Diana by the Moon

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “It will work.” He could hear the defensive note in her voice, challenging him to disagree with her.

  Alaric looked out over the fields, sprinkled with people and beasts struggling to break the ground. “I have no doubt that it will work.”

  * * * * *

  Sometime after Diana had returned to the house, Rowena reached the wall below Alaric. Her waterskins were nearly all flat. “A drink, sir?”

  “I’ll come down.” He climbed down, took the offered waterskin and drank gladly. As he drank, Diana walked through the gates, heading back to her plow. Minna accompanied her this time. They bypassed Alaric and Rowena, Diana examining the progress of the plowing with a critical eye. Minna glanced at him, the same neutral expression on her face that he had seen in the forest clearing.

  He handed the waterskin back to Rowena. She had seen where his gaze had been drawn. “Tell me. You were here when the Saxons raided this place?” He kept his tone pleasant.

  “My parents told me to hide in the forest. They got me out of the house in time.”

  “They were killed?”

  “Yes.” She stared at Alaric unblinkingly.

  “Because they were defending this place?”

  Her chin lifted. “They were once slaves. They were loyal to their master and mistress.” Stubborn pride squared her shoulders.

  “When the Saxons left you did not want to go with them? To return to your homeland?”

  “I live here.”

  “Among people who hate Saxons.”

  “As you hate Saxons?”

  “Yes,” he said flatly. He forbore from softening it, for he did hate Saxons and would gladly spend his dying breath on the work of defeating them.

  Rowena nodded, untroubled. “My people are very proud. My parents were captured and didn’t die in battle. If I were to return…” She shrugged. “I would be less than a slave there.”

  Alaric understood perfectly. To Saxons, being captured and enslaved was an ignoble end for a warrior expected to return victorious or perish in battle. If her parents had not died defending the villa, they’d have been killed by their own people shortly after. Rowena had made a wise choice. Her life here, even as a hated Saxon, was more than she would find at home.

  Alaric pointed toward Minna and Diana, who were nearly to Diana’s abandoned field. “If you were hiding in the forest, then you don’t know what happened to Minna during that time.”

  “Sosia knows. She takes care of Minna sometimes when Diana cannot. I have seen her watching Minna too. She looks like one who pities…you know?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “She has never told me but I see her looking and I know that she does.”

  Alaric looked back at the house through the open gates. He could just see the kitchen door behind which Sosia was probably working, her babe at her feet.

  * * * * *

  Sosia was not in the kitchen where he first looked but in the large storeroom next to it. Alaric found her by following the cheerful sound of a baby’s gurgles and low murmured responses.

  He stepped in. The shelves of the outer storeroom were mute testimony to the pitiful state of the estate’s supplies. They were mostly empty.

  The door of the inner larder stood open and the flicker of an oil lamp told him Sosia was there. Her child lay on a fur in the doorway, hammering at the frame with an old, hollow bone. The bone gave off a reverberating “bong” with each inexpertly wielded blow and the child laughed, showing all four teeth.

  “Who is there?” came Sosia’s sharp call. She emerged from the larder, bringing the oil lamp with her. When she saw who was there, she relaxed. “My lord,” she acknowledged and doused the lamp. “Is there something you need?”

  “Who did you think I was?”

  “It is of no matter, my lord.”

  “Indulge me.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is not my place to tell you of matters of the estate.”

  He would have to ask Diana.

  Sosia shifted her baby out of the way, shut the larder door, then astonished Alaric by picking up an old padlock and sliding it through the bolt on the larder door and locking it.

  The lock was typical of those used on chests that contained valuables—jewels, coin, the stuff of barter and trade. Locks were rare items indeed. Only the most skilled artisans could build them and men of that level of expertise were few and growing fewer with each Saxon incursion. Consequently, the price of a lock meant that they were only used to guard the most precious of hoards.

  What were they guarding the food against? It could only be other people…but there were no enemies here and the lock would not stop a determined assault, anyway. It had to be someone who preferred to work secretly. A thief, then.

  Alaric frowned. “How much has the thief taken?”

  Sosia looked startled but remained silent.

  “Come, Sosia, I have guessed aright. Tell me the rest. Did the thief take much?”

  She picked up the tow-headed child and sat him on her hip. He waved the bone around happily. Sosia regarded Alaric, then appeared to make up her mind. “Not much, not little. Not enough to warrant greater measures than these.”

  “Not all at once, perhaps but over time?”

  Sosia nodded. “Over time, the sum no doubt would be great but I am not sure.” She glanced away. “I did not notice at first that anything was missing.”

  “Has the lock stopped the thievery?”

  “Of the supplies inside the larder, yes. But we cannot protect it all. One day the thief will make a mistake and be caught.” Her face grew stony. “One day, we will know who it is who presumes to take food from the children.”

  On that day, there would be no compassion in Sosia’s heart. He could not condemn her for that. Stealing food when there was so little of it spoke of a soul beyond redemption. Compassion would be wasted.

  Was it one of his men? No, it couldn’t be. He knew all of them, had trusted all of them with his life at least once. They were battle-tried companions. He knew none of them so little he could not judge if they would stoop to thievery but the possibility set up a sickly feeling in his stomach.

  “Is this the matter you would not speak of?” he asked Sosia.

  She nodded.

  “You thought I might be the thief?”

  Again, the regal nod.

  “Diana knows of this thievery, then? What has she done about it?” he asked. He could feel Sosia’s offense despite her silence. He lifted an appeasing hand. “I only ask. If you would prefer I bother Diana…”

  “Perhaps you should, my lord.”

  Blocked, Alaric tried another approach. “Where did you get the lock?”

  The baby whimpered and Sosia began to rock, soothing him. “My lady bought the lock from a man in Eboracum.”

  “Bought? What with?”

  “Some possessions of hers that the Saxons did not find. A clasp, some jewelry that has been in the family since the Emperor Claudius bestowed it, in Rome. Her belt—it had a brass inlay on the buckle. There were other things but those I remember.”

  Alaric recalled the belt Diana was wearing now. Battered leather, an undistinguished copper buckle.

  “You came in search of me, my lord?” Sosia asked.

  Alaric pushed his hand through his hair and tried to phrase a gentle question but could not. “I was told that you know what happened to Minna during the Saxon raid, that you know why she does not speak.”

  “Why would you want to know that, soldier?”

  “I want to know what happened.”

  Sosia’s direct gaze did not waver.

  Alaric tried again. “There is a silence about that time. No one speaks of it, yet it has left its mark so deeply that everywhere I turn I see it. It would help me, help all of us, if we knew what it was that you have hidden away from us.”

  Sosia ran her spare hand over the head of the fretful baby on her hip in a soothing gesture. �
��We cannot hide all of it.”

  Then he saw what had been there for all to see, all along. “The child is a Saxon bastard…” Alaric stared at the fine blond hair, measuring the babe’s age, subtracting dates. There were perhaps another three babies on the estate who were the right age too. What had Diana said? During the last planting, there had been four women with child.

  Saxon bastards all.

  Alaric heard Evadne’s voice from just last night. “We were locked in the slaves’ quarters unless one of them wanted us.”

  “All of you?” Alaric asked. “They used all of you?”

  “All who were reckoned women. By their reckoning, not even the innocent girls among us were spared. Only the youngest children.” Sosia’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “Even the children the Saxons watched with a hungry eye.”

  “Diana too? Minna? Is that why Minna does not speak?”

  Sosia rocked the child for a moment. She sighed. “I don’t know, my lord. The leader of the Saxons, a great monster of a man, with hair clear to his waist and a great helmet—he had the run of the house for three days and we were kept in the slaves’ quarters. All except the family. My old master was already dead when they broke in and Lucilla and Ursula too, god rest their gentle souls. Diana and Minna and the two boys and Lucilla’s children still lived.” Sosia’s gaze was far away. “Those poor sweet babes. Their faces…so full of fear.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Sosia did not answer for a long moment and when she finally spoke, her voice was low and bodiless. “Terrible things.” Sosia’s gaze drew back to Alaric and she looked at him squarely. “Diana speaks not a word of it, not even to me, so I do not ask.”

  “Then only Diana knows what happened.”

  “There is one other.”

  “Who?”

  “Minna.”

  * * * * *

  When Evadne approached him that night with coy whispers and knowing hands, Alaric turned her away. He told himself he could not stand her hypocrisy but found instead he was recalling how coarse her hair felt under his hand and the heaviness of her body when it lay upon his.

  He woke the next morning not remembering if he dreamed, yet shadowy Saxons and terrified screams of women and children invaded his thoughts as he scraped his chin of yesterday’s growth.

  He was almost glad to go to the library and clash his will against Diana’s. She would argue for more men to work in the fields and in the scramble to hold his diminishing workforce together he would forget the disturbing images.

  He strode to the library, knocked and walked in. Diana was stretching, caught in mid-yawn. Hands above her head, fists clenched, back stretched like a cat—

  A feral kitten, with sharp claws and teeth that could scratch—

  The tunic pulled against her, flattening breasts that looked full and nicely rounded despite their small size.

  His breath caught.

  “Good morning,” Diana murmured and dropped her hands to her hips. They rested just below the ridiculous belt.

  “Good morning,” he remembered to respond. That waist. It was so small his hands would fit around it perfectly. He could lift her without effort. He’d easily tossed her into the tree that day in the clearing. She was light, slim.

  He sank down onto stool, watching her place his breakfast bowl in front of him, sit and pick up her own. Small movements, contained, controlled. Inherently graceful. Soft.

  She was staring at him. The dark brows were drawn closer together by a puzzled frown but otherwise her face was smooth, the skin so clear it seemed transparent. He wanted to take her small face in his hands, to feel if it was as soft as her hair.

  That was when he realized that he wanted her.

  Chapter Nine

  Diana let her horse rest and tried to pretend that her own arms and back were not aching. When she straightened, her back spasmed. She stayed very still until the pain diminished, then carefully straightened up. It was a relief just to lower her hands to her sides and they throbbed at the ends of her lead-heavy arms.

  Minna’s hand touched Diana’s forearm. Diana looked at the girl’s concerned face. “I’m just a little tired.”

  Minna smiled encouragingly.

  “Do you think we’ll get it all finished today?”

  Minna considered then shook her head.

  “Neither do I.” Diana sighed and glanced around. Despite the number of plows, most of the fields stood untouched and this was the third day of plowing.

  There was a shout from the villa and Diana looked up in time to see one of the barely dressed logs fall and land with a thud that reached Diana through the ground itself. Then she heard the faint echo of its fall. Alaric, distinguishable by his height and wide shoulders, stood to one side of the fallen log. It had missed him but he would be angry about the carelessness involved. As others came running, he spoke to the men at the top of the wall.

  From the corner of the villa wall that led to the barns and stables, a woman came running. She ran right up to Alaric and put a hand on his arm, looking up at him. There was no mistaking the short sallow-skinned girl. Helena, one of Florentina’s two grown daughters and Alaric’s latest…companion.

  Diana picked up the handles to the plow and the reins and snapped the horse back into action with a sharp word.

  Why had Evadne fallen into disfavor? What did Alaric like about little Helena? She was a complainer and stupid besides. Evadne at least was…mature.

  But even as Diana catalogued Evadne’s good points, she grew aware of a deeply submerged satisfaction over Evadne’s rejection. Surprised, she examined it closer and decided uneasily that it must be because she was glad that Alaric had seen Evadne’s less than desirable qualities.

  She knew there was another possible reason for the contented glow but pushed the knowledge away, unexamined. It was ridiculous to even consider that it might be jealousy.

  * * * * *

  Only after seven reassurances that he was unhurt would Helena return to the barns. Alaric was relieved when she did. He wished the girl no ill-will but her desire to linger at his side at all times was cloying. He regretted encouraging her shy overtures. If he had known that she was still too young to understand the subtleties of an adult relationship, he wouldn’t have responded.

  But he should have known—he should have seen this about Helena from the beginning. The trouble is you weren’t thinking. All you saw was a small woman with long dark hair that smelt good.

  Alaric put his hands around the useless fallen log.

  “One…two…three!”

  The men hefted the log up between them and moved toward the gates. The cradle and winch were on the other side of the wall. The log would have to be returned there to be lifted up again.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the road. Diana was struggling along, her back to the villa. She probably hadn’t even heard the log fall. She certainly hadn’t come running to him as Helena had.

  Which was as it should be, he hastened to tell himself.

  * * * * *

  The next day the weather conspired to offer Alaric the chance he had been waiting for. The wind picked up during the night and by morning it was whistling around eaves and corners, singing a high solo that stole into his bones and made them ache.

  Diana regretfully declared a day of rest, for nothing could be done while the wind blew so fiercely. Out in the unprotected fields it would chill their skin right through their clothing. So the household meandered in unaccustomed idleness.

  Alaric indulged himself with a long bath. He might detest Romans for their arrogance and their parochial attitudes but he could not begrudge them their superior engineering and ideas when it came to luxurious living—like the bathhouse.

  The beautifully tiled room, unlike the public bathhouses in the big Roman towns, was segregated for the sexes. Both sides had a deep, big bath that could be filled with water heated by the same furnaces that supplied air to the hypocaust. The women had a way with herbs
and fats, producing a pleasant soap and aromatic oils.

  Alaric liked to sink into the bath up to his chin, close his eyes and let his mind drift. On this day, with the wind making his jaw and ears ache, the chance to soak in hot water and forget the chill outside was irresistible.

  But he had overlooked Diana’s ability to haunt his thoughts. Closing his eyes made it worse. His mind began to build visions of Diana in his arms, in his bed, her body moving against his, straining for the same pleasure…

  Alaric realized that his own body was tensing up in the water, responding to the images with the overpowering urge for release that he remembered from when he had just grown to manhood. He let his head drop back onto the tiles at the side of the bath.

  “Damn.”

  Where he came from, customs were different. If a woman was willing, then alliances outside of marriage were permitted. Purity was not the prize the Roman church deemed it. Even here, however, dalliances occurred. Evadne was no innocent and even Helena, sweet girl, had known exactly what it was she offered thanks to her rough education in the hands of the Saxons. Her mother, the addled Florentina, had turned a blind eye, seeing a chase to perhaps marry off her defiled daughter.

  Alaric’s knowledge of Roman ways and mores was growing steadily more sophisticated the longer he was among them. He knew that it was different for Diana. She had grown up under the protection of a powerful family, who had actively ensured the purity of their daughters. She would never come to him of her own will as had Evadne and Helena.

  So, what to do? Approach her?

  Again, the question of the Saxon raid raised itself. What had happened during those three days? The reminder set off a cascade of images in his mind—dark unpleasant ones.

  With a curse, Alaric got to his feet and stepped out of the bath. There would be no dreamless doze here for him today.

  * * * * *

  Cloak pulled tight and hood up, Alaric hurried along the verandah to his room on the other side of the house. His skin was still hot from the bath and he wanted to return to the warmth of his heated room before the wind took that away.