Thane let out a rumbling foreign word that sounded very much like the unconscious man behind them. When the brother heard it, he stepped into the darkness.
Thane leaped over Delia’s head and grabbed the man, hauling him backwards, and then to the ground. With an audible grunt, the Briton rolled over and expertly buried his elbow in the man’s throat, but not before the giant let out a cry.
“Run!” Thane knocked the man underneath him unconscious with a fist.
Delia gave him a fleeting look, but was on her feet and scrambling for the door. Once out in the darkening dusk, she wasted no time, and ran to the horses. She could hear the shouts from behind her, very close, but she threw her foot into the stirrup of the larger of the two horses. With an effort, she pulled herself on top. Digging her heels into the beast and grabbing the reins at the same time, she turned it toward the road and away from the slavers. Cheers went up from the other Britons behind her. Mingled with them were the shouts of the slaver’s men, and the voice of Thane.
“May the goddess protect you, Lady!”
Delia heard the frustrated curses of the old woman fading behind her. She drove the beast as fast as its legs would carry her toward Glevum.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XVII
Delia rushed into the town of Glevum as if wolves were on her trail and had to pull up sharply on the reins to stop the panting horse. Scanning the thin crowd around the market stalls, all she could think of was how hungry she was and how much she wanted to sleep. Neither was an option. Her supplies were gone. All she had were the tattered clothes on her back and the horse she had stolen from the slavers. To make matters worse, a continuous ache coursed through her abdomen making her sick. Terrified to stop, she had heaved several times from the back of the horse, but produced nothing. There was nothing in her stomach to expel. That, along with the nagging feeling that Quintius was still out there watching her, made the short journey miserable.
At least the slavers did not follow me .
Thane must have been correct. They would not follow her and lose the match. The thought of that massive man going up against Marius triggered another wave of illness and she clamped her jaw tight against it.
Glevum was not as large as Londinium, but it was still a sprawling settlement with Romans, and Roman soldiers everywhere. The street market was closing. When she saw a Briton man loading a wagon, she rode over to him and dismounted.
The man started when he turned around and saw her standing behind him. “Sorry, miss, but we are done for the day. We will return tomorrow.”
How was she going to ask a complete stranger for money?
“Forgive me, sir, but I am just coming into town. Someone robbed me on the road. I need help.”
The man cast a dubious eye at her and the lines in his face puckered. “Are you all right, miss? You should not be traveling alone in this country. It is not safe.”
“I was… separated from my group. I have no money, no food, nowhere to stay…”
The man pulled his shoulders back and scowled at her. “I am only a poor farmer, girl. I cannot spare money for a beggar.”
“Oh, no.” Delia fought back indignation. “You do not understand. This horse,” she pulled its head down and scratched behind the ears, “I would like to sell it so I may find lodging until my party arrives. They should be here within a day or two. Do you know anyone here who would…?”
“Well, now.” The new prospect seemed to light the trader’s bartering instincts allaying his fears. He tucked his thumbs inside his belt and circled the horse. “It is malnourished, probably not good for much, but seeing how you need help, I could give you two Denarii for him.”
Delia knew the horse, even at a bargain, was worth three times that much, but she had no time. “All right.”
The farmer smacked his hands together and dug in his pocket for the coins. Delia was thankful he had Roman tender.
She handed the reins to the farmer, but when he reached to give her the money, he stopped and a kind sadness came over his face. “You are in trouble…”
“I am fine,” she replied quickly, afraid to stay in one spot too long.
The man pursed his lips and reached back in his pocket.
“Here.” He pressed three coins into her hand and took the reins from her. Reaching into a pile of clothes next to the stall, he came up with a blue woolen cloak. “My wife’s. She has many cloaks and will not miss it. Take it and the money. ‘Til your friends show up, hey?”
He gave her a fatherly pat on the cheek, and then pulled the horse to the back of his half-loaded wagon.
Out of the corner of her eye, Delia thought she saw a figure dodge from one building to the next. She whirled around, but there were only last minute customers and vendors closing down for the day.
A light drizzle fell. She peeled away the old cloak and replaced it with the new. The dry, clean wool caressed on her soaked skin and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy it, running her fingers over the fabric. It had a large hood that she pulled over her face. Delia headed into the center of town.
Glevum was a port town, full of an unusual mix of people. There were Romans, of course, lots of them, from prissy women in their fine garments running for cover under cement pavilions, to grizzled, retired soldiers in their bright red tunics. However, there were many others: Britons, Africans, Celts from the north and from Gaul, dark-skinned youths from the east. They all seemed to be making their way to the center of town. Delia could see a large, brightly painted structure down the main road. Another shadow flitted from somewhere to her left and she searched the buildings, but again, there was no one there. Mingling with the crowd around her, she let it carry her to the center of town.
Once at the gates of the great forum that loomed two stories above her head, Delia paid her admission with one of the coins the farmer gave her. The taker muttered into the wooden box on his lap, but gave her change and a wax token. Delia skittered into the entrance, glancing over her shoulder.
When she entered the forum, she stopped at a stone railing and gaped in wonder. She had never seen a place more magnificent. Spread below her feet were row after row of stone benches going down into the earth, illuminated by fresh torches stationed several feet apart. Men stood or sat together, chatting, watching the stage, or laughing uproariously at the antics of wandering performers.
The ceiling was open to the dark sky and a fine mist covered her face when she looked up. Flat, dark gray clouds flowed fitfully across a pale moon.
Below her was a grand platform, filling one whole side of the enclosure with a curved facade. On it were Greek women contorted in a strange, acrobatic dance, undulating on the stage as if they had no bones. They were young, well-figured, with flowers braided into their hair. Men smiled at them while throwing coins at their feet.
She could make out the large room behind the platform and leaned over the railing to see if she could spot either Seneca or Afranius. There were literally hundreds of people between her and her goal. Would she ever reach them? When a hand roughly caught her arm, her heart almost stopped.
“Up.” The man was a Roman with a forum badge pinned to his tunic. His voice was amazingly clear above the din of humanity. He stabbed his finger toward the top benches filled with women. It was the first time Delia realized there were no women below. “You are not allowed down here.”
Delia nodded, but her heart sank. She would never reach Seneca or Afranius from up there. She started up the steps and waited for the man to find another woman to accost. When he was not looking, she stole down the stairs and went back through the entrance where she entered.
A vendor stood outside the throng on one side selling bread and meat. Delia could smell the strong spices and a memory surfaced of her first meal with Marius; it seemed so long ago now. The smell propelled her forward and she ordered two of the strange Roman concoction, grimacing when the man slapped the meat on unleavened bread and then slathered it with butter mixed with liquame
n. The fishy odor twisted her stomach and it snarled at her hungrily.
Delia stole away to find a deserted shadow and devoured the meal with relish. She could not remember when food tasted so good. However, moments after eating it, her stomach cramped and she nearly retched. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to keep the food down. She and the baby needed it. Another sharp pain contracted at her middle. Putting one hand under her belly and the other against the wall, she waited until the pain passed.
Delia carefully made her way around the immense building, looking for another way in. Well-armed Roman soldiers blocked each entrance. When she reached the very back of the building, she was certain she had found the two counselors.
She did not need to see the Praetorian standard to identify the elite guard. They were the most magnificent specimens of men she had ever seen. Their uniforms were immaculate and expensive with red wool of finest quality and their silver armor gleamed. The highly polished weapons reflected torchlight in sparkling stars. The men themselves were in perfect condition, hard, muscled, and strong. They reminded her so much of Marius, loss gripped her heart. Expertly engraved moon and stars stood out from the curved oval shields they held and the long finely crafted pilas rested proudly in strong hands. Distinctive white scarves encircled their necks.
One of the guards spotted her and called out. Delia pulled the hood more tightly around her face and turned to scurry down a side street, hoping they would not follow.
She slid into the shadow of a doorway and watched the throng of people crowd through the forum arches. Down the narrow road, she heard giggling females.
When she peered around the doorframe, she saw seven very beautiful women, ranging from perhaps sixteen summers to twenty-five, arrayed in flowing tunics and gaudy golden jewelry. Perfume permeated the air when they drew nearer. Two were African, one Asian, and the others were Roman or Briton. The woman leading them was an older Roman, a beauty herself. They stopped very close to Delia’s hiding and she stepped further into the shadows.
“Stand up straight. The Praefectus will not choose any of you if you do not stand up straight.” Her voice was sharp and cruel. She looked down at the wax tablet in her hand and then scowled at the group. “When you are presented to the guard, you will remove your cloak and allow him to examine you.”
A chorus of murmurings followed a titter of giggles.
“Enough,” the lead woman hollered, and the noise subsided. “If they wish you to expose yourself, you will comply. Understood?”
There were various nods and subdued acquiescence from the girls.
“Good. The one they choose to bed the Praefectus will remain with me for instructions and the rest of you are to follow the guards to your stations until you are required as needed after Seneca’s speech. See to it you catch the eye of one of the Praetorian. They pay well and it is said they are abundantly endowed.”
This caused another crash of shrill giggles and the woman had to whistle to stop it. “Being this close to the platform is a privilege. While you are there, any sound you make, any impropriety breached, will result in a beating. You will not embarrass me. Now, come along.” With a tinkling of trinkets and a waft of mingled scents, the group moved on.
As the last girl passed, a stomach wrenching idea came into Delia’s befuddled head. Pulling her cloak loosely around her body to hide as much of her distended bulk as she could, she slid in behind the last girl and followed them. They would kill her if they discovered the ruse. Delia clamped her jaw tight and commanded her heart to slow, but it simply would not cooperate. The pushing crowd filled in all around them.
The group detached itself from the throng and glided into the Roman Praetorian Guard with ease. Dwarfed by the line of silver armored warriors who loomed up on either side of her like a deadly fence, Delia tried hard not to look at the very sharp red and black spears they held so expertly in their hands or the gleaming gladii at their waists. The black maw of the entrance swallowed her whole. There was no turning back.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XVIII
Luck seemed to be with Delia. The inside of the building was pitch black, except for a torch held by the leading guard as they made their way through the winding passage. She stayed well back so no one could see her in the darkness. When they arrived backstage, the group stopped and two soldiers began going down the line to examine them. The girls tittered and smiled demurely as they opened their cloaks. Strong Roman hands groped them, ordering most to open their tunics to expose themselves. The women did it sensuously, seductively, some running their hands over their bodies to entice the guards. The men remained stoic and unsmiling.
Seeing that the guards were moving one to the other quickly, Delia stepped back into a doorway to conceal herself. Her swollen body would not tolerate even a cursory look, let alone a disrobing. When the men reached the end of the line, the officer with them pulled one girl out and placed her with her mistress. He dismissed the others with a hand signal. A soldier came very close to Delia’s hiding spot and she pushed back further against the door. Without warning, it snapped open and she tumbled into the room, landing on her buttocks.
Seated at a table with food and a mug of wine, a man with sharp brown eyes and a heavily jowled face stared down at her in amazement. Around his balding head was a bushy fringe of graying hair. His tunic was Greek, rich, heavy, in imperial purples and blues. Next to his plate, a large wax tablet lay under the stylus he held. Kindness sparked around the mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
When a Praetorian guard burst through the door after her, the man held up his hand.
“A gift for me?” he asked, tilting his head down at Delia. “How kind of Afranius.”
The soldier stiffened his back at the sight of the man. “No, Minister Seneca. She was with the other girls. I am not certain how she ended up here.”
“It does not matter.” The man set down his stylus, leaned toward her, and placed his hands together. “What is your name, child?”
“Delia. I am sorry, I did not mean...”
“No matter.” An odd spark came into Seneca’s eyes as he stood and held out his hands to her. “You are very pretty. Much too pretty for the likes of me. Delia did you say?”
“Yes, sir. Please, sir, I must speak with you.”
“I have no time, child. After my reading.” He tugged her up into his arms and pulled her close. “Then you can perhaps enlighten me on why a queen is marching with a group of whores,” he whispered so that only she heard it.
Delia pulled back, but Seneca put a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking.
“I think she is merely an admirer, Lucius. Tell you what, let her sit in my chair from backstage and she can listen to my oration. That should put her to sleep, hey?”
He released her to the guard, who took her by the wrist and pulled her toward the door.
“Gently, Lucius. I like this one.”
The soldier bowed crisply and saluted. “As you wish, sir. Shall I stay with her?”
A charming smile puckered his eyes. “No. I think we can trust her. Dismissed.”
Lucius pulled a resisting Delia from the room. When she glanced back, Seneca closed the door laughing.
Despite the instruction, Delia could feel the breath of the guard behind her when he placed her on a small stool to one side of the lighted stage.
It was not long before the stage master called for silence and the crowd grew quiet.
Seneca emerged and crossed to a stone lectern. Thunderous applause erupted from the masses. Smoothing out a rolled parchment until it was flat, he lifted his eyes to the crowd and smiled. The voice he used for the crowd, unlike what she had heard only moments before, hit Delia’s ears like music. It was deeply rich, the bass rumbling from his barrel chest, and echoing like wind against the stone benches. The words were familiar to her. Delia had read his stoic philosophy all her life. For a precious moment, they made her forget her pain, her fear, and her regret.
“I am on the point of parting from you,” he quoted, watching the audience, apparently not needing the paper to prompt him. “I see you choking down your tears and resisting without success the emotions that well up at the very moment when you try to check them. I seem to have lost you but a moment ago. For what is not ‘but a moment ago’ when one begins to use the memory? It was but a moment ago that I sat, as a lad, in the school of the philosopher Sotion, but a moment ago that I began to plead in the courts, but a moment ago that I lost the desire to plead, but a moment ago that I lost the ability. Infinitely swift is the flight of time, as those see more clearly who are looking backwards. For when we are intent on the present, we do not notice it, so gentle is the passage of time’s headlong flight. Do you ask the reason for this? All past time is in the same place; it all presents the same aspect to us, it lies together. Everything slips into the same abyss.”
Seneca turned his head casually to glance at Delia and continued reading. When she looked across the stage, she caught a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at her from the other side.
Quintius stood off stage with several guards at his back. He was giving them quiet orders.
Delia jumped from her stool and Seneca’s guard stepped behind her.
“Excuse me, miss,” he whispered. “But you will need to take your seat until Minister Seneca has completed the reading.”
Delia looked into the formal brown eyes and searched her wits for a reply. “I am afraid I have made a terrible fool of myself in front of the great Seneca. I cannot bear it any longer.” The tears she dredged up for his benefit came to her easily. Her heart thundered in her chest. “Please,” she added, touching his arm and looking down. “I beg you. I want nothing more than to go back to my home. Please.” When she looked back up at him, his face softened.
The Edge of Honor Page 14