she had expected, failed to turn up. Evidently his people were used to it. The blessing sounded well rehearsed.
Brother Solemnis’ slack mouth dropped open when Tilla tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, ‘I have something to ask you, Brother. You are from Arelate. Can you tell me anything about a ship called the
A flush rose from his neck and began to spread up his face. He managed to stammer an apology for knowing nothing at all.
As the cloth was having its crumbs shaken off outside the door, Tilla overheard one of the women saying to the leader, ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing I mean, Brother.’ The woman glanced at her before adding, ‘We need proper rules about who can speak.’
‘I’ll think about it, Sister.’
‘The believers in town have a rule that says …’
Tilla and Galla left the conversation behind and went outside. The sun was below the horizon, and in the failing light the rows of newly turned amphorae laid out to dry behind the kiln looked like a regiment of sleeping pigs. A woman she had not seen before was walking along one of the rows, counting and noting something on a writing-tablet. Remembering where they were, Tilla whispered, ‘Who is that?’
‘The widow Lollia Saturnina,’ came the reply.
It was true, then. She was pretty. She owned a successful business. And she could read and write. Even worse, Galla now said, ‘You will meet her. I hear she is coming to the house to dinner tomorrow.’
As they set out to walk back between the rows of olive trees to the Medicus’ house Galla said, ‘It is as well to be careful what you pray about, Sister. People talk.’
Tilla wrenched her mind away from Lollia Saturnina. ‘Even about prayers?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
They were interrupted by a couple leaving the meeting who wanted to say goodbye. As Tilla stood waiting for them to finish chatting with Galla, an idea began to form. It was a ridiculous idea. It was an inspired idea. It was an idea that seemed to have come from somewhere outside herself.
As they walked between the gnarled and stunted olive trees she said, ‘How would you know if your god was telling you to do something?’
Galla thought about that. ‘Some people hear a voice,’ she said. ‘But I never have. I suppose if I had an idea about a good thing, and it would help somebody, I would try to do it.’
‘If your god told you to do something but somebody else might not like it, what then?’
‘We must obey God rather than man.’ Galla sounded as if she was quoting something.
‘And is it true what it says in that letter from the Greek man? Your god will protect his people whatever happens to them?’
‘God loves us,’ Galla assured her. ‘If we keep the faith, there is a place ready for each one of us in heaven.’
Tilla voiced the problem that had been niggling at the back of her mind: ‘But you meet in secret.’
‘That doesn’t mean we have to put ourselves in danger on purpose.’
‘Would your god protect me in Arelate?’
Galla stopped. ‘Why would you go there?’
‘I am only thinking about it,’ explained Tilla. ‘Arelate is the place to find out about the missing ship. I was thinking, if this Brother Solemnis has a cart …’
‘You can’t go somewhere on your own with a man. And Arelate is full of sailors, and where there are sailors there are bad women.’
Tilla said, ‘But your god is everywhere.’
‘What about Master Gaius?’
‘The Medicus is a problem,’ Tilla agreed.
‘There are many things you don’t understand about the faith.’
‘I understand what it is to lose a brother.’ She also understood that if she did not find a way to avoid it, she was going to have to eat her first ever Roman dinner tomorrow night in front of the Medicus’ family and be compared with the rich and beautiful Lollia Saturnina, who knew how to read and write.
Before Galla could object, she gathered up her skirt and ran back down between the trees, past the squat boundary stone and the drying amphorae and into the yard, where the driver was standing chatting to some of the workmen. ‘Brother Solemnis!’ she cried. As his skinny neck reddened and his eyes widened in alarm she said, ‘I may need to go to Arelate. What time do you set off in the morning?’
43
The surface of the bench was still warm beneath her, but the late-evening air was mercifully cool. Tilla wrapped her hands around her shoulders and gazed at the house that was the Medicus’ home, but not hers. A yellow glow around the dining-room shutters reminded her of how he had changed the subject when she asked if he was thinking of marrying Lollia Saturnina.
A shape appeared in the doorway, clattered down the steps and hurried towards her. Resolving itself into Galla, it hissed, ‘Mistress Cassiana is coming!’
This was good. Cass was friendly. Perhaps they could talk over the problem.
‘I think she’s cross with us!’
Tilla frowned, wondering what she had done to offend now. Before Galla could explain, a second shape emerged from the house, and Galla fled.
