by Cass Morris
The opposing force did not immediately turn tail and flee, however. One of the Edetani auxiliaries caught a cruel blow across his shoulder, cutting to the bone and spraying hot blood across man and horse alike. Howling in agony, he fell back, but the warrior next to him paid back the injury, sinking his spear deep into the offender’s chest. A backhanded swipe from a blade caught another of their opponents across the back, and though his leather armor protected him, the force of it knocked him from the saddle. The first line of Aventan legionaries spread his guts across the dirt before he could so much as sit up.
Finally, the last two of the enemy tried to run. Hanath caught one before he could even turn his horse around, spearing him with the same accuracy that had felled the ibex. Two Edetani rushed up on either side of the last man, stabbing from both sides.
And then it was over, and all fell quiet again. At a nod from Vitellius, the centurions blew their whistles in a signal to relax formation. Vitellius’s chief centurion, Calix, came forward with Bartasco while the Edetani chased down those horses still alive. “Scouts, I think,” Bartasco said, cleaning his sword with a scrap of an enemy’s cloak. “Or there would have been more of them.”
“We should have left one alive,” Vitellius said, sighing. “For information.” A real general, a proper commander, he felt, would have thought of that. Vitellius had thought only of eliminating the immediate threat. ‘So much yet to learn . . .’
Hanath had dismounted, spiked her spear into the dirt, and was strolling among the bodies. “Vettoni,” she said, pointing. “Look.”
Vitellius did, but whatever she saw meant nothing to him, though Bartasco nodded in agreement. “Err . . .” Vitellius said, neither wanting to advertise his ignorance nor willing to miss out on potentially vital information. “Vettoni, you say?”
Hanath kicked the corpse a bit, so that his arm fell back from his chest, exposing a brooch of fine-wrought copper holding his cloak to his tunic. “This style of metalworking is peculiar to their tribe. We’ve seen enough of it on the raiders around our towns.” She kicked him again for good measure.
The injured Edetani auxiliary had been brought down off his horse by two of his fellows, and was now lying on the flat stones at the river’s edge. Vitellius turned to Calix. “Find one of our medics. See if there’s anything that can be done for him.” He rubbed his chin as Calix scurried off. “Scouts . . .”
“At least none got off to warn the main force, wherever it is,” Bartasco said. “But,” he squinted down the river, “we may not be able to avoid them.”
“You think they’ve guessed we’re heading for Toletum?”
Bartasco rubbed at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe this was just coincidence—lucky for us, unlucky for them. But if word has reached them that there are Aventan forces in the mountains, then yes—Toletum would be the most obvious choice.”
Vitellius nodded his agreement. From what he knew, it was by far the most defensible town in the region. If the Lusetani knew anything at all about Aventan methods, they would know the cohorts would want to winter there. ‘And with Governor Fimbrianus setting such an excellent example of a legion tucking in, down in Gades . . .’ he thought, with a snort.
“The Vettoni seemed ill-prepared,” Hanath said. “I think this was guesswork, no more. They may have scouting parties along all the likely routes.”
“They may have traps along the likely routes,” Vitellius said.
“So,” Hanath said, “the faster we can get to Toletum, the better.”
“The faster?” Bartasco said. “Or the safer? If we took a different route . . . through the forests, instead of alongside the river . . .” He looked to Vitellius. “What will it be, Tribune?”
After a moment’s consideration, Vitellius answered, “Faster. We stick to the river.” He met Bartasco’s eyes. “Your men are used to marching in these forests, but mine are not. If we could be sure of evading any other Vettoni or Lusetani forces, it might be worth it, but if we got caught out in that terrain, it would be worse than on more open ground.” Vitellius caught Calix by the shoulder as the centurion returned with a medic. “Tell the men to march prepared for battle from now on. We may meet with more Vettoni between here and Toletum. We did good work today, but we could yet meet with a larger force. We must stay alert.” Not for the first time, Vitellius wished his vexillation had included an Air mage amongst its non-combatants. A man blessed by Mercury could send a pigeon to find a man on the move rather than a home roost. Vitellius wanted to rejoin the two cohorts, and he wanted his friend Mennenius at his side, should they encounter further troubles.
XXVIII
CITY OF AVEN
“Latona!” Aula, with her usual degree of patience, came rushing into the atrium where her sister waited. “I’m sorry to have kept you, I was only half-dressed when they said you’d arrived, Lucia delayed me with—oh, never mind that.” She rushed forward and clasped her sister’s hands. “You have news? Did you go to the Temple? Is it—” But her enthusiasm dimmed, seeing the look on her sister’s face. “Oh dear. What is it, my honey?”
“I did go to the Temple of Ceres,” Latona said. “Three times. But I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid I was mistaken, Aula.”
Aula’s face fell. “They read your water? Did the trick with the rabbit? Made you drink that awful milky stuff?”
Latona nodded to all. “They did, they did. I must have miscalculated. Herennius wasn’t pleased.”
Aula wrapped an arm around Latona and bundled her off to a secluded sitting room, chattering the whole way and leaving a confused Helva standing in the atrium with Merula. “What’s the matter with your lady?” Helva asked.
Merula shrugged. “She thought she might be breeding, but she isn’t.” She did not offer that the Domina and her husband had had a row fit to bring down the rafters, considering that little of Helva’s business.
Though sorry for her mistress, Merula was secretly glad. Even if a baby would mean something good came out of what her domina had to endure, Merula did not think she could find it in her heart to joy over another Herennius coming into the world.
Helva was mumbling her consolation, which Merula shrugged off. “You have any?” she asked. “Babies, I mean.”
Helva paused for a moment, and Merula braced for a telling-off for her insolence. But then, with a little noise that might have been a sigh, she said, “One. Not long after Domina Vipsania brought me here.”
“Who was he?” Merula said, then amended herself, “if I may be asking.”
“Yes, you may ask,” Helva said. “His name was Ulix, and he was Dominus Vitellius’s steward at the time. Domina gave us permission to wed. She knew I was breeding before I did. It’s a talent of Water, you know, to sense that. And then . . .” Something clouded her pale eyes, making Merula sorry she had asked. “And then they both died. A flux went through the city, and it took them both, along with half the household, and the Domina’s first son.”
Merula was quiet a moment, then said, “I sorrow for you.”
“It was long ago. I’ve long since stopped feeling pain over it.” Her voice was as placidly uninflected as ever, but Merula was not sure whether or not to interpret that as a true lack of emotion. “But I thank you anyway.”
“Tsch,” Merula said, leaning against the wall for a brief moment, before Helva’s sharp eyes made her straighten up. “So much death in one household, all at once? What a tragedy.”
Helva’s mouth quirked up on one side. “More tragedy than you know. The dominus hasn’t had a decent steward since.”
Before Merula could ask anything else, they were interrupted by their mistresses’ return to the atrium. This time, Aula was fully dressed, apparently ready to go out.
“Oh, it isn’t your fault, Aula,” Latona was saying as they walked towards the door. “The gods know I distress myself over it plenty. Honestly, it’s just that . . . the humiliation of
it, of wondering if everyone’s calling me barren behind my back—”
“Not in my hearing, they aren’t,” Aula bit off, green eyes flashing angrily. “And if I ever heard they were, I’d take them down a peg, and no mistake.”
“I suspect no one would be foolish enough to let such words slip in front of you, dear.” Latona sighed. “But I’m sure some are thinking it. Blessed by Juno and Venus, and yet I can’t manage to produce something positive out of this marriage.”
Aula chewed on her lower lip, hating the expression on her beloved sister’s face. Defeat was not something she was used to seeing on Latona’s proud features. “Well. Put it out of your mind for the moment, anyway,” she said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. “We’ll go out shopping, and then do you know what? Maia Domitia has asked me for dinner, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a bit if you turned up as well. You know she’s fond of you.”
* * *
When the two eldest Vitelliae and their attendants departed, Mus, who had been watching from behind a column, crept across the house to her mistress’s chamber, finding her, as usual, flat on her back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Domina? Your sisters, they go.”
It took a moment for Alhena to register this, but at last she stood. “Dress me, then.”
For weeks now, Mus had been helping her mistress keep a secret. Alhena had taken to slipping out of the house whenever she thought she could go unnoticed. It was easy enough. No one in the Vitellian household paid much mind to who came and who went. Aulus Vitellius had never been the sort of man to stifle his daughters’ freedom.
“Where did they go?” Alhena asked. From this, she could gauge how much time she would have.
“Shopping and dinner,” Mus said, fussing with the drape of Alhena’s stola. “Some lady’s house.” She had not caught the name. Alhena nodded, grateful for the respite. Dinner bought her several hours of freedom. She felt Mus hesitate, then heard her say, “Your sisters, they worry, Domina.”
Alhena drew the mantle up over her head, pulling the edges forward to conceal her profile. “I know,” she said. And she did. They might not have always expressed it in the best ways. Aula had little patience and a quick temper and tended to snap; Latona seemed discomfited, not so much by Alhena’s behavior but by not knowing what to do about it, and so she went sad-eyed and distant. But Alhena knew how much they worried, and how much they cared. She knew it from the gentle stroking of her hair or her back in quiet moments. She knew it from the little trinkets and trifles that showed up in her room—new hair ribbons, bits of poetry, sketches, rings. She knew it from the fresh flowers and fragrant garlands hung in her chamber. She knew it because, when she did decide to emerge for meals rather than taking them alone, somehow the table was always set with her favorite foods, ideally designed to tempt her appetite. They loved her, and they were concerned, and showing it in the best way they knew how. “It isn’t as though I don’t appreciate it,” she said. “But they don’t know what to say.”
“And they do, at the temple?”
Mus’s question was genuine, not provocative, and Alhena did not mind it. She sighed though, thinking of what it was that drew her back to the Temple of Proserpina so often. “They understand.” Proserpina understood grief all too well, as the priestesses had reminded her. She knew what it was to mourn. She spent half her eternal life surrounded by the spirits of the dead, after all. For Mus, however, Alhena framed it in different terms. “No one there offers to introduce me to some young man or another. They don’t urge me to come or go, to be more active or more sociable. They don’t tell me it’s time to be getting on with my life.”
Aula and Latona might not have actually said those words, but Alhena could see it in their eyes. The priestesses let her have her misery. They were used to misery. The Temple of Proserpina was a sanctuary for the bereaved, a place to weep and to lament. Not a day passed but some broken-hearted unfortunate came to light a lamp at the altar or to add her tears to the impluvium pool.
“And besides,” Alhena said, “they can help me with . . . with my talents. It’s clear to me that I must get better control of this. Maybe if I had . . .” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she felt Mus’s hand on her shoulder. “Nothing warned me, Mus. For all that I saw, nothing told me I wouldn’t have a life of contentment and joy with Tarpeius. Just those clouds, at the end—and what good did that do?” Alhena never wanted to be caught off-guard like that again. She had barely survived the pain the first time around. She did not think she could do so again. She didn’t intend that, but she knew such things were not always in her control.
And so she went to the Temple of Proserpina, for training as well as for comfort. She left her father’s house with her gray mantle pulled forward around her face. Looking down at her feet the whole way, she walked down the Palatine, through narrow streets to the Apulian forum. She came and went, and made no accounting for her hours. And she did not tell the sisters she loved, for she could not find the words to make them understand.
* * *
If Aula and Latona were somewhat derelict in their duties to their sister, it was not for want of care for her, but because they were both over-occupied with their own affairs. Aula spent most of each day out of the house, unless she had specifically determined to receive guests of her own. With ever-present Helva trailing in her wake, and usually flanked by a pair of sturdy attendants, Aula walked and walked. She felt as though she had covered a thousand miles in a few weeks, from the Aventine to the Quirinal and everywhere in-between.
She did not troop forth merely on social calls. With Aulus standing for censor and Gaius’s career to be made or marred by the Iberian venture, Aula had set to laying the foundation for future success with a focused passion. Those connections and alliances she had once thought to exploit on her husband’s behalf, she now employed for Gaius’s benefit. “He’s practically fighting a war by himself over there,” she cooed in tricliniums across the Palatine and the Caelian. “Positively covering himself in glory, especially for a tribune.”
Latona had also been spending more time with new company and revived friendships. She and Aula had both, since the Dictator’s death and the subsequent awakening of Aventan society from its terrified hibernation, been getting re-acquainted with some girlhood companions, but Latona had also decided to renew magical connections. ‘Aemilia can bar me from the libraries, but she can’t stop me talking to other mages or plumbing their resources.’ Marcia lent her a philosophical text, which she was thoroughly enjoying, and she spent a happy afternoon in one of the city’s parks as Terentilla used her Earth magic to lure partridges, sparrows, and rabbits into their laps. It was surprisingly pleasant to associate with women who could talk not only of husbands and babies and housekeeping, but who also had opinions on religious and ethical matters.
She had also been spending more time in the company of Sempronius Tarren’s social set—the Autroniae brothers, the younger Crispinians, the Domitiae, along with their sisters and wives. It was a merry group and no mistake, full of the wild young bucks and strong-headed Popularists who gave the Optimates such headaches. Latona enjoyed their company partly because they reminded her of how young she still was, just twenty-two, for all that she was a wedded matron. It was a fine thing, to feel so young and strong, rather than like a withered crone, entombed before her time. But it was Sempronius whose presence drew Latona in, just as it was his voice echoing in her mind: ‘...who is, I think, destined for more,’ that had helped to spur on the defiance driving her. Though the year was dwindling, Latona felt like she could sense springtime ahead, for the first time in years.
Like Aula, Maia Domitia had been widowed by Ocella’s proscriptions, left alone with a young son, an infant daughter, and her family’s too-illustrious name. She had spent a year in unofficial exile in Athaeca, hoping to avoid further notice. Her nature was calmer than Aula’s, but still more sanguine than melancholy. Only rarely did Latona feel
sorrow flit behind her countenance, when she remembered those dark days and their losses.
The talk that evening, however, was not so serious. Maia’s brothers were eager to set up a new marriage for her, and she solicited the Vitelliae’s opinions on the suggested grooms. “Heavens, no, not Young Crispinius.” Aula rolled her eyes. “He’s so serious—and so timid! The man never seems to be able to make up his mind about anything.”
“That might do very well for her,” Latona said. “Dear Maia isn’t quite as—”
“Frivolous?” Aula said, grinning.
“Adventurous as you, I was going to say.” She plucked an almond from the nearest bowl.
“Well, I suppose timid husbands might have some advantages when it comes to ruling your own roost, but I think you should set your sights on Young Rufilius,” Aula said, fluffing up her pillows. “Might as well be a handsome fellow, if you’re getting a choice about it.”
“Him?” Maia said, laughing. “Too young.”
“He’s older than all of us,” Latona pointed out.
“Yes, but it takes men so much longer to mature,” Maia said. “They’re like stubborn grapes. Pluck them too early, and they’re no good for anything.”
“And if you wait too long,” Aula said, “then they shrivel up and haven’t any juice left in them!”
“And of course some will just be sour no matter what you do,” said Latona.
“The only way to be sure, really,” Aula said, wriggling impishly on her couch, “is to sample the vintage before you commit to the vine.”