Coventina's Well

By Maureen Thorpe

A third Annie & Rosamund Mystery

A spellbinding journey through time and cultures...

In Coventina's Well, three women, each from a different century, find themselves on a hazardous journey from the Roman Fort of Eboracum (York) to Hadrian's Wall on the roof of England. Annie Thornton, modern midwife and wi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ekstasis Editions America
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781771714396

Maureen Thorpe

Maureen Thorpe was raised in Yorkshire and now lives in Invermere, B.C. After a career as a nurse, yoga instructor and running coach, Maureen started writing fiction, drawing upon her background and interest in history. Since releasing Tangle of Time in 2018 she has shared presentations on medieval England in libraries and community centres. www.maureenthorpe.com

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Coventina’s Well

Also by Maureen Thorpe

in the Annie and Rosamund Mystery Series

Tangle of Time

Sailing to Byzantium

Coventina’s

Well

Maureen Thorpe

Copyright © Maureen Thorpe 2021

Cover image: Julia Schwab from Pixabay

Author photo: kimberleyrae.ca

Published in 2021 by:

Ekstasis Editions Canada Ltd.     Ekstasis Editions

Box 8474, Main Postal Outlet       Box 571

Victoria, B.C. V8W 3S1             Banff, Alberta T1L 1E3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief passages in reviews. Any request for photocopying or other reproduction of any part of this book should be directed in writing to the publisher or to access: The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, One Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5E 1E5.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Coventina's well / Maureen Thorpe.

Names: Thorpe, Maureen, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20210184388 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210184442 | ISBN 9781771714389

   (softcover) | ISBN 9781771714396 (ebook)

Classification: LCC PS8639.H6745 C68 2021 | DDC C813/.6—dc23

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      mot-reconnaissance-text-wordmark-eng.jpg

Ekstasis Editions acknowledges financial support for the publication of Coventina’s Well from the government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Printed and bound in Canada.

For Allison and Jamie,

Michelle, Drew and Laura

Rome never looks where she treads.

Always her heavy hooves fall

On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;

And Rome never heeds when we bawl.

Her sentries pass on—that is all

And we gather behind them in hordes,

And plot to reconquer the Wall,

With only our tongues for our swords.

Rudyard Kipling: Puck of Puck’s Hill, 1906

Romano-British Towns

Route from Eboracum to Hadrian’s Wall

    Eboracum Colonia   York, n. Yorkshire

    Isurium Brigantia   Aldborough, n. Yorkshire

    Healam Bridge   Burniston, n. Yorkshire

    Caractonium   Catterick, n. Yorkshire

    Coria   Corbridge, Northumberland

    Cilernum Fort   Chesters fort, Northumberland

    Brocolitia Fort   Carrawburgh, Northumberland

Other Towns

    Londinium     London

    Aquae Sulis     Bath

    Glevum Colonia     Glouster

    Camulodunum Colonia     Colchester

    Lindum Colonia           Lincoln

Map-01.pdf

Chapter One

Annie

Tramp, tramp, tramp. The staccato ring of hobnail boots making contact with the paved streets of Eboracum invaded Annie Thornton’s sleep. She turned restlessly in bed, upending her cat Rosamund who protested in indignation. Annie sat up, skin slick with cold sweat, sheets snarled around her legs. Someone with a big fist thumped rhythmically on her door. Soldiers were coming to take her away!

By the Goddess, as the thumping faded, Annie realized it was only a dream and the thumping came from her heart. A shaky laugh brought back reality and extracting herself with a struggle from the tangle of bedding, Annie cautiously made her way down the narrow stairs of her ancient cottage on shaky legs for a glass of water; the familiar squeaking of timeworn, wooden stairs and Rosamund’s company providing some comfort.

After sipping her water, Annie shook her head. That’s not a memory I’d like to keep after spending such a lovely day in York with Adam during the Eboracum Roman Festival, Rosamund.

She and her long-standing boyfriend, Adam, had enjoyed their Sunday outing yesterday, making a pleasant change from her normal routine as a community midwife in rural Yorkshire. Annie lived alone, except for Rosamund, in the ancient village of Hallamby, by the River Derwent. Adam owned the prestigious and equally ancient ‘King’s Glove Inn’ on the main highway half an hour from York: or Eboracum, to give the city its Roman name.

It was no surprise that her nightmare involved Roman soldiers. Sunday had offered warm, sunny weather as she and Adam stood with the crowds on Lendal St. Bridge, which spans the River Ouse, watching the legions march. Armour glittering in the sunlight along with the colourful plumed helmets of the re-enactment soldiers offered a thrilling sight with their standards held aloft, identifying each legion by its totemic animal, a boar, an eagle, and a wolf. Hobnailed leather boots recorded the precision of their marching.

Why would those images cause nightmares? Rinsing her glass and setting it on the draining board, Annie looked down at her cat and spirit familiar. Rosamund looked up, a questioning hum emerging from deep in her throat.

It’s okay, Rosamund, just one glass of red too many last night, perhaps. Back to bed, it’s a work day tomorrow.

Chapter Two

Annie

The next morning, driving in heavy rain to the birthing centre with windshield wipers going full blast and the air blower failing to clear mist from the windshield, Annie re-lived her nightmare. It had been so substantial and tendrils of fear snaked through her abdomen again.

A white van in front braked hard, almost causing Annie to rear-end it. Focus woman, stop thinking about the past, she admonished herself. At the first opportunity, Annie pulled over and stopped the car as more memories came flooding back from her adventures as a time travelling witch and detective, all due to her witchy Aunt Meg. Her aunt also lived in Hallamby but in the 15th century and called on her niece whenever she needed help with solving serious crimes.

Annie leaned back, laying her head on the head support, and took deep breaths. Was the nightmare responsible for this huge rush of recollections? Usually, she managed to keep her two lives separate.

Adam knew nothing of Annie’s witchy side or of Will Boucher. Annie’s sweetheart from her last two travels through time was Adam’s ancestor. Will, a former longbowman who fought for King Henry V in 1415, ran the same inn: ‘The King’s Glove’ as Adam, but in medieval Yorkshire. It had been a year since she saw Will but the memory of his green eyes and warm smile remained strong, as did the pain of leaving him behind once again.

Adam knew nothing of that romance either.

Annie had neglected her witchy side since returning to the 21st century last year, tucking her unique abilities away into a corner of her subconscious. During her first time travel experience to medieval Yorkshire in 1415, Annie had been an inexperienced and—call a spade a spade—bumbling apprentice witch. The following year, travelling from Viking Jorvik, now York, to Constantinople in 940 had refined her skills with guidance from her clever aunt who was an expert in time travel. Annie realized that she hadn’t heard from her Aunt Meg for quite a while. Her aunt used Rosamund to communicate from her own century.

Annie managed the rest of the drive to work without incident and succeeded on focussing on the present for the rest of the day.

Unusually, the birthing centre was quiet so Annie arrived home by five o’clock and, having picked up a chicken and rice dish from the local supermarket, anticipated a quiet evening and a good book.

Rosamund greeted her with plaintive meows of neglect and ‘feed me now’ demands. After filling her cat’s favourite blue and white striped bowl with chicken livers, and warming her dinner, Annie was lifting her first forkful of chicken when Rosamund jumped on the table.

No Rosa—

Rosamund’s voice, high pitched, entered her mind. Your aunt needs you now.

Aha. That’s why Aunt Meg had been in her thoughts all day. Surprisingly, out of the blue sky—the rain had long gone and it was a sunny evening in early June—a huge clap of thunder shook the little cottage.

Annie and Rosamund vanished, leaving a lonely plate of chicken on the table.

Chapter Three

Annie

Aunt Meg had done it again! No notice, no time for preparation, and no chance to tell people back home she was going away. Where had they landed this time?

Annie, clutching Rosamund in her arms, looked around. Facing her were the frontages of an assortment of half-timbered buildings. One looked like an eating-place as a wooden sign hanging lopsidedly outside had a crude drawing of fish and a jug. Raised wooden shutters opened the front to the public and allowed access inside. She could see small tables and stools. The shop adjacent was a bakery, easy to recognize the round loaves of bread piled up on an open counter and the familiar and delicious smell of baking bread filled the air, making her belly rumble. A light hammer tapping a tune in the next shop sounded like some kind of workshop.

There were no clues as to where she was in time but if Aunt Meg sent for her, she could be in any century. As Annie huddled against a wall, a woman came out of the eating-place wearing a long, grey tunic of indeterminate shape with a cloth tied around her waist.

Hey, you! You, lad! What you doin’ skulking over there? Up to no good, I’ll be bound.

The woman walked over, looking curious. ’Ay, I thought you were a lad way you’re dressed but you’re a lass. Don’t look so scared. Are you lost? You’re not a runaway slave, are you?

Annie’s witchy gift for languages made it easy to understand the woman’s lilting Celtic tongue. She shook her head vowing to strangle her aunt whenever she turned up.

The woman continued, I wouldn’t hang about the streets on your own if I were you. No telling what kind of trouble you’ll find yourself in dressed like that. Not decent is it, showing your legs to all and sundry. Come back wi’ me. Do you have any coins on you to buy some food? Suppose not. Come anyway.

Annie blinked. The woman was a virtual talking machine. Her words washed over Annie like a fast-flowing waterfall. Dumbly, she followed the woman into the eating-place or bar, the woman’s words continuing to flow.

Look what I found outside, Donella—a girl dressed as a boy—but not like nobody we’ve seen before.

A little girl, with tangled, blond hair and bright blue eyes, popped up from behind a counter.

Shall I tell Da we’ve got a customer, Ma?

Nay, bide your time, girl. So, lass, what’y’doin’ in Eboracum? Did you just get off a boat? I ’ain’t seen you around ’ere before. And the tunic you’re wearing—if you can call it that—I’ve never seen nuthin’ like it—ever. The woman stared at Annie’s chest.

Annie looked down. She had changed from scrubs into her usual tee and black leggings when she arrived home from work. The tee happened to be a new one she had bought yesterday at the Roman Festival. It had a big red heart in the centre and the words ‘amo  eboracum’ emblazoned across her breasts.

I can read a few words of Latin, the woman continued. ‘I love Eboracum’ it says, but you’re not from ’round ’ere and how did you manage to weave a pattern like that; I’ve never seen the like. She paused for breath.

Annie took advantage of the opening in the flow. Did you say this is Eboracum?

Where did you think it was, Londinium? ’Ave you ’ad a bang on your ’ead? Donny, come and see the pretty cat.

The little girl, probably four or five, didn’t waste any time coming from behind the counter and approached Annie with her eyes moving from Annie to Rosamund.

What’s your cat’s name, miss?

Rosamund.

Rosamund peered around Annie’s legs.

Is she a magic cat, miss?

The question startled Annie out of her funk. What makes you say that?

I can tell by ’er eyes, the little girl responded, in a quite matter of fact tone. They look like magic eyes. She’s very black, isn’t she?

Annie turned back to the woman. My name is Annie. You are right; I am lost. I’m supposed to meet someone here, an older woman with grey eyes.

She tried to think of more ways to describe her aunt—she’s a witch, she has magic eyes too. My aunt has the wisdom of centuries written on her face and travels through time as easily as we walk to the shops—no, best to stick with the grey eyes description.

No, ’aven’t seen nobody like that. Most people ’round ’ere ’ave brown or blue eyes. The woman peered into Annie’s face. ’Ey, you’ve got grey eyes too. Well, I never. First time I’ve ever seen anybody wi’ grey eyes.

Annie stared back at her. How could she ask what century they were in without sounding completely confused? Where was her aunt, damn it?

No sooner had that last desperate question entered her mind when a woman walked in the café looking like the embodiment of a Roman matron. She carried a package and another black cat followed her. There you are, my dear. Bea told me I’d find you here in this popina.

The woman removed the covering from her head with a sigh of relief. Annie sighed with relief at the same time; dear Aunt Meg Wistowe, in person, usually found in Hallamby village, Yorkshire in the fifteenth century. She tended to her beloved villagers with her extensive knowledge of herbs; delivered babies and used a little magic as needed when not sorting out trouble elsewhere in the world.

Bea, Aunt Meg’s black cat and spirit guide came trotting over to Rosamund for a nose touch and a reunion sniff.

Look Ma, they’re both the same—two magic cats. Donella began jumping up and down in excitement, her blond curls bouncing in tempo.

Stop your chatter, Donny. Sorry ’bout that. Girl ’as a great imagination. I’m glad you’ve found your friend.

This is my Aunt Meg, said Annie.

The woman peered into Aunt Meg’s face, much to Meg’s obvious discomfort. I see ’er eyes now. By all the gods, they’re just like yours. I’m Veda of the Brigantes. My ’usband, Cunomarinus, generally called Cuno, is of the Parisi, next tribe over that way. She waved her arm vaguely. A miserable lot they are generally, but ’e’s all right, most times, ’less ’e’s ’ad a few too many. We run this place together and keep it decent; not like some of the other popinae in Eboracum. This is a decent business. Get lots of soldiers from the fort comin’ ’ere for supper an’ a drink of an evenin’.

Veda miraculously paused for a few seconds and turned to look at Annie and then at her other new visitor. Her eyes narrowed, an opportunity sensed, no doubt. We ’ave a room we rent out as well—if you’re interested in staying in town, unless y’know any of them as what ’ave lined their own pockets by forgettin’ where they came from an’ turning into Romans an’ ’ave their own villas.

The torrent of words ended and Veda stood with hands on hips, glaring at her two new visitors as though they had instigated Romanization.

I see you have maintained your heritage, said Aunt Meg. Good for you. Please show us your room.

Newly silent Veda, looking slightly awed by Meg’s presence, led her visitors through the cooking area and beyond to what appeared to be the family living and sleeping areas, although amphorae filled both rooms, lined up side-by-side along with stacked wooden casks. Donella and the two cats followed, also winding their way between the obstacles. The building’s interior was long, narrow, and dark. A faint aroma of fish competed with olive oil. At the far end, a wooden ladder leaned against the base of a loft, only partially enclosed with a sagging curtain hanging on a cord. Wordlessly Veda pointed at the ladder and left, dragging a protesting child with her.

Annie climbed up the sturdy ladder followed by her aunt and paced off the room at five strides in each direction. A clean looking planked floor, a piece of thin wool covering a small window in the outside wall, a straw-stuffed mattress, and a simple stand holding a bowl and jug comprised the accommodation.

After the two women hugged, Annie stopped smiling and glared at her aunt. ‘I’ve asked you before to give me some notice when you send for me. I do have to let people know I’m going to be away. Apart from that, it’s wonderful to see you again. How are you? It’s been a year since we were together. I’ve missed you so much, and… what’s going on?"

Aunt Meg’s look was affectionate. Even though five centuries separated them, they had a close bond. She raised her finger to her lips and lowered her voice. Not here. I brought you a change of garments. You can’t be seen walking around in your outlandish clothing. Then, speaking in her normal voice, Yes, this looks fine; we are fortunate to know this room is here.

Annie quickly shed her leggings and tee, replacing them with a long soft, woollen outfit, which her aunt fastened with pins at the shoulders.

This is called a stola, and this is a palla. Aunt Meg draped a large piece of material around Annie’s body and pulled part of it over her head, hiding Annie’s black curls.

Handing back her cast-off clothes, Annie pulled a face. I’ll roast to death in this lot.

Do not be so dramatic. It’s only until we get to where we are going; at least you look less conspicuous and indecent, said Meg as she bundled up Annie’s twenty-first-century clothing.

I thought you just said we were to stay here. Where are we goi—?

Aunt Meg raised her finger to her lips again.

They carefully descended the ladder and along with both cats waiting at the base, wove their way around the amphorae and casks to the front of the building. Veda was serving two men with a jug of wine, both of whom had the muscular look and haircuts of soldiers but wearing simple tunics in place of uniforms. A large, balding man, presumably Cunomarinus, fried fish on a sizzling griddle. The oily, fishy smell made Annie’s eyes water. Veda looked up when she saw them, her gaze questioning.

We’ll be going then, Meg called cheerfully. We’ll see you soon about that matter, Mistress Veda.

Chapter Four

Annie

The sun had sunk much lower in the sky when the two women and the cats left the popina as Aunt Meg had called the shop. Long shadows formed bars across the surface of the hard-packed dirt road creating a sense of constraint. Annie shivered; to her it appeared like a prison cell.

I thought we were going to stay there, Aunt Meg; not that I particularly liked the place.

Meg smiled. It’s always practical to have a place to, shall we say, hide if needed. One never knows.

Annie stopped and turned to face her aunt. Why might we need to hide? Tell me?

Keep walking Annie. We’ll talk as we go. Eboracum does not just consist of the fort. We are in the Colonia: a civilian settlement, which grew up supplying the military base. The Emperor Severus made it the capital of Britannia Inferior and was probably the one who granted Eboracum Colonia status. There are only four Coloniae in Britain; the other three developed as places for retired soldiers. All of the shops and workshops are here as well as the houses for the non-military people. We are at the edge of town: the poorer side. I thought it would be less conspicuous meeting you here.

The two women, followed by their black cats, turned onto a broad street, paved with large, heavy-looking stones fitted together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Annie judged that the houses lining the street looked much more affluent than in the area they had left behind. Each house looked similar, the outside walls made of stucco, but it was difficult to see much of the frontage as the houses had a variety of shops in front, protecting the accommodation behind.

Aunt Meg pointed to the shops. "See how the wealthy cleverly hide their houses behind the shops. Their houses turn inward and their rooms surround a central square. You’ll see this on a much larger scale when we enter the Camp Commander’s domus: his home, the praetorium inside the fort.

This is the main road, the Via Praetoria; it runs right through the Colonia and will take us across the River Ouse into the fort: Do you realize we are in York during the time it was called Eboracum? We are in the Year of our Lord 296.

Yes, Aunt Meg. I have figured out we are in York. Why are we here, or should I say, why I am here?

I received word through my usual contacts—

Annie raised her eyebrows but as no explanation came forth, she remained silent.

"—the daughter of a dear friend of mine stationed here at the fort—her husband is the Commanding Officer—suffers great distress, and needs my help. I knew the child as Petronia Ignatia, the daughter of Senator Gaius Vagnius Ignatius and his wife, my friend Cassia in Rome. A pretty, young thing, Petronia, when I last saw her. She was only thirteen when she married Lucius Aurelius Porphyrius, son of a senior member of the Curia, three years ago in a fancy wedding in Rome. Cassia and her husband still live in Rome. Lucius is quite a lot older than Petronia and already making a name for himself, so it no surprise, with her father’s influence, that he became the Legatus Legionis: Commanding Officer of the Sixth Legion, based here. It is famously known as the Legio sexta victrix, the victorious Sixth Legion."

Even as Annie listened to her aunt’s monologue, she paid close attention to her surroundings. The impressive Colonia, this civilian settlement on the south-west bank of the Ouse, far exceeded her expectations. It was one thing to visit Roman ruins or see pictures in a museum, but to see the actual structures—astounding! She had visited Constantinople last year courtesy of her aunt’s time travel skills and would never forget the majesty of that incredible city.

They had moved beyond the houses. A large square opened up before them. On Annie’s right stood a substantial building, two stories tall with church-style windows set high in the walls. On the left side of the square covered colonnades lined two sides of several more impressive-looking buildings. Market stalls sat within the colonnades with the owners calling out the names of their products even though the stalls’ contents looked sparse at this time of day.

What an imposing space, Annie said, impressed.

Aunt Meg nodded. This is the Forum: the administration centre for the Colonia. As I said, Eboracum governs the northern part of Britain; Londinium, or London as you know it, governs the south. The Forum houses the centre of Roman government in that huge building on our right, the Basilica; the council and law courts are located there.

At the far end of the rectangle, providing a central focal point for the Forum stood an imposing white building supported on all sides by tall pillars.

What is that building? asked Annie.

I’m told it’s a temple to the god, Mars. The Romans have many gods, including adopting local ones. They are well-known for absorbing religious beliefs rather than restricting them.

The large open area bustled even this late in the day with people, both men and women, still shopping or chatting in groups. A few men lounged on stone steps leading up to a stage. On the stage itself, a group of men were striking poses and gesturing, seemingly rehearsing something. The setting and atmosphere reminded Annie of the Greek agora: the market place she and her friends stumbled onto last year when they slipped through a time portal on their travels to Constantinople. The square even had its fair share of cats wandering around, just like Constantinople.

On the other side of the square, the buildings had begun to cast their shadows across the people and the market sellers.

Administration buildings. Meg waved her hand vaguely in their direction.

Annie stared like a tourist. Eboracum is much bigger than I had expected. Are all of the people in charge Romans?

If we are talking about the Colonia and not the fort, I believe the dignitaries are usually locals who have done well for themselves and most are Roman citizens, hence that snide comment from your new friend, Veda. It’s another way the Romans colonize: they show the locals that if they cooperate, they can prosper. The fort itself is administrated by Romans and both they and the soldiers come from all over the Roman Empire.

The two women, with the cats staying close by, stood quietly for a moment absorbing the atmosphere and all twitched their noses as the smells of over-ripe fruit intermingled with fish that had sat too long floated over from the market. The sun continued to make its descent and a chill breeze had sprung up.

Onward. Aunt Meg linked arms with her niece. I want us to be inside the fort before dark and we still have to make up a story as to why you are here."