Hadrian's wall

XXXII

Valeria woke at midafternoon to a world that seemed utterly changed and newly magical. She stretched her drowsy body in its nest of fur and woolens with languid laziness, physically satiated. What joy, followed by what an odd combination of depletion and fulfillment! Who'd known her body could be made to feel like that? Their beings had joined like flash and thunder, every nerve on fire, and now it was the aftermath of a vast and wonderful storm, everything wet and glistening in its wake.

She and Arden had made love well into morning before falling into exhausted sleep. At some point he'd awakened, kissed her tenderly, and left to attend to the clan. She'd lain in a cocoon of heat and musk, drifting randomly, dreaming of forest gods and a gourd-glow moon and the swirling stars of a winter's night. Now she came awake as if from a spell. How magical Samhain had been!

And then, as she remembered where and who she was, her contentment began to be polluted with guilt.

She had betrayed her husband.

Everything seemed turned upside down. She was in love with a man she once thought of as a dangerous and uncouth barbarian, and impossibly distant from a man she'd traveled more than a thousand miles to wed. She felt more at home in this timbered building than in the commander's house that was a reminder of Rome. She had more freedom and authority in the wilderness than she'd ever had in civilization, and thus more power with this poor tribe than she'd had in the Roman Empire. She was happier than she'd ever been, but only because everything she once scorned she now accepted.

How strange life had turned out to be!

Now she dreaded seeing Savia. The maidservant would no doubt start lecturing her about Christian ideas of sin.

Where was Arden? Suddenly she felt lonely with her doubts. Why had he left her like Marcus? Was this the way of all men? And why was her heart so suddenly and miserably confused? What mischief were the gods inflicting on her?

She got up, filled now with disquiet and a premonition that something was more deeply awry than she knew. It was wrong to have danced as a Celtic goddess, of course, no matter how weirdly thrilling it had been. Wrong to have gone to the bed of Arden Caratacus, sworn enemy of Rome. Yet how she savored the memory of his embrace, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough! Never with Marcus had she felt the passion and ecstasy she'd felt with Arden. It made her half dizzy even to remember it. So was the greatest moment of her life a mistake? Had she lost all sense? What did that foretell for future happiness?

What if she became heavy with child, hidden here away from her husband?

Why hadn't Marcus ever come for her?

The room was cold outside the coverings of the bed, and the sky had clouded over. It was already dim, slipping again toward long winter night. She looked outside and saw men leading strange horses toward the hill-fort corral. Who would come so late in the year? Or rather, so early in the next? Smoke rose from cooking fires, and she could hear the squeal of children and cackle of chickens. Everything was normal and yet strangely warped, as if viewed in a mirror. Her life had irrevocably changed.

She dressed hurriedly and crept downstairs. The Great House was being readied for supper, and Valeria realized she was famished again. She'd never been very hungry in Rome but always seemed that way here, where food was so simple. It wasn't just her mind that had changed, it was her very body, the buds of taste, the memory of smell. How disoriented she felt, as if still drunk!

She almost bumped into Asa, the redhead looking at her warily. Valeria's position in the clan had changed. By surrendering to the chieftain, she'd gained his power, so now Asa exhibited toward Valeria the surly deference of a disciplined dog. These were people who lived at extremes, overbearing in victory and downcast in defeat. "Where's Arden?" Valeria asked.

"In the Council Hut with a visitor." The question allowed Asa a small victory. "He's not to be disturbed."

The Council Hut was one of the round and peaked Celtic houses inside the hill fort, used for meetings when there were issues that were not for all ears. No doubt the horses Valeria had seen were from another chief. Was there some business that went with the dawn of the Celtic New Year? She'd have to ask Arden.

"Where's Savia?"

"Who knows?" Asa sniffed. "She scurries like a lizard from rock to rock."

Valeria got her cloak and went outside. She wore the high Celtic boots, but the mire had stiffened anyway: Cailleach had indeed struck with her staff. The overcast was low, its color sword-steel, and Valeria's breath made quick puffs of cloud. She wanted to find her maidservant, so much like a mother, and explain what had happened. Or have Savia explain it to her. She wanted, unconsciously, her slave's blessing.

Yet Savia was not at the gate, nor at the well. The corral? Valeria walked there and noticed that saddles had been taken from the tired mounts and placed on the rail. She was about to walk by, paying no mind, when she stopped and turned.

They were Roman.

The angle of horns, stitching of leather, and embedment of small coins were as distinctive as a face. These horses had come from the Wall.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Marcus, come to bargain for her release? Had she fallen in love with Arden Caratacus only to leave because of ransom?

But she should leave him, of course, out of loyalty to her husband!

She should, but she didn't want to.

She went to the railing of the corral and looked at the horses.

They whinnied, trotting this way and that, fearful they'd be made to ride again before resting. But no, she only wanted to see if she could tell which horses they were…

"The black one. Recognize him?"

She turned. It was Savia, the older woman hiding her face with the hood of her cloak. She'd stolen up on Valeria from behind.

"Go on, look," the maidservant urged.

The black one? Yes, there he was, big and proud, head uplifted, nostrils wide. "Galba!"

"Yes, my lady, Galba. Or rather, Galba's horse."

"Is the senior tribune here, too?"

"Like an apparition of the devil."

"Why?"

"Come to negotiate our release, I suspect."

"After all this time?"

"Before anything worse can happen. Before we forget where we came from and who we are."

Valeria felt sick. If it were Marcus, her feelings might be more mixed. But to have to ride back to the Wall with Galba…

"Why now? Why him?"

"I don't know. But if this concerns our fate, then I suggest we do what we slaves do best, which is listen. There's a hayrick in back of the hut where two women might hide while peering through a chink in the wall."

"A chink?"

Savia held up a stick. "When I saw Galba ride through the gate, as bold as an emperor and as wary as a wolf, I made one."

Two Roman cavalrymen guarded the door, Valeria recognizing the posture and profile of Galba's closest decurions. A third was in the rear of the hut, squatting in boredom. The women burrowed through the hayrick and lay not four paces away, invisible to his eyes. Savia's slit in the daub-and-wattle wall revealed Arden and Galba sitting by the charcoal heat of a small fire, each holding wine cups but regarding each other with the stiff courtliness of men who are allies but never friends. Behind them, listening like an owl and swaddled in robes, was Kalin.

The Roman's boots were spattered with mud, and his tunic was wet from sweat, evidence of a hard ride. Galba looked all business. So did Arden. The gentle and passionate lover of Samhain had been replaced by the warrior. He was unarmed but tense, military, alert, his features chiseled. Galba's face was darker and more sunken, as if caving in on itself.

"Are you here for the woman?" Arden's question was carefully flat.

"Who?" Galba seemed uncertain for a moment what the barbarian was talking about. "Oh, her. Of course not."

Arden stayed expressionless. "She's our hostage against attack, you know."

Galba nodded. "The situation has been more than a little frustrating for Marcus Flavius. I pretend ignorance about the girl's whereabouts while he fears to even hunt for her. He's wretched about doing nothing and wretched about doing something. He vacillates and broods and blames me, while ignoring letters from Rome seeking news of her plight. What a coward the man is! Given enough time, the duke would relieve him. But events on the Continent mean we don't have that time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's I who am about to be transferred. To Gaul or Spain."

"You?"

"It's the work of the praefectus. He's never trusted me and secretly blames me for the loss of his wife. Never mind that I lost four good men trying to save her."

"From a rendezvous you engineered, Brassidias."

"At your suggestion, Caratacus."

"You didn't warn us those four would come after her."

He shrugged. "I didn't know. There happened to be a conscientious duplicarius that night. When they didn't succeed, I had to punish him for his diligence. I had to pretend surprise."

Arden looked at the tribune curiously. "It doesn't bother you to be ruthless, does it?" It was as if he only now fully realized the menace of the man he was treating with.

"It doesn't bother me to be effective, forced by the jealousies and preferment of lesser men. Marcus hates that I've forgotten more about running the Petriana than he'll ever learn. He's as afraid of me as he is envious. So he's trying to get rid of me, and now, with events changing, the duke seems inclined to listen."

"What events?"

Galba leaned back, savoring his announcement. "The emperor is ill."

"Valentinian? He's been sick for a year."

"But now near death. The appointment of his son Gratian as co-emperor has divided the court. The Germans sense opportunity. Generals are taking the child under their wing and filling his ears with nonsense. Troops are being moved into Gaul as a precaution against invasion or civil war."

"How does this change things for us?"

"I'm to go there because soldiers are being taken from Britannia."

There was a long quiet. Kalin, who'd been so still that Valeria wondered if he'd fallen asleep, had straightened.

"Where from Britannia?" Arden asked with quiet intensity, his posture taut.

"The Wall."

The Celts absorbed the news. "They'd risk that?"

"The duke thinks it insane, but commanders in the south have more influence to hold their troops. The difference is being made up from the Sixth Victrix. Marcus contributed by claiming his raid on the grove suppressed chances of a northern uprising. He even cites the hostage of his wife as evidence of truce! As a reward, the Petriana is being depleted and given twice the length of wall to patrol."

"They think that little of us?"

"You know better than I that the tribes and clans have never acted in concert. The Romans think they can bluff you until the succession is settled. They regard you as a fool, Arden Caratacus."

Arden smiled grimly. "I hope you encourage them to continue that view, tribune."

"Continental transfer be damned! I'm too old, and I've worked too hard, to give up Britannia. By the gods, I gave my life to Britannia, my blood and my sweat, and they've rewarded me with second-place spit. I tried working with that plodding praefectus and buttering his little bitch, and they both disdained me. So I'm half tempted to take their transfer to Gaul and leave Marcus Flavius to roast in one of your wicker cages, screaming as he recognizes his own stupidity."

"We don't roast anybody anymore, Galba."

"Pity. I've persuaded him that you do. But while such a fire would satisfy my emotions, it won't fulfill my goals. So listen. The empire is weak and divided. You've a once-in-a-lifetime chance to wrest Britannia away from Rome. Rally the tribes, advance on the Wall, and you'll cut like a knife through cheese. You can loot your way to Londinium and crown yourself king."

"He's a traitor!" Savia hissed in the hay. Valeria pinched her maid's shoulder. The men didn't hear.

"You'll help us do that?" Arden asked.

"I'll make sure the Petriana doesn't oppose you too strongly."

Arden added charcoal to the fire. "What do you want in return?"

"My own little kingdom, of course."

"The Wall?"

"South of it, among the Brigante tribe. I know those people and can keep them from turning on you Attacotti. I can tell you how to beat the legions. What I want is northern Britannia and a quarter share of the gold you'll loot in Londinium."

"You don't care about your fellow soldiers?"

"The ones I care about will stick to me."

There was silence then, the men regarding each other. Bound by necessity, mistrustful by experience. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"The news about the emperor is no secret, and the transfer of troops not much more of one," Galba said. "Ask your allies. Query your spies. They'll confirm what I've told you. Believe me, Caratacus, at one time I'd have opposed you with all my might. But I've learned that the empire is a place where the best men are passed over and the least rewarded. I despise Marcus Flavius, and I despise the Roman bitch who allowed herself to be used by him for advancement. I want to build a-"

"Stop calling her that." It was flat warning.

"What?"

"Don't call Valeria a bitch."

Galba paused in surprise. Then he grinned. "Ah. I see. That little beauty has gotten to you, too. Why am I surprised? Too bad that initial ambush we arranged on the way to the wedding didn't work as intended. If you'd ambushed them before we were near, you wouldn't have vows in your way."

Valeria sucked in her breath. Galba had intended her abduction all along? He'd conspired with the brigands in the forest from the beginning? Of course! That was how the Celts had known when and where she'd be. That she could ride a horse. He'd maneuvered Clodius into being her lone escort. Had Titus known?

"The gods work in their own strange way," Arden said. "If I'd captured her then, Marcus would have likely lost his posting, and I'd be preparing to fight you, Galba."

"True enough. Still, the wedding-"

"Empty vows are no vows at all. She lives here now."

The tribune snorted. "Until she gets a chance to betray you. Wake up, man! Rut her if you wish, but never forget she's Roman. The purebloods live for intrigue."

"I don't think she's Roman anymore."

"Then you're naive."

"Look. She gave me this." Arden took from a pouch something small and bright. Valeria stiffened and felt Savia do the same.

It was her ring, the one given to her on her wedding night by Marcus. She'd forgotten she'd let him slip it off at Samhain and put it in the golden cup.

Galba recognized it. "By the gods, you've bedded her, haven't you? And she's driven you crazy as a result! Does she taste as good as she looks?"

"Shut up, Thracian pig, or you'll not leave my fort alive." This time the low warning was unmistakable and deadly.

Galba held his hands up in mock apology. "I'm just saying she's an eyeful."

"She has more courage than most men."

"And how many men have courage?" The tribune looked at the ring with interest. "I don't care what you do with her. I wish I had that bauble, though. I'm missing one from my chain of trophies." Valeria heard the clink of his waist belt.

"You're a bastard, Brassidias."

"I'm a survivor. And you'll learn her nature soon enough. Don't be a fool."

"It's you who are the fool, Galba. You who have never loved."

"And how do you know I've never loved?" There was a silence of surprise at the tribune's hurt expression. Indeed, who knew anything about Galba's past?

"I don't," the chieftain conceded. "I just know I love this woman."

Galba burst out laughing. Any tenderness had been a pretense. "Love, love! Fair enough. It's all the Christians talk about, you know, this love they claim."

"It's a powerful thing."

"Yes." He laughed again. "And now you'll go to kill her husband!"

Savia tugged on Valeria to pull her away, taking advantage of the noise of Galba's laughter. The women crept away to leave the conspirators to talk into the night.

"The men in your life have all betrayed and abandoned you, lady," her slave whispered angrily. "You've been married off for money and position by your father, abandoned by your husband, seduced, mocked, and now plotted against."

"Where's the Arden I knew last night?" Valeria mourned. "He's nothing but a conspirator with Galba! Men use love like a cheap coin!"

Savia sighed. "Who knows what he really wants or thinks? Did you really give him your ring?"

"Just in a cup, for a moment. Was last night false, Savia?"

"Fleeting."

"I thought my life had changed forever."

"Don't you think every young heart believes that?"

She groaned. "I don't know what I believe."

"Believe in law and duty, mistress. Because when men fail you, as they eventually must, order is all that's left."

They crept back to their chamber, Valeria tortured. What just the night before had seemed impossibly distant-Rome! — had come crashing back into her life with Galba's arrival. The man was a traitor! An enemy of her husband! An ally of her lover! And that made Arden…

She threw herself down on her bed. Where did her emotions lie?

Where did her loyalty lie?

Beware the one you trust, the seer had said in Londinium. Trust the one you beware. What did that mean? Who was who, which side was which?

She was sleepless, in an agony of indecision. Finally she slipped on her cloak and went back outside. It was late night, Galba's horse still waiting. Yet already signal fires were being lit on surrounding hills. Messengers were saddling up to ride to the four winds. Military opportunity wouldn't last long. Arden would call a gathering of the clans for a march against the Wall. A march against Rome.

Thousands would die.

Including, possibly, Marcus and Arden.

Yet the barbarian plan hinged on surprise. If she could reach Marcus before the northern tribes struck, he in turn could warn the duke. Reinforcements could be sent. Faced with the full assembly of Roman power, the Celts could do nothing but retreat.

Marcus would be saved.

Arden would be saved.

And once more she'd be with her husband. It was what she should want, shouldn't she? Surely it was where her duty lay.

Duty! How many times she had scorned that word! Now she understood its importance. In following it, she would save the two men in her life, and save Rome. Yet in following it she would put behind her the happiest moment of her life.

Why, then, was her heart like a stone after resolving to carry out this plan? Why did she feel that she, too, was being forced into some kind of treachery?

She loathed leaving Arden. She ached for his touch. Yet she must get back to the Wall before Galba and spread the alarm.

She summoned Savia.