“Really, my lady, you make this much harder than it has to be,” Geta said congenially.
She gritted her teeth. Willed herself to climb back to her feet. She looked at him. “We take care of our own here.”
Geta considered this, then shook his head regretfully. “The Bishop does not agree with you. He is concerned that your judgment of what is good for those you care for is…tainted, shall we say?”
The man she had wounded was staggering away, holding his bloody side, while the other held fast to Minna’s arm. Minna had ceased her struggles. She was listening to Geta.
“Tainted?”
“By the presence of those godless heathens you shelter here.”
That is why he bought a dozen men. Diana looked around the yard. Alaric and his men were nowhere to be seen.
“I mean you no personal hardship, my lady,” Geta continued. “In fact, there may be a way around this small problem.”
Diana felt a swift, black, salt fury. She knew already what Geta was about to propose. She stared up at him, her anger denying her a response.
“I am, of course, simply acting for the Bishop in this matter but if the circumstances were to change…if, for instance, you were to change your mind and agree to a marriage between us, then it is more than likely I would be able to convince my uncle the child would be taken care of properly. She could safely remain here.”
“Marriage?” The word was a shocked whisper emerging from the direction of the grouped women.
Diana’s fury died as she tasted true helplessness. Finally she understood that what she had thought was her choice, her place in life, was an illusion. She’d had an extraordinary year out of time, where she had been left alone by fate and had been able to fool herself she was choosing her place. Now events had begun to move, to show her what her true fate was to be.
Diana felt a searing resentment. She had been given a sample of what she might have, only to have it snatched away from her. She looked up at Geta, tasting bitterness. “You would take an unwilling wife?”
“It is an agreeable bargain,” Geta said casually, as if the bargain had already been struck. He looked around as he spoke, sizing up the villa and the people.
“It is not a bargain you will live to see.”
Alaric’s voice.
Diana wanted to turn to sight him but her legs were suddenly uncooperative. Her whole body was shaking with a huge, overwhelming flood of relief. Alaric was here.
Geta looked to Diana’s left, in the direction of the private wing. “You must be the Celt.”
“Alaric. Of Mariddunum.”
“And you are here to thwart the bargain I have just struck with the lady of the house.”
“I didn’t hear her agree. Neither will you. Ever.”
“I think you are mistaken.”
Alaric moved into Diana’s line of sight. He walked easily, with the loose-muscled gait she recognized from their excursion to Eboracum. He was unarmed but ready for action. He crossed to where Minna stood in the grip of the Bishop’s man. “Tell your man to let the girl go.”
Geta studied Alaric for a moment then signaled to the man. Abruptly, the man’s knife was out and plunging toward Alaric.
Diana gasped, trying to cry out a warning with a voice paralyzed by surprise.
Alaric swayed to one side with a liquid smoothness, then leaned in toward the man. He buried his fist in the man’s stomach. It was as if the man was cooperating with Alaric, for he left himself open to the strike and then tiredly folded over Alaric’s wrist. The knife fell out of his hand. Alaric caught it by the hilt with a neat downward flick of his wrist and hand. He sliced the ropes from Minna’s wrists.
Minna ran across to Diana and threw her arms around Diana’s waist with a grip that threatened to stop Diana’s breath. She buried her face in Diana’s middle. Shivers shook her frame in violent spasms. Diana held onto Minna, her grip no looser than her sister’s.
Alaric turned to Geta, hefting the knife, while the man sank down to the ground behind him.
Geta clicked his fingers and ten armed men stepped up around his horse, drawing their weapons.
Alaric smiled. “Not a wise choice,” he said.
From all around the courtyard and house stepped Alaric’s men. Each was unsmiling and fully armed. Griffin dropped over the wall of the courtyard, landed lightly on his feet and walked toward the horseman, his hand on his sword hilt and a hard expression in his eyes. Diana had always thought of Griffin as a boy barely grown to manhood but she saw a different side to the gentle man, now.
Alaric crossed his arms, smiling a little.
Geta frowned.
“Consider well your next action,” Alaric told him. “You are outnumbered.”
“I can count, pagan,” Geta snapped.
Alaric lifted a single brow. “Then you have succeeded in surprising me.”
With an impatient click of his tongue, Geta wheeled the horse around. The horse’s heavy hooves barely missed the scattering men. As Geta headed for the gate, the men scurried to catch up. Alaric watched them go.
Diana’s relief amplified tenfold as the last passed through the gate and Griffin shut and barred the gate after them.
“Diana!” Sosia called sharply.
Diana looked toward the women. Octavia had fainted.
* * * * *
Minna would not let Diana go. Her trembling did not cease. She would respond to no one but her elder sister.
Remembering the sleep Minna had slipped into the last time she had been frightened, Diana carried her to her bed and slipped her under the covers. Minna burrowed deep into the warmth and closed her eyes but still her hand stayed clasped to Diana’s. Even when Minna’s breath deepened and slowed with sleep, when Diana tried to pry her hand loose the fingers tightened around hers.
Diana resigned herself to the role of comforter, secretly pleased to be away from the uproar the rest of the house must be in. At least here in this tiny bedchamber she was alone with her thoughts and out of reach of any searching questions.
She sat worrying about the Bishop, wondering if he had played his last gambit, or if he had other means at his disposal with which to force her to the altar. While she sat, the room grew darker and the day died around her. Evening sounds started up and the aroma of cooking food wafted through the curtained doorway. Soon it was so dark her hands were pale ghosts in the dimness.
The curtain fluttered and a shadow appeared in the doorway, framed by the starry sky visible behind. Diana knew that shape.
“Diana?” Alaric asked.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Diana watched his shadow move into the room, to merge with the darkness in there. She heard him stumble and breathe a soundless curse.
“Here,” she said, guiding him with her voice.
She felt him draw closer.
“There is a lamp and flint next to me, if you care to light it.”
“Do you wish for light?”
“It would be useful,” Diana said. “But I have only one hand free and cannot light it myself.”
She heard him fumble at the shelf next to the bed and the sound of flint being struck. He lit the lamp and the mellow glow danced around the room.
Alaric looked around, saw a flat chest next to the wall and dragged it closer to the bed. He sat on it and studied her.
Diana had been expecting this moment but she wasn’t quite ready for it. She prevaricated. “How is Octavia?”
“Recovered. It appears she might be with child.”
“Oh…” That would explain the woman’s faintness. She realized Alaric was smiling. “Why do you find that amusing?”
“I find amusing the memory of Rhys’ face when he learned the news.” His smile broadened.
“Oh,” Diana said again. She felt an answering smile pulling at her mouth, for she could imagine Rhys’ reaction too. Surprise, horror, then swift-growing pride.
�
��So, my lady…Diana…are you ready to tell me about today?”
“You must have this knowledge?”
“I would prefer to know why I am fighting the most powerful man in the county before I take up the battle.”
“I do not ask you to fight the Bishop. It is not your battle.”
Alaric shook his head. “My lady, it won’t please you to know that I suspect that this is all my battle. You have been drawn in simply as a useful pawn for the Bishop to wield against me.”
Diana felt her jaw slacken and open. “No,” she breathed. “How am I a part of your battle? I don’t understand…”
“I know. Tell me what you do understand. This all began the day you went to Eboracum by yourself, didn’t it? The Bishop spoke to you then. That is what you wouldn’t tell me that night by the stables.”
“Yes, he spoke to me then. He said I must marry Geta, that he had arranged it.”
“You refused.”
“He said he would give me two days to change my mind and after that he would see me married in chains if necessary.”
“And again you refused.” Alaric leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why, Diana?”
“It is as you divined that day. This is the place I chose. If I married Geta, he would have it all and I would have nothing.”
“No, that is not what I asked.”
Diana felt her heart thump heavily, in warning, perhaps.
Alaric waved toward Minna’s still shape under the covers. “Eboracus is clever. He knew Minna would serve as a tool to turn you to his path. I know that too. I have long known that Minna represents to you something far greater than the bond of a young sister. Why, Diana?”
Diana swallowed.
“What happened when the Saxons raided this place? What happened to you?”
“I asked you not to question me on this,” Diana whispered, her mouth and throat suddenly dry.
“I have to know. This is my battle too.”
Could she tell him? Would she be able to? Should she?
“Diana, if you tell me what it is the Bishop holds over you, then I can deal with him and make sure he never bothers you again. For it is me he is trying to defeat and he is using you to achieve his victory. I’m sorry if you find that upsetting but it is the truth.”
Diana nodded. It made sense. She was a woman and the Bishop would not expend so much effort to extract her cooperation unless there were other stakes involved. Alaric, for instance. She suspected the Bishop would find Alaric a worthy opponent. “Yes, you are more than likely right in this.”
“So will you tell me?” It was not a challenge but a request.
In the dim and flickering lamp light, with his shadow rearing and dancing high upon the wall behind him, Alaric seemed taller, larger than ever. He wore no cloak and the bare flesh of his arms and neck glowed pale gold in the light of the small flame. His eyes, on the other hand, were dark pools of shadow lit by small flames deep in the center. He seemed omnipotent. Yet he asked for her cooperation.
“Tell me why Minna does not speak.”
“I believe Minna does not speak because what she saw was too horrible for her to comprehend.”
“What did she see?” Alaric pressed and his shadow climbed even higher up the wall behind him, as the flame flickered in an errant breeze.
Diana took a deep breath, knowing she would need every bit of help to speak aloud that which she had carried inside her for so long. “She saw murder being done.”
She was astonished to see Alaric’s chest rise and fall quickly, as if he sighed a deep sigh of relief. “Tell me.”
Diana licked her dry lips. “The Saxons were here for three days and for those three days, I was locked in my parent’s bedchamber. Minna was left with me. I was…kept for the leader of them.”
“He raped you.”
Diana nodded. “Often,” she admitted. “He was…inexhaustible.” She closed her eyes, feeling the red cloud hovering, coming closer.
She heard Alaric’s voice from far off. “Diana?”
The cloud slipped over her. The memories returned in a cold, paralyzing rush and she was immersed in the sea of images.
She saw again the man they had taken her to, the one who had set up his office in her parent’s large and comfortable bedchamber. His long hair, the black and rotting teeth and the foul breath that fanned her face when he pinned her to the bed that night. The sharp pain when he entered her body and the feel of his rough, cold hands on her breasts.
That first time had not been the worst, even though the physical agony had been the most acute. The other times were harder to bear, for she knew what to expect. There were long hours when he was out overseeing the systematic pillaging of the villa’s supplies. During those hours she was kept locked in the room, naked and shivering, when she could not turn her mind away from the knowledge of what was to come.
Once, when he had been moving on top of her, she had turned her head away from his face and her rapidly blurring gaze had fallen on Minna, curled up tightly into the corner of the room, her teeth buried in the flesh of her hand and her eyes unblinking as she watched it all.
Despite the inevitable outcome of any physical struggle between them, Diana tried to fight him off every time. She knew that to give in would diminish her. So each time she would be rewarded for her opposition with blows and bruises and the final nauseating indignity.
He seemed to find her spirited resistance appealing, yet on the third day Diana knew he was growing bored with her. His roving eye began to follow Minna about the spacious room as she moved silently in her allotted role as servant and waited upon him during his frequent meals.
It was during the next meal that Diana took and hid the knife that came with the tray. He had grown lax and complacent by now, for Diana had learned that the only way out of the room—the door—was barred and guarded. She had made no other attempt to escape after testing the door. Her only rebellion was when he used her. Too, the guard at the door had grown just as careless. Diana had been watching him closely.
The knife she took was the bronzed jeweled knife that Verus had given her. It had been confiscated when the Saxons had first taken over the villa and now was reserved for the Saxon leader’s use. She hid it behind the bed cushions while he was out.
Later that night he had arrived back in the room. Diana woke the moment she heard the door being unbarred and woke Minna from her restless sleep next to her. Minna crept into the corner.
Diana watched the guard opening the door for his leader. The guard was staggering and the leader laughed and spoke in the harsh guttural tongue Diana had learned to hate over the last two days. The guard wheezed out a laugh himself and reeled away.
The door swung slowly shut behind him. Diana did not hear the latch being dropped, or the bar being replaced.
Her heart thudding painfully, Diana recovered the knife from under the bed cushion.
He reeked of wine and the sour stink of it reached Diana from across the room. He staggered blindly and finally stood swaying while he oriented himself. His gaze fell on Diana…and passed on. He spied Minna in her dark corner and moved toward her. She shrank back farther into the corner as he stood over her, examining her. A long string of spittle fell from the corner of his mouth.
Diana could have taken him then, from behind. Instead, she reached up to grasp one massive shoulder and turned him around to face her.
He blinked slowly at her. Diana didn’t dare wait any longer. She lifted the knife and plunged the point into his throat. It bit deep and she heard the sudden suck of air as he tried to gasp.
His hands came up to grasp at the knife but there was no strength there and he moved slowly.
Diana had watched the men on the estate slaughtering animals for meat all her life. She had seen the quick hard sideways slash that came after the initial plunge and she deliberately imitated it now.
Blood spurted. She gasped as it covered her in a thick slow spray of hot liquid—the heat shocked her. Even
her face was not spared the bloody shower and her vision ran red.
Minna began to scream.
The Saxon dropped to the ground and the impact jarred through her feet. She dropped the sticky knife and stumbled toward Minna, sighting her through the red haze. She covered Minna’s mouth, muffling the scream.
“Shhh! No, Minna. No, no, you must stay silent. Shhhhh! Silence. Our lives depend on it.”
Diana could feel the young girl’s voice vibrating against her wet hand but she kept up the pressure, holding back the noise. One scream might perhaps be mistaken for the leader’s gaining of his pleasure but too many would alert the guard no matter how drunk he was. Diana kept up her whispered entreaties for silence.
Finally, Minna sagged against her, quiet at last. Diana hugged her closely. She grew aware of her nakedness and the now-sticky layer of blood that covered her from head to foot. She remembered the unbarred door and the drunken guard next to it.
She gathered up a skin from the bed. Her clothes had been taken away. “We’re leaving, Minna. Can you find the knife? I might need it again.”
Minna did not move.
“Minna,” Diana prompted.
The girl roused a little.
“Find the knife for me,” Diana whispered.
Minna let go of Diana’s waist. Diana wrapped the soft hide around herself. It provided little protection but it would have to do.
Diana felt the hilt of the knife being pressed into her hand and she took a firm grip of it. With the other she took Minna’s hand.
“I think the guard outside might be asleep,” she told Minna. “I hope so.”
Minna’s hand squeezed hers.
They crept to the door and Diana pushed it slowly open. No protest sounded and nothing barred the door.
They slid out through the barely opened door into a thick black night. Even the moon had disappeared. The silence was broken by the sound of steady snoring. The guard lay on the verandah tiles by the open door, asleep.
Diana led Minna to the postern doorway and they slipped through into freedom. She saw the dark bulk of the beacon hill, oriented herself and pulled Minna along into the night, heading for the river. It was a fair distance but they made it there without incidence and in total silence. By the time they reached the fast flowing water, dawn was nigh. The sky in the east had lightened to a pale white and red streaked across to the west.
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