A sharp rap at the door made Valeria’s gaze snap up. “Yes?”
“Your father sent me to fetch you for supper, my lady,” a voice resounded.
Valeria nodded and Pia opened the heavy oak door. A legate—a lieutenant, holding his helmet under his arm, stood with a serious frown stretched across sneering lips. “I am Quintus, protector of Rome and the Dux Britanniarum.” He held out his arm. “May I escort you to the dining hall?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Valeria glanced up at him as they walked through the cloisters. With narrow dun eyes, he wore his brown hair cropped short, which accented his inordinately large nose. He was not tall, but the short tunic of his uniform emphasized thick legs. “Do the officers follow the same fitness routines as the soldiers?”
He smirked, looking down the length of that nose. “Officers are required to practice swordsmanship daily. I believe I am more fit than any common soldier. I’ve always maintained the same fitness regimen whether Gaul, Egypt or Britannia.”
“Have you traveled widely, then?” Valeria wondered if his arrogance reflected indifference toward her. Since she didn’t find him pleasing to the eye, it might be best if he was indifferent.
“Some. I was born in Gaul where I received my training. I’ve been in the province of Britannia since Valentinian rose to power and my entire legion was dispatched to patrol the frontier.”
“Three years, is it?” Valeria asked, fully aware of the length of time her mother’s brother had been Emperor.
“Yes, my lady.”
Guards opened the double doors. Valeria gasped when they stepped into the great chamber filled with Roman officers. There was not a single woman. “My, it appears I am outnumbered.”
Quintus led her along the wall. Conversations lowered to whispers and heads turned in their direction. “I trust the men will enjoy your presence. Few officers have the pleasure of the company of a woman, especially one as pleasing to the eye as you.”
Valeria smiled and pulled her hand away. “Thank you for the escort, Lieutenant.”
The volume of conversation in the hall escalated again.
“My pleasure. It would be nice…ah.” Quintus shifted his weight between his feet.
“Yes?”
“Would I be able to escort you again?”
“If you wish.” Valeria found it odd he showed no emotion, not even a smile. He bowed his head and took his place with the others.
“Papa.” Valeria kissed her father’s temple and nodded a greeting toward Bishop Elusius.
“Ah, my dear. Sit, sit.” Father stood and pulled out her chair and Valeria gratefully slid into it. “You must tell me of your journey.”
“The best part is it’s over.” She leaned forward giving Elusius a wink. “The bishop lulled me to sleep with his lessons of piety and faithful living.”
“Is that so?” Argus turned to Elusius. “I hope you chided her for any inattentiveness.”
“She listened well. I only had to rap her across the knuckles a time or two.”
The doors from the kitchen opened with a waft of rosemary-roasted lamb. Servants poured into the hall with trays piled with meat, bread and vegetables.
Valeria sipped her grape juice as a proper Roman woman would, noticing the many sets of eyes that strayed in her direction. Her gaze darted across the hall as her insides roiled, wondering if someone in this room could be her intended. Father’s message had been clear it was time for her to wed.
“I’d like to visit Mia in the morning and take her riding as soon as possible.”
Father frowned. “You’ll need an escort—keep in mind it is not common for a Roman lady to ride, even sidesaddle.” He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “You must always stay south of Hadrian’s Wall. It marks the end of the Empire. Crossing it is forbidden for all Roman subjects unless under military order.”
“Can I not ride alone if I stay near Vindolanda?”
Her father’s silver curls jostled when he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Thieves lurk in every dark corner.”
“My, what a savage country we have come to.”
“That it is, my dear.” He turned to the bishop. “Elusius, what are your plans now you have safely delivered my daughter?”
“Once I have rested, Pontiff Damasus has decreed I construct a monastery in Pons Aelius.”
“Ah, an ideal location for the soldiers. I’ll see to it you have a century to accompany you—a contingent who can remain to help build.”
“That is very generous, indeed.”
Argus grinned and sipped from his silver goblet. “I trust my generosity will not go unnoticed by the Pope.”
“Of course. I’ll send him a missive advising of our good fortune.”
Valeria’s thoughts wandered to the Pict again—the mere memory of his powerful stature made her heart flutter. If only she could talk to him, she might understand why he’d fled. Surely life as an oarsman would not be as bad as life as a barbarian. Valeria leaned forward. “Bishop, we must pray over the prisoners before you leave.”
“Ah, yes, we must.”
Her father sat back and folded his arms. “The gaol is no place for a young lady.”
Bishop Elusius nodded. “I agree. Not to worry, she will be under my watchful eye at all times, my lord. ʼTis a good exercise in piety.”
Valeria restrained her smile as she chewed her rosemary herbed lamb. She would see the Pict again, at least one more time before he was led to the gallows.
“Valeria.” Her father’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. “Play your lyre for us. I’m sure the men will enjoy a bit of entertainment.”
He snapped his fingers and Pia appeared from the shadows with her harp. Given the overwhelmingly male company, Valeria would have preferred to hide under the table than perform. But she graciously acquiesced to her father’s wishes as he led the officers in applause. Moving to a stool on the dais, she blew on her palms to dry the perspiration.
Choosing a ballad learned from her mother, she stroked the strings of her lyre like the tumbling of a brook. The room fell silent.
To my love, gone for so long,
To him I sing this song.
My lips caress the air.
May the breeze take it there,
To him where,
He can hum along.
With her eyes closed, Valeria cast her nervousness aside and sang the simple tune three times, ending with a melodic strum. As she finished, she dared steal a glance at the crowd. A grey-haired officer stood and clapped his hands vigorously. Valeria scanned the long table as the men pushed back their chairs, stood and applauded.
Her father rose and kissed her hand.
Quintus joined them. “Would you care to take a stroll through the gardens?” He folded his arms, and tilted his head back as if protecting himself from a lash of her tongue.
Why had he asked? She was about to excuse herself as too tired when her father stepped in. “Please grant me that honor tonight, Quintus. However, Valeria needs an escort to exercise her horse on the morrow.”
“A woman? Ride a horse? What of her chariot?” Jaw dropping, Quintus didn’t hide his astonishment.
Valeria crossed her arms. “Pardon me, but I am quite skilled with my mount.”
Quintus’s eyes bulged like a codfish, but the Dux interjected. “Lieutenant, if you must know, I had the tanner fashion a sidesaddle like that of Goddess Luna for her ladyship. As a young girl, there was no keeping her from the horses, and her mother and I deemed a sidesaddle the best compromise. Valeria has become a horsewoman in her own right.”
Quintus frowned. “The lady could not be seen on the streets of Rome propped on a horse. It would be shameful.”
Argus pushed between them. “Quintus. Mind your station. Valeria rides where I allow it. You may escort her on the morrow, else I shall appoint another, less opinionated officer.”
Quintus took a step back, white lines forming around his lips. “Ah yes, a ride would be jus
t the thing for us to become better acquainted.” His gaze traveled to Valeria’s breasts as he bowed. “On the morrow, then.” It slid to her hips. “Shall we ride after the midday meal?”
“Very well,” Valeria clipped. She would have preferred the bishop or anyone else to ride with her. She certainly didn’t care for Quintus’s pompous attitude or the way his pretentious eyes peered over his gargantuan nose and raked across her body. It made her feel as though she were chattel.
Chapter Two
Cauldrons of fire lit the garden path as Valeria walked arm-in-arm with her father. Though she wore a cloak, she shivered against the chill. Papa seemed unaffected with his arms and legs exposed beneath his leather uniform.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She pulled her cloak closed. “I’m all right. ʼTis much cooler here.”
“True, the damp can cut through to the bone. You’ll need a cloak of fur before winter comes, but the summer months are mostly agreeable.”
Valeria filled her nostrils with the crisp night air. “It smells clean—fresh, like it has just rained.”
“Generally speaking, it seems it has always recently rained.”
They came to the end of the cobbled path. Father led her up the steps to the fortress lookout. The fort battlements were made of stone with uniform notched crenels for archers. She peered through a gap. Light flickered on the horizon.
Father pointed. “ʼTis Houseteads, one of the milecastles on the wall.”
“Oh my, I didn’t realize we were so close.”
His chest filled with pride. “We’ve a fort every mile. Nothing can penetrate Roman walls.”
Against the moonlit sky, she made out the outline of the wall that stretched into oblivion. Even out here on the frontier of the Empire, colossal Roman architecture took her breath away. “You must take me to see them all.”
“I will in time.” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “And how are you settling in? Are you happy with your quarters?”
“My chamber is comfortable. I think I shall like it here.”
Father turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils. “I brought you out here to talk about you.”
“Oh?”
“My dear girl, you have become a woman.” He cupped her face in his hands. “ʼTis past time for you to find a husband.”
Valeria’s insides dropped as if she’d jumped from the twenty-foot wall. Couldn’t he let it pass for a few weeks…or months?
“I had Quintus escort you to dinner for a reason. Did you find him pleasant?”
Her head spun. Quintus had been polite, but a possible suitor? She cringed. Valeria pictured him taking away her riding privileges and shuddered. “Goodness, I barely spoke to him, Papa.”
“Consider it on your ride tomorrow. Quintus has proven himself to be a fine officer and I can see him as a general leading his own legion in the future. He would make an excellent match.”
Valeria stared at her sandals. Heaven help me.
****
The next morning, when at last Valeria escaped Pia’s primping with a ribbon of blue silk holding her unruly locks away from her face, she paid a visit to the kitchen and hid a leather parcel of food under her cloak.
Then she headed for the garden and found Bishop Elusius waiting under a budding sycamore tree. The purple sash over his white toga fluttered behind him. “Are you ready for this, my child? A gaol can be like hell on earth.”
She looped her arm through the bishop’s. “I will have you with me.” She shivered as a breeze billowed through her cloak. “ʼTis spring and the air is as cool as a winter’s day in Rome.”
The bishop nodded. “I’ve heard many a soldier complain about the cold on the frontier. When they return to Rome, the legionaries bemoan the stinging rain and bone-chilling gale of the north wind.”
Valeria grinned. “At least I don’t have to worry about winter today. I’ve never seen a land as lush and green. ʼTis a blessing.”
“That it is, my child.”
They strolled past well-manicured hedges and statuary of former emperors, but Valeria’s smile waned as they neared the gaol. She paled at the stench of rotting flesh and human excrement many paces before they reached the two soldiers who stood guard at the entrance.
“Lady Valeria and I have come to pray over the prisoners,” Elusius announced.
The guard looked curiously at the large bronze cross hanging around the bishop’s neck. “I see you pray to a Christian god. What of Zeus and Athena?”
“Constantine the Great opened our eyes to Christianity, my son. Rome now follows the teachings of Jesus.” Elusius made the sign of the cross as the guard stepped aside.
Valeria pulled her cloak across her nose while they descended the winding steps into the damp dungeon. They paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Valeria jolted when a rat scampered across the passageway. “Heavens.”
Nothing could have prepared her for the abominable horror she found when she stepped around the corner.
The iron bars separating each tiny cell seemed unnecessary as the inhabitants were in chains. Aside from the eye-stinging stench, strips of rags covered rotting flesh. A prisoner smiled at her with black teeth. Her gut churned. All appeared starved, their bones jutted out from loose flesh. Another eyed her, his dark hair hanging down in greasy strands, partially covering his filthy face.
They strode past a bucket that nearly made her retch. She didn’t have to look to know what it contained.
Valeria tightened her grasp around Elusius’ arm, sucking in a ragged breath beneath the fabric of her cloak. “My goodness, this is far worse than I could have imagined.”
The bishop opened his scroll and Valeria clung to him as he recited the Latin words of penitence. “Have mercy on these wretched souls, O God…”
Valeria closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the words. She blocked out the desolation around her. How could her father allow this inhumanity, even if these men were deserters and thieves?
“…blot out their transgressions, wash away their inequities and cleanse them from sin…”
The bishop led her along the dank corridor strewn with rotting straw and rank liquid she hoped was water. When she took a step, her ankle wrenched in a hole and twisted her slipper off. Valeria tumbled to her knees. A grunt escaped her throat. Her cheeks burned. She quickly grasped her slipper and drew her feet beneath her. “Poor lighting,” she grumbled, brushing the dirt from her hands.
Before she stood, her head snapped up. Behind the bars, only inches from her face, the Pict watched her. Still wearing his grey quilted surcoat, he reclined against the cage, his powerful legs chained to the bars. His huge hands were shackled with a foot of chain between them.
Valeria couldn’t breathe as she rose. His eyes followed hers. Mouth dry, she swallowed hard. “I was told you were an oarsman for the Empire.”
His face darkened as if a cloud had passed over, obscuring the sun. He looked away.
“Did you understand me?”
He made no move, staring across the cell as if he were deaf.
Elusius stepped in beside her. “I doubt these simple-minded natives know Latin.”
She bent down as if to be better heard. “De an T-ainm a tha oirbh?” Possibly asking his name in a Celtic tongue would open a door.
His auburn hair tossed when he moved and he turned toward her with narrowed eyes. Those beautiful pools of blue stared back at her just as they had in the courtyard. Valeria gasped, rubbing a hand across the tingling flesh on her arm.
The Pict’s gaze shot to the bishop then he glanced back at her and his lips thinned. He shook his head. Ah, he distrusts the holy man. Valeria nodded once.
The bishop proceeded along. “I think Picts speak a form of Celtic all their own.”
Valeria watched Elusius disappear down another corridor then turned back to the Pict. The lanky prisoner in the adjoining cell smiled broadly. She knew she had no b
usiness staying there. Would the Pict speak to her? What language should she use? Valeria thought his face had registered understanding when she spoke to him in her native Latin and her Celtic was not quite as fluent.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I will ask my father to ensure the men receive fresh bedding.”
He made no move. Of course he wouldn’t thank her, what did she expect?
Perhaps she would try Celtic again. “A bheil an t-acras ort?” Valeria bit her lip. It did sound like a dim-witted question, asking a man in a place like this if he was hungry. Though he continued to ignore her, by the gaunt hollowing of his cheeks, he certainly looked starved. She reached beneath her cloak and pulled out the leather parcel she’d taken from the kitchen. Pulling on the leather thong, she unwrapped it and passed two slices of buttered bread and a healthy slice of roast pork through the bars.
That drew his attention. The Pict snatched the parcel and crammed the meat into his mouth, barely chewing before it slid down his muscular neck.
The shackles of the man in the adjoining cell scraped along the stone floor. “Aye, m’lady, we’re all starved.” He reached his hand out. “Taran, give me a morsel. I can smell it from here.”
“Taran? You speak Latin?”
“Aye,” he grunted and pulled the buttered bread apart. Giving a slice to his friend, he shoved the other in his mouth. “Chained to the hull of a Roman ship for two years, a man picks things up.”
“Did you volunteer to be an oarsman?”
Valeria jolted when the deep bass of his laugh echoed through the chamber. “Romans take whomever they please to serve their empire. No one north of the wall would ever volunteer for any Roman task, least of all an oarsman.”
“Did you know they would try you as a deserter if you were caught escaping?”
“I did. I had no choice.”
“Oh?”
His jaw tightened.
The man in the adjoining cell scooted along the floor. “He was summoned by the King of Gododdin. His father’s ill. He must return.”
Taran glared at the man. “That’s enough, Greum.”
Valeria stared at Taran’s big hands, sprinkled with copper. Covered with callouses, they looked powerful enough to row a Roman warship singlehandedly. Her gaze trailed up—his heartbeat pulsed beneath the blue Celtic swirls on his neck. She licked her lips. If only she could touch it.
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