Priscilla stirred and moaned. He reached down and used his good hand to haul her to her feet. ‘Come on, wife, I will help you to your bed. You have had too much worry for one day as it is. Anyway there is nothing further we can do tonight.’ He hoisted her upright and would have hurried her away if it had been up to him.

But, she shook him off and sat down unsteadily on the stool again, resting her head between her hands. When she had come to herself a little more, she looked up breathlessly. ‘I may not be a Vestal, husband, but I am not a fool. I run this rest-house just as much as you, and this concerns us both.’

‘All this talk of Druids is not fit for women’s ears,’ he said. ‘Go to your bed – I’ll see to matters here.’

She shook a stubborn head. ‘I want to find out what’s been happening – and it’s obvious I can’t trust you to tell me what you know.’ She turned to me. ‘So, what befell Audelia, citizen? If it’s not so disturbing that it spoils your meal.’

I had eaten every morsel of the stew by now but she was still deathly pale and I really did not welcome telling her the details of that shocking corpse. I procrastinated, picking up a crust of bread. ‘I’m sorry that I caused you such distress,’ I said. ‘The news that Audelia had disappeared – as we supposed – was discovered this morning, before the games began. Knowing there had been an exchange of messengers between here and Glevum, I naturally assumed you knew at least as much as that . . .’ I tailed off, apologetically.

She cast a furious look at Trullius. ‘And so I would have done – if my husband had seen fit to tell me anything.’

Trullius spread his one good hand in outraged innocence. ‘And have you fainting at the news?’

‘I would have done nothing of the kind! Ignore him, citizen. A little while ago you told me that Audelia was dead, and did I faint at that? Of course I didn’t. But I thought we were talking about a robbery gone wrong. Attack by highway brigands I could have understood – though Mars knows that’s bad enough – but –’ she used one plump hand to fan herself – ‘if the Druids are involved it’s something else again.’

Trullius put out a warning hand, but she brushed him off.

‘Don’t interrupt me, Trullius! He will hear from others, if he doesn’t hear from us. Anyone in town will tell him what’s been happening.’ She turned to me again. ‘Perhaps, citizen, you don’t know what these Druids can be like – unless you’ve heard the tales – but there’s been a lot of trouble with them round here recently. Curse-tablets and spell-casting and Jove knows what. It’s said that sheep and cattle are falling dead from it, and children born with crooked arms and legs, all because the Druid priests are looking for revenge.’

‘Revenge?’ This was a new idea. I was so surprised I swallowed the whole crust and had to wash it down with the last dregs of my sharp-tasting wine. I knew that there were odd bands of western rebels still hiding in the woods and that they often clung to the old religion as part of the protest against Rome. But generally their efforts were not of much account – a futile rearguard action against the conquerors, harrying military convoys or picking off solitary soldiers as they passed. So . . . ? ‘Revenge?’ I said again.

This time Trullius did exert himself. ‘Silence, woman! You have already talked too much. I will tell him, if anybody does! I won’t have you spreading rumours that there’s no foundation for. I am still the master of this house.’

And so he was, of course, and I would need his help as well. I turned towards him with a deferential smile. ‘I’d be glad of any information you can give.’

He was a little mollified. He cleared his throat – so like an orator on the forum steps that I half-expected him to strike a pose before he spoke. ‘Then I will tell you what is certain – not stoop to rumours. The authorities found a nest of Druid rebels in the woods. They had been making their usual bloody sacrifice – several heads of murdered legionaries were hung up on the trees and it was decided that an example must be made. A trap was set against them, and instead of killing them, the military managed to bring a lot of them to trial.’ He paused, to make sure I was following all this. ‘You can imagine the result.’

‘Of course! It is a capital offence simply to be a member of the sect – let alone murdering soldiers,’ I replied.

He nodded. ‘There have been public executions every day, as part of the civic munus – the five days of public games, leading up to and including the Imperial Birthday feast. Most of the prisoners were sentenced to the beasts – though one or two were fortunate enough to purchase poison and escape the worst of it. The last of them was executed only yesterday.’

His wife broke in again, clearly unable to hold her tongue for long. ‘There were some more victims in the ring today, but they weren’t dangerous, they were only followers of that Jewish carpenter – refusing to make a sacrifice to the Emperor, publicly saying that he is not a god, instead of keeping silent and going through the pretence, like anybody else. But of course they’re funny folk. They even claim that they forgive their enemies. The Druids don’t! They’re quite the opposite! So that is why I ask. Do you suppose the Druids killed Audelia in revenge?’

I nodded thoughtfully. It was the likely explanation, given these events. There would be a risk, of course – penalties for laying sacrilegious hands on a Vestal Virgin are even more severe than being fed to beasts. But provided that the rebel perpetrators felt themselves secure . . . ‘A Vestal Virgin would be a kind of symbol, I suppose,’ I said slowly.

Priscilla looked impatient. ‘More than just a symbol, citizen. Everyone knows the fate of Rome depends upon the sacred flame that they maintain in the Imperial capital. And it is the same with the Vestal temple in Britannia. Audelia was telling us about it yesterday: the altar flame was brought here in braziers as a “daughter fire”, and if that goes out it’s said the Empire will fall.’

I doubted that the Druids believed all this, in fact – they had their own ways of trying to defeat the might of Rome – but I could see how the ritual murder of a Vestal might affect the public mind.

It was clear what the authorities had intended to achieve by the recent executions in the ring: to punish the victims with humiliating death and frighten off other would-be supporters of the sect, and also to undermine the influence of the Druid priests – whose skills at divination are supposed to be their strength. It was equally clear why the rebels might have seized and killed Audelia in revenge. What defeated me was how they’d managed it.

Which did not mean they hadn’t done it: quite the contrary! It was just the kind of coup which would appeal to them, designed to terrify the populace and taunt the conquerors by proving that the sect had secret, magic powers and that its members’ deaths would not go unrevenged.

‘I can understand the impulse to retaliate,’ I said. ‘I have witnessed an execution ad bestias myself, in company with my patron. It is a dreadful death.’

Even now the memory raised bile in my throat. First the snarling and slavering of the wolves and bears (the favoured animals in this northern outpost of the Empire, where more exotic creatures are not easily obtained) as a taunting fragment of raw meat was held in front of them, to demonstrate that they had not been fed for days. Then the convicted criminal dragged screaming to the ring, flogged so that the smell of fresh blood would reach the starving beasts, before he was tied naked to a post on a sort of chariot, and thrust into the snarling cage to be torn apart for the entertainment of the crowd. I pushed my plate away.

Trullius seemed reluctant to accept this train of thought, perhaps because it had been suggested by his wife. ‘What makes you so certain it was Druids, anyway? I’m sure they’ve not confessed. You must have a reason for thinking it was them?’

There was nothing for it. I told them everything, including a description of the mutilated corpse. There was a silence. The woman turned a paler shade of white and I almost feared that she would slump onto the floor again.

Trullius took one look at her and seized the empty jug, hugging it to him as he took the lamp again. ‘I’ll get some more of this. My wife could do with something, by the look of it, and – frankly – so could I, though, not being Roman citizens, we’re unaccustomed to drinking late at night. You, citizen, are welcome to have some if you wish. There won’t be any charge.’ He shambled off into the back part of the house.

I realized that Priscilla was looking desperately around. ‘Searching for something?’ I enquired.

She didn’t answer, merely seized the wooden tray, knocked on it three times and spat onto the floor. I realized that she had been seeking to ‘touch wood’ and keep ill-luck away. A Druid superstition if I recalled aright – though everyone seemed to have adopted it these days.

When she spoke her voice was tremulous. ‘The head chopped off and sprigs of mistletoe enclosed – it certainly sounds like Druid handiwork.’ She rallied as a sudden thought seemed to occur to her. ‘But if that’s true, no blame can fall on us. If they murdered her, it must have been in Glevum, citizen. They did not do it here, and they could not possibly have done it on the way. There would have been a dreadful skirmish: it would have rocked the coach, and someone would have noticed, the raedarius or the maid. To say nothing of the mess it must have made.’

I toyed with the remaining breadcrumbs on the board. ‘There wasn’t any mess. That is one of the most interesting aspects of the whole event. And she was not killed in Glevum, there are witnesses to that. The coach was under observation all the time.’

I saw the look of horror slowly dawning in her eyes. ‘So what are you suggesting? That she was dead and already in the box when she left here? Well, I can tell you certainly that she was not. With my own eyes I saw her get into the coach.’

‘And you could swear to that? Did she not have a veil?’

That took her aback. ‘Well, of course she did. So does any modest Roman matron, come to that. So did all the women, except the slaves, of course. But all the others were standing round while she got in, and they knew her well. They would have recognized her – from her voice, if nothing else – and realized if there was anything amiss. I was upstairs and looking down into the court and I heard her speak myself – and anyway, I would have known the cloak. Only a Vestal Virgin has a snow-white cape like that. In fact it had already attracted attention from the street – later I saw an ancient slave-woman still goggling at the gate. I actually had to wave at her to shoo her off.’

Something that she said had struck a chord with me. ‘So Audelia was not only veiled, she had a hooded cape?’ I frowned. Another mystery. There had been no cloak inside the raeda when we found the corpse.

Priscilla noticed my perplexity. ‘Well you did not expect her to get wringing wet? Not on her wedding day?’

‘Of course, it was raining! Ephibbius told me that!’ I was annoyed, but only with myself. Why had I not seen the significance of that fact before? ‘So not only did Audelia have a cloak and hood, the others had one too?’

Priscilla took my irritation for rebuke. ‘Well naturally, citizen. The women anyway. What else would you suppose?’ She got to her feet and started clearing the table noisily, banging the cup and plate onto the tray. ‘But if you’re suggesting what I think you are – that it might have been someone else who got into the coach – then, forgive me, citizen, but I think that you’re insane. I saw her do it. Ask my husband if you doubt my word for it. He was in the courtyard near the raeda when she got into it. Wouldn’t he have noticed if a stranger took her place?’

I had to admit that she had a valid point, but I was loath to abandon the only theory that I had. ‘Then is it possible that someone was already hiding in the coach? Someone concealed beneath the seat, perhaps? Or in the box itself? Suppose the Druids had got to hear there was a Vestal here – it is not impossible to break into the house. If Lavinia could get out of it so easily, then someone could get in, find the box and hide away in it.’ I was warming more and more to the idea.

She paused in her noisy clearing of the board. ‘But Audelia and her cousin shared a room last night. No one could possibly have hidden in the box without their noticing. Besides, Audelia had me bring a tray to her before she left – some washing water and a little bread and milk – and I saw her with my own eyes, collecting her possessions and refolding them. She’d unpacked everything the night before to hunt for wedding-shoes. So no one could have hidden in her box overnight and jumped out in the coach.’ She paused to look at me. ‘You keep looking for logic, citizen. If this is Druid magic, there may be none to find. It may be the work of spells and sorcery. They have their secret methods of bringing things about.’

I had my methods too, and I was reluctant to abandon them. As with the street-magicians in Glevum earlier, I was sure that there was some logical explanation of the trick – even if the Druids had a hand in it. But how had it been done? Something, somewhere was not as it appeared. I mentally rehearsed the details of what I had been told. ‘About those wedding slippers . . . ?’

Priscilla looked surprised. ‘I suppose the horseman told you about that? He was sent to find them – I don’t know if he did.’ She had finished clearing up the remnants of my meal, and she rubbed down the tabletop with one sweep of her sleeve. ‘Audelia was angry when they could not be found – quite unlike herself.’

‘So angry that she wouldn’t have her slave-girl sleeping in the room?’

Priscilla almost smiled through her nervousness. ‘There was hardly room for that in any case, with her box and Lavinia taking up the floor. Generally we provide a sleeping mat and have the servant’s bed down just outside the bedroom door. And that’s exactly what happened yesterday. The nursemaid and Audelia’s maid were both on guard up there, and – before you ask – the horseman and the raeda-driver slept beside the coach, so I don’t see how anybody could have got in there unobserved.’

I shook my head. Another theory ruined.

She saw the gesture. ‘I told you, citizen. This is Druid sorcery at work.’

I met her eyes. ‘But how would Druids know there was a Vestal here? Her presence was not publicly announced, though you said that you had boasted about it to your acquaintances. Are there Druid followers among the people that you told?’

She hesitated. Not for very long, but before she found her tongue her husband had already spoken from the darkness of the door.

‘None that we know of, citizen. Although, of course – as I said before – since membership of the sect is officially a crime, nobody is likely to admit to it.’ His tone was so open and hearty, suddenly, that I was convinced that he was attempting to hide something from me. He came in and slapped the jug down on the board, together with two extra cups that he’d been carrying crooked into the elbow of his damaged arm. ‘Here is the wine. Enough of your prattling, wife.’ He poured a little into the smaller cup and pushed it towards her. ‘Have a draught of this . . .’ He paused. ‘Before the Druids come for you as well.’

That seemed to silence her. She took the cup and had a small obedient sip. ‘The citizen thinks there was a substitution made – that it was not Audelia that got into the coach,’ she said, slowly. ‘I have told him otherwise.’

He poured himself some wine, and – as an afterthought – poured out some more for me. ‘For once, citizen, the woman’s talking sense. I saw the Vestal climb into the seat myself. I helped the raedarius hand her up the steps.’

‘You heard her voice?’ I said, remembering the veil.

He took a long and savouring sip of wine, and licked his lips. ‘I did. She even spoke to me. Thanked me for my help, and slipped me a small coin – I forgot to tell you, wife. Then I went and found the stable-slaves to carry down the box, and supervised them while they put it in the coach. There was no chance of a substitution, citizen. Everyone was clustered round her making their farewells. Secunda was very nearly in the coach herself, helping Audelia to put the shutters up. And when it left here she was terribly upset – smothering her hands with kisses and blowing them towards the coach. You’d never think the family had insulted them, by refusing to invite them to the wedding feast.’

Priscilla nodded. ‘Not that the poor thing was really well enough to go. She walks so badly and is generally so frail, she was leaning on her husband all the time that she was here. And so quiet and timid all the while. I don’t believe I heard her speak above a word – except to say goodbye and thank you as they left.’

‘Was that long after Audelia had gone?’ I asked.

‘They did not finally depart for at least another hour, but they did go into town immediately she’d left. That had always been the plan. The slave-market opens shortly after dawn, and they wanted to be there as soon as possible – before the best were gone. There was one in particular that they had heard about – a female slave who had been injured in the throat and afterwards had lost the power of speech, and was no doubt offered at a bargain price. Damaged goods, of course. Who’d want a slave like that?’ She seemed to be aiming this at Trullius, as if to point out that he was damaged too.

He said, with a certain patient dignity, ‘They wanted to buy her for their daughter, I believe, thinking that another mute would make a bond with her and might even help her to understand the world. No doubt the slave was cheap, but I believe Paulinus would have paid any price at all, if he thought it would help his precious child in some way.’

She smiled, contemptuously. ‘That is exactly the point I made to you before – yet you think my arguments are foolish ones. Of course he’ll pay too much. He’s already spent a fortune, which he could ill afford, on charms and cures for her – not that they have done any good at all. And of course, they’d lost the nursery-maid she was familiar with—’

‘Enough of your gossip, woman,’ Trullius broke in. ‘Drink your wine and get yourself to bed, and I will assist this citizen to his.’ He put his cup and jug down on the tray, which he deftly scooped up and balanced as before. He turned to me. ‘You don’t require a servant sleeping at your door? I could fetch the horseman and provide a sleeping-mat. Or put a stable-slave on duty for you, if you wish. I’ll light another taper and accompany you upstairs.’

I did not need a candle to see what was afoot. A blind man might have seen. All this solicitation was a desperate attempt – and a clumsy one at that – to shut the woman up and hustle me away.