The Loyal Centurion (Quintus Valerius Mysteries Book 3) by Rogers Jacquie

Author:Rogers, Jacquie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2023-08-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Cair Pol

They had not previously noticed the strongroom in the headquarters building because it was underground, reached down steps obscured by a pedestal and a fallen statue. The statue’s head was missing, but Quintus guessed from the club the figure still bore, and the lion skin that composed its sole clothing, that it was Hercules. He was very popular amongst soldiers of the northern provinces.

Quintus had given the key back to Kian, and was surprised at how easily the lock opened. They all filed into a small dark room. Tiro had brought a torch, and Quintus waited for his eyes to adjust as Tiro carefully swept the flame around to search the walls.

‘There!’

Kian pointed to a wooden paychest, sitting solidly on the opus signinum floor next to the niche where the legionary standards would once have been stowed. He glanced at Quintus, ceding the honour to the older man. Quintus knelt before lifting the lid. The box was unlocked. He supposed there would have been no need for another lock, given the strong door and permanent guard that would have been in place in former times. There would certainly be no money left in this chest now.

He was right. There was no money. There was something else, though. Quintus beckoned Tiro to move closer with the torch. Kian came too, and all three men stared into the chest at the strange object.

It was quite large, wider than it was tall, lumpen in its fraying wrapping. Quintus nodded to Kian, who reached with trembling hands to lift it out. He exhaled sharply — the thing was obviously heavy for its size. As he lifted it, the rotting fabric tore apart. The lamplight glinted onto bright yellow metal. Kian cradled the thing in his arms, lifting it clear of the box. Quintus shut the heavy wooden lid, and all three gazed with deep emotion at what Kian now rested on the lid, peeling away the remnants of the wrapper.

Tiro groaned. ‘No. It’s — but it can’t be… can it, sir? Can that be what I think?’

Quintus discovered he had been holding his breath for too long. He let it go, sighing deeply. He reached out to touch the cold bright metal, his fingers tracing the edge of one raised wing, moving down to slide along the sharp aquiline beak. The bird stared haughtily at him, its proud feathered head looking at the first Roman soldier to see it for generations.

Eventually, Kian said, ‘This is god of my people. I have come to worship, and keep it safe. Always the eldest son in each generation, he makes this pilgrimage.’

Quintus looked at the Gael, considering. Then he turned to Tiro.

‘Yes, Tiro, I believe this is what you think. This is an eagle, the solid gold standard of a Roman legion.’

‘But …how? We know Cair Pol was built by the Sixth Victrix, and visited by the Second Augusta. Their eagles are not lost. We both saw the eagle of the Second with our own eyes, at Corinium last year.

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