by Tarah Scott
“Yes, and how long ago was that?”
“We have been waiting for a sign reinforcements have arrived. And…and now you’ve shown up with a backstabbing Pict.”
Valeria pursed her lips. She would not tolerate Quintus’s attempt to sabotage the conversation and turn it toward her. “A Pict who saved my life as well as Pia’s.” Valeria rounded on him and shook her finger. “Do not forget that.”
“They murdered my legion. There is nothing left.”
“You are left. And I have word the Romans who survived have gathered in Londontown.” She sucked in a deep breath. She held her tongue about Theodosius and the legion rumored to be marching from Hispania. That would infuse Quintus with a renewed hate and will to fight.
He stopped and looked up toward the craggy rock. “The bishop is in the cave above. I shall help you climb.”
“I want to speak to him alone. Please wait here. I’ll call when we’re ready for you.”
“There should be no secrets between us.”
“You, sir, presently have no claim on me and I am not convinced you have acted in the best interest of Rome or my beloved bishop. I shall meet with him alone.”
Without another word, she climbed up to the opening. Peering into the dark cave, she could see only blackness. She stepped inside and rubbed her eyes. “Bishop, are you here?”
A strained voice came from deep within. “Valeria? Is it you?”
Now able to make out shadowy images, she crept forward. “Yes. You sound weak, are you unwell?”
He placed a white hand on the stone wall and struggled to rise. Valeria quickened her steps and kneeled beside him. “No need to stand.”
“Apologies, child. I am afraid I’m afflicted by hunger and a bout of rheumatism.”
She rubbed her forearms against the chill. “’Tis a wonder you haven’t succumbed to an ague in this damp cavern. We need to move you out of here.”
“Quintus thought it would be best to wait until the uprising has been vanquished.”
“It may eventually be vanquished, but presently the Gales have control of the wall to the west and the Picts to the east. The Saxons have crossed the channel into Gaul, and I hear any soldiers loyal to Rome have been driven to Londontown.”
The bishop hung his head. “It is that bad?”
“Yes.”
“My word.” He placed his palm on Valeria’s cheek. “How have you survived all this time?”
“’Tis a long story, but I’ll paraphrase. On the night they attacked Vindolanda, Pia and I were captured by the Attacotti.”
“No.” The bishop recoiled, his fists clenched against his chest.
“’Twas abominable. They murdered father.” Valeria’s eyes slipped downward, hiding her humiliation. “Remember the Pict with hair of fire?”
“Who?”
“The man I tried to talk to in the gaol—we spoke of him in the chapel.”
“Ah, yes. The deserter.”
“He rescued us. His name is Taran, and he is king over all Picts.”
“King? But he…”
“He was captured by the Romans and forced into servitude.” Valeria shook her hands. “That matters not. He took us to his stronghold in the region of Gododdin.”
“Did he lay his hands on you?”
“Of course not. Taran is more a gentleman than any Roman legionary I have met.”
“Go on.”
“We hid until the fighting on the wall subsided. I asked him to help me find you. He waits for us by the rock that looks like a castle.”
“A Pict has come to our rescue?”
“Do you not see? All we know about these people is wrong. They fought the Romans to defend their lands. They are free souls, beholden only to their law, and they will not be conquered.”
Elusius wheezed. “It sounds as though you have grown a fondness for these Picts.”
“And why should I not? They saved me from certain death, or worse. They accepted me into their society at Dunpelder and granted me protection.”
“I see, and what of this Taran? Are you smitten with him?”
Valeria inhaled deeply. She had to talk to someone about her feelings. The bishop wasn’t her ideal choice. Of course, she could never discuss her feelings with Pia —she acted like her personal guardian. That didn’t leave her with many options. “I love him, but he is promised to another.”
The bishop pressed his palms into his forehead. “Ah, Valeria, you cannot be serious.” He kept his voice low and soft, not condescending like his words. “You were not bred to live a life in exile with a barbaric tribe of wild men. You were born to marry a senator or an officer like Quintus.”
Valeria folded her arms. “I could never marry Quintus. I know that now. I would rather commit my life to God and live in solitude than share my bed with someone like him.”
“A life of servitude to God is not a life wasted. I can attest to it.”
“Would you help me if I chose to take up the veil?” Valeria had no alternative but to consider her options. Her conversation with Taran had left her in a quandary. She would have to give up everything to become a Pict, possibly even her life.
The bishop nodded. “Yes, but we must return to Rome. I would present you to Pontiff Damasus, and if he finds favor with your piety, he may agree to place you in an abbey. But do not go into this thinking your life will be comfortable, or seeing it as a place to hide. You will sleep in a modest cell with a bed and a single candle on a small table. You will toil as the matron sees fit and pray morning and night. ’Tis a life of strict obedience.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? In my observation you are a young lady who is full of life and excitement. Your eagerness to do anything you please will be stifled.”
She looked at her folded hands. “I’m afraid my heart has already found sorrow beyond my years.”
“I could see with the untimely death of your parents and the ordeal of your capture you would feel that way. Take the time during the journey to reflect on what you truly want. Once you decide, either marriage to the church or marriage to a man, your decision will be irreversible. Will you promise me you’ll do this?”
“I will.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “There is something else.”
“Oh?”
“During my stay at Dunpelder, I taught a mute boy to ride. When the Attacotti attacked the stronghold, their leader, Runan, came after me. The boy saved my life, and he began to speak. I insisted he accompany me on this journey and I believe he would do well under your tutelage.”
“A barbarian boy? Does he have the aptitude to learn?”
“He is very smart, just as any other human being. As I said before, we have greatly underestimated the Picts. They’re not savages. I wish you could go to Dunpelder and see for yourself.”
“Do they follow the teachings of Christ?”
Valeria spread her palms and shrugged. “How could they? They pray to Atar, their understanding of the creator.”
“I shall take it up with Damasus. Perhaps he’ll send a mission—if they can cross the wall without meeting the cold iron of a Pict sword.”
“You will have to discuss that with the king.” Valeria remembered the arrow shot without question when they approached Hadrian’s Wall. “There’s an unspoken protocol that must be observed when approaching a Pict stronghold.”
Valeria recounted the events of the past few months. So many things had changed. “Can you tell me what happened to the legionaries assigned to accompany you to Pons Aelius?”
Elusius folded his hands against his chest and frowned. “We stopped to camp for the night. As we did on our voyage from Rome, I slept in the carriage. I was awakened by the fighting and reached for my cross—my only weapon. The door to the carriage flew open and Quintus pulled me out. We ran into the brush.”
“That sounds terrifying. How did you come to hide here?”
“A Saxon woman took us in. We could not stay there for long because the Picts
were raiding private homes, driving out the Romans. She became very fond of Quintus and gave us her mule, telling us where to find the Sunderland caves. She said the barbarians should not find us here.”
“What happened to the mule?”
“Quintus killed him for food. It did not last long in the damp. The meat went putrid. I’ve been weakened with sickness and Quintus has scavenged for crabs and clams, but we are on the brink of starvation.”
Valeria stared out at the blue sky beyond the cave’s entrance. “We live in a world of turmoil. When we were traveling back to Hadrian’s Wall, we camped in a roundhouse where we were attacked by a band of Roman soldiers. I think they may have been deserters. It seems in this war there is no right and no wrong.”
The bishop nodded. “Each side believes it is just and refuses to compromise with the other. ’Tis the way of war.”
She sighed and they sat in silence for a time.
“When Taran took me back to Vindolanda, I found Mia. I’ll bring her here for you to ride to our camp. I’m sure the men have caught us something good for supper.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
While Taran waited on the beach for Valeria’s return, his frustration mounted. He tethered the horses and kicked the sand. This is what they came for, yet his insides were tearing apart. If Valeria hadn’t been there, he would have cut down that Roman louse without remorse. But heaven help him, he’d do anything for the bewitchingly beautiful woman with raven’s hair.
As much as her allure, he admired her strength. She’d never shown a face of weakness to him. She always stood her ground and boldly expressed herself. Not many people could stand up to him. He was a large man, skilled with the sword, and had the power of the Pict crown and everything it stood for behind him.
It had stunned him when she granted Pia her freedom. Though they’d spoken of what it would take to become a Pict, he didn’t think she had done it to appease him. The transformation of Valeria’s attitude toward the woman happened over time. When he rescued her from the Attacotti, there was a clear distinction between mistress and slave, but after arriving in Dunpelder, the distinction had faded significantly.
Taran hated waiting, especially when he had no control. He wanted to tell Valeria she had no choice but to return to Dunpelder and succumb to the elder’s tests, but if they discovered he intervened, it would ruin any chance of marrying her. They could cast her out, though he doubted they would since he was king. But she’d be forced to watch him wed Leda, and that would open the door to a life of bitter misery for the lass. He would not stand by and watch Valeria dwindle away in unhappiness.
He also must consider she was heir to a sizeable Roman estate. Though under Roman law, her property would go to her husband when she wed. Certainly she could find a man more honorable than Quintus to marry. Could she not? Taran balled his fists. The thought of Valeria in another man’s arms burned, as if someone carved into his chest, pulled out his heart and threw it on a raging fire while he watched.
By the time Valeria appeared on the beach, beckoning him with a wave, Taran had nearly driven himself mad.
She ran toward him and met him halfway. “Elusius is too weak to climb out of the cave, and I don’t think Quintus can carry him.” Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
Taran nodded. He wanted to ask…to demand her decision, but held his tongue. That pompous Roman was watching.
Quintus managed to look occupied while Taran carried the bishop down from the cave and lifted him onto Valeria’s mare. Taran hadn’t expected the arrogant Roman to help. By the relative ease he had when lifting the holy man, Elusius must have been gravely ill. Doing what she could to help, Valeria held the horse and ensured the bishop didn’t slip off the other side.
Taran’s shoulders tensed when he caught Quintus watching them, standing with his arms folded. The lieutenant had been in command of the century that had captured him in Arbeia. Quintus had stood by with a smirk while his men taunted and kicked both Taran and Greum. Then Quintus had his men tie Taran to a pole and pulled out a lash. An inch wide it was, and spiked with pointed brass rivets. Taran’s back needled, recalling the pain of thirty lashes. Each strike drew blood, the memory as clear and grating as if it had happened yesterday. But it was worse when they forced him to watch his friend withstand the same treatment. Greum had stood like a man and took the wrongful whipping in silence. Taran’s respect for his friend had grown tenfold.
Taran shook his head. He could not stand by and allow Valeria to marry the sadist. No woman would last long living under his sick madness.
His memories changed things for Taran.
Before, he’d been wrapped up in his own remorseful feelings of seeing Valeria go, but now he realized the completely precarious nature of her situation. He must devise some way to safeguard her protection. He must speak to the bishop alone. Perhaps the holy man could ensure she would not fall into Quintus’s snare.
The bishop hunched over Mia, and Valeria regally propped herself sidesaddle on Blackie as the two enemies led the horses back to the Pictish camp with Stag wagging his tail behind the caravan. Taran knew why she reverted to riding aside. She couldn’t appear unladylike in front of the Romans, blast it all.
Manas came running as soon as they neared. “I thought ye’d been swallowed up by a sea monster.”
“Heathen boy,” Quintus uttered under his breath.
Taran ground his teeth.
“Ye found him?” Greum trotted up behind the lad.
Taran marched ahead. “Aye, and they’re starving. What have ye mustered up for the evening meal?”
Manas skidded playfully though the sand, running his fingers through Stag’s rough coat. “’Tis a surprise.”
“Oh, it must be something special then?”
“Aye. Better than wolf meat,” the lad teased.
Taran laughed, but his jovial mood was quickly staunched by the grim frown on his friend’s face.
“What are ye doing with the likes of him?” Greum asked, nodding toward Quintus.
Taran motioned for the others to go into camp. “Manas, lead Blackie back for me and help her ladyship dismount.”
He led Greum toward the pounding waves, out of earshot. “The lieutenant spirited the bishop away during an Attacotti attack. He’s been keeping him alive.”
“But why have ye brought him into our camp? He’s likely to slit our throats while we sleep.”
“We’ll need to keep watch.”
“I say we cut his throat and have it over with.”
“We cannot.” Taran frowned. “He is her betrothed, or near enough.”
“What? Her ladyship is going to marry that venomed sheep-biting snake?”
“It appears that was her father’s plan, but I need to talk to the bishop and ensure it doesn’t happen.”
Greum gave him a shove. “Ye need to do that, ye big brute, sure enough. She’s in love with ye, and ye’re blind if ye cannot see it.”
Taran returned the shove, pushing Greum stumbling butt first into the surf. “Do ye not think I ken? She has to choose me and cannot be provoked. She owns lands and riches in Rome. I cannot take that from her.”
“She would have lands and riches if she married ye.” Greum shook off the sand, brushing white granules from his dripping arms.
“I wish it were as easy as ye make it out to be. I’ll speak to Elusius. Bring him to me.”
Greum returned with the bishop leaning against his shoulder. Looking haggard with bloodshot eyes, Elusius agreed to sit in the sand beside Taran once he passed his sword and dirk to his friend.
“How’d ye slip away from Quintus’s watchful eye?” Taran asked with his friendliest smile.
“I told him you wouldn’t attack a holy man, nor would you have brought her ladyship here if you intended to kill me.”
“True. I do not want to hurt ye.”
“That’s why we’re speaking without him.”
Taran nodded. “Thank ye for yer trust.” He shifted, burrowi
ng his seat in the sand. “What can ye tell me of Valeria’s life in Rome?”
The bishop looked toward the ocean, taking in a deep breath, followed by a sickly cough. “She’s a privileged child, born into an affluent family. Her parents sheltered Valeria from the realities of the world. Her mother was a lady, a beautiful woman, who refused to be tainted by the antics of court. Argus and Helena raised their daughter to be a woman of love and knowledge. They spared her nothing, gave her the best tutors.” He shook his head. “Her only downfall is she is a woman.”
“Why would ye say that?”
“She is very bright and compassionate, a quality lacking in many men of power. In Rome, women are not recognized as citizens. They are chattel much like slaves. Valeria owns property for now, but if she does not marry, it will pass to Caesar.”
Taran’s stomach churned. “’Tis unbelievable.”
“Are you aware she does not want to marry? She has asked me to speak to the Pope about her internment into a house of God.”
Taran could sit no longer. He stood and paced, fists clenched. “But she granted Pia her freedom, she is becoming a Pict.”
“A Pict? Hardly.” The bishop eyed him. “You have become infatuated with her. That’s understandable. Valeria is a beautiful woman. She told me you are promised. What of that?”
“There is a way to rescind my engagement. She first must renounce allegiance to Rome.”
“I have advised her against that. Do you realize what you’re asking? She must give up everything she holds dear. She would forsake the very foundation of her existence.”
“I will renounce Rome or I will commit to a nunnery!” Valeria shouted over the pounding surf. Taran gaped as she dashed in front of them, hands on her hips. “I am finished with succumbing to the decisions of others.”
Quintus barreled up behind her, sword drawn. “If you bow to this Pict boor, I shall cut him down where he stands!”
Unarmed, Taran took a step back, but his men poured onto the beach, swords at the ready. Even young Manas held Taran’s bejeweled blade above his head, scowling and ready to strike.
Elusius struggled to stand and wedged his body between the two rivals. He held his palms up to each man, sucking in a wheeze. “There shall be no blood shed on this beach today. I suggest Valeria return to Rome and settle her affairs. During her journey she will have time to sort through her emotions and make a sound decision on how she will proceed.”