Read Online The Memory of Snow by Kirsty Ferry - Free Book Online Page B

at the temple as he took
up his watch, then further afield towards the Sacred Well. ‘Remind me to make
an offering to Coventina,’ he said. ‘The more deities we have on our side, the
better.’
    ‘I am inclined to agree,’ said Marcus,’ but here is not the
place to discuss it. We must do our duty to the fort and consider the
implications later.’ Janus had shot a glance at him in surprise. It was unlike
Marcus to deflect a conversation, whether it was at a change of watch or not.
    ‘Marcus! Where does your allegiance lie?’ hissed Janus. ‘To
Carrawburgh fort with this Christian in charge, or to your religion? You can be
moved to a different fort as easily as day follows night. But your religion and
your beliefs go with you. Unless, of course, you choose to follow Christianity
and become Titus’ lapdog?’
    ‘I do not like your attitude,’ snapped Marcus. ‘It is not the
place to discuss this.’ Janus opened his eyes wide.
    ‘But what is the problem?’ he asked, confused and hurt by
Marcus’ outburst. Marcus was one of the most good-natured, trusting people
Janus had ever met. Sometimes, he felt this personality did not sit well with a
Prefect of Marcus’ rank. Janus was more forthright and confident than Marcus;
sometimes Janus had a definite swagger to his walk, a way of fixing a person
with a stare that was both quizzical and challenging, yet somehow inviting
respect and honesty from the recipient. Marcus was much more relaxed. He
radiated common sense and openness, drawing people in like a moth to a flame.
They were both excellent leaders; yet where Janus seemed to have been born into
leadership and the role appeared to have evolved to accommodate him, Marcus had
worked his way up the ranks. Janus could not remember the last time Marcus had
been short with him. What had changed?
    Janus had looked around him, shaking his head almost
imperceptibly, as if he could find the answer to his friend’s behaviour in the
wild moors and hills around him. Then he saw it; maybe not in the moors, but a
little closer to home. Aemelia, the Commandant’s daughter, was walking across
the square in the centre of the fort. She was heading towards the gate,
escorted by a slave who was carrying her basket. She must be going into the
vicus. This girl was allowed more freedom than Janus thought was usual. She
often wandered around the fort or disappeared into the civilian settlement.
Janus had even spotted her walking across the moors alone. He doubted that
Titus Perpetuus knew his only child was walking about the northern territory in
such a fashion. His sharp eyes spotted Marcus cast a glance her way and pull
himself up straighter as she hurried past them. He also saw Aemelia look up
under her eyelashes at the men standing on the ramparts, a smile playing around
her rosy lips. Her gaze was only for Marcus, Janus realised. This, then, was
what had changed. He would not let Marcus know he had realised yet. But at
least he had an explanation for his friend’s behaviour. Not that it was a
secret he was happy about knowing. Janus frowned as he walked down the steps
and left Marcus patrolling the wall. Things were definitely changing at
Carrawburgh. He wondered how this would affect the cult of Mithras and Marcus’
role in that.
    Marcus was wondering much the same thing as he moved around
the temple after the feast. The worship of Mithras was not at the forefront of
his mind any more: and he knew it was something he was loathe to admit to
anybody.
     

 
    AD 391
     
    Aemelia was alone today; at last she had escaped from her
mother and the slave she insisted accompanied her daughter everywhere. She
checked over her shoulder as she slipped out of the fort gate, then sighed. She
had thought she was alone. Syrus, her slave, had other ideas. He was there
again, tailing her. He followed at a discreet distance, stopping in the shadows
every so often and waiting for her to move on. There was no escape from him. It
was like having a