Queen of the Night

my club and crouched on the ground. The Romans came back, tied ropes round me and I became a slave, sold to this person or that. At first they thought I was a fearsome warrior, but I soon proved my skill at cooking. Anyway, the troops were leaving, the civil war was coming to an end. I was slave to a tribune working in the military kitchens, and he took me back to Rome, but he didn't want me, so he sold me on. Valerius bought me, the only truly good man I've ever met.' The Pict added sorrowfully, 'A kindly man. He actually taught me the Roman method of cooking. I excelled, but now he's dead, and once again I am wandering under heaven.'
    'Has Sallust told you why I wanted to meet you?'
    Celades, lower lip jutting out, shook his head. 'Perhaps you want to hire a cook?'
    Claudia glanced back over her shoulder at the tavern; a thought occurred to her.
    'Perhaps I do,' she smiled back, 'but first let me tell you the reason for this meeting.' She quickly described the murder of the three veterans and the abuse inflicted on their corpses. Celades heard her out, now and again grunting to himself.
    'What do you want me to do, mistress?' he asked when she'd finished. 'I am no assassin. I've told you I am not a warrior.'
    'Is that the Pictish way of abusing the enemy dead?' Claudia asked.
    'Yes and no. Let me tell you. First, mistress, I've heard of this story.'
    Claudia leaned forward. 'You mean about the Golden Maid?'
    'Oh yes.' Celades nodded. 'Don't forget, although we lived out in the heathland, the tribes were constantly trading with each other. To the west, across the sea, were the Scoti; often they were red-haired, while we Picts are as dark as our own souls. We traded with the Scoti, made treaties and marriage alliances. Some of their women,' he added wistfully, 'were truly beautiful, totally different from ours, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, hair like the sun. We heard about a chieftain who'd married one of these princesses, but it was one story amongst many. At the time, all the tribes were looking hungrily south, hoping for rich pickings.'
    'And the murders?' Claudia asked. 'The castration?'
    'Killing is all the same under God's sky,' Celades replied. 'It doesn't really matter, does it?' He raised his eyebrows. 'A cut to the throat, a slit belly, a hand hacked off, it always ends the same, cold as a piece of pork on a butcher's slab. I've done with my warrior ways, mistress, I don't want to fight. I don't even want to see another corpse.'
    'But these murders, the abuse?' Claudia insisted.
    'Well, to answer your question bluntly…' Celades picked up his goblet, sipped from it and smacked his lips. 'If you really want to know, mistress, such abominations were carried out by our womenfolk on prisoners. You see, the Romans often came pillaging and burning. If they captured one of our women, they'd rape her, so if we captured one of them, a rare enough event, or indeed anyone we considered guilty of rape or sexual abuse, we'd hand them over to the women of the tribe, who'd kill them and then castrate them. So, the person you are looking for has invoked the blood feud. He, or she, believes those men are responsible for heinous crimes, especially rape, against themselves or someone they love, someone tied to them by blood.'
    'But here, in Rome? Do you know of any Picts?' Claudia asked. 'I mean amongst the slave population or freedmen?'
    Celades shook his head. 'I'll be honest, mistress. I have no desire to talk to anyone from my people. If I thought there was a Pict sitting in your tavern, I'd do everything I could to avoid him or her.'
    Claudia nodded, distracted by the song of a thrush. She heard sounds from the tavern. Was that Polybius' voice? She stared up at the sky, wondering what Murranus would be doing.
    'Mistress,' Celades sat forward, 'do you know of anyone who would hire or need a Pictish cook? I am skilled in everything.'
    'What is your speciality, Celades?'
    'Fried liver from livestock, especially fattened on figs,-that's how the athletes like to eat it. It's best to avoid the liver of a pig, it's coarser than calves' or lambs', and I prefer frying rather than grilling; the meat tends to stay succulent and fresh. Mix it with mint, coriander, salt and you have a fine dish. What my people would call narifa.'
    'Narifai' Claudia queried.
    'Victory!' Celades grinned. 'Victory served up, victory for the senses, for the stomach, for the tongue, for the palate. So, mistress, do you know of anybody who needs a