Free The Corpse with the Silver Tongue by Cathy Ace Page A

“r’s” seemed quite at home with the Welsh words. “Of course, the Roman defeat of Boudica allowed them to move the Second Augustinian Legion around the country, but by the end of the first century they were based in Wales. They stayed there for the next three hundred years then were moved north to build Hadrian’s Wall.”
    â€œBusy bunnies,” I observed, with a mouth full of bread soaked in delicious broth.
    Beni smiled and took a mouthful of pasta. He paused to chew, then took a sip of wine, and continued.
    â€œThe centurion who was based in Wales —” when he smiled, his dimples were almost edible, “wrote to his brother, a merchant living in Rome, that he had taken a golden collar from the neck of a woman that he had killed in a skirmish. There were dozens of nameless battles like this at the time: the Celts would send out a raiding party to draw the Roman soldiers away from the security of their camp, then they would set upon them. It was a war that was fought in what we today call the ‘guerrilla’ manner. The native population was, in many cases, treated well by the occupying forces, but resentment ran deep. Pockets of resistance were many and widespread. The letter from the centurion, itself, did not survive, but we have found references to it in the archives belonging to his brother’s family, which moved here, to Cimiez. The archive is at the museum, which is why I know of it. What is interesting about this necklace is the specific way it was acquired, and what it might represent. You see, Cait—” Beni drew closer to me, and his tone became conspiratorial, “the necklace might be the only item ever found that gives the world physical evidence of the Druids.”
    He was obviously deeply knowledgeable and passionate about his subject. I was puzzled. As he said the word “Druids” I visualized a man with a long beard, wearing a white robe, leaning against an oak tree and chanting to the moon. A bit like Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings . Or Getafix from the Asterix stories. I thought I knew a lot about Druids—but I decided I’d take the chance to find out if what I thought I knew had any truth in it.
    â€œUm, Beni,” I hesitated: I knew I was on shaky ground, so I decided to give him a chance to fill me in. “Just because I was born and brought up in Wales doesn’t mean that I know everything there is to know about Druids, although I’ve attended a few eisteddfods in my time. Don’t we actually, I mean historically, know a lot about Druids? You know—oak trees, mistletoe, Stonehenge, full moon rituals—that sort of thing?”
    Beni sipped his wine, refilled our glasses, and began to twirl his pasta once again. Then he stopped and pushed his food away. He lit a cheroot; he was obviously trying to assess how to proceed.
    â€œYou are an intelligent woman, Cait.” I thought that was a good opening, but suspected it meant he was about to treat me like a child.
    â€œI’ve belonged to Mensa for about twenty years, so I suppose that means you’re right,” I replied sharply.
    â€œAh, you are a genius ,” mused Beni smiling through clouds of cheroot smoke.
    â€œOh come now, Beni.” I forced a smile to cover my embarrassment at trying to impress this man. “We’re not having a conversation about my intelligence. You’re telling me about the necklace that Tamsin was to be given. Are you saying that it was a Druid necklace? And, if so, what does that mean?”
    Beni smiled. “You are correct, of course, Cait. I will continue, and I will trust you to keep up with me.” His smiled widened as he grinned openly. Wickedly. It was lovely. I mopped my mouth, glugged some wine, then lit up a cigarette. I sat quietly, mesmerized by the way his mouth moved as he spoke and the way he expressively threw his hands about in the air as he enlarged on the points he was