The Memory of Snow by Kirsty Ferry Page A

embarrassment and contrition.
Had he really been so open about the temple? He could not think. He had spoken
only to Janus. Yet who else may have heard the things he told them?
    ‘So, on the understanding that you accept and embrace your
duties, I shall commence the initiation. Please remember all I have told you
tonight. Secrecy is paramount. Nothing which occurs here tonight may be
discussed outside the temple. Do you understand, Corax?’
    ‘Yes, Pater,’ said Marcus, his voice muffled by the floor.
    ‘Speak up,’ commanded the Pater. ‘We did not hear you.’
    ‘Yes Pater!’ shouted Marcus, raising his head painfully.
    ‘Good. Now I shall begin,’ said the Pater. Marcus knew the
man was in charge here, but he could not help feeling the Pater was being a
little overdramatic. He had hardly uncloaked the cult members and subsequently
paraded them through the fort and the vicus, had he? He frowned beneath the
blindfold and flexed his fingers. I must lose this attitude, he told himself.
This is what I want. A picture of Janus’ eager face flitted before his mind’s
eye, and he knew his friend longed to be in the position he was within the
temple. Then just as quickly, an image of Janus’ angry, contorted face flashed
before him. He hoped that Janus wanted to join the cult for the right reasons.
Any more thoughts such as these were chased from his mind as he heard the Pater
begin the words of initiation he had first used when Marcus became a Corax.
    ‘As the sun spirals its longest dance, cleanse your servant.
As nature shows bounty and fertility, bless your servant. Let your servant live
with the true intent of Mithras and enable him to fulfil his destiny. Marcus
Simplicius Simplex, arise from the rock as our god Mithras was born from the
rock. Let us witness the Slaying of the Bull.’
    Marcus stood up, swaying slightly as the blood rushed back
into his limbs. The Slaying of the Bull. It was the Water Miracle he had
performed last time. This, then, was his next challenge. The low chanting began
again, and he felt two men grasp his wrists and lead him to the side of the
temple. This time, they did not bind him, but he felt something being placed
into his hands. By the size and feel of the item, he realised it was a gladius
– a sword.  He heard the door of the temple open and the chanting became
louder and more insistent. There was a scuffling noise as they brought
something in, and Marcus weighed the gladius in his hands. He knew how to wield
these things to do the most damage. It was basic training for all legionaries.
Swung from right to left, a gladius could decapitate a man. Brought straight
down on the enemy’s head, the sword would split it in two like a piece of
fruit. He guessed they had found a wild animal. Or maybe one brought in one the
domestic ones from the vicus or the fort. They are deliberately flaunting the
edict banning blood sacrifice, Marcus thought. They will not accept these
edicts as willingly as the Commandant hoped. His stomach flipped a little,
realising that the further into the cult he went, the more militant he would be
expected to become. Marcus was at heart a peaceful, quiet man. He had joined
the army to protect the country and the people, not to instigate death and
destruction.
    ‘You understand what you hold in your hands, Corax Marcus
Simplicius Simplex?’ asked the Pater. Marcus nodded, then realised he was
probably expected to speak.
    ‘Yes, Pater. I am holding a gladius,’ he said loudly and
clearly. It echoed around the temple, his voice magnified, bouncing off the
walls.
    ‘You understand your foolish behaviour of the past?’
    ‘Yes, Pater.’
    ‘You understand that women should not be brought into the
temple?’
    ‘Yes, Pater.’
    ‘You renounce your ill-advised judgement in these matters
that have gone before us?’
    ‘Yes, Pater.’ Marcus’ voice wavered a little. He didn’t quite
understand where this was leading to.
    ‘You renounce Christianity and