The Edge of Honor

by Minnette Meador

  “General,” Marius called when the groups stopped in the middle of the field. “It is good to see you. We are a bit surprised by your visit.” Marius kept his voice firm and self-assured, knowing it would irritate the general. Suetonius pulled the helmet from his head, handed it to a soldier on his left, and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Forgive us, Marius.” The general’s smile was reassuring, kind. Marius distrusted it at once. “It is doubtful you are ever surprised, old friend. I am certain others told you of our approach and probably of our mission here, as well. The numerous scouts we saw in the forest keep you very well informed, do they not?”

  Marius was unmoved. “What do you want here?

  Quintius’ jaw clenched and the smirk faded into a sneer. “You will show respect to the general.”

  Suetonius lifted his hand to the tribune and shot him a warning scowl. “Enough, Quintius. We are guests here.”

  “Well?” said Marius, folding his arms.

  The general took a deep breath and motioned to his troops. “We are merely here to take a census. A formality, really.”

  “A census?” Marius raised his eyebrows and smiled back at Delia. “Of course, you will have to discuss that with the leader of the Corieltauvi, General. The queen can address that better than I.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Delia pulled herself up to her full height and looked the general straight in the eye. Suetoneus shifted in his saddle and pursed his lips, obviously surprised he would be dealing with a woman, something Marius and Delia had anticipated. Romans did not acknowledge women leaders in their enemies. They regretted that fact very recently. They had nearly lost the island a year ago to Queen Boudiga and her hoards. The battle still rang in the memories of many of the Roman soldiers there.

  “We had a census two years ago, General, as you may recall,” Delia said. “It seems a little premature to repeat the process. We have always paid Rome tribute, have no debt to your collectors, and continue to offer contributions and alliances. I see no reason why we should submit to another census. Your laws call for one every ten years, if I am not mistaken. To require this now could be construed as repressive.”

  “Repressive? I assure you, Majesty, this is not being done arbitrarily,” Suetonius said smoothly. “All chiefdoms and villages within Roman jurisdiction will be subject to the same census.”

  “We did not fight with Boudiga, General, nor do we have alliances with tribes that did, if there are any left,” she added pointedly. “I see no need for an inspection of our lands and take it as an insult to the truce we have enjoyed with Rome for many years.”

  “The census,” it was obvious Suetonius strained to keep his words pleasant, “is not in retaliation for anything you or your people have done, Majesty. It is simply for your protection. There are many who escaped after the battle with the Iceni and the Trinovantes. The forests are full of dissidents and criminals that we are endeavoring to eradicate. We do a census to protect the innocent, so that mistakes are not made later.” The insinuation was very clear.

  Delia’s eyes flashed in the sunlight and Marius had never seen her more magnificent. “The Corieltauvi are quite capable of protecting their own territory, and have been doing so for thousands of years. We defend our own land quite well. We do not need Rome to assure us of this.”

  Anger gleamed in the general’s eyes for a moment as a murmur ran through the soldiers surrounding him. He raised a restraining hand and they fell quiet. Moving his horse a pace closer, he leaned toward Delia. A look of satisfaction suffused his face. “Obviously, my dear, you needed at least one Roman to assure you of this.”

  Marius went to cover the distance quickly, but Delia stopped him with a look.

  She ran her eyes over the eight hundred Roman soldiers, their shields gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun, their spears catching the first shadows of the forest. “You come well armed for a census, General.”

  Marius barked a laugh and took a few steps back from the two, knowing Delia needed little defense.

  “A precaution only.” Suetonius bowed low to her, but when he came up, the warning in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Delia turned to examine her warriors. There were less than a hundred in the fort. “I would like to make a formal protest. With whom do I lodge it?”

  An infuriating smirk came over the general’s lips and he looked at his hands. “That would be me, Majesty. There is no tribunal on the island and it would take months to arrange one. There will be a judge here in a few days. You may post your complaint at that time, if you desire. But please,” he added graciously, “I do not wish to make this uncomfortable for you, or for your people. The men who will be taking the census will do so quickly and courteously.”

  Delia snorted a laugh and shook her head. “The last time a Roman census was done, your men took certain liberties as you will recall. Too many Britons died that year, General, and many of our women were raped, all under the so-called protection of Rome.”

  A flush of embarrassment forced a nervous smile from the general’s lips. “I assure you, Majesty, we will take measure to guarantee that does not—”

  “I am certain you will,” Delia answered smoothly, pulling her reins to the right, motioning Marius to follow. She stood with her warriors. “We will grant the census, General, in the name of peace. You will swear to me on your honor as a Roman soldier that this will be done without incident or harm to any of those people who rely on us for protection.”

  “I swear we will not unduly harm any of the Corieltauvi people, on my oath as a soldier.” He signaled to the men surrounding him, but Delia turned back to him.

  “General, I am afraid my husband and I have been very rude. We are peaceful people and it is not in our nature to be suspicious of our neighbors. To that end, I would like to extend an invitation to you and your men to dine at Hillfort tonight. The hour is late, and we have prepared food and entertainment for you.”

  Quintius leaned into the general and whispered something into his ear.

  “Good point, Tribune,” he replied and then lowered his head to Delia. “It is a gracious offer, Majesty, and one we would normally be more than happy to accept, but we have a great deal of work to do in very little time. Perhaps after the census is completed. Tomorrow night?”

  Marius and Delia exchanged a look. “Plans have been made for tonight, General. It would be difficult...”

  “Pity, actually,” Marius said, taking a quick step toward the group of men. “We are entertaining a chief from another tribe tonight and had planned an exhibition. When we heard you were coming, we thought it an excellent chance for your men to enjoy some lively diversions.”

  Suetonius lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Exhibition? Would this be an exhibition of sword play?”

  Marius had him. “Why yes, General.” He stared modestly at his hands. “I have acquired a bit of a reputation among the Celts. Our guest had requested a rematch with one of his swordsmen. As a game, you understand.” He leaned into the general and continued quietly. “The man is unskilled. I was hoping one of your men would join us. Perhaps someone who could offer me a challenge. I have heard rumors.” He stared at Quintius whose eyes were twinkling.

  Suetonius released a loud guffaw. “I would love to see you get knocked on your ass, Marius, just once. We accept. Quintius would be happy to join you tonight.” He pulled back from Marius and bowed his head to Delia. “Majesty, your generous offer is gladly accepted. We will make camp here immediately and join you for dinner.” He whistled to his men and turned to trot back to his army, his laughter drifting across the field.

  Delia turned her horse to head back to the fort gates. When Marius caught up with her, he flinched at the fury on her face.

  “Arrogant bastard,” she said through her teeth, her horse skittering toward the gate.

  Marius smiled and kneed Brutus to come up beside her. “Oh, he is not such a bad fellow, really.”

  “I was talking about you.”

/>   “Me?”

  She kicked her mount harder to emphasize her point. “Of all the idiotic, dimwitted things to do. You have barely lifted a blade in the last six months. You have not been practicing, and, in case you have not noticed, that man has a longer reach, a better build, and is at least fifteen years your junior.”

  Marius could not resist. “Ten, maybe.”

  “Uhhh!” she cried. “We did not even discuss this.”

  Marius shrugged. “You would have said no.”

  “Idiot! You are going to get yourself killed.”

  “That is a possibility.”

  “Bastard!”

  Marius pulled on his reins and expertly maneuvered Brutus ahead to sidle next to his wife again. He grabbed the reins from Delia’s hands, stopping the two horses outside the fence. When the warriors hesitated, he nodded to Evyn to lead the rest through the gate. Marius took Delia’s reluctant chin in his fingers with one hand and kissed her to stop any further retorts.

  “Listen to me,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “No one is going to die tonight, least of all me. You should know me better than that. Besides, you are not going to be there to see it.”

  She thinned her lips and glared at him. “I will be, by the gods.”

  “You and Antonia are going to organize moving those refugees. Your people need you right now, Highness, and you are going to serve them.” He kissed her again. “Let me do what I do best, Delia. I can distract those men, which should give you time. You know it needs to be done.”

  She pulled her chin out of his hand and urged her mount forward. “As I said, arrogant bastard.” Sighing deeply, she moved through the gate. “If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.”

  “I would not blame you.”

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter V

  Marius had to order the servants to slow down a fourth time, but in such a way that Suetonius and the other officers sitting around him did not notice. As he scanned the Great Room, loneliness shot through him. He missed Delia. Banquets, entertainments, intrigue, social subtleties, and grace; those were always hers to command, and she did it very well.

  The only good graces Marius possessed came at the end of a sword or with a thousand pounds of horseflesh squeezed between his thighs.

  They had cleared the giant room of all furnishings, leaving only pillows and low tables where they laid the food. Marius had not had a meal like this since he left Rome twenty years before. Few nobles were present; Marius, a minor chieftain from the Catuvellauni tribe, a merchant from Londinium who had stumbled into the fort on the heels of the Roman garrison, and a rather taciturn old man that Marius had introduced as the “chief” of the Parisi. The old Briton was in fact one of the local farmers, Delia’s uncle Carney. After an intense argument and a solemn promise, he swore to Marius he would not drink much and would stay far away from the Romans.

  Marius wanted as few Britons as possible with the Roman officers. Fights were a common occurrence at gatherings of this sort with the amount of wine and ale consumed. He did not need a drunken slip of the tongue to tip Suetonius. He did not have to worry; the Britons and Romans stayed to their own sides of the room and did not mingle. The rest were scurrying to get the refugees assigned to villages and farms around the Corieltauvi lands before the census took place. If Suetonius noticed the lack of tribesmen, he made no indication.

  Significantly missing, of course, were the warrior women, beyond those few who volunteered to help with the serving. This was something he hoped most of the Romans would not notice immediately. In Roman culture, women did not always attend such events, but Suetonius was no fool.

  “Where is your lovely wife, Marius,” he asked, eyeing the particularly charming girl refilling his glass. “I had hoped we could continue our discussion from this morning.”

  “In her condition, General, she often skips these noisy affairs. They are a little harsh on her.”

  The general grunted and took a long swig from his mug. “I somehow doubt that, my friend.” He looked at the bottom of the cup and adjusted himself on his pillows. “A formidable woman, Marius. One I am delighted was not born a man. I doubt we would be on this island at all had she been. She seems a passionate opponent.”

  Marius lifted his cup. “You have no idea, General.” And never will, you son of a bitch. He laughed deeply and set his cup down to signal for the banquet master. As he gave instructions to the man, he cast furtive eyes at the outside doorway. It was well dark, but Romans worked until midnight, as a rule. There were hours yet remaining.

  After ordering another round of food, Marius offered Quintius wine for the second time. The tribune refused it with a hand gesture. “Thank you, sir, but I never drink before a battle.”

  “Battle?” Marius splashed a little into his own cup and handed the jug back to the girl. “I doubt it will come to that, Tribune. Just a friendly exhibition, I think.”

  Quintius sipped his water and piercing blue eyes peeked over the rim. “I will not lower my defenses, even for an exhibition. I assure you I am always well prepared for anything that comes my way.” He looked at his cup. “I know quite a bit about your history. Your escapades are legendary, as are quite a few other events from your past. With your reputation, I believe I should be doubly cautious.”

  “A wise choice, Tribune.” Marius lifted his glass in salute and pretended to sip the wine. He had not missed the innuendo in Quintius’ tone and it made him uneasy.

  This man knew something.

  Marius could see it in the tribune’s eyes, in the way he held his body as he lay on the pillows, in the shadow of a superior smile on his face. Had Quintius found out about Delia? They had been so careful to hide her involvement in the Boudiga revolt. Marius had saved her from slavery that day and Suetonius had covered it up in exchange for Marius’ resignation. His years of experience as an interrogator and commander warned him to be cautious. Quintius knew something.

  Marius loudly ordered more wine and music for the soldiers. People scurried about the room with platters and jugs of wine and ale. When Quintius talked to a serving girl, giving her covert caresses, Marius scrutinized him carefully, trying to figure out what Quintius might have guessed.

  Suetonius could not have told him, not with the threat of the letter hanging over his head. Marius smiled inwardly; that letter had saved them all after the battle with Boudiga. Safely tucked away in Rome with a man Marius trusted with his life, it outlined the actions of a certain Praetorian Commanding Officer and his role in the assassination of the emperor Gaius Caligula.

  Marius looked at Suetonius and questioned whether he had the fortitude to tell anyone about that month twenty years ago. He doubted it very much. The general was an intelligent man. He was also a devout coward and had been since that day in Germania twenty-five years ago when he tried to crawl from the field. He would have died if Marius had not saved him and then told no one of Suetonius’ cowardice. The general would never allow subjugation by anyone.

  Suddenly the census took on a completely new meaning. It was a trap and Marius would have to be very careful not to fall into it.

  Quintius knows the identity of the liberatio.

  Marius tried to shake the thought from his head, but when he looked at the tribune again, he was certain; someone had betrayed him.

  Suetonius nodded to him. “If you are ready, I think we can begin the games.”

  “Agreed.” Marius called for the servants to clear the room.

  Rheydyn was nursing a painful lump on her head, put there when a flying pot thrown by an angry cook sailed across the kitchen.

  “You are not a princess here, Your Highness,” the gnarly woman had yelled at her, charging at her with a large knife. “You will take the garbage to the garden like you have been told or I will put you in charge of the dogs tonight. Get!” Rheydyn ducked out the back door, a piece of crock missing her head by inches.

  “Bitch,” she murmured to herself, stumbling in the dar
kness to dispose of remnants stuffed into a stinking bag that she held out at arm’s length. The refuse pit was all the way at the back of the garden and she banged her knee on an unseen bench as she passed, swearing at the night.

  She threw the bag down, refusing to do more and turned to go back to the kitchen. A snap reverberated through the garden. Freezing where she stood, she strained to see.

  “Is someone there?”

  There was no reply. Her heart beat faster and fear tugged at her lip. She took a step back. The silence that followed was more frightening than the noise.

  “Is someone there?” she said again, finding it difficult to breathe. The sudden terror propelled her feet to run across the garden.

  A hand came out of the shadows and wrapped itself around her throat, pulling her backward against something cold and metallic.

  “Pretty girl,” the man whispered into her ear, snaking his arm around her waist. The layered armor pressed into her back.

  “Please,” she tried to say.

  “Shh...”

  The hand around her throat loosened its grip and slid across her shoulder. Rheydyn shuddered, but it only ignited the man’s aggression. He grabbed the fabric of her tunic and yanked it down her body. Hot sparks flashed in her head. Her breasts exposed to the chilly night air caused her nipples to harden. There was a slightest hiss from her captor when he replaced the hand around her throat. The other hand skillfully slithered across her belly to find her breast. It stopped at the lower round and she could feel his mouth seeking her ear.

  “You will please me tonight, yes?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He scooped both hands under her breasts and pinched the nipples between his callused fingers. She threw back her head and moaned. Lifting her hands behind her to encircle his armored waist, she whispered, “I have missed you, Quintius.”