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

by Anne Garboczi

  Happy? Ness rubbed tears off her journey-stained cheeks. At least someone was happy, for Aquilus certainly didn’t seem so or else he’d be here, or at least have written.

  “What am I doing? Your mother will have my hide if I don’t bring you to her.” Enni grabbed Ness’ arm and pushed her toward the house.

  The wind, which blew across the soaked fabric of Ness’ dress, swept them through the door. Soon Ness moved across the stones of a familiar pathway. Warm firelight from the central hearth spread from the door ahead as the sleepy cluck of hens rose from a fenced-in animal enclosure.

  Home. How long had it been? More pertinently, how many questions would they ask? A step away from the entrance, Ness dragged her feet, but Enni shoved her through the door. “Look, everyone, Ness is home!”

  Inside the wattle and daub structure, Mother hunched over a bit of wool, working the strands. Isobel studied the ceiling rafters as her own piece of wool lay untouched in her lap, and Father worked over a bit of harness. They all turned to the doorway.

  “And she’s having a babe,” Enni said.

  Before Ness’ cheeks could heat, Mother ran to her, face lit up like feast day thrice over.

  “Daughter.” Abandoning his leather, Father crossed the room and wrapped his arm around her too.

  The copper of Isobel’s hair sparkled like the bead necklace at her throat as she watched.

  Ness extended her hand through the embraces. “You’ve grown tall, baby sister.”

  With a flick of her neck, Isobel tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I turned fourteen while you were gone.”

  Mother touched Ness’ midsection. “I can’t believe it, my first child’s child.”

  “And I can cook good now too, Ness. Hungry?” Isobel pointed to a large kettle over the hearth.

  The hearty smell of venison, vegetables, and broth rose from it, tantalizing her nostrils. “Starving.”

  Crossing the room, Isobel dipped a bowl in and extended it. Ness closed her hands over the pottery, cold fingers soaking in the heat.

  “Where is your husband?” Father picked the leather back up. “Legate Vocula has been pushing limits. They say he’s forced men to work his docks in the west, and those who refuse have disappeared. I want to know if there is any legal redress under Roman law.”

  The earthen bowl tumbled from her stiff hands. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Like a lightning bolt, the words struck the room, leaving charred remains. Blank, wordless faces waited for her next statement. Mother’s face turned red. Father clenched the handle of his knife.

  “Don’t look like that. It’s nothing. We had a fight. He’ll meet me here soon.” She stooped to recover the bowl, overextended stomach getting in the way.

  “You didn’t ride all the way from Camulodunum yourself, did you?” Mother took a step closer. “We’ve had more bandits of late.”

  Ness stayed bent over the spilled stew.

  Squatting, Mother touched Ness’ filthy skirt. “You did ride?”

  “Not exactly.” Voice small, Ness scraped at the spilled stew.

  “In your condition?” Mother jumped up.

  “I trusted that Roman to take care of you.” Father looked ready to start a revolt.

  From her crouched position, Ness saw Enni’s boots stir the dusty floor.

  “I have to go home,” Enni said.

  She remembered this Enni. Perhaps because of her days as a slave to cruel Roman masters, Enni always chose responsibilities over emotion. No matter what her reason, praise heaven for a change in topic.

  “Leave? Where to?” Ness struggled to get her lopsided body upright. “You live here.”

  “Not anymore. I married.”

  Ness’ eyes grew large. Enni and she had always shared the lean-to. She’d meant to enjoy a long talk there tonight. “Who?”

  A blush stained Enni’s dark cheeks. “Your brother.”

  “Marki and you?” She blinked and glanced around to see if the others knew. Of course, they knew. They lived here. They had planted the spring crop and harvested in autumn, spent the winter under the Britain snows, and planted and harvested again, while she’d lived a world away with senators, Greek poetry, and Aquilus. Enni had found love here in Britain. That’s what Aquilus had promised her.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she summoned courage for a weak “Congratulations. When? You should have written me.” None of her family had answered her letters.

  “Two months ago. I wanted to, but I didn’t have the coin necessary to send a letter to Rome.” Enni grasped the door.

  Oh, she’d never thought of that. Aquilus had said to give whatever missives she had to the porter and he’d post them. Her husband had never seemed worried about price. “How much does a letter cost?”

  “Fifty denarii, I think. Perhaps more.”

  Ness gasped. How many hundreds or thousands of Aquilus’ denarii had she spent on writing home? “You got my letters though?” So much for writing Aquilus from here. She could never afford that.

  “Yes.” Enni nodded. “We read them many times.” She swung the door open.

  “Wait, I’ll go with you.” Before Mother could stop her, Ness ran out the door.

  Outside, the moon had risen, and here in the autumn evening, the pounding in her head quieted. In silence, Enni led the way past the village green to the east side of the village. They walked together, two shadows among the many shadows of night as only the glow of banked fires contrasted with the darkness.

  “Ness.” Enni’s braid flipped over her shoulder as she turned her head.

  Ness looked at Enni’s face, illuminated by the moon. Enni had grown since she’d come here as a child, stunted from slave rations and neglect, but she was still slight and much darker than the Celts.

  “Is the tribune truly coming back or did you just tell Mother that?”

  Ness ran her tongue across her lips. A nightingale called out from the trees that hung over the outermost village houses. She didn’t want to talk about Aquilus, but Enni was her best friend. “I hope so.” Why hadn’t he sent a letter to Camulodunum then? Bad winds had delayed her ship for days so he’d had plenty of time.

  “What happened?” Enni touched her shoulder, her fingers cool in the night air.

  “We fought. He left for Germania again. I didn’t want to have this babe alone, so I came here.”

  Enni slammed to a halt. Her eyes widened to the breaking point. “You left a Roman noble?”

  “I guess. I don’t know.” Would he see it that way? That she had left him? Broken their marriage? Or would he come?

  A dark frown creased Enni’s face.

  “Please, don’t tell. I don’t want the entire village to know we fought and you know how people gossip.” Unless, of course, Aquilus didn’t come. Then all would know. Ness sucked in a deep breath. He’d come.

  The wind tugged at Enni’s skirt. “Very well.”

  The empty feeling in Ness’ stomach came back and her legs protested the exertion of walking. “I think I’ll just go back now.”

  “Look there, my house.” Voice eager, Enni pointed up the hillock. Marki stood framed by firelight in the doorway of the newly built house. Enni’s house. Since when had her foster sister had anything to call her own?

  Ness looked down at her midsection. In the darkness, she twisted cold hands into her cloak and shivered. She rejoiced for Enni, of course, but if only Aquilus were here.

  But no, he hadn’t even spared the time to write to her in Camulodunum.

  Ness’ boots crunched fallen leaves as she ambled down the path. The smell of snow hung in the evening air as the village structures fenced her in. Her legs ached even after this half mile walk. “You’re the reason I can’t do any useful work, you know,” she told her stomach, which had grown to a ridiculous point.

  No word from Aquilus. A scratchy feeling started in Ness’ throat and worked its way up to her eyes. She pressed her fingers into her palms. He knew she’d give birth soon. H
e’d arrive in time for that. She shouldn’t worry. Yet.

  “Ness, I heard you returned.” A tired voice called out from inside a half-open doorway. An uncharacteristically quiet Fiona stood there holding a swaddled babe.

  “Fiona!” Ness hurried across the brown grass. She halted a pace away from the door that swung in the wind. “That isn’t yours, is it?” She pointed to the red-faced babe. Fiona nodded. Her thin brown hair, which used to blow around her shoulders, keeping time with the jangle of her brass bracelets, was plaited back, and she looked so melancholy.

  Ness twisted her cold fingers together. “What’s the news in the village?”

  Surely that question would bring a smile to Fiona’s face.

  Sure enough, Fiona’s face lit, if not in happiness, at least in distraction. “Did you hear Bretta married? And, of course, the harvest festival happened two months ago. Lots of chariot racing, if you care for that sort of thing.”

  “Did Bretta marry the cobbler?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No, more’s the pity. I don’t like her husband. Gavin won the chariot race at the festival.”

  The village youth came to mind. He was lanky with a high-pitched voice. “Gavin? But he’s just a boy.” Had the Pict girl made Cedric give up racing?

  “Fifteen now,” Fiona said. “Remember when we were that age?” Her eyes had a wistful glow.

  “What about Cedric? He lost his knack at racing?” The name choked her as Ness pushed it through her lips.

  “Cedric? Didn’t you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  Fiona jounced her silent child. The little thing would freeze. It couldn’t be more than a few days old. “His wife died in childbirth about three months ago, along with the babe. Cedric hasn’t raced since. His father died this year too.”

  Ness’ arms fell to her round sides. “Is he all right?”

  With a shrug, Fiona blocked a sailing leaf from landing in her babe’s face. “I don’t know. He keeps to himself, never even comes into the village.” Dark circles lined her eyes.

  A shade of sadness swept over Ness, but she shook it off. “If he has to cease living a productive life, he could at least do something exciting, like sack a Roman garrison.”

  A laugh perked up Fiona’s drooping mouth. “Is that what you’ll do to forget your old marriage?”

  Ness froze. “It isn’t over. Aquilus is meeting me here.”

  “And Romans levy taxes merely to give alms to the poor.” With a roll of her eyes, Fiona bounced her babe again.

  What did Fiona know? She’d like to speak to Enni about Aquilus, but Enni lived and breathed for Marki these days. Ness pointed to Fiona’s house. “You haven’t told me of your husband.”

  Fiona nodded back to the fenced-in spot beside the house where a small goat blinked shaggy eyes. A man sat on a stool, methodically milking the goat.

  He was short, ugly, and on the scrawny side. Ness widened her eyes. After all her talk of irresistible husbands, Fiona married him? Did no one get what they wanted from life?

  A wave of exhaustion swept over Ness. After making her goodbyes, she dragged herself along the path to home. The forest closed in around her, the eerie hooting of owls filling the darkness.

  As soon as she came to the house, she stumbled into the lean-to and collapsed on her shelf bed. The wood pushed on her aching back. She rolled over, twisting the red coverlet around her ever-growing body. “Don’t expect to live inside me forever, Baby,” she muttered as her head sunk into deer pelts.

  Sleep came in moments and, as she slept, she dreamed. Germanian trees sprouted, filling the dream scene.

  “This is for you.” Aquilus flipped a strand of her hair over her shoulder as he pushed the scroll toward her. It must have been the early days of their marriage, for she sat inside one of those little inns they’d stayed at for weeks at a time.

  She gathered her knees up to her chest at his workspace as she ran her fingers over the red leather of the scroll. It even felt expensive. She traced the spot where he’d engraved the Celtic characters of her name.

  “It’s Homer’s Odyssey,” Aquilus said, translating the Greek characters.

  Unwrapping the scroll, she cocked her head and stared at the squiggles on the leather.

  She pointed to a symbol that looked suspiciously like a snake with its tongue stuck out. “Are you sure this is a language?”

  He laughed and slid his hand over hers, half-covering the page.

  “Teach me.”

  His scabbard clanked against the wooden leg of the table as he knelt. With the edge of his hand, he highlighted the words. “This is tau, eta, lambda—”

  She laughed.

  “Lost you already?” He stood.

  She tilted her chin. “You’re talking to a woman who learned Latin, Aquilus Salvius Paterculi. After noun declensions, squiggles pose no difficulty.”

  “Squiggles?” Laughter flashed across his face.

  “Don’t laugh, you were born speaking Latin.”

  He rested one elbow on the table as he leaned over her, pointing the letters out to her again, but his eyes still laughed.

  As she listened, she tilted the stool back on two legs and swung her bare feet up on the table ledge.

  He paused.

  Her eyes danced with laughter. “I might be terrible at this now, but I’ll learn. You’ll see.”

  “And you do everything you’ve determined to, wife of mine?” His eyes had an adoring tint that suggested his mind had strayed far, far from Greek vocabulary.

  “Yes. Now tell me what it means.” She pointed back to the page.

  “Here Odysseus sees his son Telemachus for the first time in twenty years.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “What happened for twenty years?”

  His fingers caught in her hair as he ran his hand through it. “Odysseus’ king called him to war against the Trojans.” Gathering the mass of golden hair in his hand, he tried, very badly, to plait it. “Odysseus was one of the greatest warriors.”

  She pushed his hands away from the hair he’d tangled. “And lousiest fathers.”

  He laughed. Brushing his fingers across her cheek, he swept his hand down her neck. “Condemning the hero Odysseus—rank heresy.”

  “No more than I would any man who placed other things before his son.”

  “But not a daughter, they’re less important?” His eyes had a wicked glint.

  “Of course not!” She moved her hand to slap him, but honed reflexes won. He caught her hand at the wrist.

  He let his other hand travel the curve of her shoulder. His mouth parted in a baiting smile. “I suppose I’d best be an amazing father someday.”

  Refusing to blush, she lifted her eyelashes high. “Yes, or else.”

  His lips twitched. “Else what?”

  She drew a finger of her free hand across his throat.

  “In truth?” He moved one hand under her raised knees. The other behind her back, he scooped her up, holding her suspended in the air.

  A sparkle came to her eyes. She jabbed at him with her foot.

  He tightened his arms, pressing her against his chest as his eyes laughed at her. She squirmed, working for a free hand.

  He tossed her gently on the feather mattress. Hands resting on the bed, he leaned over her. “You’re mischief.”

  She opened her eyes deceivingly wide. “Me?” Lunging, she grabbed for his scabbard.

  He caught the sword’s pommel and wrapped his fingers around hers. Amusement swam in those dark brown eyes. “Who did I marry, a foreign princess bent on revenge?”

  Heat rose to her cheeks as she scooted up to his ear. “No, then I would have brought my own knife.”

  The edges of his mouth crinkled.

  Arms around his neck, she shifted back. His face was only a few handbreadths away and he looked at her. She dropped her gaze to his mouth. She knew she wanted to and, unlike Cedric, Aquilus wouldn’t draw back if she did. She touched her lips to his. Like the crashing ca
scades of a waterfall, he kissed back.

  His skin felt cool to the touch as she grazed her hand across his temples then touched his beautiful hair. Strangely, her voice felt not her own as she looked into his eyes. “I think I love you.”

  His dark lips moved up as he smiled at her. “What would make you sure?”

  “I don’t know, but you could try another kiss.”

  Ness stirred. She could feel the dream kiss on her lips—the moist taste of Mediterranean sweat and the pleasantly rough texture of sun-hardened skin. She wiped her hand across her lips.

  Tears clouded her eyes. Stulte dreams! What if the village gossip had it correct and Aquilus didn’t plan to come?

  The first light of dawn threatened the horizon creeping in through the door she hadn’t closed properly last night.

  With a groan, she pulled herself out of bed to stoke the fire and put bread on for the first-day service.

  A few hours later, worshipers gathered on the village green. The sun heated Ness’ face and brightened the morning hour. An oak tree’s bare branches spread overhead.

  Music rose like a chorus. She could almost see the words lofting through the blue sky to reach heaven. The sound of lyre and flute mingled with deep basses and glorious sopranos. Out here, in the green grass with the smell of autumn foliage and chestnuts, one felt like one stood at the very footstool of God.

  She watched the others sing. She hadn’t sung in months, not during that awful sea voyage, or in the weeks before in Rome where she had merely deigned to attend the crusty services. Now she dwelt in Britain again, but her life remained a wreck. Her stomach bulged with this babe who would meet the world soon and Aquilus still hadn’t arrived.

  The words of musical praise dipped and swelled, flowing on like the mountain streams, and she let her voice intermingle with the rest. Strange, unlike everything else, her voice fit in again as if no long months had intervened. Was Christ like that? She had changed so much, gone so far away, she almost expected Him to be different. He wasn’t.

  She felt a surge of warmth. All at once she smiled.

  Chapter 8

  The autumn sun sank beneath the trees and a chill wind blew. Ness rustled the brilliant colored leaves as she followed the path past Father’s southern fields. The bare limbs of the trees matched the stubble left in the fields—everything dying. She pressed her hand against her stomach as that pain, which she had hoped to out walk hours ago, came back.