Hadrian's wall

XII

By the gods!" Clodius shouted, turning his horse. "Thief!" And the forest erupted.

A second assailant dropped to knock the Roman from his mount before he could even draw his blade, the two crashing into the underbrush and rolling over and over. When they ended, the assailant was on top, his knees pinning the tribune's shoulders and his knife at the stunned Roman's throat.

The gladiator Cassius leaped to grasp his spear, only to find two archers aiming arrows at his heart.

More brigands rose from the bushes or dropped from trees and formed a hedge of sword and spear, their eyes fierce, their faces bearded, their clothes earthen-colored, their weapons huge.

In an instant, the Romans were taken prisoner.

"Resist, and you die," the first man warned as he stepped around the mule to examine the two women clutching each other.

His movements were like a panther. Who was he? Tall and hideously disguised, Valeria thought, his long hair tangled and his face-while clean-shaven in the Roman manner-painted half black and half green. Leaves were caught in his hair and his boots, and the Briton trousers tucked into them were dark with mud. What gave him humanity were startling blue eyes that revealed an alert, confident intelligence. A long barbarian sword was slung across his back, and a knife almost as long as a Roman gladius hung on his belt, but he had not bothered to draw either. He wore no armor. His tunic, half opened, revealed a tanned chest ridged with muscle. His voice was quiet, his Latin educated.

"You're a long way from home, fine lady."

She looked hopelessly for help. Clodius was pinned on his back, his assailant astride him. Cassius was having his wrists bound, a brigand murmuring in the gladiator's ear. Savia was staring wide-eyed at a spear point aimed at one of her pendulous breasts. Tales of bloodthirsty gods and creeping barbarians had come true in an instant.

"But you've brought your things, I see," their chieftain went on, rifling through the baggage as if he owned it. His knife came out to slit her bundles. There was a cascade of golden jewelry. A hand mirror. A vial of perfume. An onyx figurine of a rearing horse. Woolen socks, a game board, a cookbook. Her linen shift, embroidered for her wedding night, lifted mockingly to display its translucence. Finally he stopped in puzzlement.

"Pinecones to a forest?" They'd tumbled from a cotton bag. Valeria sat straight, looking away in humiliation.

"Leave her be, or you'll be crucified to the crows, you barbarian bastard…" It was Clodius, his threat choked off as his captor's dagger pressed against his throat.

Their leader's gaze flickered. "Kill the noisy one."

"No!" The plea escaped from Valeria before she realized it. "Don't harm him!"

"Ah." The painted man held up his arm to stay the execution. "She speaks! And to beg for another! Is this weakling your lover?"

She was shocked. "Certainly not!"

"Your brother?"

"My military escort!"

"Hardly an escort worth having."

She glanced around, yearning for Galba's ominous presence. "Listen. Roman cavalry are nearby and are returning soon. If you kill us, they'll hunt you all the harder. Just take what you want and go."

The brigand pretended to consider this. "And what is it you think I want, here in my forest on the soil of my ancestors?"

"This is Rome's forest," she retorted, more bravely than she felt. "Near my home, not yours."

"Really? And what home is that?"

"The home of the Petriana cavalry."

He seemed unimpressed. "Well, this forest is the home of Dagda, the great and good god who walked here long before any Roman saw it. Dagda still tends it for my people and dislikes all trespassers. The forest gives us all we need, and so there's nothing of yours I really want."

"Then let us go."

"Except, perhaps, these pinecones." He held one up. "Curious."

"Those are stone pine from the Mediterranean, brought as a present to my future husband."

"And why does he desire forest litter?"

"He's an initiate of Mithras. Those cones are burned for protection and immortality. They're sacred to Roman officers."

"Immortality?" He seemed intrigued. "And who is this future husband of yours?"

"Marcus Flavius himself, praefectus of the Petriana cavalry."

The man laughed. "Praefectus! Then he has more men than I do, and I have need of more protection than him." He hauled the bag of cones out of the cart. "I'll keep these for myself, and leave everything else, I think"-he looked around, as if considering-"except… yourself." His eye came to rest on her. "A Roman beauty to grace our tribe." He winked at the other men.

Valeria drew her cloak around herself, clutching the sea-horse brooch.

"You understand my invitation?"

"I'd never go with a barbarian like you! I'd rather die! If that's what you want, then kill me and be done with it."

The barbarian laughed. "Kill you? Besides these pinecones and their gift of immortality, you're the only thing of real value here."

She looked wildly around for a weapon or avenue of escape. Her rape would not just be hideous in itself; it would annul her betrothal and ruin her father and fiance's careers.

The bandit looked over at Clodius. "Offal of Rome! We're going to borrow your horse!" Then he whistled. Another barbarian appeared, leading Titus's horse as well. Valeria groaned. Was the soldier already dead?

"The lady and I will make our departure sitting down," he announced to the others. Then he turned to Valeria. "I hear you like to ride, lady."

"That's not true."

"Which horse do you choose, you who wishes to gallop?"

"I have no such wish! I can't ride a horse!"

"I'm told you admire the animals and dream of riding them like a man. Which will you ride with me to my castle in Caledonia, my fort upon a hill?"

"I'll hunt you with dogs if you take her, Britlet scum!" It was Clodius again, lifting his head out of the dirt. The man kneeling on his chest growled and drew his dagger lightly over the tribune's throat, tracing a line of blood. The young tribune winced, his head falling back in frustration.

"Speak again, little fool," the chieftain warned, "and Luca will take off your head."

Clodius opened his mouth and then closed it.

The barbarian reached to grasp Valeria's forearm, his grip like iron, and hauled her off the cart.

"I'm not dressed for riding," she pleaded, hating the way her voice was breaking. Where was her courage?

"We Celts have a remedy for that." Without warning he jabbed his dagger at her legs, and her stola and tunic were rent in two, exposing her knees and a glimpse of her thighs. The cool air kissed them. "There, Celtic trousers. Now climb up there."

She felt faint. "Please kill me instead."

"Climb up, or I'll put your slave over a fire and roast her heart! I'll skin your young escort there until he screams for his mother!"

Valeria looked at him in horror.

"Ride with me, and I let the others go!"

Shakily, she grasped two of the four horns of Titus's saddle. The animal was immense, and she realized that in the past she'd always been boosted upward. How to climb aboard? As if reading her thoughts, her abductor grasped her legs and bottom and swung her upward with the most casual indecency, plopping her between the horns as if she were a child. "Push your butt against the two horns behind you and tuck your thighs under the two in front," he instructed.

"I know what to do," she muttered. She felt humiliated, her legs splayed like a man. Yet she also felt more secure. No wonder the cavalry rode so confidently! She could feel the animal's rough hair against her bare calves and smell its warm heat. It twitched uneasily beneath her. Letting go with one hand, she fingered her own hair at her shoulder, feeling her brooch.

Her abductor vaulted up onto the mount of Clodius and grabbed Valeria's bridle. "We meet where we planned," he told his men. They nodded. Savia was bawling, Clodius cursing impotently. The barbarian began to lead the woman away.

Suddenly Valeria kicked her mount hard, and the horse bolted ahead to prance alongside its companion. Her abductor looked at her curiously. She'd stealthily unhooked the brooch holding her cape, and now she let the garment slide off her shoulders like a sheet, the folds catching a moment on her mount's tail and his eye distracted by its seductive drop. Leaning forward as if to speak, Valeria suddenly jabbed, plunging the sea-horse brooch into the flank of the brigand's stolen horse. The animal reared, screaming, and in an instant the arrogant barbarian was thrown, landing on the ground in a tangle of weaponry. Even as he scrambled up, clawing for his sword, Clodius's frightened steed crashed away. Meanwhile Valeria jerked Titus's horse around and charged back to the lane, riding over a man who tried to block her and thundering madly ahead toward the promise of the distant fort, expecting an arrow in her back at any moment. The lane twisted, and she was gone.

"Morrigan's damnation!" The barbarian's sword was out but useless as he watched Valeria gallop away, his expression furious but grudgingly respectful. "That woman has the fire of Boudicca and the guile of Cartimandua." It was a compliment to compare her to the Celtic queen who'd led a bloody revolt against the Romans and another who'd saved her people by wily collaboration. He looked at his men. "It was a smart trick, and a brave one."

"She's gotten away," the one called Luca complained.

"We'll pursue on foot. The Attacotti have the endurance to run down a horse."

His men groaned.

"Chances are she'll spill."

"What about the others?" a companion asked.

"With the girl gone, we'll tie them and take them-"

"No!" cried Savia.

Then there was a birdcall again, sharp and urgent. The barbarians froze. They could hear a low rumble of approaching horses.

"Romans, Arden."

There was no hesitation. The barbarian whistled just once, and the brigands melted into the trees, vanishing as quickly as they'd appeared. Only their leader hesitated, stooping to scoop the seahorse brooch from the mud. Then he too was gone. Only a rocking of disturbed branches showed where the Celts had been.

Savia remained still as a statue, shocked by the sudden turnaround. Clodius reared up from the dirt to fumble for his sword and then stopped in humiliation.

His captor had stolen it.

Valeria had left them all behind, pounding down the track in fear and exultation, breathless at the power of the animal under her, the horse's muscles rolling like the waves of the sea. She felt guilty at leaving the others but knew she was their only hope: she must find help! And then suddenly her mount stumbled and she was flying through the air, landing so hard that the wind was knocked out of her. She tumbled over and over before fetching up against a log.

The idiot steed had thrown her.

The horse got to its feet, saddle askew, and limped off with a snort and an accusing look, as if it was her fault.

Now the barbarians would catch her.

But then there was the sound of approaching hooves from ahead, many of them, and she stood shakily, as filthy as her would-be abductor. Dazed, she saw the dull glitter of armor and weapons through the leaves and slowly recognized the purposeful rhythm of Roman cavalry. Far more men, in fact, than Galba had left with, pounding hard to save her! She swayed with emotional exhaustion, relief and joy overtaking her. Two leading scouts pulled up and shouted their bizarre discovery of this bedraggled figure. Next came a trumpeter and standard-bearer, then the officers…

"Marcus!"

She ran down the track past the Roman scouts, all decorum forgotten, legs half bare, her cloak gone to reveal the shape of her shoulders, her stola torn and covered with mud, twigs the only decoration in her hair. In the saddle ahead was the tall praetor, resplendent in a mail lorica of golden leaf, a traditional crested helmet on his head and a red cape rippling behind, the very picture of Roman military bearing.

Lucius Marcus Flavius sawed on his reins in shock, his white mount skidding to a halt and his cavalry bunching behind him. "Valeria?"

"Brigands, Marcus! They might kill the others!"

"By Hades and Gethenna!" a familiar voice cursed. "I leave that young fool for a day-" Galba! Waving his arm, the senior tribune led a contingent of men around the couple at a charge back toward the cart.

Valeria tried to grasp Marcus, reaching for his leg, but before she could do so, he dismounted and unhooked his cape to cover the girl, acutely aware of the curiosity of his remaining horsemen. Her disarray was bewitching, the beauty of her body apparent. Then she was wrapped, the enclosure of the cape like a heated blanket, and Valeria sagged with relief. Savia will be scandalized, she thought, but I'm going to lift my face until he kisses me. Yet Marcus wouldn't comply with her wish. Instead, he held her by both shoulders.

"What are you doing alone?" By Jupiter and Mithras, he thought, his intended bride was as dirty as a pig girl and as lost as Ulysses. He was embarrassed.

"A barbarian tried to steal me!"

"A barbarian?" He still didn't comprehend what had happened.

"Bandits, Marcus! They made us prisoner but I stabbed his horse and rode off. Clodius tried to save us, but-"

"Who?"

"My escort! A new tribune!"

Marcus remembered the name from dispatches. "And where is this escort?"

She pointed. "Where Galba went!"

Finally he understood her urgency and remounted; then looked down in confusion. She lifted her arms. After hesitating a moment, he swung her up behind him, and her hands circled his waist, breasts pressed against the hard armor of his back. For the first time since leaving home she felt truly safe. Then they pounded back down the lane the way she'd come with thirty more men around, swords unsheathed, ready for an enemy. When they pulled up at the cart, Clodius was standing alone, unarmed and forlorn.

"Where are the bandits?"

"They fled into the forest."

"It was Valeria!" cried Savia, appearing from a hiding place behind the cart. "She unhorsed the thief!"

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, still not comprehending.

"I stabbed his horse with my brooch pin," Valeria explained again.

"They ran when they heard your horses," Clodius added gloomily. His clothes were filthy, his scabbard empty, his neck red. The blood from his wound had dried like a bib on his bright new chain mail, baptizing the armor with a reddish brown stain. "They took nothing but a few pinecones."

"Cones?"

"Stone pine, Marcus!" Valeria said. "For the ceremonies of Mithras. I was bringing them to you as a present, but the barbarian decided they would protect him-"

The praefectus shook his head. "Cones. By the gods."

"They must have slipped through as traders," a centurion suggested. "Or over the top at night. A bribed sentry, perhaps. It was a bold gamble."

"A gamble for what, Longinus?"

"Loot, I suppose."

"They wanted the lady Valeria," Clodius said.

"My escorts were willing to die before that happened," Valeria interjected. She didn't want the men punished. "Brave Clodius had his throat cut."

"Brave who?"

The junior tribune saluted in pained embarrassment. "One-Year Appointed Tribune Gnaeus Clodius Albinus, reporting for duty, praetor."

"By the horns of Mithras, it gets worse and worse."

Clodius bowed his head. "This is not how I imagined us meeting, praefectus."

"Nor did I. Well, welcome to Britannia, junior tribune. It appears you've had quite a reception."

Clodius stood stiffly. "Let me remount, and we'll see the reception!"

"So I'd hope. And your horse?"

He glanced around, immediately miserable again. "It ran away."

Someone laughed. A sharp glance from Marcus silenced it. Then the praefectus glanced again at the woman behind him. "Go to the cart and repair your clothing." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. She slipped off the horse's rump and went to Savia, who'd retrieved Valeria's cloak and now bundled her in it.

"And for the sake of Mars, find something to bandage your throat, tribune," Marcus growled. "You're dripping like a gutter." Clodius retreated to comply.

There was noise, a crash of branches, and Galba and his troopers came bursting out, horses lathered, men cut from vine and twig, their leader furious and frustrated, glancing at Valeria with disbelief. He saluted. "No sign of them, praefectus."

"No sign?" Marcus looked at one of the mounts. Titus was sitting behind a trooper with a rope bound around his wrists, face turned away. "Who's that man there?"

"One of mine, ambushed. We found him unconscious and bound."

"And these brigands? Are they smoke that vanishes?"

"They're quick, and they know this wood, I think. Every trail and every hole." Galba looked at Valeria again. "My apologies, praefectus. I thought us almost home and had orders to collect those remounts. If I'd insisted your lady stay with me-"

"It was my decision to hurry, not Galba's," Valeria corrected. "Nor Clodius, nor Titus. I simply yearned to see you and insisted on the quickest way."

Marcus scowled. "Yet all of you were surprised. And if Galba hadn't met my exercise near the Wall and told me you were near, we might not have rescued you at all."

"Fortune played with us this day," the senior tribune observed grimly. "Ill and then good. If gods exist, then perhaps they're at war with each other."

"It was the one true God who saved us," Savia spoke up. "I was praying."

Marcus ignored this. "But why Valeria?"

"For ransom," Galba said. "A wealthy husband-to-be, a senator's daughter. I wouldn't have thought any man so bold or foolish, but this rogue must be both."

The praetor nodded glumly. It was no secret in the province that his family was rich. Every man credited it for Marcus's appointment to the Petriana. "Galba, how far did you hunt?"

"No more than a quarter mile."

"Then we'll run them down yet." Marcus turned to the troop of cavalry behind him. "Decurion! Half to the right, half to the left! Now, into the trees! Find them!"

The Roman horse plunged gamely into the forest, but it was hard going. The animals stumbled on the uneven ground, branches swatted at the rider's helmets, and brush caught on weapons. They looked, and sweated, for hours, but had no better luck than Galba had. The Celts had disappeared like mist before the sun.

The bodyguard Cassius, gladiator and slave, had disappeared with them.