The Broken Lance

by Jess Steven Hughes

  “What did you promise?” Her soft fingers caressed my shoulder.

  “I must become a knight,” I answered through tight lips.

  She stopped and turned her head toward me. “I don’t understand.”

  “I have to become a nobleman.”

  She sighed. “Then I can never be more than your concubine.”

  “I never said that.” I shook my head and exhaled.

  “You don’t have to, I know.”

  I started to protest again when she put a finger to my lips.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I know you’ll have to marry a highborn Spanish or Roman woman, and I accept what you must do. But I will still be yours. I’m the first woman you have truly loved, and no wife can ever take that from me.”

  “Regardless of what happens, Kyar, I do love you, and one day I will set you free.”

  “You have already given me my freedom, Marcellus. By law my body may be a slave, but my soul belongs to me. You’ve set it free.”

  We made love one lingering last time.

  Afterwards, I was about to leave when Kyar, who had gotten up with me, held up her hand. I waited. She stooped and extended her fingers beneath the straw covered mattress. Slowly, she pulled out a thin, gold chain on which hung a broach. Straightening up, Kyar turned and stepped toward me. “Here, take a look.” She handed over the amulet.

  Upon closer inspection, I discovered the talisman was an engraved silver image of a mountain cat. “Where did you get this?”

  She looked away for a second. “It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me before she was killed by my father.”

  I remember Kyar saying her mother had been accused of cheating on him. “I’m surprised your father didn’t take this from you.”

  “He didn’t know mother gave it to me,” she answered through tightened lips. “I hid it from him and later from Rix.”

  I gave the charm back to her. “You better hide it somewhere safer than under your mattress.”

  Kyar nodded. “I wanted you to see it first.” She glanced to the cubicle entrance and back to me. “If you see anyone else wearing this, you’ll know I am dead.”

  I was about to protest when she placed a couple of fingers to my lips. “No, Marcellus, so long as I remain with Rix I will be in danger, we both know that—it can’t be helped. Remember, I will never give up my amulet while I live.”

  I grabbed her fingers and kissed them and her soft lips. She was right, and it would be futile to protest, but I hoped she was wrong and the money I paid Rix would be enough to satisfy him. There was no more I could say or do. I hugged and kissed her once more and departed. Whatever the future held, I knew Kyar would be with me in spirit and love, and she would always be more than just my woman.

  I prayed to Melkart to watch over both of us, and that I would return from campaign free of injury to Kyar’s waiting arms.

  Chapter 14

  The following morning the infantry cohort and cavalry detachment departed Iping to join Legion Second Augusta. The camp would remain as a road station with a small police detail keeping order in the region.

  Although the day was gray and misty, the infantry, loaded down with seventy-pound marching packs, soon worked up a sweat. We rode ahead of them along an ancient plank road, built by the Celtic Britons, which soon splintered into an overgrown trackway through forests of pine and cedar. Crispus and I trotted side by side just behind the mounts of our decurion, Sextus Rufius, and the standard bearer. The rest of the troop and squadron followed us.

  “I still think you’re a fool for buying her,” Crispus said above the noise of our horses jangling pendants and squeaking leather saddles.

  “That’s for me to decide. Anyway, it’s done.”

  Crispus exhaled and with one hand readjusted the shoulder straps that held his shield against the square of his back. At this stage of the march our troop was in no danger of attack from the enemy, about forty miles distant. “Look, I hope fortune smiles upon you two. But my gut feeling says otherwise.”

  “Are you convinced something will happen to her?” Argento farted, and I futilely attempted to wave away the foul odor.

  “Rix holds the cast of Venus, if you know what I mean.”

  I nodded. “He holds the dice, but not for long. And there’s no use worrying. He loves money above everything else, and the balance is yet to be paid.”

  “True enough,” Crispus said. “I was thinking about the black snake crossing our path this morning when we were walking to the stable.”

  “A ridiculous superstition.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s still a bad omen. A shame it wasn’t a green one—they’re good luck.”

  “Gallus wouldn’t wait an extra day to begin a march if a black snake had slithered across the path in front of him, especially after this morning.” At dawn, and witnessed by the troops, the tribune had taken the auspices at the Altar of Victory, and the sacrificial goat’s liver was clear. The augur-priest declared the signs good for the march. “I’m sure if Gallus knew about our encounter, he’d pray for my death.”

  Crispus shrugged, and we rode in silence. I dreamed of when I would receive the balance of my money and claim Kyar as mine alone. I prayed that Crispus was wrong about the omen.

  *

  Our detachments, infantry cohort First Asturum, and cavalry cohort Hispanorum Vettonum, joined General Vespasian’s Legion Second Augusta and supporting auxiliaries two days later. The campaign began with a vengeance. During the next three weeks, the army stormed and captured six fortified settlements. The largest, Hod Hill, fell in an hour after a heavy concentration of ballista fire of iron bolts from giant crossbows, on the chieftain’s hut. Most of our twenty thousand men bypassed the battle without breaking stride. Like a great wave, the army quickly overran the fortress. We rolled further west closing in on Maugh-Dun Castle, the Durotrigian capital.

  Eleyne, King Verica’s daughter and Roman hostage, had been brought along on the march rather than left behind by Vespasian in Noviomagnus. I saw her for the first time when our troop was assigned to escort the baggage train’s flank. I rode along one side of her wagon, a creaky mule drawn vehicle, where she sat with the driver and her servant. My breath caught in my throat at the first sight of her. Shapely and dark-haired, Eleyne was a little more than fifteen. She wore a flowing, red and yellow, tartan skirt, cinched at the waist with an embroidered golden belt and triskele buckle. I knew from experience that most Celts are fair in complexion, and apparently, her angular face had sunburned during the campaign march. Unlike Iberian and Roman women, she refused to wear a protective hat.

  Rufius had given us orders to keep a close watch on her and her heavyset maid, Karmune. They might attempt to escape with the help of Eleyne’s betrothed, a rebel named Bodvac. Talk was, she had resisted attempts to be taken hostage. Aided by Karmune, she had kicked and punched her escorting Praetorians. Only with great restraint and threats of court-martial by General Sabinus did the guards keep from slaying the woman with their short swords.

  Through the churning dust of a hundred wagons, the princess’s sea-blue eyes continually scanned the dark woods surrounding the countryside. Was she looking for a means of escape or hoping for rescue by her people? Yet, as I observed, she seemed to make the best of her situation, causing no trouble.

  The day before reaching Maugh-Dun Castle, on a hot midmorning, the baggage wagons slowly moved down a gentle embankment and across a newly built bridge over a swelling river. Shouting teamsters cracked whips over the backs of the mules urging them forward. Although master bridge builders, Roman engineers still had to contend with the gods of spring and the avenging river goddesses of the British. In spite of the cut logs being skillfully fastened, and stakes angled against the dark, rushing current that hissed and swirled, the spans near the embankment creaked and groaned with the crossing of each laden cart and wagon. Along the river’s edge on both sides the cavalry provided a flanking guard.

  On the far side, a
decurion shouted orders to the teamsters from the back of his mount. “Get your wagons moving off the bridge, you fucking slugs! You’re holding up the army!”

  Eleyne rode on a large leather-covered, four-wheel affair overloaded with belongings and furniture, hauled by four straining mules. The driver, an old grizzled soldier and an experienced teamster, slowed as he approached the bridge. His ruddy face scanned the rushing waters before starting across. I halted at the river’s edge a few feet from the wagon when I spotted the dray’s left, front wheel wobbling slightly. As it began to creep over the dirt-covered planks, the four-wheel cart ahead dropped a large keg, banging as it struck the planks and kicking up large clods of dirt. It rolled back toward Eleyne’s wagon, somehow missing the mule team’s legs.

  One wheel of Eleyne’s wagon bumped over the barrel and slammed down, the cracking noise echoing on our side of the river. The axle snapped, flinging the driver into the churning river, his splash barely heard above the stream’s loud din. The weight of his armor dragged him beneath the waters, pulling his body downstream. He never surfaced again. The girl was tossed from the rig into the swift-moving torrent beneath the bridge. Her maid, sitting in the back, was thrown free and landed with a thump on the dusty bridge, uninjured.

  Shouting troops immediately converged on the banks of both sides of the river. Seconds later, I spotted Eleyne’s bobbing head and shoulders as she emerged from under the bridge. She screamed as she grabbed one of the bridge stakes and struggled to hang on. The roaring waters ripped it from her grasp, hurtling her downstream. I tossed my shield and lance to Crispus.

  “Take the squadron and follow me along the riverbank!” I barked. “I’m going after the princess!”

  “You’ll need help, I’m going with you!”

  “No!” Riding into the rushing river was risky enough for one, let alone two. No sense in anyone else drowning. I prayed I would reach her in time.

  I spurred Argento, but he balked and refused to budge. Although cavalry mounts are trained to swim with fully armored troopers, a raging river can terrify the best of horses. I squeezed his sides with my legs and spiked him once more. He bolted into the icy waters carrying me with him. A freezing shock raced through my body, numbing my hands and legs. For a split-second, I thought I would lose control and slip off my gelding. But I recovered my wits, held the reins tightly in my hands, and squeezed down on the horse’s girth with my legs.

  About the same time I pushed Argento forward, I saw Eleyne going under again, reappearing seconds later gasping and choking, as she struggled to swim with the current. She shouted for help again as she snagged a partially submerged tree limb and held fast. The branch snapped, and the hissing, foaming water carried her away.

  Argento and I barely kept our heads above the swirling current’s surface as it swept us downstream, out of sight of the pursuing squadron. I swallowed several mouthfuls of the river in the process, on which I choked but spat out. Gradually, I maneuvered him close enough and grabbed Eleyne’s long, knotted braids. She yelped, and then had a coughing fit, spitting water. I battled to keep her head above the raging waters as she bobbed and dipped from side to side like a struggling fish on a hook.

  “Ow!” she cried and sputtered.

  “Don’t fight me!” I shouted above the noise of the crashing torrent.

  As we rounded a bend, the current pushed us close enough to the bank for Argento’s hooves to catch hold of the gravel bottom. Seconds later we reached shallow water. Argento shook his mane, spraying us with icy droplets. The air hit my drenched clothing, chilling me to the bone. I released my grip on Eleyne’s hair, and she fell to her knees, spat more water, and gasped. Soaked as a wet badger, she stood and attempted to catch her breath, choking up more fluid. She stumbled ashore, across the slippery, moss-covered rocks, shivering and belching.

  Limp and scraggly, Eleyne’s long, black hair, which had come undone, hung down her back like an old mop. At first glance, her small face reminded me of a fragile child. But then I noticed how the long, clinging tartan tunic snugly outlined her body of a well-developed woman. For the length of a heartbeat I stared, then I remembered my love for Kyar. Quickly, I reminded myself there were more serious matters at hand.

  I dismounted and moved to her side. “Here, this will help.”

  Eleyne shook her head.

  “Don’t be foolish, you’ll feel better.” I gave her a couple of hard taps on the back between the shoulder blades, and she vomited more water.

  “Better?” I questioned inanely once she stopped.

  Her teeth chattered and she beat her arms. “Yes,” she sputtered. “I-I-I think so. I-I-I’m freezing.” Eleyne huffed and twisted one way then the other, stepped on her left foot than the right. “Y-y-you had no right t-t-to drag me like a c-c-common prisoner.”

  “If I hadn’t you would have drowned—somebody had to rescue you.” She violently coughed again, and I gave her another sharp tap.

  Shivering, she wheeled around, grasping her elbows with her small, scratched, white hands and broken fingernails. “M-m-maybe you’re right,” she said. “I’m a-a-a good swimmer, b-b-but the water w-w-was so cold, I c-c-couldn’t move.”

  “Aye, it’s terrible. Here, you better hold onto me until you warm up.”

  “What?” Eleyne winced. Her lips pressed together, and she quickly looked about.

  “Don’t be afraid, my intentions are honorable, I mean you no harm. We’re both freezing and it’s a cold ride back. We need warmth—now.” The river’s swift current had dragged us far down stream. There was no telling how long before my squadron arrived.

  “C-c-can’t we build a f-f-fire?”

  “There isn’t any dry wood.” I looked about and noticed the scattered driftwood along the shoreline molding and rotting, drenched from the high run-off. Freshly cut branches were too green to burn properly.

  “V-v-very well,” she said in a huff, “b-b-but only for a-a-a moment!”

  I placed my hands on the shoulders of her sopping-wet tunic and drew her to my chest. The top of her delicate head came to below my shoulders.

  “I suppose I’m not as good a swimmer as I thought,” she said in crisp, slightly accented Latin, apparently feeling a little warmer. Her teeth no longer chattered, but she shivered again.

  I attempted to draw attention away from her discomfort. “Where did you learn to speak such good Latin?”

  “From a horrid little Greek.” She added a disdainful grunt.

  “When did you start?”

  “About three years ago—the man was insane—he was never satisfied with my progress.”

  I had read reports that the princess was learning Greek and Latin from an excitable and demanding tutor, known as the Mad Midget of Megara.

  Eleyne pushed herself away. “I’m all right now.” One hand stayed on my chest a moment too long, and she blushed and backed away. Somehow, I wished she had kept it there longer. Why was I thinking this when I had Kyar waiting for my return?

  “Time to ride back,” I said.

  “I suppose we must,” Eleyne said, resigned. “After all, you have to do your duty,” she added in a sarcastic tone. Quickly, she searched the woods reaching down to the shoreline, and then shrugged silently. As an afterthought, she asked, “Before we go, would you tell me your name?”

  “Marcellus Tiberius Reburrus, my lady.”

  “We Regni are not so formal,” she said. A faint smile formed on her bowed lips. “Call me Eleyne. I’m not used to Roman customs, yet. And I hope I never am!”

  I smiled and leaped upon Argento. I reached down and gave her a hand-up to ride behind me. With Eleyne’s arms clinging about my waist, I turned my gelding about, and we headed upstream toward the bridge.

  “Regni women can ride as well as any man,” Eleyne said a few minutes later as we rode along the edge of the river. Cautiously, Argento placed his hooves among the rocks choking the shoreline. The clattering noise echoed off the bank and carried on the breeze.

&nb
sp; “Spanish women can do the same.”

  “There’s something different about you,” Eleyne said. “You’re not Roman, are you?”

  I partially turned my body around. “I am a Roman citizen, but I’m what the Romans call a Spaniard.”

  “Interesting. Had you not been so tall, I would have mistaken you for one of our hill people. You’re nearly as dark. Where is this place you come from?”

  I was about to explain when Crispus and the squadron charged from around the next bend in the river. Not far behind rode Sextus Rufius, General Sabinus, and his entourage. For an instant I regretted their arrival had been too timely.

  Sabinus recognized me at once. “Well done, Sergeant Reburrus, I thank you for saving our honored guest.” As the general and the others reined up before us, he shouted orders to someone in the retinue to bring blankets for Eleyne and me.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, “I was fortunate to rescue her—that’s one treacherous river.” I wasn’t accustomed to a general thanking me for anything. But at the same time, I swelled with pride.

  “I had to act, sir,” I continued. “The princess was in danger of being swept away—I wasn’t about to see her drown.”

  “Nevertheless, you bravely risked your life,” Sabinus complimented. “We fished the driver’s body out of the river not far from here. Again, you have served Rome well.”

  Sabinus turned to Eleyne. “And how are you, my child?” he inquired in a concerned tone.

  “Better, thanks to Marcel—to Sergeant Reburrus. I’m freezing, that’s all.”

  “I assure you, not for long.” He motioned to us to ride by his side. “Come along and explain the circumstances, Sergeant.”

  I rode between Rufius and him, Eleyne still clinging to my waist, distracting me. In a matter of minutes a couple of blankets were brought by one of Sabinus’s scouts and handed to Eleyne and me. Gratefully, we wrapped ourselves about the shoulders. My soggy, woolen trousers and tunic, along with my hip-length armor, hung on me as if their weight had increased one-hundred fold. Eleyne started to shiver and moved closer to me, laying her head against my shoulder.