“If my memory serves me right, this elite legion was reduced by a Queen of the Britons called Boudicca.” Fidelma smiled with irony. “Something like six thousand foot soldiers and almost an equal number of auxiliaries were killed when she ambushed them. I have read your historian, Tacitus, who wrote about the battle.”
“The Britons were lucky,” snapped Deacon Lepidus in sudden irritation. Clearly his pride was patriotic even though the incident was an ancient one. It had happened a full six centuries before.
“Or Queen Boudicca was the better general,” Fidelma murmured quietly. “As I recall, the legion was cut to pieces and its commander, Petillius Cerialis, barely escaped to the shelter of his fortress with some of his cavalry. I think that there were only five hundred survivors out of the thousands of troops.”
For a moment Lepidus looked annoyed, and then he shrugged.
“It is clear that you have read Tacitus, Sister. The Venerable Gelasius was fulsome in his praise of your knowledge. The Legion, however, saved its eagle and was then brought back to fighting strength. Cerialis, in fact, went on to become governor of the province in recognition of his ability. You know what the eagle symbolizes for a Roman legion?”
“The eagle is the standard of each Roman legion, thought to be divinely blessed by being bestowed personally by the hand of the emperor who was then thought to be divine. If the eagle fell into enemy hands, then the disgrace was such that the entire legion had to be disbanded,” replied Fidelma.
“Exactly so,” agreed the deacon in satisfaction. “The Ninth Legion survived and served the emperors well. It pacified the northern part of this island, which was peopled by a fierce tribal confederation called the Brigantes. .”
The man’s voice was enthused and Fidelma, who disliked militarism, found herself frowning.
“All this is ancient history, Deacon Lepidus,” she interrupted pointedly. “I am not sure why you are recalling it nor what advice you seek from me.”
Deacon Lepidus made a quick gesture of apology.
“I shall come to that immediately. Did you know that the Ninth Legion disappeared while on active service among the Britons?”
“ I did not know. I have read only Tacitus and some of Suetonius, neither of whom mentions that.”
“They would not have been alive to record the event for it happened some sixty or seventy years later. My ancestor, the Legate Platonius Lepidus, was the officer in command of the Ninth Legion, at this time. He was commanding it when it vanished.”
Fidelma began to realize why the deacon was interested in ancient history, but not why he was raising the subject.
“So, your ancestor disappeared with six thousand men or more?”
“He did. He and the eagle of the Ninth Hispana vanished as well as the men. There were rumors that the Legion had disgraced itself and was disbanded. Other stories say that it was sent to fight against the Parthians and eliminated. Yet other stories say that it had lost its eagle and all record of it was then stricken from the books. A few claimed that the legion was marched north across the great wall built by the Emperor Hadrian to protect the northern border of this province from the unconquered country of the Caledonii. You see, all the record books are now destroyed and so we have no knowledge of what happened. .”
“It happened a long time ago,” observed Fidelma patiently. “What is it that you want of me?”
“It happened well over five hundred years ago,” Deacon Lepidus agreed. He was silent for a moment or so as if preoccupied with some thoughts. Then he stirred, as if making up his mind. “The fate of my ancestor, the eagle and the legion has become a matter of contention within our family. It is a matter that pride bids us attempt to resolve the mystery.”
“After so long?” Fidelma could not help but sound sceptical.
The deacon smiled disarmingly.
“The truth is that I am writing a history of the Ninth Legion and want to insert into that history the facts of what their fate was, and also exonerate the name of my ancestor. He has been blamed for the loss and even now the aristocracy of Rome does not readily forget this besmirching of the good name of our family.”
“Ah.” That Fidelma could understand. “But I cannot see how I might help you. I am not of this country and the area in which this legion disappeared, the land of the Brigantes, has been occupied for over one hundred years by the Angles, so any local traditions will have vanished when their culture and traditions replaced those of the Britons.”
“But you are an adept at solving mysteries,” pressed Deacon Lepidus. “The Venerable Gelasius has told me of how you solved the murders at the Lateran Palace.”
“What do you expect from me?”
The deacon gave an almost conspiratorial glance around him and leaned forward.
“The name Lepidus is well known in Rome. We are a princely family. We descend from Marcus Aemilius Lepidus who was a member of the great Julius Caesar’s council and formed the triumvirate to govern Rome with Mark Antony and Octavian Caesar.” He halted, perhaps realizing that the history of his family in ancient Rome was of little importance to her. He went on: “Some months ago a merchant arrived seeking our family villa. He had been trading between here and Frankia.”
“Trading between here and Frankia? How then did this merchant get to Rome?”
Deacon Lepidus absently placed a hand inside his robe.
“The merchant brought with him a piece of ancient vellum that he had acquired. He thought it valuable enough to come to Rome and seek out our family. He sold it to my father because it bore a name on it.”
“The name of Lepidus, undoubtedly.” Fidelma smiled, trying not to sound sarcastic.
“The name of the Legate Platonius Lepidus,” affirmed the other significantly. “The name of my ancestor who commanded the Ninth Hispana Legion at the time of its disappearance.” He paused dramatically. “The merchant bargained for a good price for that vellum.”
“He obviously expected it, having traveled all the way from these shores to Rome to sell it,” murmured Fidelma.
“The vellum was worth much to me and my family,” agreed Deacon Lepidus.
“And will you now produce this vellum?” asked Fidelma. When a suspicious frown crossed Lepidus’s face, she added: “I presume, because you placed your hand inside your robe when you spoke of it, the vellum reposes there?”
Deacon Lepidus drew forth the piece of fine burnished calf’s skin.
“The original is now in my family archive in Rome but I have made a precise copy of what was written on that ancient vellum.”
Fidelma reached out a hand.
“I observe that you have also used vellum on which to make your copy.”
“I made the copy as exact as I could to the original. The text is as it was written nearly five hundred years ago.”
Fidelma spread the copy on the table and looked at it for a moment before asking: “You have copied the exact wording? You have not altered anything at all?”
“I can assure you that the wording is exactly as it was. Shall I translate it for you?” the deacon asked eagerly.
“My knowledge of Latin is adequate, I believe. Although five centuries have intervened, the grammar and its vocabulary seem clear enough to me.”
She began to read.
“. . his wounds and weakness having prevented the Legate from falling upon his sword in his despair, I bound his hands to prevent such a disaster occurring in the future should consciousness return after he had fainted. Thereupon, we lay hidden in a culvert until darkness descended while our enemies reveled and caroused around us. They had much to celebrate. They had annihilated the greatest Legion that had marched from Hispania under the burnished eagles of the empire.
“All that remained of the famous band of six thousand fighting men was the wounded Legate and their eagle. History must record how Lepidus, the last survivor of those fighting men, grasped the eagle in that final overwhelming attack and stood, surrounded by the dead and dying, his
