The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We were all ready when the bell announcing agent John’s arrival rang. Tea was laid in a pleasant room off the peristylium: dim and cool, out of the fierce spring sun. Two chairs were ready, George and Freya were standing by, I was waiting for some explanations. George let him in and I shook his hand rather formally in the atrium. He was dressed-up in a beige linen jacket and matching trousers, white shirt, striped tie and handmade brown leather shoes, all topped off with a Panama hat: the ‘our overseas correspondent on a special mission in the tropics’ look. He radiated debonair smugness.

Teacup in hand, leaning back in his seat, brow furrowed in due seriousness and with a fatuous smile he began his pitch.

‘Well, how do you like it here? Just the place for a chap like you. Sorry there’s no electrical system or central heating, but we manage, we manage. Had it on very good terms.’

‘…’

‘Well, you can now stay here as long as you want. I’ve arranged for you to have Citizen of Britiniacum Status. Now you can leave Britiniacum and re-enter whenever you want: a rare privilege. Don’t worry about that.’

‘…’

‘Oh, them. Well they can both stay here and leave if they want. However, they won’t be allowed to re-enter without special permission. They don’t have Citizen Status. If they stay here for five years and don’t cause any trouble, in which case they would be immediately expelled anyway, they will be eligible to apply for it but would need a sponsor, such as yourself.’

‘…’

‘Well, look at it this way: they have free board and lodging here so all they need is a little pocket money. A few Sol cents a month is enough, quite enough…’

‘…’

‘Actually, you can purchase the lease if you want, but there is hardly any need. Yes, we can only get leases here, no freehold, sorry. This place’s lease had terminated and so it was available to get.

‘…’

‘Well, ninety-nine years is the maximum.’

‘…’

‘Great staff, eh? Very conscientious. By the way, checked the freckles yet?’

‘…’

‘Well, what are you waiting for? She’s a healthy young woman, it wouldn’t do her any harm at all. Anyway it would be nice to have some children here, very suitable. Give the place life. I’m sure she has already thought it all out; don’t kid yourself. Anyway, if it’s not you, it will just be someone else. Anyway we don’t want her doing a runner and joining the Orphic cult, do we? See what I mean?’

‘…’

‘Yes, well, that’s really what I’ve come about. By the way, our friend Mr. B may be a slimy customer but who could be put in his place? Not you, not your style. How about his number two, Andy Patel?’

‘…’

‘No? Well, anyway, we’re thinking more in terms of just trimming his wick, as it were. Getting rid of his bully boys and replacing them with some of Montafian’s people, for instance. I don’t think those drones of yours have much potential. Better to keep things going the way they are and keep that reactor going, you agree? Don’t want everything to fall to pieces.’

‘…’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you will be able to get the robot back intact. Anyway, you have plenty of money at your disposal now, I believe. You can get yourself another one. Even a whole gang of them, haha.’

‘…’

‘Anyway, we were thinking you might be able to help us with automation of our means of production here in Britiniacum. We heard you’ve done a lot of work on reactor maintenance at Deva.’

‘…’

‘I knew we could count on you, James. That’s just great. And there’s a lot to do. We have big projects. As we see it, now there’s a currency solution, and that’s thanks to you, the next big thing is going to be transport. Our Airtrucks are wonderful, but they’re only really suitable for high-value goods and people. Heavy bulky goods needs land transport, and that’s a problem we need to solve, right now. As there are no roads in proper condition, and pneumatic tyres cost a fortune anyway, we are thinking about using the disused railway lines. Here, there are two lines of thought, James: use the existing steel rails or a hovertrain with a guideway. The first is real nineteenth century heavy engineering stuff, but a hovertrain uses more like aircraft engineering, and that’s something we know all about.’

‘…’

‘Great! Are you free on Thursday morning? I’ll show your round. Careful with the people doing the aircraft though, don’t want them getting all jealous now, do we?’

‘…’

‘Well, actually, Meg is getting a little impatient. “Got to stop him implementing that AI stuff” she says, and “No time to lose.”’

‘…’

‘I’ll tell her that then. How long do you think it will take to get one from Japan?’

‘…’

‘Well if it’s already pre-ordered, shouldn’t take too long. I’ll try to get Meg to understand that. By the way, I hear that those robots can be fantastic fighters, a bit scary actually.’

‘…’

‘The Code? Yes, I’ve heard of it. So that’s alright then. You sure?’

‘…’

‘Actually, there is something else that I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember what I told you about the Way of Mithras?’

‘…’

‘I’m not religious either, James, but there are things I believe in. I think you will agree that some things are true and some are not, right?’

‘…’

‘Me too, and, if you will permit me, that’s belief in something. You and I believe that the world is a deterministic place, don’t we? Every rational person does. Well, that is the Way of Mithras. Thing is, it’s a bit scary to accept that life has no meaning, this is just a space rock flying through a vacuum until it meets disaster and all that. We do need to put a bit of magic into it for us all to feel comfortable. See what I mean, James? So we say that every follower of the Way of Mithras needs to do one thing every day: perform an act of kindness to add to the sum of human happiness in the world. Well, every Sunday you need to have a little meeting in the shrine room and explain that to your household about being able to see the truth in its stark and terrible form, staring at the sun unblinking is how we describe it, and humanise it by explaining the need for a daily act of kindness, the Golden Rule, whatever. It’s reason-based faith! Oh! And, we do like a bit of merrymaking too. Every year on the shortest day we have a festival called the Birth of Mithras, something like the old Saturnalia of Rome when we gather to have a feast and the roles of master and servant are reversed. The early Christians pinched the idea and called it Christmas, the Anglo-Saxon pagans called it Mōdraniht and other Germanic peoples called it Yule. And that’s something you’ll have to organise too.’

‘…’

‘Yes, I was wondering if you would ask me about that. The Bacchic cult has some connection to old religions of the classical age: Dionysus, Isis, Bacchus, Pan and that. Basically it’s a movement where anything goes. They all get together, get drunk and have sex. No worries about the future. Let it all hang out! Well, I’ve no objection to having some fun, but somebody has to bake the bread, as it were. We can only hold together as a community if we have discipline, unity, forward planning etcetera. Without it we would be swept away. The people growing potatoes at Orly would gobble us up in no time, not to mention Montafian and Buonaventura. Where would we be then?...’

And agent John went on, now to get me to pay the rent as it were, assuming that he had me spellbound by now.

‘Pick up and interesting news while you were out there, James?’

‘…’

‘And does Montafian have a potential successor? What happens if he’s not there to run the show any longer?’

‘…’

‘Oh dear, that might compromise the whole golden Sol system then. Not good, not good.’

‘…’

‘Well, thank you, James. So nice to have a little chat and catch up. Actually, I’ll have to be going now. I’ll try to get Meg to wait. And I’ll get back to you about visiting the workshops. Okay then, take care and let me know if you need anything.’

Well, that was instructive. While he had been talking, I’d had an idea. I could, indeed, afford “a whole gang” of Japanese androids now. And, if I remembered correctly, one Arthur Buonaventura had placed a “special” order. I was willing to bet that the fool had ordered a lookalike of himself, no doubt to avoid assassination. If that were indeed the case, I could order one too, replace him with it and make him an outcast. I smirked. And, maybe, when I got Anna back I could have one of myself too. Fun!

That evening, to keep myself occupied, I took another Denis Wheatley book to read, this one being The Haunting of Toby Jugg, another absurd but still gripping novel. This time I was finding it harder to concentrate. I didn’t know about other people, but it was my feeling that sex was something that, if repressed in one way, would find expression in another way. Like a spring: if you tried to block it or cover it up, the water pressure would just find another way out. Maybe Freya felt the same way. I couldn’t help thinking about her freckles and nothing-under-the-dress. It must have been about nine o’clock when, with beating heart, I rang the bell summoning Freya to ask for some wine. She came in quickly, wearing the nightdress affair she had worn for the fitting. Smiling and bobbing she asked me what she could do for me.

‘I’d like a drop of wine, please, Freya. Oh, and bring two glasses.’

‘Yes, Dominus. Of course.’

Did she wiggle her barely-covered bottom as she went out?

Back she came bearing a tray with a flask of wine and two glasses. I motioned for her to sit at the table. She sat opposite me. I poured out a glass for her and pushed it towards her. Then I poured one for myself and held it up. The deep red colour winked in the lamplight. Now there was only one subject between her and me, and that had to remain unspoken.

‘Here’s to you, to me, to our household and to the Way of Mithras.’

We both drank. I looked at her: her face was charming. She shivered lightly. Goose pimples appeared on her arms. We drank again. I looked at her arms and she gave me a look and shrugged slightly as if to say “my arms betray my feelings; I can’t do anything about it”. Shrugging made her nipples apparent through the thin material. I pushed my chair back a bit and gestured her to come to me. She rose gracefully and slipped round the table, caught my gaze and set her round bottom down in my lap. I ran my fingers down her spine and she shivered once more. She nestled her head against my neck, hiding her face. My fingers traced the line of her spine again and she moaned, ‘Dominus… Oh, Dominus…’

I raised my other hand to her breast and my thumb found her crisp nipple. I said, ‘Come upstairs.’

When I awoke the next morning, she was gone. What was left: a copper hair or two, her smell, mine too, rumpled sheets. I stretched out in bed and thought back. Her freckles did reach down a bit but in fewer numbers. Her body had an exciting smell. We had begun slowly and softly, then ended passionately, after which we took a breather then started again for a longer bout. I had released my sperm inside her; neither of us was in favour of holding back. I felt extremely satisfied and full of tenderness for her.

After a bit, she knocked and brought me a cup of coffee. She briefly sat on the edge of the bed and gave me a quick kiss. She smiled at me and said, ‘All is well, Dominus. Breakfast is ready; come down.’ She got up, smiled again, then tripped out with a spring in her step. Yesterday evening, had I done my Mithraic act of kindness for the day? I hoped I had, at least it seemed sensible. And I hoped I had not spoiled anything. Anyway, had I frustrated her obvious willingness, she would only have finished by turning sour on me and done something to spite me. I didn’t really have much choice. But was I lying to myself, or not?

Finally, things went on much as they had before, except that Freya joined me in my room in the evening. George seemed to be in favour. Queenie didn’t mind a bit. And so agent John’s plan to anchor me was accomplished, I supposed.

The next day, Aymar the tailor returned with some clothes to try on. It was basically all Russian-style: long straight patterned dresses for Freya, a working-man set for George with smock, belt, trousers and boots and a landowner set for me with fur hat, round-neck shirt, embroidered waistcoat, belt, trousers, extra-smart boots and a dagger. We looked like a gang of second-line stooges for a musical. But the other two were absurdly proud. Freya had a pair of red boots to wear with the dress and was all for getting Aymar to make the few alterations on the spot and going out to the market immediately. As soon as her stuff was ready she went off to get her basket, called Queenie to heel, and regally set out to outshine all her rivals in the street. So, I suppose it was all a bit of a success. As for me, I found the clothes very wearable and eventually got over the embarrassment. But, I left the fur hat at home.

After lunch, agent John came over for us to visit the workshops. In Deva, we mostly did software projects, design engineering and such—all done by us technicians on computers. At Britiniacum it was mostly light industry. Obviously there wasn’t much heavy engineering going on because of the transport problem. Another difference between the two townships was that, in Britiniacum, morale was far higher. The workers were good-natured and optimistic, excited at the prospect of being paid in virtual Sols.

Anyway, in Britiniacum they felt that they had got air transport sorted out and were now considering means of heavy transport. There was a general feeling that the first thing was to establish a link between Britiniacum and Montafian’s outfit in central Paris. As I had walked along the track to get there, they wanted to know all about it. Also, it seemed that the Aérotrain hovertrain project had been developed in the region in the nineteen sixties, and they planned to resurrect it. This used an inverted T-section concrete guideway suitable for installing on pylons, which would be easier to build, cheaper and more secure than a rail-bed. I offered to make my AI engineering skills available to them (at a very reasonable rate), and we all got on very well, with plenty of use of first names, toasts with spirits and general bonhomie. The other possible solution was to get an old steam locomotive from the Longueville Museum near the town of Provins, to the east of Paris, and put it back to work on the existing railway lines (which would require a lot of maintenance work). The firebox could be converted to burn granulated charcoal in a fluidised bed—at least that was the idea.

Frankly, it was a bit of a relief when it was all over and I was walking back to the villa, a little worse for wear. I did find agent John a little heavy going.

After a cup of tea in the warmth of my Russia-faking household, I felt a lot better and turned my thoughts to setting up for business at the villa. My new computer was due to arrive soon with fuel-cells and auxiliaries.

I called for George and asked him if he could find out about fitting out a room as an office. I assumed that he could get a backhander and that would expedite things.

There was, of course, something always at the back of my mind: getting my computer meant resurrecting Anna. But then how would things be in my snug little household with Freya? I couldn’t see how to square that circle.

That evening Freya joined me again, and it was even closer, deeper and stronger than before: deeply-satisfying plain vanilla. I put off trying to finish reading that novel.

I really wanted a room of my own with my trusty computer in pride of place. The next day, I had a good time instructing the carpenter to set everything up in time for my computer to arrive. In Britiniacum, things got done properly, on time. In Deva, it would have taken weeks. The carpenter brought a mate and got on with it. Later, I was able to sit in my half-finished office in complacent self-satisfaction for a bit. But the absence of a computer rather spoiled the effect, so I took out my communicator and began dictating and editing a spiel for the Mithras service I was supposed to be giving the next morning (Sunday) at ten o’clock sharp.

Actually, I was quite glad to have this opportunity to test my ability to play the priest. It seemed to me that religion was not so much about faith but about ceremony—the way it was done rather than what it was. Anyway, out of pure devilment, I was keen to give it a go with pure, unadulterated, straight-faced hypocrisy—careful to never go off-character.

This is what happened on Sunday: I had George ring the bell outside the room with the household shrine five minutes before ten. I put my Phrygian cap on and strode in at ten on the dot. Freya and George were standing in quiet expectation. I lit the candle before the gold-plated sun disk on the wall shrine and began the speech that I had planned.

‘Friends, we are gathered here to step outside our daily cares for a while and consider who we are and why we do what we do. For us, Sun God Mithras represents an ideal that we can approach with due thought and care, and thus render our existence more fruitful and clear, living our lives to the fullest, rendering to others the kindness and support that we are entitled to expect from them, knowing that every good action we do swells the pool of happiness of our community. By the same token, those who willingly cheat their fellows, in spite, jealousy, greed and evil, must, sadly, be cast out from our community and wander the outlands, outside the law. We live in an island set in a stormy sea, which could be overwhelmed were it not for our constant efforts to protect ourselves with force, arms and strength of mind. Let our light not fail! Yes, stern is our duty and strong must be our resolve. We are members of something greater than ourselves for which we must be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice in the hour of need, confident that our sacrifice will not have been in vain but will forever be remembered and cherished by those who have benefitted from it, from that day forevermore. What is ours to give is not ours to keep. So be not afraid, don’t hold back but hold the line and advance, even to the bitter end. We are the children of a proud community that has held high the standard of fairness and decency, even faced by a dark outside world of fear and lawlessness where nothing can prosper.

‘Yes the Sun is the emblem of Mithras, bringer of light, clarity and understanding—bringer of truth. His very name comes from the Persian word for “friend”, and so let him ever be the constant friend to whom we need ever to be true if we are not to betray our very being.

We know that the candle of our life will one day flicker and go out. And so, we each wish to make our contribution that will remain after us until the end of the world; thus we will have played our part.

‘Let us, therefore, now, all pledge our loyalty to the Way of Mithras, our community of Britiniacum and to each other. We need each other.

‘I will begin invoking the spirit of Mithras by saying aloud “Nama Mithras, may I be strong in your name”, then let each of us do the same.’

Me: ‘Nama Mithras, may I be strong in your name’ (loud and clear).

I turned to Freya. ‘Sister…’

Freya: ‘Nama Mithras, may I be strong in your name’ (with a grim, emotional smile and raised eyes of revelation).

I turned to George. ‘Brother…’

George: ‘Nama Mithras, may I be strong in your name’ (with inspired resolution).

Then we sang some songs about Mithras that they knew, and I had a copy of: dee dum dee dum dee dee dee, tumpty tumpty tum tee tee etc.

It ended. Brooding silence.

Then I said the standard formula: ‘Go, this is the sending forth,’ and they trooped out with that coming-out-of-the-cinema look.

I thought that it all went down rather well. I was already thinking out a spiel for next Sunday: all about compassion.

You might say the basic message was “shape up or ship out”. And you might say that objectively this was all bullshit; however, subjectively, it seemed to resonate in all of us, bringing some transcendent magic into each of our lives. I suppose we need the eggs. God damn it: we were all feeling emotional by the time I finished. A tear had rolled down the face of Freya; George and I had been holding back. Sometimes I wondered if the cynicism I professed was really just a protection against the vulnerability I felt. We must have looked rather silly there in our Russian Sunday clothes. Interestingly, they both had a word with me individually later about whether their friends and relations might come too next Sunday. Naturally, I magnanimously said, ‘Of course they can.’

That evening, when Freya joined me, there was an added admiration that gave me a touch of the impostor syndrome, but not enough to compromise anything—more the opposite really.

The next day, I contacted Edward again and told him I was ready to collect the computer for Anna’s brain bay. I was wondering what would be the best way to bring it from Aigrefoin to Britiniacum. I didn’t really like the idea of braving the wild wood again and was thinking more in terms of flying. Good old Edward sent me a message right back to say that if I could arrange it, he could get a plane at Toussus airfield and bring it to me. Good news! I told him that he could stay the night at Villa Aurelia with me and fly home the next day. We both knew that it would have been a bad idea for me to go anywhere near Deva in case Buonaventura found out. It would be a long walk for Edward to get to and from Toussus airfield, and I really appreciated his friendship. Actually, it seemed to me the he and Anna were the only people that I could really trust.

Later, I walked over to the airfield with Queenie and arranged a flight for Wednesday, when it seemed there would be a cargo flight, and a return on Thursday.

It was all looking good until another message came from Edward; he said he would like to invite his friend Pete to have dinner with us if that would be okay. Well, I didn’t feel much like it, but I agreed. He asked me to arrange things. I kicked a few stones along the track on the way back then got over it.

After lunch, I set out again and went to the town hall to find out Pete’s address.

At the reception desk, a helpful employee told me she could give me his address but could I please identify myself first. That was okay with me, but I was surprised to discover that it entailed sitting in front of a camera for face recognition. Bingo! My name came up straight away. I remembered that the same thing happening when I first came to Britiniacum with Edward. I got a warm smile and a ‘“Welcome to Britiniacum, Mr Walters.’ She handed me a small booklet outlining my privileges and duties as member of the Britiniacum Community and made me sign for it (presumably so that I couldn’t plead ignorance in the event of any infringements). Then she wrote Pete’s address on a slip of paper and said, ‘Please read the little book, and you’re welcome to return any time for any other information you may need.’ She gave the Sun of Mithras open-hand sign. I returned it, turned and left—clutching my booklet and the slip of paper.

Pete’s place turned out to be a boarding house—clapboard, of course. I knocked on the door. A lady shuffled up and creaked the door open. I think I must have spoiled her nap. ‘What is it?’ she croaked.

‘Is Pete Wright in?’

‘He’s at work.’

‘Can I leave a message?’

‘Who are you?’

‘James Walters, a friend of his.’

‘I suppose so.’

I scribbled an invitation to dinner at Villa Aurelia on Wednesday at seven on the back of the slip of paper.

‘Give it here. But he won’t be back till this evening.’

‘Thank you very much.’ Actually, drop dead.

Mission accomplished.

I strolled back to the villa with Queenie frisking about. She definitely liked Britiniacum too. Everybody at the villa spoiled her.

My communicator buzzed, it was a message to say that my computer would be arriving by airfreight next Friday and that I could go and pick it up after 2 pm. This really cheered me up.

When I got back, I sat down in my office to have a look at the little book. This was a smart A5 size printed book with a faux leather cover entitled “The Rights and Duties of the Citizen of Britiniacum” in gold letters. I opened it up. Quality paper (from God-knows-where), and about ten pages of admonitions. The basic idea was that you had to pull your weight to hold the baying barbarians out and ensure Britiniacum remained a safe and happy place; keeping your nose clean would bring peace and safety. Any major troublemakers would be cast out into the wilderness forever or possibly just exiled for a while. The most interesting bit was how the place was governed. There was a public event on the last day of every month when twenty citizens were chosen by lot. They replaced the twenty longest-serving members of the sixty-person governing council of the place for three months. And thus the governing council membership was regularly rotated. Every week, ten members would be chosen by lot from the council of sixty to form the “inner council” and every day one of them would be chosen by lot to be “king for a day”—the speaker. The council would have an armed force of twenty at its disposition—the toughest fighters in the city—the guards. Meanwhile the wardens (internal security) and the rangers (external security) would report to the inner council. Citizens could petition the governing council and concessions could be granted by it to form companies for performing specific tasks, but none were allowed to employ more than ten people or lease more than ten hectares of land, neither inside nor outside the city. This was to avoid centres of power forming that could rival the council.

As far as duties and privileges were concerned, anyone chosen by lot was required to turn up for business every day but Sunday from ten to twelve and then attend a communal lunch at city hall. Anyone not turning up would be fetched by the guards and dragged there if necessary. However, there were considerable privileges: councillors were granted immunity from debt (paid from the public purse) and legal action against them was amnestied (to prevent them being squeezed); they received a monthly indemnity amounting twice the average wage for the governing council (nice) and five times for the inner council (very nice!). It was considered a big deal to be chosen, an honour! Well I was now on the list too.

The whole system had been designed so as to ensure adequate checks and balances and avoid any concentrations of power.

Actually, this complicated system seemed to work quite well. Things were quite different where I came from, of course. In Deva, there was set of technicians and experts who decided everything under the cold eyes of the controllers and their bullies, and the drones just had to do what they were told or be expelled. No messing about with democracy there. One ruthless controller could destroy the other controllers like maggots in a bowl or the rex Nemorensis, “king of the sacred grove”, the high-priest of Diana’s temple at Nemi. There was always a successor, so no problem. Hence agent John’s interest in matters at Deva and La Santé.

There was also one thing that the Britiniacum system was carefully designed to avoid, and that was the development of a two-party system of the type that developed in the “democratic” countries before The Virus came. Looking back, it seemed to be a sort of Punch-and-Judy show or, more accurately, a Jack-Sprat-and-his-wife situation where any action by either, when in power, would be automatically criticised by the other, while the media—realising their power (and with their own agendas)—gleefully egged them on from the side-lines to the contempt of the surrounding “despotic” countries amazed at their silliness and just waiting for them to fail. Here it was the council’s role to set policy and ensure that the hired managers got things right.

Freya came in with the tea things on a tray, gratifying me with one of her special smiles. This time, as it was one of the cold, grey days that we so often got in spring, I had my tea in my study. Having my own room was a wonderful thing. I was already planning what I would do when I got my computer, my window into the world. In a stout locked cabinet were my bug-out things: clothes, pack, gear, boots, rifle, ammunition and all. I felt safe, snug, in selfish isolation. A good time to think.

I was considering making a suggestion to the council about using a blockchain system to collect taxes, now that there was a stable (I hoped) currency system in operation. The idea had been maturing in my mind since the Montafian project. Here was how value added tax worked: when people bought something they got a bill showing (say) 20% tax and they got a tax credit for the amount. When they sold something they added 20% to their bill and they got a tax liability for the amount. They declared the difference between the two and payed or got paid for it. And so, they had an incentive to issue a bill with tax when they sold, because then they could get the tax back on it. Otherwise, they would just have been paying the buyer’s tax for them. “Join the system and get tax back on everything you sell”: nice. And this was just the sort of thing blockchain was suitable for: keeping a record. In Deva, engaging in any sort of business required all sorts of permissions, privileges and official approvals that only the favoured few could obtain. In Britiniacum, we could have a system that every citizen could join for their own benefit and that of the community.

I asked Freya to make me a packed lunch for the next day as I was planning to go round the entire township and have a look at the wood processing yards, which I had not yet seen. I also asked her to arrange for a dinner for three the following evening.

Britiniacum stood on a plateau with river valleys looping round it. I had decided to strike north until I reached the perimeter, then circle round clockwise. Early next morning, with wet grass and a rising sun, I went out with Queenie to walk right round Britiniacum. There was a perimeter track between the gun positions where the guards kept their watch and automatic machine guns stood ready, and I went from one to the next, clockwise. The wardens on duty gave me a grin and a wave as we walked by: ‘Hey, nice dog.’

I had forgotten about this while living in the town centre. Here was a harsh and grim reality. As George Orwell was quoted as saying (possibly apocryphally), “We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm”, and here they were. I thought about the cost of all this, which led again to my tax ideas and morale. If the economy couldn’t hold together, all this would be lost. And if all were allowed in, it would swamp the boat. It all comes down to proper management and making hard decisions. I was thinking first about my little household.

And you can see why the people were so keen on Mithraism and so wary of Orphism. Mithraism represented duty (the hard approach) and Orphism represented fun (the soft approach).

Soon the sun was high and the grass was dry. Hovering sky larks were twittering about in the sky, and nature was generally getting on with business. It warmed my heart. This was far from the paved streets of Deva.

By the time I had got round to the southern end, I was already getting hungry. The smell of tar grew stronger and soon I was entering the wood-processing area where the logs of wood were dried and cut to make fuel and construction timber. They used horses and trailers for dragging the heavy logs around. They used the old southern railway line to bring in the heavy logs trimmed by the logging machines working away out south in the woods. Too much noise and smell there to have my lunch so I went on until I found a quiet spot further round. I got out my lunch and began to munch with Queenie waiting expectantly.

While I was eating, I heard a honking and shouting. A big flock of geese came into sight led by a woman: blue gown, wide straw hat, a stick and no shoes. I called over Queenie and told her to sit. The woman got closer. When she saw me she stopped telling-off the unimpressed geese, gave me a big smile and said, ‘Would you be James Walters of Aurelia Villa?’

‘Why, yes. How do you know me?’

‘Ah, I’m a friend of your Freya. And you will be eating one of my best geese at your dinner party tomorrow evening.’

‘Really? How did she manage to arrange that so quick?’

‘She came early before I set out. And, by the way, Freya is a wonderful girl and make sure you look after her properly. She thinks the world of you.’

‘I think she is wonderful too.’ Not wanting to get pinned down, I thought I would try to change the subject. ‘How many geese have you got?’

‘About a hundred. They eat the grass, plenty at this time of year.’

‘Can’t they fly away?’

‘They might if your dog chased them. Actually they fly very well. But they know me, and I know them. They follow me everywhere. The only worry is if they flew over the perimeter, then they would be lost. The Outsiders would get them. They’ll take anything they can catch.’

‘The dog won’t move. Right, Queenie?’

‘Okay then. Nice to meet you. I’m Linda by the way. Please, tell Freya that I’ll bring the goose this evening.’

‘Goodbye, Linda. Take care with these geese; I might need another one sometime it they’re good.’

‘Of course they are. You’ll see. And, don’t forget, if I get you some nice ones in the autumn, you can preserve the pieces in fat and keep them all winter.’

‘I’ll speak to Freya about it.’

She summoned her geese and wandered off. Soon the last goose was out of sight. She reminded me of that pig-farmer but nicer. Queenie relaxed again.

Small place, Britiniacum. But safe.

In the end, I got back to the villa in time for tea. And later, in bed, I had a discussion with Freya about the technicalities of preserving pieces of goose in fat. It did seem a bit weird to me at first, but she assured me it made good eating but the thing was you needed to get a very fat goose containing more than one kilogram of fat. She actually used the French term for the stuff: confit d’oie. It was all very comfy and domestic. But this was taking me further out into deep water as far as Anna was concerned.

Wednesday morning came grey and cold. Edward would be coming that afternoon to bring Anna’s brain over. I began to start worrying as I felt the wheels of intrigue starting to turn again. It seemed that the interlude was over.