The old farmer began to laugh. “The leddy will be writin’ a story aboot the old fort,” said he. “I’ve shown many a one over it, but I never heard it put so clear afore. Some folk have the gift.”
They had strolled along the edge of the foss, and a pit yawned upon the right of them.
“That pit was fourteen foot deep,” said the farmer. “What d’ye think we dug oot from the bottom o’t? Weel, it was just the skeleton of a man wi’ a spear by his side. I’m thinkin’ he was grippin’ it when he died. Now, how cam’ a man wi’ a spear doon a hole fourteen foot deep? He wasna’ buried there, for they aye burned their dead. What make ye o’ that, mam?”
“He sprang doon to get clear of the savages,” said the woman.
“Weel, it’s likely enough, and a’ the professors from Edinburgh couldna gie a better reason. I wish you were aye here, mam, to answer a’ oor difficulties sae readily. Now, here’s the altar that we foond last week. There’s an inscreeption. They tell me it’s Latin, and it means that the men o’ this fort give thanks to God for their safety.”
They examined the old worn stone. There was a large deeply-cut “VV” upon the top of it. “What does ‘VV’ stand for?” asked Brown.
“Naebody kens,” the guide answered.
“Valeria Victrix,” said the lady softly. Her face was paler than ever, her eyes far away, as one who peers down the dim aisles of overarching centuries.
“What’s that?” asked her husband sharply.
She started as one who wakes from sleep. “What were we talking about?” she asked.