Queen of the Night

stared down the alleyway and glimpsed pinpricks of light beyond. In the end she could find nothing, so, picking up the lantern, she returned to the tavern, washed her hands in a vat of water just beneath the stairs and went up to join the rest. Crispus and Secundus were now drinking as if facing their own deaths.
    'How could it happen?' she asked. 'Crispus, you're a soldier, a veteran,- whoever killed Stathylus must have got very close and taken him by surprise. Another man, a boy?'
    Crispus shook his head. 'Who then?' Claudia asked. 'A woman?' 'Of course,' Secundus slurred. 'Stathylus is like the rest of us. Our wives are dead, or back in Britain; any woman who offers herself would be taken. Stathylus had been drinking, he wouldn't remember, he wouldn't realise the danger until it was too late.'
    Claudia leaned against the table, staring down at the food and wine stains. She tried to visualise what had happened. Stathylus had staggered out of the tavern wishing to relieve himself; he'd gone up that alleyway. Someone had known he'd be here tonight. Someone was waiting. It didn't matter who came out; in the eyes of their killer, the fate of these veterans was already sealed. Stathylus was an old soldier, a man who lived by himself, apparently; with a belly full of wine, he wouldn't realise the danger. Some pretty whore comes tripping along, drawing close; she stabs him with a quick thrust to the stomach. The shock alone would paralyse Stathylus, then the rest. Claudia lifted her head.
    'Are you going to tell us,' she asked, 'what you have omitted, something very important, from your story? If you want to live, you'll have to tell us, and tell us now.'
    Secundus tried to stop him but Crispus, wide-eyed with fear, struck away his companion's warning hand. 'I'll tell you,' he declared. 'Stathylus' story was true, but there was a great deal missed out. We were on the wall under Postulus. No, no, shut up, Secundus, do you want to die like a pig in an alleyway?'
    Secundus let his hands fall away and sat, head down.
    'As I said,' Crispus' voice grew strong, his tone bitter, 'in the beginning it was a good life. Postulus was a fine officer; he liked his wine but he cared for us. Then we were dispatched to that mile fort. I hated it! A haunted place! The skies seemed to press down on you, and either side of the wall there was really nothing but gorse, bramble and long grass. There was fighting in the south between the different pretenders, units were leaving, but we decided to stay, it was safer. Anyway, there was bad blood between Postulus and Stathylus, they hated each other. Postulus was of the old school, a little bit of a snob; he thought he should be in charge of more men but, of course, cohorts, units, even legions had been drastically reduced. Nevertheless, he was competent enough, and he made sure we were paid, fed and well protected. We heard rumours of Pictish war bands prowling in the area so we decided to go out and reconnoitre. With Postulus there must have been,' he pulled a face, 'about fifteen or sixteen of us. Our horses were good, we were well armed and provisioned. Postulus led us out. We almost stumbled on that war band, they were sheltering in the hollow of a hill. Perhaps they thought that, because of the confusion along the wall, they were safe. We attacked at night, riding into their camp, slaughtering to the left and to the right. There were more of them than we thought, so Postulus decided to call it a day, but we had two captives: a young man – we cut his throat; he was so badly wounded Postulus said we couldn't take care of him.'
    'And the other prisoner?' Claudia asked.
    'You'll never believe us.' Crispus stared directly at her. 'The Picts are small, dark and wiry. They had allies to the north, the Caledonii, and, across the seas to the west, the Scoti. Some of these are extremely fair-haired. To cut a long story short, the Pictish chieftain had a woman, a young wench, perhaps no more than sixteen or seventeen summers old. She was cloaked and hooded but when we returned to the fort we discovered she was a great beauty. One of our number knew the Pictish tongue, or at least a few words. We tried to make sense of what she said. She was very frightened and claimed she was a princess, the Pictish chieftain's new wife, and that he'd be angry and would come looking for her. We asked for her name but all she told us was that she was the Golden Maid -that's what her name meant – and she'd been given