Hadrian's wall

XI

The party was six more days reaching Eburacum, headquarters of the Sixth Victrix Legion. Despite her impatience, Valeria was grateful for a day's relief from the sore tedium of the mule cart. She'd never realized travel was so slow and terrible! Waiting at Eburacum was the pleasure and admonition of a letter from her mother. It had been mailed after she'd left Rome, carried by imperial post, and had now overtaken Valeria's own slow progress.

To my obedient daughter Valeria:

Two weeks have passed since you left to join your future husband. Already your absence seems like two years. The house is quieter without your mischief, and emptier than I would wish. Even your brothers miss you! I pray to the gods to keep you safe, and long for the day of your return to Marcus. Is it cold in Britannia? Have you kept your health? I told Savia that she must be your mother now, and I hope her common sense is helping you sustain decorum. Such a long journey! I grieve at its necessity, even while I am proud of you for making it.

Your father's career has been saved by this alliance, and he sends you goodwill. Your friends are astonished at your courage. I mourn that I cannot see you in your bridal gown, when I know you'll be beautiful. Yet my heart is glad at the thought of it! Valeria, make us proud by devotion to your new husband. Marcus is a good man, an aristocrat of duty and prudence. His honor is your own, and your reputation is his honor. Obey, respect, and stay loyal. You are of the House of Valens! Never forget that, even on the farthest frontier…

Dutifully, Valeria wrote back of her own health and good spirits, but what more could she say? She'd yet to see her husband, let alone marry him! Valeria had been trying to live up to Roman ideals for as long as she could remember, and she didn't need reminders now. Savia was nag enough. She felt already married to stuffy tradition, a thousand-year stale crust of history, famed battles, proverbs, cautionary fables, and overlapping religions endlessly repeated, in the most tedious ways, to instruct citizens how they should behave. Rome worshiped its own past. Would her husband too lecture her on Roman virtues? And would she in turn torment her own children?

Probably. But right now she didn't want rectitude. She wanted strong arms.

Galba met briefly with Duke Fullofaudes, conferring on the administration and mission of the Petriana cavalry and receiving dispatches for delivery to the fort. He emerged and announced to Valeria and Clodius a change in plan.

"We're going to have to add a couple days to our journey. We have to go to Uxelodunum, at the western end of the Wall."

Valeria protested. "But I've been traveling for more than a month!"

"Remounts have been imported from Hibernia. The duke wants me to collect them for the Petriana."

"I thought our mission was to deliver Valeria," Clodius objected.

"So it is. But with new horses, as well."

"I don't agree with this detour."

"I don't care if you do."

"I'm a tribune too, Galba."

"In name. Not yet in deed."

"My duty is to the bride of our commander!"

"And her duty is to come with me."

Clodius brooded and grumbled as they continued northward and now westward, their pace always set by the trundling cart. "He should take us to the fort first and then go get his damned horses."

"What choice do we have?" Valeria responded. "Wasn't this an order?"

"An order we neither heard nor read. An order that contradicts the one sent by your future husband. An order that fits Galba's needs more than your own."

"But how does this detour suit him, Clodius?"

"He's a border man! Bribery and graft. It's the same the empire over. Are we going to Uxelodunum simply to get horses?"

"How suspicious you are!"

"And why not? He takes over my mission to escort you, makes himself your rescuer, and drags you with him to get his remounts." Clodius leaned closer. "The other night I caught him sneaking out to confer with some ruffian or tramp."

"Sneaking out?"

"I went to relieve myself and heard Galba's graveled gargle. He was talking to some hooded Celt, and when I challenged them, the man slipped away. Brassidias was all bluster, claiming he was getting intelligence from one of the Areani, a spy from the north. They sell information for money."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Why not inform me? Teach me? Include me?"

She looked to Galba, riding a hundred paces ahead. "He does things alone."

"So why plague us with his dour presence in the first place? We were doing fine until he came along."

Here it was, Valeria thought: male rivalry, instinctive and ridiculous. Boys quarreling for meaningless status, and shedding blood for reasons forgotten an hour afterward. It was worse when women were involved. "Marcus sent him so we could become a partnership."

"Some partner. He treats us like children. We should leave his tedious expertise and go directly to your future husband." He looked at her again and then dropped back to ride, like Galba, alone.

As they made their way north, native villages began to thin and the countryside steeped into rolling, windswept hills. Grain and vegetable fields faded away and were replaced first by pasture and then by open moors and marshes. Lakes dotted the landscape so thickly that northern Britannia looked like a table set with pewter, vast clouds of ducks and geese winging in to rain upon the water like spring hail. Between rainstorms the sky was a scrubbed blue, clouds towering overhead like ruins of white marble. Squalls swept across gray horizons, rainbows signaling a breakthrough of sun. Twice the travelers came upon small groups of deer that bounded away into thick forest. The presence of these wild beasts exemplified the difference the travelers were experiencing as they journeyed north. There were woodlots still, the trees young and orderly, but also large brooding tracts of arboreal wilderness, peasant woodmen chopping at the periphery like ants against a tangled garden.

And still there was no sign of the Wall.

"How much time would we save if we didn't accompany Galba and went straight to my Marcus?" she finally asked Clodius a day later.

He looked at her with new confidence. "At least two days."

They came the second afternoon to a small tollhouse and watch-post on a broad hill called Bravoniacum. A grassy track branched north from the main road and disappeared into forest. It pointed in the direction the Wall must lie.

As they watered the horses, Clodius announced to Galba, "We part here."

The tribune squinted. "What? Who parts?"

"I and the women. There's no need to drag Valeria a hundred miles out of her way. I've studied the maps. Petrianis is but a day's ride north of here, through that wood. My orders, from the signet ring of Marcus himself, were to escort her, not horses. I'll take her there myself"

Galba smirked. "You don't know the way."

"I'll find it."

"You couldn't find your ass by yourself."

Clodius remained cool. "This cart slows you down. Ride ahead for your horses, and you'll reach the fort of the Petriana when we do. We'll both sleep in proper beds a night or two earlier." He tried to give his voice authority. While Galba had the higher rank, Clodius had the surety of birth.

"The lady requires protection," the senior man said.

"Which she has from Cassius and me. Lend me a guide, if you wish, but leave me to finish my task while you finish yours."

Valeria's heart was hammering. She longed for a swifter end! "Yes," she spoke up. "I want to go with Clodius."

Galba looked at her impassively. So: she'd chosen the boy. The other cavalrymen were giving their own imperceptible nods. All were tired of this slow escort. This was a chance to save everybody time.

"If you take her down that track," Galba warned, "it's your decision, not mine, junior tribune."

Clodius nodded. "A decision I'm comfortable making."

"It's my choice as well," Valeria said.

Galba considered them. Then he spoke carefully. "So be it. I'll give you Titus as guide."

Clodius nodded. "This makes the most sense, I think."

"Prove to me that it does." Galba conferred a moment with the soldier he was to loan, clapped him on the shoulder, and then mounted. "We meet in Petrianis!" The decision made, he seemed newly energized. His men sprang on their horses as well, as if released from a dull lesson. Free of the trundling cart, the cavalry galloped. In moments, they were gone.

"Good riddance," Clodius whispered as the rumbling faded.

The women turned to look at the lane they would follow into the forest. Suddenly their group seemed much smaller and the wood much bigger, its canopy shimmering with spring's green. Valeria hoped the Wall was truly nearby.

Clodius pointed. "We go that way, Titus?"

"Aye, tribune," said the soldier. "A bit of woods, and we're home."

They set off down the track at dawn the next morning. A few rude Briton farmsteads gave way to rough pasture, dotted with sheep, and then pasture devolved into unkempt moor and boggy marsh. Birch, aspen, and willow grew along a meandering stream thick with rushes, their road following its course. There was a wall of new leaf, a hole like a tunnel where the lane led, and then they were swallowed by the forest. It was dimmer and cooler inside the wood.

Valeria leaned out from her cart's canopy to look up into the trees. They seemed as old as time, and after the deliberately open shoulders of the Roman road, she felt submerged. The forest light was green and sallow, pressing with the weight of water, and the gnarled trunks were fat as towers, their roots sprawled outward like the legs of a lizard. Limbs entwined in an obscenity of embrace. Some trees were straight, others leaned ominously, and all of them creaked to a low moan of wind. The trees of the woods of Italy were smaller and more regularly spaced, paths broader, and intersections marked by temples. Britannia's woods seemed primitive and unexplored.

The straight highway she was accustomed to had been replaced by a winding track paved with the previous autumn's leaves, giving no clear view of what lay ahead or where they'd come from. Her cart jounced and tipped as it rumbled along, occasionally bogging in mud until Cassius pushed it out. Insects spun in whirling clouds above stagnant water. Birdcall slowly faded. The deeper into the wood they traveled, the damper and danker and quieter it became. They were all quiet, the primary sound the creak and jingle of leather harness and the rasp of axle.

It was with considerable relief, then, when they finally came to a place where the track forded a clear stream, the watercourse providing a welcome wedge of open sky. Titus and Clodius dismounted to water their horses while Cassius and the women climbed down from the cart. Bread, fruit, and cheese were shared. They nibbled quietly.

The walls of the enclosing forest formed a green pit, its escape the sky. White clouds scudded across the top of the clearing like a fleet of boats seen from the ocean's bottom. Green willows overhung the stream like bowing servants, their drooping tendrils brushing the water. Valeria decided to explore under the branches of one, letting the vines close behind her to form a tent. A forest house! So obese its trunk, so arching its branches! The willow's roots plunged down into the water, and she balanced on one, looking into a clear pool for signs of fish. A shape did dart through the water, and its quickness gave her a quiet thrill. So free it seemed! Swimming where it chose. Diving as it wished. Not trapped, as people were, in an itinerary of schedule and alliance and jealousy and marriage.

The thought startled her. How odd to think Marcus so close! He seemed farther away than ever.

There was a snap of brush, and the soldier Titus appeared, cutting through the willow's overhang after relieving himself. He stopped uncertainly, surprised and embarrassed to encounter Valeria so near.

"Isn't this a grand canopy, Titus?" she asked, hoping to put him at ease. "Like being in my mother's skirts."

He looked uneasy. "I've never heard the willow thought of that way, lady."

"You don't feel cozy here?"

"No Briton would think so."

"Really? And how do they think of willows in green Britannia?"

He looked down. "Briton children are warned not to fall asleep at the willow's twisted feet, lest they be seized and pulled underground. The roots drag them under if the trees aren't appeased."

She looked at him uncertainly. "Surely you don't believe that."

"I haven't seen it, lady." He pointed upward. "They also say hair can become ensnared and maidens hung helpless off the ground. It's just a tale. Still, I don't stay too long under one. The Celts worship the willow god with blood."

"Blood?"

"Life's essence for Esus, the woodman's god. The Celts believe he demands human sacrifice for safe passage. We Romans have ended the practice, of course, but my friend Servius once saw a human skull in the crook of a willow."

Valeria's eyes were wide. "What did he do?"

"Crossed himself and fled. He's a Christian."

"Surely that was from many years ago."

"Perhaps, but the old ways are coming back, I'm told. Life is less certain, and belief is less proven. People are turning to any god they hope might help. I scoff at none and respect the places of all."

He was just an ignorant soldier, of course, and she knew she shouldn't take his barracks stories too seriously. Still, as they moved out from under the willow, Valeria wondered just what she had seen in the water. Any deep forest could be haunted by mares, or ghosts, of the dead. Had she seen some kind of spirit in the water?

Valeria told Clodius what Titus had said.

"Like the black forests of Germania," he replied slyly. "Quiet as a tomb, and so cushioned by pine needles that you can't hear your own footsteps. Just dark trees, straight as pillars, and then suddenly from behind… the enemy attacks!" She started, and he grinned at her. "Varus marched in with three legions and never returned, you know. When relief arrived, all they found was a trail of bones."

"That was three hundred years ago."

"And Rome has never tried to conquer those forests since."

Now Valeria imagined unseen armies of huge blond Germans slipping from tree to tree, picking out an Italian head like hers to offer to their dark and bloody gods. "Perhaps we should go some other way," she suggested. "Go around this wood instead of through it."

"It's too late for that; we'd have nowhere to stay." He turned. "Right, soldier?"

"Aye, tribune." Titus was standing on the lane with his horse's reins in his fist, looking down the leafy tunnel.

"How far to the end?"

"I don't know. The track is longer than I remember."

Clodius looked too. "Do you sense trouble?"

"No. But I watch most where I can least see." He listened a moment more and then, abruptly, he mounted. "Come. Let's hurry. We don't want to be here at night."

So they set out once again. Valeria suddenly wished Galba were there.

The forest they reentered seemed older and stiller than ever. The stream wound away from them, taking away its noise, and so they were alone with the clop of hooves and the creak of cartwheels. A mile passed, and then another. The wood seemed to have no end.

Finally they reached a place where the road straightened enough that they could see several hundred paces ahead. They all strained to glimpse the light in the foliage that would signal a conclusion, but no, the way ahead seemed darker than ever. Then something moved lightly in the gloom, like the step of a deer.

Titus's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his cavalry sword.

"What is it?" Clodius asked.

The soldier whispered. "Men, I think."

There was another furtive shape in the shadows. "Probably woodmen. I'm going to ride a short distance ahead to learn their business. Follow as quickly as you can." Titus kicked and abruptly took off down the lane at a gallop, leaning forward, and then swerved into the trees where the shadows had gone. They heard him shouting, calling to the strangers, and then it was quiet again.

They waited a moment, uneasy at this desertion, and then Clodius trotted his horse to the front. "Let's move smartly, then," he said. "Cassius, stay alert."

The gladiator twitched the reins, and they followed the trace as before, the mud more visible where the hooves of the cavalryman's horse had scattered the leaves. Everything was still again, as if Titus had vanished.

"I'm uncomfortable with him leaving us alone like this," Valeria complained. "Titus is the only one who knows where we're going."

"We're going where the road goes," Clodius replied. "Our guide is simply trying to surprise trouble, rather than be surprised by it."

"But what trouble?"

The young tribune glanced aside at the enclosing forest. "None that I can see. It's peaceful in here, don't you think?"

"Too peaceful," Savia said. "In Rome it's never quiet, and never dark."

The carts crested a low hill and then descended into a dark hollow. Where was Titus? It was as if they'd been abandoned. Surely the trees would end soon…

Suddenly there was a birdcall, quick and vibrant. Clodius straightened. "Hear that?" Another trill, answering the first. "It's been a while since we've heard birds. We must be near the edge of this wood-"

Then there was a snapping of branches overhead, a rain of leaf and twig, and something big dropped in front of the startled mule. The animal jerked, Savia screamed, and Valeria grasped instinctively at a pole of her canopy, wishing for a dagger. Something was terribly wrong.