eagle was so tight, even in unconsciousness, that I could not sever his grip and thus I dragged him and the eagle to the culvert which ran not far away from that bloody field. Mars looked down on us for we were not observed by our enemies.
“How we survived was truly the decision of the gods. The Legate had become feverish from his wounds and I dragged and hauled him along the culvert further away from that grim field of slaughter until we reached the safety of a copse. There we lay a further day but, alas, the Legate’s condition deteriorated. By morning, a calm had seized him. He knew he was dying. He gripped my hand and recognized me.
“He spoke slowly: ‘Cingetorix,’ he addressed me by name, ‘how came you here?’
“I replied that I had been with the baggage train when the Caledonii attacked it, and I fled, I knew not whither. Only after being led blindly by fate did I come upon the remarkable scene of the commander and a few men about the eagle, making their last stand. When they were overcome I saw the Caledonii had neglected to gather up the eagle and, knowing of its value, I made my way to the now-deserted bodies in an endeavor to save it. That was when I saw the Legate was still alive, albeit barely.
“The Legate Lepidus was still gripping my arm. ‘Cingetorix, you know what the eagle means. I am done for. So I charge you, take the eagle and place it in the hands of the emperor whence it came that he might raise it once again and declare that the Ninth Hispana is not yet dead even though the men have fallen. Proclaim that Lepidus shed his life’s blood in its defense and died with the eagle and his honor intact.’ ”
Fidelma paused and looked up from the vellum.
“This text is surely the authority you need to write your history?” she asked. “What now brings you to this country?”
“Read on,” the deacon urged.
“The Legate tarried not a moment more in this life. Therefore I removed the eagle from the shattered remains of its wooden pole and wrapped it in cloth to make it easier to carry. I then waited until night fell again and slowly began to place what distance I could from the still celebrating Caledonii. However, they were blocking the roads to the south and so I resolved to move westward into the country of the horse people-the Epidii.
“My story is long and complicated and I will transcribe it as and when I can. However, I must insert at this point that I could not fulfill my promise to the Legate Lepidus, may the gods honor him. It took me years to return to my own town of Darovernum and the gods smiled on me for I brought the eagle with me. But there is much disorder here at this time and age has spread a shadow over me. I cannot take the eagle to Rome and I fear to give it to the Governor Verus lest he take the credit himself. He is a man not to be trusted in such matters. I have therefore determined to hide it with some account in the tiny house I have which lies close to Tower Eight toward the northeast corner of a building some Christians have erected to honor one of their leaders named Martin of Gaul. I have hidden the honor of the Ninth Hispana in the hypocaust. There it will remain until my son has grown and can, under my instruction, resume the journey to Rome and can fulfill my. .”
The vellum ended and Fidelma stopped reading. She looked up at Deacon Lepidus with eyes narrowed slightly.
“Now that I have read this document, what is it you want of me?”
Deacon Lepidus gave a winning smile.
“I had thought that there were clues in the document, which might tell you where this man came from and where the eagle might be hidden. If I could take the eagle and more details back to Rome, if I could have a trustworthy witness to its rediscovery, then I could write my history with confidence. My family, the family of Lepidus, would be able to raise their heads in Rome and aspire to all the great offices without a cloud hanging over the past. Why, I might aspire to Bishop or Cardinal. . there is no limit to the temporal and spiritual ambitions that. .”
He paused and smiled quickly as if in embarrassment.
“My concern, however, as an historian, is simply to discover the truth. Perhaps this man, Cingetorix, was writing lies. Perhaps. . but if we could discover where he lived and where he hid the eagle, if it was his to hide, then what a great historical mystery would be solved.”
Fidelma sat back and examined the man carefully.
“There are many Britons who are more qualified than I am to examine this document and point to the clues.”
Lepidus shrugged.
“The Britons? They never venture now beyond the new borders of the kingdoms into which the Saxons have confined them. They certainly would not venture into the country of the Saxons. And have they not consistently fought against us Romans? Not simply in the days when our legions ruled their lands but even in recent times when they refused to obey the rule of the Mother Church in Rome. Their kings refused to bend their necks before Augustine, who was the Bishop of Rome’s personal envoy and missionary here. They preferred to stick to their idolatry, to the heretic Pelagius and their own leaders.”
Fidelma raised an amused eyebrow.
“Surely, we of Éireann are also condemned by Rome, for our churches, too, believe in the theology of Pelagius rather than the attitudes adopted by Augustine of Hippo?”
Lepidus smiled disarmingly.
“But we can always argue with you folk of Éireann whereas the Britons are proud people, incline to test their belief at sword point.”
Fidelma was about to say, “just like the Romans” but thought better of it.
“I know a little of the history and language of the Britons, but I am not an expert.” She glanced at the vellum again and smiled thinly. “Certainly there are many clues in this account.”
Deacon Lepidus leant forward eagerly.
“Enough to track down where this man Cingetorix came from?”
Fidelma tapped the manuscript with her forefinger.
“That is simple. See, the man has written the exact location.”
The deacon frowned.
“Certainly he has. But he has written Darovernum. But where is that place? I have asked several people and none seem to know.”
Fidelma chuckled.
“It is a name recorded by the geographer Ptolemy about the time when the deeds mentioned in this story are said to have taken place.”
“What does it mean?”
“In the tongue of the Britons,
Lepidus looked dismayed.
“That is a fine example of linguistics, Sister Fidelma, but where can we find the location of this place?”
Fidelma regarded him steadily.
“The Romans called the place Darovernum Cantiacorum-the Cantiaci fort by the alder swamp.”
“I am at a loss still,” Deacon Lepidus confessed.
“You are in the very town because the Cantiaci fort by the alder swamp is what the Jutes now call the
Deacon Lepidus’s features dissolved into an expression of amazement.
“Do you mean that the eagle might be hidden here? Here, in this very town?”
“All I mean, so far, is that the place mentioned in this document is this very town,” replied Fidelma solemnly.
“But this is incredible. Are you saying that this man, Cingetorix, the man who took the eagle from my ancestor, brought the eagle to this town? Is there anything else you can tell me?” Deacon Lepidus was clearly excited.
Fidelma pursued her lips thoughtfully.
“Since you have mentioned it, the name Cingetorix is a name that is also associated with the Cantiaci. Any student of Julius Caesar’s account of his landing here would recognize it. But it is a strange name for a lowly
