Hadrian's wall

XXIII

"I can't get up there," Savia decided.

"Then don't come at all!" Valeria hissed.

The slave glared. "And how would you feed and dress and bathe yourself? Or what would I tell your husband when he asks where you've gone? Better to get lost in the wilderness with you, torn apart by wild animals, than explain your absence."

"Then stop complaining about Athena, who's as tame and plodding and placid a mare as you could want, and mount her." They were whispering in the garrison stables, not daring to risk a light. "Come, I'll give you a boost."

"She's too big!"

"Don't you imagine she's thinking the same about you?"

Savia finally clambered up, moaning softly as she did so, and Valeria mounted Boudicca, the white mare she'd ridden with the presumptuous Galba. The tribune had revealed his base character at their dinner, and so it had come as no surprise when Savia whispered he was planning treachery against poor Clodius. Now she must outwit and out-race him! Nudging her mount, she led the way past the headquarters building to the north gate, threading through the tightly packed buildings. It was midnight, the fort quiet, a faint illumination provided by a half-moon. Sentries were silhouettes against the sky.

The duplicarius in charge came out from the sentry house. "Lady Valeria?"

"Open the gate, Priscus. We go for a Christian service. We're meeting our church at the moon's crest."

He was wary. "You've become a Christian?" There'd been no rumor of this.

"Like our emperor."

"But I've seen no other worshipers."

"My slave is to prepare the site."

He slowly shook his head. "You need a pass, lady."

"And who am I to apply to?" She drew herself up. "I, who am of the House of Valens, a senator's daughter, a commander's wife? Do I ask the governor? The duke?"

"I'm not certain, lady-"

"Perhaps you think I should send to the emperor himself for permission to go through his wall and pray to his God? Or wake senior tribune Galba?"

Priscus hesitated. She had a lifetime of practicing the imperious-ness of her class, and he a lifetime of surrendering to it. To make an enemy of a commander's wife was foolish. He signaled the gate open. "Let me send an escort-"

"We can't wait for that. We've no need of that." She kicked her mount, and it started ahead through the archway, her slave's horse instinctively following. "Don't bother others about our prayers. We'll be back by dawn!"

And with that they were across the embankment that crossed the ditch and trotting down the hill, Savia bouncing fearfully on her saddle as her horse broke into a trot.

The duplicarius watched uneasily. Something wasn't right. He turned to his companion. "Rufus, rouse three others and follow her. Make sure she meets no harm."

"It will take us a while to saddle, decurion."

"No matter. You'll catch them, judging from the jiggling rump of that fat slave."

Valeria stopped on the open moor and looked back at the Wall. It was the first time she'd been north of the barrier. Its undulating, crenellated crest stretched east and west as far as she could see, each tower marked with torches like a chain of lighthouses, the stars cold sparks above their fire. The whitewash glowed in the moonlight like wet quartz. It looked impregnable from this side, its approaches shorn clear, farmsteads forbidden within a mile of its ditch. How strange it must be to come from the north, ignorant and unwashed, and see its regal length for the first time!

"It's lonely out here," Savia said gloomily.

"The tribes are somewhere. Asleep, we hope."

"I think this is a very bad idea."

"And I think we're going to save our friend Clodius. I've seen the true nature of Galba Brassidias, and it's necessary to warn our young tribune."

"His true nature?"

"He's a very arrogant, very incautious man."

They rode on, Savia bouncing in her unfamiliar saddle and muttering misgivings. It was frightening to ride north beyond the Wall's protection, Valeria readily admitted to herself, and eerie to be out at night. Every wooded hollow seemed a possible haven for wolves or bears. Every rise threatened to hide skulking barbarians.

Yet as they rode mile after mile without incident, the thrill of the night's freedom began to infuse her. She was finding her own way! Never had she experienced such freedom. She felt like a bird or spirit, gliding like a ghost over a silvery landscape of lunar-lit dew. No one was watching her. Judging her. Coveting her. Envying her. Resenting her. What if they simply kept going?

Savia had no sympathy when Valeria expressed this idea. "I don't feel free, I feel hungry," the slave said. "And what are we going to do when we get there?"

"Send poor Clodius to the duke, where this preposterous accusation can be laid to rest. It would also amuse me to see this arresting posse of Galba Brassidias net us instead. I'd have no hesitation in telling him exactly what I think of him!"

Savia looked reproachfully at her young charge. "I warned you, lady."

"We'll say nothing more about that."

So they were quiet for a while. Then the slave spoke again. "But what if Clodius did kill this Odo, and didn't pay for him?"

"Savia! How can you think such a thing of our companion, a man who tried to save me in the forest?"

"Save you? He couldn't even stand up."

"And had his throat cut for his defiance. Marcus said he fought well at the grove. Galba has been unfair to Clodius since we stepped ashore in Londinium."

"I'm afraid of Galba's soldiers."

"I'm not."

The last mile was the most intimidating, the track to the spring of Bormo leading down into a wooded glen. The gloom under the trees was much deeper in the night, the path hard to follow. As they picked their way through the murk, they heard a distant rumbling of horses, as if someone was following. Galba already? "We must hurry!"

They trotted recklessly ahead, narrowly missing low branches, and finally Valeria heard the murmur of gently falling water. The spring! They came at length into a small clearing in a circle of silver elm, the moon overhead and the world turned white. On the far side of the glade was a Celtic shrine devoted to the water god Bormo. Carved on a rock cliff was the voluptuous representation of a nymph, the spring's fount the creature's mouth. Water tumbled down a carpet of wet moss to a wide dark pool, ripples marching in rank across it. Moonlight reflecting off gold and silver coins on the pool bottom like another sky of moons. Flowers, small items of clothing, jewelry, and tokens of a person's life-a comb, a knife, a chariot whip-had been left in hopes of improving the efficacy of prayer and curses. Beyond, in the trees, was a small Roman temple. Horses were tethered there.

"See the mounts? It must be Clodius."

"This is a pagan place," Savia murmured. "An evil place."

"Nonsense. Can't you sense the water god?"

"No, these gods are dead, killed by the Christ, and demons have taken their place. We shouldn't be here, Valeria."

"And we won't be if you hush and let me deliver our message!"

The temple was a simple square building with domed roof, a porch, and pillars before its door. Valeria called with a loud whisper. "Clodius!"

No answer, so they knocked. "Clodius, are you in there? Open up! Soldiers are coming!"

Again, no answer.

And then… "By the gods, it's you!"

They whirled. The young Roman had crept behind them, his spatha unsheathed, his cloak bunched around his left arm as makeshift shield.

"Clodius!"

"Valeria?" He looked at her in bewilderment.

She ran and pecked him on one cheek, then danced back. "I found you!"

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night? I almost attacked you! I thought I heard the murmuring of men, not women."

"We came to warn you. Galba Brassidias claims to have found a murder weapon and intends to arrest you for the murder of the slave Odo. His men are approaching."

"What? Are you certain?"

"Ride to Eburacum and demand true justice from the duke."

The youth lowered his sword. "What evidence? Falco said the matter was settled."

"A bracelet from Odo in your room. A knife from Falco's own dining table. Maybe some other things."

The tribune scoffed. "Put there by Galba Brassidias, I'll wager. He's wanted me gone from the beginning."

"So make him go. Get the duke to transfer him to Germania."

"I'd need Marcus to support me."

"He will! You're both of the same class."

Clodius listened to the distant rumble. "You rode out here by yourselves?"

"The slave Clio whispered the secret to brave Savia here. When she told me Galba's plot, I knew what we must do."

Savia gave a tremulous smile, trying to live up to this new reputation for courage.

The junior tribune turned and spoke into the dark. "Sardis! We must flee!" Another man, a narrow-faced Celt, emerged like a wraith. "This is one of our informants," Clodius explained. "Barbarian raiders are about. It's not safe out here. You two better come to Eburacum with us."

"No, Savia and I will just slow you down. Go while we mislead Galba. He can take us back to the fort."

"She's right, tribune," Sardis said. "Better to flee alone if we're to…" Suddenly the man jerked, cut off in midsentence, and then lurched sideways as if drunk. Valeria strained to see in the moonlight. Something was protruding from the front of his throat. The man gave a curious gurgle.

It was the point of an arrow. Savia screamed.

"It's Galba!" Clodius spat. "Quick, inside the temple!"

As they moved, a staff snaked out from the underbrush. The young tribune tripped, sprawling, and silent men sprang. One stamped on his hand, and the spatha came free. More men blocked the door of the temple, and still more came from behind. They were bearded, their skin blackened, their swords unnaturally long. The women whirled in shock and confusion. These weren't Romans! Even as Valeria realized that the man holding Clodius down was the one called Luca, the barbarian who'd cut him in the forest, strong arms snaked around her from behind. She heard a familiar voice in her ear, speaking Latin again. "This time we'll ride together, lady."

It was the man who'd tried to abduct her before! She twisted, trying to kick backward, and he squeezed and laughed. "I'll keep your hands from your brooch this time. You'll not prick my horse again."

Other barbarians had seized Savia and were gagging her squeals. The approaching horses were drawing nearer.

"Who's coming?" one of the men demanded of Valeria.

Her captor turned his mouth to her ear. "Did you bring an escort, lady? Speak honestly and quick, before Luca cuts your Roman friend."

The barbarian once more held a knife to Clodius's throat.

"It's Galba Brassidias," she said, "come to arrest Clodius."

The Celts cursed.

"I thought you said the Thracian wouldn't come here," Luca complained to his leader in Celtic. Valeria's tutoring in the language from her servants let her eavesdrop.

"Galba?" the chieftain repeated skeptically. He chose Latin again. "I think you're mistaken, lady, which means you're either fool or liar. It's somebody else, looking for you in the dark."

She squirmed, trying to get enough freedom to bite or scratch. "My husband is commander of the Petriana!"

"And a hundred miles away."

How did the barbarian know that?

"Let's move, Arden," a man urged in Celtic again. "We've got what we came for."

"I want their horses, too."

"Gurn is already fetching them," a female voice said from the dark.

"What about this one?" Luca asked. He was sitting on Clodius, holding his head to the ground by his hair.

"I'll not kill a man when he's already down. Clout and leave him."

The man struck Clodius on the head with the hilt of the dagger, making him slump, and then kicked him, hard, to make sure he was out. The Roman didn't move.

Then their leader swept Valeria up as if she were no heavier than a cloak, flipped her upside down over his shoulder, and began leading the pack deeper into the trees at a quick trot. He jumped. "The vixen is scratching me!"

His men laughed quietly.

A boy appeared with the Roman horses, even as they could hear new Romans cantering into the clearing.

Valeria screamed. "Help! We're being stolen!" The sound of pursuit swerved at her cry.

"Plug her noise," Arden said with exasperation, and someone ripped her hem for a gag. But even as he moved to fasten it, there was a crashing ahead, and another shout. "Over here!" a Roman called. "Barbarians!"

It was Clodius, risen from the ground and circling around to save them!

"I thought you knocked him out," the leader called Arden muttered.

"He must have a head like a helmet."

"I'll silence the bastard," another Celt said, notching an arrow. Yet even as he did so, a Roman javelin sailed out of the dark and struck the archer squarely in the chest, knocking him backward. His arrow flew harmlessly up into the moonlit branches, rattling as it passed, and the archer fell on his back, impaled, the shaft erect as a standard.

"You Britlets won't get away again!" Clodius was charging, sword up, head bloody, vengeance in his eye. It was as magnificent as it was foolhardy, and so unexpected that he was almost on top of the barbarian leader before the Celt could react. Arden was forced to drop Valeria like a sack of wheat, stunning her, and desperately claw for his weapon. Clodius would run him through! Yet honor made the tribune pull up short of a kill. "Draw and die, brigand!"

Surprised at this reprieve, the chieftain did so. Then a clash of steel, sparks bright as the blades slithered across each other. Even as rough barbarian hands reached to gag Valeria, she could hear the shouts of other Romans dismounting and plunging into the trees. Their leader didn't sound like Galba at all. It was Rufus, the soldier at the gate.

"Clodius!" Valeria gasped. "Wait for help!" Then the gag caught her mouth.

His sword rang. "I'll not fail you this time!"

The Celt crouched low, sidling to one side in the manner of an arena swordsman. There was skill here, the Romans could see. Clodius darted forward but was parried, the long swords repelling the combatants from each other, their song sharp in the night. And then again, and again, the clash of metal.

"Finish him, Arden," one of the Celts hissed.

"The lady is fond of him," the leader said, breathing heavily.

"Finish him before he dooms us all!"

Valeria lifted herself to run, but a boot caught her in the stomach. She went down again heavily, the wind knocked out of her, stars dancing, breath clogged, the distraction diverting the barbarian leader's eye. It was enough! Clodius leaped, sword whistling in a long overhead stroke. Now he would avenge his ambush!

And yet the counterreaction was instinctual and instantaneous. The Celt ducked under the descending blade and lunged forward, his own sword stabbing through the Roman's stomach and out his back before either man knew consciously what was happening.

Clodius froze, his expression not of pain but utter surprise, as if something inconceivable had happened. His weapon left his hand and stuck in the ground.

The graveyards are full of fair men.

Then the Celt butted the Roman with his shoulder, knocking him backward, and as he did so his sword slipped from the Roman's torso to shine in the moonlight, its blade slick with the young tribune's essence. Clodius was dead before he hit the ground.

Yet now came the other Romans, Rufus and three companions, weapons out, unsure what they'd stumbled into but anxious for battle. They were running silhouettes in the dark. "Put the sword to them!"

Bowstrings twanged and arrows buzzed. The other Celts had set themselves ready, and the Romans ran into a volley. There was almost no sound, just the quick thwack of missiles striking armored flesh, and then the four would-be rescuers toppled like puppets with their strings cut. They hit the ground and lay still, each bearing two or three arrows.

The Celts ran forward and severed the Roman necks with a howl of triumph. Great gouts of blood blackened the shadows.

The Celtic leader wiped his own sword on the grass, sheathed it, and strode back to Valeria, scooping her up in his bloodied arms. She felt hurt, winded, sick, and faint all at the same time. It had all happened so fast!

"If your friend there had let us go, all of them would still be alive now," he said. Then he carried her through the trees and threw her over the front horns of his saddle, mounted, and gave his horse a hard kick. "To Tiranen!"

His men gave a cry of shrill agreement. "Tiranen!" They mounted themselves, swords raised in triumph, Savia captive as well, their whoops an echo across the glen, the spring of Bormo still serene under the moon. Then they rode north, away from the Wall, and deep, deep, into the barbarian night.