For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1)

by Anne Garboczi

  “It’s a good position, but demanding,” he said, jaw clenched. “I’m only here until first light.”

  “I would complain that you’re gone incessantly, only life is worse when you’re here.”

  “I was going to ask you to come.” He raised his voice.

  “I don’t want to come.” She stopped herself. She did want to go with him, all too desperately. It would take a fairly lethal swallow of pride to admit that. Shifting her feet on the hot stones, she ran her tongue over her lips.

  “I don’t care what you want.” He yelled it in her face, turned on his heel, and marched straight out the archway he’d just entered.

  Dawn’s light bathed the money box. Squatting by the tablinum table, Ness ran the ring of household keys through her hand, one clank after another. Aquilus had never come home last night after their argument.

  He’d left for Germania again then. When he’d return, who knew? Did he even plan on attending his daughter’s birth?

  She dug her teeth into her lower lip. If he could charge off in a huff, so could she. Besides, even if she had to return to Rome afterward, she needed Mother and Mailmura for this child’s birth. She wouldn’t have this babe here alone, with only the tender mercies of the housekeeper, or worse yet, Bernice, and she wouldn’t be fit for travel much longer.

  Dropping to her knees, she thrust a key into the iron-banded box in front of her. The newly-risen sun just reached the tablinum’s window as the lock gave way.

  The silver denarii felt cool to her touch. She slipped them into the leather pouch at her waist. Another coin, another. How much did ship fare to Britain cost? She’d not wish to spend more of Aquilus’ money than necessary. The sides of her mouth quivered even as she refused to cry.

  Standing up, she leaned on Aquilus’ table, bare now except for a reed pen and a single sheet of papyrus. She held the pen suspended above the papyrus. What should she say?

  Salve Aquilus,

  I went to Britannia. Germania’s closer to my home than Rome anyway, so you can more readily visit there. Please meet me at Camulodunum, or if you can’t, send a letter so I know when to expect you.

  I love you, but I cannot live in Rome anymore. If you don’t want to transfer to Britannia, perhaps we could come up with some compromise. Gaul? Germania? I’m sorry about all those things I said. I just missed you and was disappointed that I had to wait so long to tell you about our babe.

  With a groan, she slumped on Aquilus’ chair. She’d told him all this before his three months in Germania. Instead of compromising, he’d left. He had to listen to her this time. Perhaps if she used stronger words he’d realize how she felt. She bit the end of the reed.

  If you’re not willing to come to some kind of compromise, I don’t want to be married anymore.

  Ness

  She bit her lip. Horace or no, he’d rage when he read that line. She glanced at the iron wedding band he’d placed on her finger the day of their betrothal. She’d stood at her family’s hearth and he’d taken her hand and slipped on the iron link.

  With her thumb, she twisted the iron around her finger. The ring, too tight these days, left a mark.

  Tugging off the ring, she let it fall. With a clank, it hit the wooden writing table, vibrated for one moment, then rolled away.

  Outside the tablinum’s window in the uncovered courtyard beyond, the porter made his daily rounds. She called out to him.

  Looking as surly as usual, he poked his head through the arch-shaped window.

  She scooped up the ring and extended it with the papyrus. “I’ve decided to go to Britannia. Please post this to Aquilus so he can meet me there.”

  “Dominus Paterculi has important work in Germania. You shouldn’t disrupt him from it.”

  “I’m going to Britannia. Post my missive.” She pushed the papyrus into his hands.

  Under his breath, the porter muttered, “Hope you stay there.”

  A white line ringed her finger where Aquilus’ betrothal ring had circled it. Her hand felt unbalanced with no ring. She glanced across the grass to the porter’s retreating back and wished for her ring back. Perhaps she should cross out that last line of her missive.

  No. She pushed her shoulders out straight and hardened her heart. Now Aquilus would have to listen.

  Ness yanked her bag higher and ignored the swelling in her ankles. Lifting one hand, she shielded her eyes from the dying sun. Fifteen miles of walking brought her to Rome’s port city, Ostia.

  On the left, a silk merchant called out his wares. Knotted rings of dried flowers and spices decorated the front of another wooden cart.

  “Fried fish, fried fish.” A gnarled woman flapped one under Ness’ nose.

  Her stomach growled, but she’d discover what ship fare cost before she spent any additional money. An evening breeze moved up from the Tiber, twisting through her stola. A dirty youth eyed the money pouch at her waist as the shadows grew longer.

  She frowned. This fabric was too expensive. If only she had her Celtic clothes.

  In front of her, a roughly dressed man knotting a length of twine looked up. Coarse words came from his mouth. With a shiver, she quickened her pace.

  “Finest steel,” a vendor called from the right. An assortment of knives hung from his storefront, clanking in the wind. One bore the scrolled handle of a Celtic blade.

  She moved toward the stall and slipped a coin into the man’s hand. “That one.”

  He handed it to her. As she held the blade up to the dying light, twisted swirls of runes etched in the metal became visible. To win, fight. Almost, she smiled. However unpleasant this voyage proved, at the end she’d see Aquilus in Britain where she belonged and she’d find herself rejoicing that she’d fought Aquilus on this matter.

  Moonlight had appeared by the time the hulking forms of ships became visible through the gathering darkness. A shadowy figure passed and a muffled scuffling rose from behind a dark pile of oil tubs.

  The planks of the dock creaked beneath moving feet. She clenched her fingers around her knife.

  A slave woman shuffled by, her back bent from a burden. Behind her, a drunk man careened down the stone walkway, wine dribbling over his unshaven face.

  Stepping to the left, she stumbled across a pool of bilge water. The rank stuff splashed up over her clothes. Fear dug into her chest. She shivered.

  The last time she made this journey, she’d had a husband, and a besotted one at that. He had told her he loved her. Told her over and over again, the words rolling off his tongue every moment they spent together.

  Her breath stuck in her throat as her gaze darted around the gathering shadows. Was this what she wanted? To leave?

  What if he echoed the sentiments in the last line of her letter and instead of coming to her, divorced her? Heaven knew all Rome would rejoice if he abandoned her and found a respectable Roman wife. Ness dragged her sandals against the dock.

  She could stay.

  Her fist clenched. Stay? So Aquilus could obsess on Germania trade? So he could act like other Romans? So she could give birth to this child alone in Rome with no help and no Aquilus?

  She touched her knife. To win, fight. She’d fight for the life she wanted. Besides, he loved her. Either Aquilus himself or a letter from him would await her by the time she reached Camulodunum. Most likely the letter, but oh, how she hoped he’d come and she could see him then.

  A man moved ahead of her. He wore Celtic trousers and held a navigation instrument. The ship floating behind him looked run down, but it was a ship.

  Quickening her pace, she came to him. The evening wind blew her stola up around her knees. “Sailing where?”

  He turned and spat out a mouthful of seeds. “Britannia.”

  “How much for ship fare?”

  The man ran his gaze over the fine fabric of her clothes. He named a sum.

  When she counted out her coins, she only had three denarii left.

  Ness flung herself on the ship cabin’s straw mattre
ss. A cot board dug into her ribs from the outside. The babe kicked from within.

  Pressing her fingers into her stomach, she willed the little legs to cease. “As soon as you get out of there, I’m whipping you into shape, Baby.”

  A low moan came from somewhere outside. She scooted her back closer to the slick wood of the ship’s wall and held her breath. A flash of white fluttered by the window—only an insomniac seagull.

  She half-relaxed into the cushion of her bag of belongings. The rough straw of the mattress dug into her skin, but eventually sleep came and, as she slept, she dreamed of days gone by. Fog covered everything in her dream, and then slowly the mist lifted to the sound of voices.

  “Tribune, Tribune Paterculi.” A clerk thrust himself into Aquilus’ line of sight.

  Aquilus swung off his horse and jerked down his saddle bag. “No one else in this whole garrison can solve your problem?”

  The clerk started another insistent plea for help.

  Ignoring him, Aquilus turned to her. “I have to handle this.”

  The all-encompassing Britain rain, which had started to drizzle down its gloom only moments after they left her village, still filled the rapidly-darkening air.

  He pointed through the fog to a barracks. Smoke rose from its chimney. “There’s food in there.” His gaze caressed her on this, their wedding day.

  “Very well,” she said, though the look on her face said otherwise. She turned toward the Roman outpost where they broke their journey this night. She’d often seen the garrison on the day’s journey to the riverside town of Camulodunum, but she’d never entered these walls.

  Latin voices bounced about in the fog, the clink of metal, the sound of heavy feet. A group of three men brushed by her, scarlet cloaks, rough voices. She pulled her arms in tighter.

  In her dream, time skipped, and a wave crashed against the ship, jarring her out of sleep. Rolling back into the covers, she drifted back into sleep, and she was in the barracks again on her wedding day.

  Inside, a hallway led to various rooms. In the largest room, a hive-shaped stove sent up smoke. A portly man straightened up from a skillet. “What’s your business, woman?”

  “My husband,” she ran her tongue over her lips. Only this morning she’d taken the wedding vows, and now she had a husband? “My husband, the tribune, said you had food.”

  The portly man jumped. “Of course, Domina, for the tribune.” He held a plate out to her.

  Dank wetness wrapped around her like a cloak. Shaking her head, she moved to the edge of the room where rough-hewn benches edged the wall.

  Dark slime oozed through her clothes and dirtied her damp hair. She pressed her back against the solidness of the wall. Her breathing came fast and hard.

  A legionary clanked in, grabbed a tin of stew, and cursed his way over to his companions. Their cloaks rivaled the flames in color, the floor around them piled high with helmets, battered metal reflecting firelight.

  She gripped the splintered wood of her own bench. She’d married a Roman soldier. A Roman soldier.

  The portly man served her, but she didn’t touch the food.

  Time skipped again as the fog swirled around the noisy guard shack.

  “Ness.” An unfamiliarly deep voice spoke her name in the harsh accent of the Latin tongue.

  Her gaze flew up.

  Aquilus’ scabbard clanked against wood as he moved onto her bench.

  Her stomach tightened.

  One look at her, and he moved his hands over her clenched ones. “Are you well?”

  The cold in the room twisted around her, sapping the heat from her body. Her lips trembled.

  He moved back. Metal scraped against leather as he tugged at the buckles of his scale armor. He let the armor drop onto the bench beside him and then slid his arm between the damp wall and her.

  Tugging her to him, he pressed her head against his shoulder. She could feel his breath on her cheeks.

  The stew grew cold in front of them, but he didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to convince her that nothing was wrong, just held her.

  Noise came from the entrance. Soldiers spilled into the room. Stomping feet and loud banter filled the air as they jostled the cook, grabbing at tins. The mass moved forward, sword pommels clanking against metal armor. Tins smashed on benches as they swarmed the area.

  Inside the loop of Aquilus’ arms, she stiffened. Taking her hand, he stood and led her down a dark hallway away from the din. He opened the door to a room.

  A single candle lit the darkness. Painted scenes of olive groves and battles adorned the plaster walls.

  As the noise faded, she sank back into Aquilus. He wrapped his arms around her. She smelled the scent of metal and leather mixed with human sweat. She could feel his heart beating and the peaceful sound calmed her own.

  His arms surrounded her. They were a stranger’s arms, but powerful, and they promised things for their owner. Promised he would always be there; promised he would make her happy; promised it would be a good thing, this new marriage.

  He opened his arms. She stepped away, her one cheek still bearing the imprint of his shoulder.

  “Hungry?” He motioned to a plate of bread inside the room. His eyes held the same warmth as the hearth fire.

  A seagull cried, and she awoke. A crack in the cabin ceiling proved night still reigned. She groaned and rolled over, but the cot was too small and her stomach too big.

  Tears welled in her eyes. What she’d give to have him hold her now. Why had he left again without so much as a salve? She’d missed him so desperately the last three months. Hadn’t he missed her at all? Her head ached and her rapid breaths threatened to turn to sobbing.

  Taking a deep breath, she straightened her blanket. She needn’t cry. A few more weeks and she’d see Aquilus in Camulodunum. Or if not, she’d at least have a letter from him telling her when he planned to arrive.

  Chapter 7

  What do you mean no letter’s come?” Ness stared at the legionary who stood at the garrison’s east entrance, his hand on the iron gate.

  He scanned her loose hair and the wool dress for which she’d traded her fine Roman clothes in order to gain enough denarii to travel here. “You’re asking me to believe you’re Tribune Paterculi’s wife?”

  “Yes.” She brought her arms in, trying to block the chill wind that pierced to her marrow. “Perhaps my husband’s letter got lost in the post?”

  “The Roman military has the best postal service in existence.” The legionary glared down his thin nose.

  Ness’ heart stopped. No matter how much she hated Rome, giving Aquilus that ultimatum had been a terrible idea. If only she’d run after him that day he came home and told him how much she wanted to go to Germania with him. She should have bought ship fare to Germania rather than Britain.

  Why had she thought she wanted Mother and Mailmura for this birth? She wanted him. She’d go to him now and tell him as much. “I want a place to sleep tonight and passage to Germania in the morning, please?”

  The narrow gate creaked as the legionary shifted his hand. “Do you have money for ship fare?”

  Her stomach growled. She touched the empty pouch at her waist. She’d used her last coin to break her fast this morn. “Well, no, but I’m sure Aquilus will reimburse you.” More of his money that she’d used.

  “I don’t believe for one moment an elite patrician of Rome would marry someone like you.” The soldier shoved her.

  As she stumbled back, he clanged the gate shut. The iron bars rose tall, blocking her out from the red cloaks and tromping sandals inside the garrison.

  She gulped. Aquilus would come. Wouldn’t he? What if he didn’t? She glanced to the road stretching out of the city to the wilds beyond. On foot, the journey to her village would take several days.

  What if he’d decided to take her up on that last line of her letter and end the marriage? Ness’ mouth went dry. Though she couldn’t travel to him, he could easily come to her. He’d come swi
ftly, before this babe entered into the world at least. Wouldn’t he? What if he divorced her instead?

  No time to worry about that at present. She’d best start walking to her village now before she grew any hungrier. After she reached home, she’d write to Aquilus.

  Ness took another step along the last stretch of trail. Her knees trembled from both hunger and weariness. The chill evening wind blew across her dress that the afternoon’s rain had soaked.

  Her head spun as she forced herself to take another step.

  Up above, the leaves had begun to turn, surrounding her with the crisp scent of wet foliage, ripened nuts, and hearth smoke. The sun sank fast and a biting blast of wind funneled down the trail, tearing at her cloak as she crested a familiar hill.

  She cut to the west and slipped in the wet stubble of already harvested fields. Then, up ahead, she spied the shadow of her family’s house. She urged her swollen feet forward.

  The familiar sound of ducks and pigs rooting for acorns surrounded her. New hay thatched the house’s roof.

  A faint rustle came from behind the structure and then, through the dusk, a small shadow emerged.

  “Enni?”

  The shadow twisted around and the cold wind blew black hair back from a thin face.

  “Enni!” Running the few steps left, Ness threw her arms around the girl.

  Enni jumped as if a ghoul had attacked her.

  A laugh bubbled up inside her. “It’s me, Ness.”

  “Ness?” Enni peered through the dim light. She squealed and embraced Ness.

  The smell of the stables covered Enni, mixing with the Britain night noises and the coarse texture of Celtic clothes to mean only one thing—home. Tears slipped down Ness’ cheeks. Inside her, the babe kicked.

  Enni pulled back. She dropped her gaze to Ness’ bulging midsection.

  She nodded to the girl’s unspoken question.

  Enni snuck her slight hand forward and touched the bump. She cocked her head then smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”