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…
They left the house as one party – with the addition of Cariad’s two children, who Julia was pleased to find were both quite delightful, taking after their mother in looks, but seeming to have their father’s easy-going disposition. They had an escort: servants carefully sanding the paving in front of them and a ceremonial guard clearing a path through the seething crowd. Julia craned her neck to look at the three Llewellyn boys, who walked hand in hand with Baer behind them like an anxious mother hen. She smiled at the girl and gave her a thumbs up. Then they were in the great open atrium of the temple of the Divine Diocletian where the brazen gongs were just sounding. Caudinus excused himself to join the group of officials at the steps of the sanctuary.
The service droned on and on. Julia was very glad of woollen stockings and fleece-lined boots as the marble floor struck like ice underfoot. As the priests reached the loudest part of the invocation, she slipped one hand into the pocket of her cloak and came out with chewy caramel sweets, which she passed quietly to the children. Enya looked a question.
“About now,” Julia whispered, “my grandmother always gave me a sweetie, otherwise I started to flag and fidget. So I thought…”
Enya smiled radiantly. “Genius.”
Eventually, the long religious ritual was over, punctuated by chants and hymns everyone knew. Traditional shouts of ‘Salve Diocletian!’ and ‘Diocletian Invictus!’ and from the less religious: ‘Saturnalia Optima!’ rang around the crowd.
Julia was relieved when Caudinus’ soldiers escorted them to a reserved table at the edge of the atrium, where they could sit and sip mulled wine sheltered by a colonnade and wait for the Magistratus to join them once the final formalities were completed. An outside heater warmed the air enough to take the chill, but not enough to actually warm anyone. Julia thought the children looked cold and tired, even Baer.
“We may have to stay,” she said decisively, “but the children should be indoors.” She deputised a group of soldiers to take the little ones back to the Magistratus house, where the family was due to dine, asking that they be given a hot drink when they got there. The children left under escort, Baer gripping the hands of the youngest Llewellyn boys. Julia wished she could go with them. She cupped her hands around her mug of mulled wine and sighed.
“Domina?” Julia looked up to see one of Caudinus’ guard of honour standing with a respectful expression on his face. “Domina, the Magistratus asks if you would be willing to deputise for your husband in the gift-giving ceremony.”
So it was that Julia found herself a reluctant participant in the ceremonial at the temple, joining the select group of Romans who were presenting the official gifts from the City of Viriconium to the Divine Diocletian on his dies natalis to show their love and appreciation for his beneficence and to bribe him into keeping it going for another year. She tried to suppress such impious thoughts as she stood in line, breath frosting the air in front of her. She had been asked to present a small silver boar, symbolic of a prophecy made to Diocletian by a druidess about how he would come to power. Julia wondered if that was why the Druids were largely left alone by the Roman authorities even today. Not acknowledged, but not actively persecuted unless they openly declaimed anti-Roman theology. It was the only religion she knew of in all the Empire that did not bend knee to the divinity of Diocletian and yet it was permitted to practice its rites unhindered. Then it was her turn to step up and place the statuette on the table of offerings, bow her head in respect and walk carefully backwards to her place as the rest of the gifts were given and long speeches of thanks were made by lesser city luminaries.
Even Caudinus had to put a hand up to his mouth to smother a yawn. But then Julia knew he had been attending endless civic functions, ceremonies and receptions over the last four days of Saturnalia. Far from being a holiday in the sense people usually thought of one, like most other feriae stativae, Saturnalia was a five-day round of official appearances for the Magistratus. Dai had deputised at two such, uncomfortably toga clad with Julia in jewels and stola. After a final blessing, the doors of the sanctuary were closed behind the shivering priests, who scuttled inside bearing with them the expensive offerings of a grateful city.
“Thank you so much for doing that, Julia, especially with it being so cold. I do have to think the Divine Diocletian didn’t have in mind that we should stand freezing in his honour when these festivities were first added to Saturnalia,” Caudinus observed as they made their way back across the atrium. “But then I don’t suppose it gets quite so cold in Spalatum in December as it does here in Cornovii so it was prob-”
“Magistratus!”
Their escort had move smartly to come between Caudinus and the two men who suddenly appeared from the dispersing crowd, shepherding a smaller cloak-wrapped figure between them.
Caudinus frowned and made a frustrated tutting sound as they came to a halt in the middle of the atrium.
“I am Mot Fionn, dominus. This is my father Kalgo and my only child Megan.”
Julia realised with a slight shock of surprise that she recognised the name. Dai had told her how this time last year, well before he had even met Julia, Hywel had tried to match-make Megan and Dai on a blind date. The Fionns were neighbours to the Llewellyn lands, such close neighbours that their land wrapped around a strip of Hywel’s. Megan was the heiress to the Fionn lands and it had seemed a good idea to both families if an alliance could be arranged. But, it had not gone well, by Dai’s account and had finished with him returning an unhappy and rather drunk Megan home whilst not being exactly sober himself. Dai had told her Megan was a young woman but had not said how young. Julia could see she was still really a child, maybe seventeen and beneath the hood of her cloak her face looked pinched and miserable.
“Please, Magistratus, I demand justice for my child,” Mot called out. “She has been treated badly and left in a sorry state.”
Caudinus gestured to his guards to let the trio approach.
“This is not the time or place, Fionn, but tell me the thrust of it quickly and then put the details in an email. When we get back to business after the festival I will see you have your justice.”
The two men were glaring at him with cold antipathy. Julia glanced at Megan, but she had her head lowered as if protecting something she was holding under the cloak.
“So? What is this? Speak up. I am willing to hear you, but not to freeze whilst you take your time thinking of what to say.”
“My apologies, dominus,” Kalgo said, bobbing his head respectfully. “It is just – I – well, we – are afraid to speak.”
Caudinus was frowning now.
“Unless you need to admit to some crime, you have no need to be afraid to speak. Just tell me what this is about.”
“With the greatest respect, dominus,” Mot said, his tone obsequious, “there is always peril is speaking truth to power. You are known to be a just and fair man, but when matters touch one’s own family – justice can be lost.”
“Oh for -” Caudinus snapped his mouth shut and drew a breath. “Part of being ‘just and fair’ is not favouring any. Now, please state your problem so we can all get into the warm.”
“Then I state here before witnesses that Dai Llewellyn fathered a child on my daughter and abandoned them both to marry another.” As he spoke he pulled open Megan’s cloak to show the dark-haired infant she held. Julia found the air she was breathing had no oxygen. An odd, detached and lightheaded sensation pulsed behind her eyes. For a moment she even thought she might faint.
Caudinus raised a hand to silence the sudden low buzz of speculation.
“You can’t just walk up to someone and make accusations like that, Fionn. This is not the time or the place – this is a temple on a sacred holiday, not a family court session.”
But Mot was pushing Megan forward, so much that she staggered a couple of paces, clutching the infant to her. Julia put out an instinctive hand to stop the girl stumbling and her face looked up in abject misery.
“Tell them, girl,” Mot demanded, “tell them who is the father of your child. Swear it before the gods and the people.”
“Dai Llewellyn is the father of my child,” she said the words in little more than a whisper.
“And?” Kalgo growled as if prompting her in a lesson.
“And I do swear it before the gods and the people.”
That was enough, more than enough, to set flame to the tinder of crowd gossip and Caudinus had to shout this time to get attention. Julia fought down the impulse to scream and run. With her head pounding and her heart lead in her breast, she drew on her years of military training to stand erect and proud.
“That is enough, Fionn!” Caudinus was saying. “Get your daughter and her baby into the warm and make a proper presentation of your claim in due legal manner. And if I find this is an accusation without proof -”
“We have proof, dominus,” Kalgo told him, face twisting in a grimace. “We have DNA test results. And don’t worry we’ll put it all in legal writing and send it to you like you ask.” He jerked his head and Mot almost pulled Megan over, as he seized her arm and strode off. In Megan’s arms, the baby started crying and the wails seemed to transfix the people in the temple precincts until the Fionn family had walked back out through the gate.
From Dying as a Druid by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.
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