Sacrifice

"A raven-haired lady appeared ...". Detail from The Lady of Shalott
Looking at Lancelot (1894) by J. W. Waterhouse

[This is the last part of Manius's letter to Quintus - see the previous part. As readers might remember Manius had first fought with the witch in the forest and later he had met lascivious Fauna, a pantheistic deity who had gripped him with such violence that he had lost consciousness.]

[Italian original]

I wake up lying on a beach, Quintus. I don’t know how long I have been lying there nor why. The murmur of the waves mixes with the rustling of the surrounding trees.

Night is falling. Stupefied, I move closer to the shore-line.

The moon is rising from the sea and showing her full, benign disk. I immerse my head seven times into the sea water in order to purify myself.

I then invoke the name of the goddess who rules the universe:

Full moon rising from the ocean. Click for credits

Tu Luna,
luce feminea conlustrans cuncta terrarum,
iam nunc extremis subsiste,
et pausam pacem, Regina, tribue.

You Moon,
Who with your female light illuminate all lands,
Please help me in this time of adversity
And grant me, Queen, peace and rest.

And here the incipient night appears to reveal for an instant its silent secrets.

In the distance I see young people approaching. As soon as I distinguish them better I realize that they are Romans, wearing Roman sandals and tunics! My heart exults, Quintus! After months spent among the savages I am at last in an area controlled by the British! They are not too different from us and especially from our classmates from Albien, although they are now rather Italianized.

They are escorting a young man, hooded and blindfolded, whose face I cannot discern. I can tell he’s an Angle from his woollen tunic and tight leggings. His arms are tied behind his back.


Two nice-looking girls whose fair tresses are dressed upon their forehead come up to me and take me by the hand. Their aspect, nordic, misty almost and yet pure and inspired, gives me a feeling of peace.


The sound of a horn echoes in the night. Everyone turns and begins to walk towards a wood that is visible in the distance on a rise overlooking the beach.

As we are moving behind the high ground and proceeding along a narrow path I gradually realize that we are approaching a large Roman property, with orderly, cultivated fields, although its splendour now seems a thing of the past.

The property is fortified by a wooden palisade and a rampart. Armed guards patrol its perimeter.

"A path between a double row of willows...". Click for credits and to enlarge

We are let into the property and walk down a path between a double row of willows until we come to the main building, made of solid blocks of stone. The construction had partially fallen down and its missing parts have been replaced with solid logs. Stone and mortar seem forgotten arts in this isle at the end of the world.

The high two-leaf carved-bronze door opens creaking on its hinges. Once past the vestibulum we enter a majestic square peristylium around which the rooms of the main building are arranged.

A peristylium, again from a painting by John William Waterhouse.

I notice the signs of time here as well. Many columns and the portico roof have been rebuilt in wood even though the overall appearance is pleasant, showing care, love. The far side of the peristylium opens onto a wood - a birch, rowan, willow and ash tree grove - that I had already discerned from the beach and from where one can enjoy a magnificent view over the sea.

At the heart of the grove an altar rises, not quadragular, like ours, but circular, in the Celtic way [see below].

Everyone forms a circle around the altar in front of which, in the direction of the sea, a weird wooden structure has been placed, like a throne. And here comes a procession of people of both sexes wearing immaculate linen tunics. They advance among chants, melodious sounds of flutes and acute clinking of sistras.

Sacrifice Rock at Maria Taferl, Austria. The altar was used
by the ancient Celts to make sacrifices upon.

They precede a breathtaking raven-haired lady whose face is hidden by a veil. She advances with slow and sacral steps. Besides her hair I can only see her snow-white forehead and shiny sea-green eyes.

The lady, surely the domina of the house, sits down nobly on the wooden throne. It is the deep of the night. The grove is lit only by the torches and by the rays of the full moon now high in the sky.

Everyone drinks from ceramic cups placed on inlaid-wood sidetables. The two girls come up and offer wooden cups to me and to the hooded man. One helps the tied man to drink, the other hands me the bowl that I start sipping. It's a strange tasting liquor, not entirely unpleasant.

"Why are our cups made of wood?" I ask her in Latin.
"There's a reason for everything. Do not ask, Roman" she replies.

The joy of hearing my mother-tongue again is overrun by the doubt about what I am drinking and especially by the perception of a strange tension in the air, as if something were about to happen.

Now the two maidens do not pay heed to us anymore. Hands joined, they are absorbed in prayer.

The music falls silent. Everyone is looking at the throne.

The woman is nobly sitting on it. The thin fabric of her tunic is showing rather than hiding a body with rounded hips and turgid breasts that seem impatient with the constriction of the linen.

The charm she radiates is ever intensifying.


The music, resumed with the addition of percussions, is getting punchy. People infected by it suggest slight rhythmic movements with their bodies.

Finally the woman stands up and, with a fierce look, lifting her arms toward the night planet, she thus exclaims:

O Queen of Heaven,

Who smile at mortals

With a benign look;

O Goddess,

Whom with any rite

Or name

We are allowed to invoke,

Be it Venus, Diana,

Isis or Brigantia:

You the people of green Albien

Call in the time of adverse fortune.

You who the bright peaks of the sky,

Or the desolate silences of hell,

Rule with a nod:

We invoke you, queen immortal!

We call you with our pleading voice!

Accept our gifts, lady divine,

And guide us, mother of all universes!

Then the woman removes her veil and wig and shows her real look.

I feel my heart skipping beats. The matchless lush red hair gushes out, partly loose and partly interwoven with strings and ribbons. The wild redhead and formidable warrior, & the beautiful lady of the house are therefore the same person!

She looks at me with a mixture of triumph and tenderness. She then unties her tunic and appears naked, her muscular and well proportioned body offered for all to see.

A whirlwind of feelings prevents me from realizing that strong hands are clutching both me and the hooded man and holding us nailed.

At this time the sorceress' green eyes flash and her appearance begins to change.

[I felt so strange, my vision was distorted, Quintus, I do not know if this actually happened]

... eagle, majestic and proud ... deer with moist eyes ... hound tenacious, nervous ... enigmatic gray-eyed feline.

And then hound again, and cat, a white cat and black cat, and also a red striped cat with shiny claws and sneaky eyes.

The woman, once regained human features, finally opens her hands and a frog slipping from her fingers jumps onto her breast. A diamond appears on the creature’s warty head. It is such a bright gem that I cannot but stare at it, mesmerized. And the diamond grows, and grows, and grows and it gets so big and blinding that I lose my senses.

When I gain consciousness I find myself face down and tightly bound to a wooden scaffold placed on top of the circular altar. A posture rather dishonourable, to tell the truth, since, having had my clothes removed my rear is offered to the sight of everybody.

Next to me, tied up and exposed much in the same way, is the young man whose hood and blindfold have been removed. His muscular body looks kind of familiar. I take a better look at him and recognizing him immediately I cry astounded:

“Qwil!! What are you doing here!!”
“Same thing as you: showing my butt up in the air.”
“When did you arrive in Britannia?”
“When did we arrive ... more than one month ago.”
“What? You mean …”
“That the whole crazy bunch is with me, except Quintus. They are British, after all. They wanted to rescue you and at the same time fight for their country in danger."

"We have been looking for you for weeks. Then thanks to Pavlos, a Greek merchant with a good informers network across the country, we have localized you, although the exact location still eluded us. I found it today thanks to a ploy ... "

"That's why you were dressed like an Angle?"

"Well, being of Germanic race and getting along decently with the local dialect I sneaked out of the taberna where we were eating and relaxing (a pretty boring place) and with stolen clothes I started asking questions around. Rumors spread fast. But in a forest not far from your tower .... AHHHH! "

Qwil's cry interrupts the story. A red welt is showing across his buttocks.

I turn around. Behind us three women are standing, bare breasted and holding a bundle of thin birch branches with their right hand. The one who has lashed Qwil first is a virgin. To her right is a mother whose acrid smell of milk penetrates our nostrils. Finally, an old woman with visionary eyes. Another lash falls, this time from the mother, who hits harder. Then it is the old woman's turn, no less vigorous than the other two. Qwil, not taken aback this time and clenching his teeth doesn't emit any groan.

“I have a faint idea why they are doing this” I say.
“Me too. It's a sacrifice, I’m afraid. And it doesn’t seem difficult to grasp who the chosen victims are."

The blows continue to fall upon Qwil’s butt and reach the number of nine. The women always hit in turn and calmly follow the gestures of an ancient rite. It is never possible to predict when the next blow is about to arrive.

Dolce far Niente (1880) by John William Waterhouse (Roma, 1849 – Londra, 1917)

It's my turn now. I grit my teeth. It is again the virgin who strikes first. The pain is excruciating, and I too try not to emit any groan. Turning around to look at the young woman I am stunned since I seem to recognize those green eyes flashes. What hell of a witchcraft is that?

The lashes continue to fall upon my sensitive rear until they too reach the number of nine. I then hear the witch rustle behind me and whisper into my ear while stroking my hair: "Now you come with me, soldier. It is time we clarify a few issues. "

Untied but still immobilized by extremely robust hands I am pushed behind the sorceress. Leaving the grove we reach the majestic quadrangular peristyle in whose central garden grass, flowers, fountains and ponds are arranged with elegant symmetry.

We come to a nice room overlooking the colonnade [see picture above]. Its floor mosaic depicts a woodland scene with Diana the huntress and two nymphs to her sides, three perfectly proportioned figures, with bare legs, arms and breasts and hair loose in the wind. The walls are frescoed with delicate floral motifs that form the backdrop to scenes in which nymphs, satyrs and humans chase one another with Cupids busy to bring the joys & torments of love to everybody. In front, a bed of fine wood inlaid with ivory, tortoiseshell, and gold.

ψ 

The cubiculum [ie a Roman bedroom] curtain closes behind us just as I exclaim:

"Qwil, the young man who was tied next to me, must absolutely be set free. He is not an Angle, but a Roman like me, and, perhaps, you."

His worst nightmares

William Blake's The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with Sun (1805)

[Italian original]

“What a story!” Massimo thought disconcertingly after he had finished reading Giorgio’s e-mail. 

Besides, those strange events seemed to mysteriously intersect with a few instances in Giorgio’s recent life which had occurred before he had been suffering from hallucinations.

His master's studies on ancient religions, his university teaching activities and especially his contagious passion weren’t liked by everybody, especially in a city like Rome, a big Mediterranean centre; lazy, tolerant (and indifferent) but also the seat of the immense organizational, economic and ideological power of the Vatican.

Such a power acted as a magnet for individuals and organizations among which dark forces escaping control could always take root. What worried Massimo were not a few articles in Spanish that had appeared in odd spiritual journals, in which George's activities were stigmatized as 'corrupting', but rather a series of anonymous letters addressed to his master and containing veiled threats which always ended with the Latin words:

Draco rufus
modicum tempus habet.

[The red dragon
has little time].

What did this sentence mean? Giorgio thought that the 'red dragon' was him so the words meant something like "your days are numbered." However, why was he the 'red dragon'?

A Vatican codex of the Bible in Greek and in Latin

He supposed the phrase to be the result of an assemblage of two passages of the Book of Revelation (or Apocalypse of John) in the Vulgata Clementina translation of the Greek original. More precisely, two words from 12.4 (draco rufus) and three from 12.12 (modicum tempus habet). In most interpretations draco rufus, the red dragon, was the devil. Giorgio, therefore, as a scholar of late antiquity's religions & gods, was a follower of the devil.

Massimo was perplexed. He knew that to the first Christians, all pagan deities were considered living infernal demons, and those who adored them, followers of the infernal powers. But who supported such notion today? To today's Christians the ancient gods were just non-existent.

Another depiction of the Red Dragon by William Blake (1805). Detail

Besides, if this was the right interpretation of the sentence in the letters (i.e. that Giorgio’s days were numbered), the biblical passage had different and more complex meanings that were open to multiple interpretations.

In any case, someone was threatening Giorgio, that much was clear. And perhaps he was using the imaginative language of the ancient revelation to enhance the psychological effects of the threat.

All this sadly brought Massimo back to Deirdre. The girl had by now reached home and might switch on her PC at any moment.

Massimo thought about their last date at the pub. At the end of the evening, when they were standing in the street in front of the pub’s entrance and were about to say goodbye, he noticed the beautiful red gold necklace that Deirdre was wearing around her neck.

"How beautiful! It brings out the red of your hair. The place was so dark I had hardly noticed it. Now though it shines under the light of the lamppost "
"It's a gift from a friend."
"There's a small Greek inscription engraved on it. May I read it? I'm a fan of ancient languages."

It was true but it was basically just an excuse to get closer to her and perhaps touch her lightly, if possible.


He felt the young woman’s breath on him as he was deciphering the Greek words.

"It's about a red dragon - she said. I always loved the fantasy genre. But I must rush home now. I always receive late-night emails from my boss that I have to answer before going to bed. He's always travelling around the globe. Now he's in South America.
A la prochaine Massimo."
"A la prochaine Deirdre."

The girl smiled at him and walked away with brisk steps. There was something so charming in her ways.

Which though hurt Massimo this time, since the sentence he had just read on her necklace was now obsessively whirling in his head … the red dragon has little time … the red dragon has little time…

How was it ever possible?

The gold necklace bore the Greek original words inscribed:

δράκων πυρρὸς ὀλίγον καιρὸν ἔχει

Which corresponded exactly to the Latin words taken from the Vulgata: draco rufus modicum tempus habet.

From that night the thought of who Deirdre really was had haunted Massimo.

Massimo is waiting at his BackTrack Linux box for Deirdre to reach home

The girl, for some strange alchemy of the human heart, was a bit like a glimmer of hope in the darkest phase of his life - save for his early childhood, when he tragically lost his father.

But now that sentence … It was very unlikely that words from different passages in the Apocalypse of John had been assembled in exactly the same way in both the letters sent to George and in the inscription carved on the girl's necklace.

Yes, Massimo thought, the odds in favour of mere chance were definitely low.

A 'received mail' ding brought him back to reality. Deirdre must have switched on her computer as Massimo had received a reply to the e-mail he had sent her.

“Hi Massimo.
I would love to see you again soon as well. I am leaving for a few days, but I’ll be back at the beginning of the next week. Call me.
Deirdre.”

Massimo already knew Deirdre’s IP address from their previous chatting sessions. He activated his powerful Backtrack Linux tools. In less than a minute he knew all he needed to know: the number of vulnerable ports, domain name, operating system’s, firewall’s and antivirus’ types & versions (versions have well-known vulnerabilities so they are a key element in any attack), the diagram of the network she was on and so forth.

After acquiring the administrator privileges in her machine he sent her a trojan horse that was invisible to any anti-virus software for the simple reason that it had been created by him and his students in the security labs of the training company he worked for. They had just modified the old and (in)glorious Netbus created by Carl-Fredrik Neikter, a Swedish programmer. He then connected to the Trojan server with its client software. The magic was done. Deirdre's desktop appeared on his screen.

Deirdre seemed artistically very gifted. Her desktop wallpaper was a splendid collage of images with an intriguing Nordic flavour: a fireplace with burning logs, a small white cottage on a sea coast swept by the ocean wind, a pair of white birds walking on the foam of a rough sea … images from a misty world deprived of sun and so far away from his but for this same reason terribly fascinating.


One thing though made him start. Three small red dragons were at the sides of her screen - the top, the right-hand side and the left-hand side - and were joined by three thin lines so as to form the vertices of a triangle that was aesthetically pleasing but also rather disquieting.

He did not have time to watch any longer since a sound from his Linux box alerted him that Deirdre’s PC was being checked remotely by someone or something. He had to act quickly so he started to capture and analyse the incoming traffic into her system. Yes, someone (or an automatic script) was actually remotely executing commands on her PC. And there, among the mass of data captured, he found what he feared:

netstat –an | find "12345"

The command meant that someone (or something) was checking the 12345 port, from where trojans of the Netbus kind - exactly like the Trojan horse of the myth which opened the city's gate to the enemy - usually allow the conquering of the machines that host them.

He had been caught. Connecting the trojan to its default port had been a mistake.

Fortunately Massimo’s IP address was concealed behind the Tor anonymity network. It was therefore very unlikely that they would get to him. But what kind of organization did Deirdre belong to? She had mentioned only two people, her and her boss. Only two people? Utilizing a costly IDS (Intrusion Detection System) that only medium- or large-sized corporations implemented?

In fact what he was expecting at any moment occurred. Deirdre's desktop vanished from his screen. The trojan had been identified and destroyed.

ψ

Massimo slumped into his chair. He knew he could counter attack with a much higher level of sophistication.

But as of now it seemed his worst nightmares were coming true.

Expedition

An old Anglo-Saxon weapon, called an axe-hammer. Click for credits

[Original in Italian]

As soon as he pulled out his sword Wulf turned towards his men and stopped them with a single glance. He then called Coalan, his Romano-British slave, and related the message to be translated to the foreigners to him. The square-faced, rodent-grey-eyed little man began to speak in the British [Brythonic] language. His words were articulated in a slow and firm way:

"Wulf, the chief of the **** clan greets Manius Papirius Lentulus' friends. He is a great friend of Manius. Therefore Manius' friends are also his friends. My master says he knows where the Roman lives: in a tower next to the sea not far from here. Some hunters however saw him leave two days ago in the direction of the Red Spectre's house. It is a mysterious place that the Germanic population avoid like cats avoid water. It is said to be inhabited by a dangerous witch living amidst Britons who are hostile to the Germanic population.
Wulf therefore proposes to form a group of brave people who do not fear spectres and who should set out immediately in search of our common Roman friend before it's too late.”

An early Anglo-Saxon house. Click for credits

The buddies looked at one another.

"This story of the Red Spectre seems like a whopper" someone said.
"I think we can trust him" Philippus observed.
"Also because I don't think we have many other alternatives" said Pavlos taking a look at the dozens of Germans ready to tear them apart.

"Okay," said Richardus, sheathing his gladius, soon imitated by the others.
"We will do as Wulf says. The men in our group will join Wulf and his men in this expedition. The women will remain with the Germans and will wait for us. Wulf, who seems to be the chief here, will fully guarantee their safety."
Whispers and voices of protest arose from the group of the women. Then Jenny, Daphne, Rosarie and Geraldine nodded to Cherie, who spoke for all of them.

"You won't think you’re leaving us here alone" she said furiously.
"It would be much more dangerous for us to stay here than going to the house of these ... spectres, who we don’t believe much in anyway. And you know better than us that we were trained by our common Master as effectively as you were. Finally, the presence of women is always an element of peace. No way! We're joining too. It’s up to the Syrians ladies whether they stay or go."

Wulf, with his blood friends Ogden and Kaelan now on his side, found no objection to the women's participation in the expedition, since according to German custom women follow men everywhere, often in war too.

 ψ

The group then left the taberna and found fresh horses outside, ready to be mounted. The buddies’ baggage had been sent by Pavlos previously to a secure place in the town of Venta-Northwic, where he had trusted contacts.

So the group, formed by Wulf, Ogden, Kaelan, Coalan (and four additional German men) plus the colorful bunch of friends (the Syrian women had decided to stay), departed in the direction of the dark forest.

ψ

Standing just outside the taberna’s heavy door two monks dressed in black were watching them leave. Then, at a nod from the man with a hawk-like face, they headed for their steeds.