will have bread brought to you at the last bell.’
The gathering stood and filed out of the dining hall. Bernice approached the top table to collect the cell keys from Sister Agnes
‘Bernice,’ said Agnes, ‘I want you to secure our Sisters in their cells until this is sorted out.’
‘Is there anything else I can do?’ asked Bernice.
‘No, thank you, just bring them back to the hall after morning prayers.’
‘What about the keys?’ asked Bernice.
‘Keep hold of them until tomorrow,’ said Agnes, ‘You will need them to unlock the doors for morning prayers. These are trying times, but hopefully it is coming to an end. Once it is over, we have to get back to normal as soon as possible. There will be a vote for the position of Mother Superior and whoever gets the position, it will leave a vacancy for a Senior Sister. Quite apart from your spirituality and dedication, your support during this difficult period has not gone unnoticed. If there was any doubt before, there is none now. You will take that role, Bernice. The decision has been made. You will be the next Senior Sister and will be inducted into the higher order as soon as possible. You keep the keys, Bernice, I trust you. After all, you will be one of us soon enough.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ said Bernice, and turned to follow the other Nuns leaving the hall.
‘
Bernice spent the next half an hour locking the Sisters in their cells before returning to her own room to pray. She cleaned her room, and washed head to foot from the water bowl on the simple sideboard. Finally she read passages from her bible, seeking succour from its comforting pages, but found her mind wandering, her eyes often drawn to the convent keys hanging on the back of her cell door. Finally she gave up, and replaced the bible on the bedside table. She took a big sigh and rose to get the keys off the door. She knew what she had to do but now she had the opportunity, her nerve was failing. She gathered her courage and started to take the keys off the giant ring, seeking the only one she would need if she was going to see this thing through. At last she left the cell and walked down the dark and silent corridor, her one hand playing with the hall key she had placed in her pocket.
Chapter 31
Britannia 64AD
Dragus, Rubria and Rose stood before the Chieftain’s hut, waiting patiently for him to emerge. It seemed half the village had assembled to see the three fugitives brought back from the forest and everyone knew that the day would end in bloodshed, if Blackthorn wasn’t happy. Rubria looked around in fascination. She had never even seen a true Celt before let alone been in the midst of a Celtic village.
‘Who are these people?’ asked Rubria quietly.
‘They are a clan of the Atrebates tribe,’ said Dragus, ‘One of the smaller tribes of Britannia.’
‘Are they friendly?’ asked Rose nervously
‘Depends on the mood of the Chieftain,’ said Dragus. ‘Over here the clan leaders hold total control of their clans. They have the power of life or death within their own villages and their word is law.’
‘These are not the same people that are sold as slaves in the markets of Rome,’ she said, ‘There, they have unruly hair with wild beards, and the smell from their bodies is awful. These people are clean, with trimmed beards. Look at the colours of the children’s clothes, such hues are expensive in Rome yet here they are worn by the children.’
‘Don’t forget, Priestess,’ said Dragus, ‘The captives you refer to in Rome were often kept in cages like animals for months. They were probably half starved and had travelled across the known world before gracing the markets of the Eternal City, and were certainly no stranger to the whip on their travels. Is it any wonder they looked like savages?’
‘I didn’t realise,’ said Rubria, ‘We were told they were barbarians who ate their own babies.’
‘These people are like you or I, Priestess,’ said Dragus, ‘They have hopes and dreams. Raise families and look after their elderly. There are no poor here, what little they have is shared equally. They are a proud people and have their own Gods and traditions. Rome came to these shores expecting to find heathen. What they found is a fierce nation of tribes whose only fault is their continual infighting. If they had found a way of combining the tribes into a cohesive army then our northern frontier would still be on the shores of Gaul. Caratacus came close, Boudica closer still, but at the end of the day Roman Gold won over more chieftains than Roman spears ever did.’
The Chieftain, his son and half a dozen of the tribe’s elders ducked out of the hut and approached the three fugitives, stopping in front of Rubria. The Priestess had washed the grime from her face and brushed her golden hair until it hung down past her waist. Blackthorn and his son walked around her, finally stopping to stare into her astonishingly blue eyes. Some of the men touched her hair and one actually tried to force open her mouth to look at her teeth.
‘Get your hands off me,’ she snapped, causing them all to laugh.
Finally they returned to the hut.
‘What now?’ asked Rubria.
‘We wait,’ said Dragus.
Five minutes later one of the elders emerged and called out.
‘Roman,’ he said, ‘Blackthorn requires your presence.’
‘Here goes,’ said Dragus and walked forwards into the chieftains hut. Inside, the elders had taken their places in a half circle, sitting on carved chairs of oak. Dragus stood inside the entrance, waiting to be addressed.
‘So Roman,’ said Blackthorn eventually, ‘This is the Priestess you told us about.’
‘It is.’
‘I have to admit, she does have something of the Gods about her.’
‘So you will help us?’
‘I will,’ said Blackthorn, ‘But there is a price to pay.is a?
‘We have little coin,’ said Dragus.
‘I have no need of Roman coin,’ said the Chieftain. ‘We will give you shelter and our protection. No word of your whereabouts will reach the ears of the Romans or the filth that take their coin. You will work for your keep but will share in the food of the village. Your Priestess will also be allowed to set up her shrine and worship your Goddess. However, after the child is born, the Priestess will wed my son.’
‘What?’ asked Dragus incredulously, ‘But she would never allow that to happen. She is a Priestess of Vesta and vowed to know no man for thirty years.’
‘The rules of your homeland do not apply here, Roman. She will be allowed to continue worshipping this Vesta you speak of, but she will do so as the wife of my son. One day, when, the birds pick over the remains of my funeral pyre, she will become the wife of a Chieftain. Until that time, the slave will see to her health and you will see to her safety.’
‘And if any Roman patrols come to the village?’ asked Dragus.
‘They will not find you in any of our huts. Back amongst the tree line there is a cave where we used to keep our pigs in winter. It is dry, and there is a stream nearby. With a few furs and a bit of cleaning, it will be comfortable enough. This is where you will stay until the child is born. Take it or leave it, Roman, I can just as easily have you bound and handed over to the governor of Londinium. Your choice.’
‘There is no choice,’ said Dragus eventually, ‘We accept your offer.’
‘Do you not wish to speak to the Priestess, first?’
‘There is no need to worry her about this matter, Blackthorn. There will be time enough when the child is born.’
