In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

The Vigiles House occupied the back corner of the Basilica Viriconia so it was not too long a waddle for Julia to get there. She and Edbert were shown into Bryn’s office as he was just setting up a monitor screen on one wall. He looked over as the door opened and addressed the Vigiles officer escorting them in. “Fetch the Domina a comfortable chair, Dougal and a decent spiced tea.”
“No milk,” Julia said quickly as the Vigiles vanished briefly from sight, then returned with a cushioned chair which he placed with a good view of the screen before disappearing through the door again.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Bryn said and pointed to the screen which now showed an interview room with a single occupant. A nervous, scrawny man, dressed in a shabby coat under which could be seen a filthy-looking tunic. “I’ll be in there.”
Julia frowned and was about to ask what this was about, but Bryn had already swept up a folder from his desk and left the office. A short time later they saw him enter the interview room and run through the preliminaries of any interrogation. The man gave his name as Hepple Shalko and kept repeating that he hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t know anything about nothing at all.
Bryn ignored that and cut to the chase as soon as the preliminaries were done.
“The reason you are here is that you told one of my Vigiles you’d seen a boat being loaded with cargo beside the forest. Do you remember saying that?” “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t rightly recall now.”
“We both know that you did, Hepple and unless you want to wind up getting accused of being complicit in the abduction of a Roman official, you might want to think very carefully about what it is you remember.”
“But I didn’t have nothing to do with no abduction.”
The scrawny man sounded more confused than upset by the accusation. “You can’t say I did.”
“Oh I can,” Bryn assured him. “I can and I will. And that would earn you a starring role in the main feature in the Arena.”
This time the protests were more voluble and frightened. Bryn sat back and linked his hands behind his head.
“So convince me, Hepple. Tell me what you did see and then maybe I might believe you weren’t involved.”
The redoubtable Dougal returned at that moment with a quite palatable spiced tea. Julia sipped at it as Hepple, prompted along by a persistent, thorough and patient Bryn, unburdened himself of what he had seen. It became clear that Hepple Shalko was a poacher. He had been out checking snares he had set in the forest beside the canal.
“I weren’t so close as I could see for sure but there were four of them, all wearing those face hoods, black ones. They had a boy with them. He was shouting and trying to pull away. That was what had made me go look in the first place. I heard that shout.”
“What was the boy shouting?” Bryn asked.
“Well, I’m not rightly sure.” Hepple looked unhappy.
“I think you are,” Bryn told him, “and it could be important. I need you tell me everything I think is important if we’re going to get you off the hook.”
The scrawny man licked at his lips as if they were too dry.
“It were ‘help’ he were shouting. Just that.”
For a moment Julia felt her heart break at the thought of Felix calling for help and no one being there. No one except this man who had, by his own account, done nothing, gone back to his snares and headed home with an unburdened conscience. The sole reason he had reported it was because when he went to the local taberna one of Bryn’s Vigiles had been in there offering to buy drinks for anyone who had something worthwhile to tell her. Even then he had only said that the boat had been loading cargo. Nothing about the child calling for help. It was only because Bryn had followed up on that and sent people to find Shalko that he was telling them now. Pathetic as he might be, Julia could not forgive him that.
The details came out slowly, along with a vague description of the boat and an eventual admission that there had been two bodies loaded aboard as well. By the end, Julia was gripping into the arms of her chair with fingers like claws. Edbert put a hand on her shoulder as the interview finished.
“You need to keep relaxed. It’s not good for the baby.”
This time she snapped. “If you or anyone else dares to tell me to calm down for the sake of the baby, I will lose my temper completely – which I assure would be much worse for whoever I lose it at than it would for my baby.”
Edbert removed his hand and just looked at her.
She glared back. “You expect me to sit here and hear about Felix calling for help and my husband’s body being…”
Then she was crying and hating herself for doing so. Edbert swept her up in a bear hug and held her close. It didn’t last long and by the time Bryn had come back to the office, she was restored even if probably still a bit puffy-eyed. If he noticed that, Bryn had the good grace and common sense not to comment.

An extract from Dying to be Fathers a Dai and Julia Mystery by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

I am old, and I don’t give a shit
About gravity’s work on my bits
I’m not some humble dame
Who can be ‘body shamed’
By a halfwit with silicone tits

© jane jago

After the equinox, before Halloween
October falls in that strange place between
And has become a time that means much to me
After the equinox, before Halloween.

The last month of long days before the clocks change
The last month for sunshine afore colder ways
The high month of autumn and her golden sheen
After the equinox, before Halloween.

But for me October holds some special glow
For of all the people I have come to know
October is when the birthdays seem to be
Of those friends I most cherish, who mean most to me.

So I think there’s a magic in October’s span
Something quite precious that makes me a fan
Of that enchanted time that falls in between
After the equinox, before Halloween.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

After he spoke, the silence in the chamber was such that it scraped against the nerve endings. Aeva broke that silence, although she could hear the strain in her own voice she said that which needed saying.
“The female to whom my father gifted my wings.”
In an instant she found herself surrounded by a ring of steel and corded muscle.
“Abomination.”
Voice after voice around the Chamber of Guardians took up the refrain and The Guardians hissed as Lucifer eyed them all bleakly. He seemed to be fighting some sort of internal battle as all sorts of lumps, bumps and eruptions were happening under his gleaming golden skin. Then he bulked his shoulders dangerously and made a hooking motion with his left hand. For a second, nothing happened, then a portal opened in the insubstantial air and a screaming, fighting, swearing creature was pulled through onto the Chamber floor. She, for the creature was a demoness, sat up. She happened to be facing away from her Master who had so abruptly summoned her.
“Who dares touch a creature of The Dark Lord?” The voice was harsh and truculent.
Lucifer said nothing, but his eyes must have been burning holes in her back, as she turned around slowly. When she realised where she was some of her bluster left her.
“Dark Lord.” Now her voice was honeyed and dripped sensuality.
Aeva laughed, and the demoness’ head snapped around as if it was on a spring.
“You,” she hissed and bunched her muscles to spring.
“Sile (be still),” Aeva spoke quietly, but with the full authority of her status and the demoness stopped moving.
Lucifer frowned, but the Inquisitor was not to be intimidated.
“She lives, Dark Lord. Considering that which she bears on her back I would be within my rights to stop her breath.”
“If those are indeed your wings, you do have that right.”
“Oh yes. Those are the wings stolen from my body. I feel them call.”
“Don’t listen to her Dear My Lord. She is just a jealous half-blood who nobody wants.”
Lucifer looked at his creature for a moment before reaching out a hand. The stiff figure of the demoness slid across the floor to where her master stood. He put a hand on her forehead and she seemed to shrink into herself. It took but a moment for a Lucifer to read her memories and when he had made himself cognisant of the facts he slapped the demoness across her face. She screamed a high and tearing scream so he slapped her again.
“Deceit is not permissible. You lied to me. And I indulged you because it amused me so to do. It no longer suits my purpose.” The female cringed and Lucifer laughed at her fears. “Belphegor,” he called, “attend your master.”
The bang and smell of sulphur were as nothing compared to the hulking bestiality of the creature who stood in the centre of the place staring adoringly at his master from muddy yellow eyes. Lucifer smiled and the creature bent the knee.
“Belphegor, you have long been wishful of taking a mate have you not?”
“I have.” The demon’s voice was thick with unrequited lusts and the love of pain. It scraped on Aeva’s nerves like talons on a chalkboard, but she knew when to keep her mouth shut and this truly was one of those times.
Lucifer smiled, but it was a smile that spoke of agony and degradation. He pointed a finger at Ishta. “Behold your mate. You may do with her as you will. Except that you may not kill her.”
Belphegor wiped the drool from his chin and the demoness tried to curl herself into a ball as if to keep away from his questing hands. But of course it was no good, and even when Aeva released her stasis spell, Ishta was still held like a bug on a pin.
Her new mate bent over her, and by the way she cringed his breath must have been truly foul. He took from his pocket an iron collar which he placed about Ishta’s neck. As he attached a leash of steel links to his new toy he laughed – a gut-wrenching pitiless laugh.
“The leman of my life’s enemy is now mine to punish. How you shall suffer my pretty.”
He turned to drag her away and Lucifer spoke once more. “Belphegor. Your mate has no need of wings.”
Aeva closed her eyes, but the sound of wrenching bone and sinew and bitter stinging tears all but brought her to her knees. When she looked again the demons were gone and her beautiful wings lay abandoned on the ground. It took a supreme effort of will not to bend and stroke their iridescent feathers.
“Would you have your wings returned?” It was Thor’s thunderous tones that asked the question every other guardian was holding back.
Aeva felt the tears on her cheeks, but made no attempt to brush them away. “Of course I would have my wings, if I could. But it is not possible. My back would no longer carry their weight and I would be crippled by beauty. Worse than that, though, they would perish should they ever touch my skin.”
Thor turned his eternal eyes on the now squirming figure of Lucifer.
“Can this be?”
“Yes. Sadly it can. And if it is the curse of a father it cannot be broke.”
Thor lifted his mighty hammer and struck the ground a fearsome blow, Aeva’s wings lifted from the floor and flew to the back of the Dragonbone Throne where they settled on the very top and melded into the fabric of the polished bone until they became part of the carved decoration, whilst retaining their iridescent colour and the delicacy of the feathers that had formed them.
“Your wings are now immortal.”
Aeva dragged in a breath, but could think of nothing to say.
Lucifer, who seemed to have been communing with somebody or something, disappeared with a loud bang. Thor sighed, but before he could frame any words Lucifer returned. He was grinning fangily and carried something over his shoulder. It was a pair of dark leathery wings.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Oh yes. I warned him what would happen if his uncontrolled passions embarrassed me one more time.” He turned his burning yellow eyes on Aeva. “Do you want them?”
“No, Dark Lord, I do not.”
He snapped his strangely jointed fingers together and the wings disappeared. Instead there was something small and glittering laid in the marble floor. The Dark Guardian bent his knees and picked the thing up in his talons. It was a chain of that black gold which can be found only in the deepest heart of Lucifer’s own kingdom, and he threw it over Aeva’s head. It nestled against her skin with all the warmth of a lover’s touch and her Fighters fell to the ground shielding their eyes.
“What is it?” she asked. “Why do you bow down to me?” She was truly frightened now but too proud to let it show.
By way of an answer Isis produced a small mirror from somewhere about her person and held it out. Aeva looked. Then wished she hadn’t. About her throat there was a writhing snake and in its mouth it held a pair of gleaming diamond wings.

Aeva’s Challenge by Jane Jago will continue next week.

Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…

Ladies of a certain age/type get right on my norks. You know the ones I mean, those whose sneezes sound like a tiny cricket chirping, and who would die of embarrassment if they farted alone in an empty room.

I know I scare the snot out of these mimsy little ladies and doing so is a source of constant delight.

If you don’t believe what fun it can be, sneak up behind a maiden lady in a queue and announce that your arse itches.

Cruel. But deserved for every uncharitable thought she will have hidden behind her lace hanky…

A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

He sometimes wondered if they knew what their fate was, but then again he couldn’t believe them intelligent enough to understand the nuances. And anyway he gave them a good life, didn’t he? They had food, warm beds and plenty of outdoor space to run around in. 

His life mate rather thought the strange noises they made were some sort of rudimentary speech, but as a female she was prone to odd notions and improbable fancies.

He was prepared to indulge her, though, as she produced litter after litter of healthy young.

All of whom were raised on hooman meat.

Jane Jago

In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Bratwurst

1. (noun – pronunciation note: brat first) Child-centric lifestyle wherein the offspring are consulted on every aspect of life. Example: Simon and Niobe’s bratwurst extended to family decisions about where to shop and who slept in which bed on any night. 
2. (noun – pronunciation note: bought worst) Those examples of kitchen appliance, white goods, vehicle etc where the eye for a ‘bargain’ was permitted to outweigh the fitness of the item for its intended use. Example: the stand mixer very quickly proved itself to be a bratwurst as it emitted a deep throated roar before ejecting its load of expensive ingredients across the kitchen ceiling.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

Dai watched the familiar countryside roll by and tried to forget, rather than obsess about, the fact that he was lying to his bride of less than a month – and on two issues. Well, lying by omission. He had promised himself he was not going to keep anything from her about his working life. She had lived it herself and her security clearance had been higher than his until his sudden promotion.
Even his friend, and newly appointed Senior Investigator, Bryn Cartivel had warned him. Slapping him on the back the day before Dai’s wedding as they were taking a final drink in the Londinium taberna that had seen so much of their custom over the previous eight years.
“Two bits of advice from a long-married man to one about to take the plunge. One is never forget she is always right, even when you think you are and two – never – and I mean never – keep secrets from her.” Bryn burped loudly and adopted a fatherly look. “You see, if you get to the day you think you’re always right and she’s wrong or start finding there are things you can’t tell her – well, that’s the day your marriage hits the rocks.”
“You can’t tell your wife everything,” Dai protested. “I mean half the stuff from work is -”
“Everything she wants to know,” Bryn cut over his protest, then dropped a heavy wink. “But then my Gwen she’d know if I was keeping things from her. She’s descended from a long line of Druids on her mother’s side.”
The trouble was Bryn was right and these were things Julia would want to know – things Dai wanted to tell her. But it was not in his hands. These were secrets he had been ordered to keep from her.

The first had arisen in a conversation with the Tribune in charge of the praetorians in Britannia – Decimus Lucius Didero, foster-brother to Julia. He had summoned Dai on the pretext of a meeting about some legality around the marriage and had not been at all repentant about his duplicity.
“This is serious, Llewellyn and is a big part of how I swung this post your way. Our intelligence people are saying that a lot of dangerous contraband is getting in through the coast there and Viriconium is the hub of it. We need someone who is accepted by the British community and who we can trust. You fit the bill.”
“And here I was thinking I got the job on my merits as an Investigator alone.” Dai made no attempt to keep the cynicism from his tone. He had been wondering why this had come his way and was not too surprised to find it had been for reasons other than those put out for public consumption.
Decimus grinned at him.
“Well my sister falling for your baby-blue eyes helped as well,” he admitted, then he switched back to the clipped tones of before. “As if the smuggling isn’t enough we are talking a major anti-Roman group somewhere in the area and they have their fingers deep in our pies. We need to know who they are and how they are being financed and supplied before they start out on a major terrorist campaign. I’m sending you out with twenty of my lads under their own decanus, a good man Brutus Gaius Gallus. You may need them. We have no idea how high or deep this thing goes – even the Magistratus is not in the clear. So trust no one there and I mean no one.”
Dai took a moment to digest the implications. He had known it was going to be hard enough taking on a post he had been over-promoted to fill. But he had been looking forward to learning his way in and doing so with Julia’s sharp insight and wisdom to help. But Decimus had just taken that fond daydream of a bucolic honeymoon easing into things and blown it away. He realised now why, when he had asked for permission to relocate with some of his old team he had not met with more resistance.
“Julia will need…”
“Julia will not be told anything about it, Llewellyn.” Decimus sounded almost ferocious. Then he drew a breath and sighed. “She has been through too much, I am not having her dragged into this. She needs a chance to have some simple happiness with no more to worry about than what colour she wants to paint the guest bedroom.”
Which, Dai reflected rather grimly, probably showed more of wishful thinking on Decimus’ part than any true understanding of what Julia would want or need.
“I think she might notice Brutus Gaius Gallus and his men hanging around,” Dai said pointedly. “My wife is many things, but she is neither unintelligent nor unobservant.” And you of all people should know that, he added in the privacy of his own mind.
“Relax, Llewellyn. They have an official reason for being there and wandering around wherever. Amongst his other talents, Gallus once served as a bandmaster and all the men with him can play instruments. They are going to be there to learn some traditional British music as part of a ‘Hearts and Minds’ Arts initiative – a real one, believe it or not, from those effete, money-wasting idiots in Rome. But it gives them the cover we need for this, so some good comes out of it.”
It was sounding more and more complex and Dai’s heart plummeted.
“So you are pitching me in against smugglers, terrorists, corrupt Roman administrators, and whoever is behind them?”
Decimus pulled a face.
“You about have the size of it. But you are not exactly going in alone. You’ll have my praetorians and your own people and as soon as you have anything solid we can act on I’ll bring half a legion in to clean up if need be. But we can’t pounce until we have a target.”
“Don’t you have undercover people doing that kind of stuff? I don’t see how I’m going to succeed where they have failed.”
“This is deep Britannia, Llewellyn,” the Tribune reminded him. “The arse end of the Empire, hanging over the edge half the time. Hell man, you should know you grew up there. These are people who only trust someone they have known from birth and who has a British pedigree you could unroll from there to Londinium. We don’t have that many such people just lying around – in fact we have one. You.”

From Dying for a Poppy by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

You are old and that can’t be much fun
You should sit home and live like a nun
But you’ve pierced both your nipples
And you rode a Speed Triple
Round the Nurburgring clocking a ton

Jane Jago

Like onions in a bottle
Fat and white we float
Hemmed about by vinegar
Pickled lest we vote
The silverbacks ignored us
Until we made a joke
Misunderstood the acid
Resent the fun we poked
Insulted by our rigour
They stun us with their smoke
Acetic, icy, broke

Jane Jago