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

by Anne Garboczi

  Falling back, Lucius snatched up the scroll. “Domitian’s no Vespian, Tribune. Speaking of wife and children, do you really want to see them in the lion’s pit for your religion?”

  Aquilus fell back a step. Surely things had not come to such a pass in Rome. Had they?

  The decurion gave Lucius a confused look. “Sir?”

  Lucius smiled. “All’s well. I was just showing the tribune a sword move. Isn’t that right, Tribune?”

  Turning, Aquilus left. He’d write to Cassius, find out how the current political winds blew toward Christians in Rome, and then decide how to bring Lucius to justice.

  When the door shut securely, Lucius looked at his secretary.

  From where he crouched on the floor, tidying up the wreckage, the secretary shot back a disapproving stare. “How long do you think it will take the tribune to discover the rest of your treachery?”

  Lucius sighed. “Not long. It’s now or never. I think I’ll start the rebellion next week.”

  “What about Vocula?”

  Lucius shrugged. “I’m sick of waiting for his time schedule anyway.”

  Ness pulled the half-made rug over her feet and picked at the wool with her thumb. Aquilus’ voice pounded in her head. Ubi to Gaius, ego Gaia, he wouldn’t break those words he’d vowed to her underneath the oak tree. Was it any more honorable to persist in being an abominable husband than give up at being a wife all together?

  No, it wasn’t. Only a Stoic would think differently.

  Though in the last months, he had made an effort, and she couldn’t call his interactions with Wryn or coming after her when the Germanians kidnapped her abominable. A discomforted feeling roiled her guts. The feeling came from the dried gooseberries she’d eaten two hours ago, not indecision. She shifted on the cushioned yew wood.

  She looked out the oilskin window that blurred the heaven’s sunlight. Unlike in Rome with Cassius, Aquilus wanted to be a father now. Was it fair to deny Eric and Wryn that? Perhaps she should at least wait a year.

  Wait a year? He’d drag her to Rome. Again. She wanted to live in Britain, she wanted her sheep farm, and after over a year of talking about divorce, she’d feel like a weakling if she went back on her resolution to divorce him.

  Would divorcing Aquilus truly make her at all happier? She squirmed. When he played with their sons, her heart still fluttered and she still wanted his love. He never gave it, though. She kicked a couch cushion and it tumbled on the dusty floor. If she stayed, she’d give up Britain and have to eat all the words she’d ever bandied about divorce. If she left, she’d lose Aquilus.

  “Please, God, just tell me I should divorce him.” If God told you things, then you had to do them and you needn’t suffer through any of this uncomfortable thinking anymore.

  No sense of peace and heavenly permission ensued. Ness scowled at Cornelia’s upturned stool. All her life she’d served this God, but did He ever see fit to give her a vision, or a sign, or some word from above when she truly needed some divine confirmation of her choices? No. He made her figure things out herself. Every. Blasted. Time. Where in heaven’s name was the fairness in that?

  All she wanted was a few words telling her to divorce Aquilus so she needn’t wrack her aching head thinking about the matter any longer. Was that so very much to ask?

  Half-rising from the couch, she clenched her jaw and gripped the couch arm. Their entire marriage Aquilus had forced her to go here, come there, even got her with child again when that was the last thing she wanted. He’d agreed to sell his own flesh and she’d had to humble herself and beg him before he relented.

  Divorcing him might hurt her as much as it hurt him, but she was going to make her own choice for once. She’d divorce him and this time no one could stop her.

  Not yet.

  Her breath caught as the words imprinted in her mind. She blinked. Had she truly just felt what she’d thought she felt? Only two words and not loud, or even angry, but made of sheer power.

  Her mind played tricks with her. The Most High never gave her guidance, just forced her to make her own decisions. For once, she’d made a decision she truly liked and now He wanted to speak to her?

  She ran her finger over the couch arm. If He had given guidance, she had to listen, didn’t she? Her guts churned.

  Aquilus would never believe another word she said if she reversed herself on the divorce. Would he mock her weak will? He’d as much as told her at Enni’s house that he didn’t love her. Her eighteen-year-old self would despise her for even considering staying with a man after that. If she stayed, would he think he’d won that wager that she’d play by his rules? He’d never win that wager.

  Except, if she stayed, he had.

  She fell back against the couch.

  Feet shuffled through the doorway. “You dropped that stitch.” Cornelia pointed to the hump of wool that was supposed to turn into a rug.

  Ness scowled at the wool. Six times she’d worked this row and still it wouldn’t lay flat.

  “You’ll have to rip out at least three hands’ width,” Cornelia said with the most irritating attention to detail.

  Ness looked at the curled mess in her hand. She hated doing this. Now that she thought about it, she’d always hated doing this.

  Tearing out her bent hook, she clumped the twisted fibers and flung them into the fire.

  Shriveling wool sent up acrid smoke. Ness hurled the hook after it. “If I have to stay with that man, I’m taking advantage of his wealth and buying blankets.”

  Cornelia blinked, then shrugged, and shook her head. “Women with child.”

  Fading afternoon sun trickled down on the leaf-strewn space in front of the Camulodunum house. Aquilus took a deep breath and closed his hand on the doorknob. Telling Ness the law about divorce and children would not be pleasant.

  Ness barged out before he had the door all the way open. Her eyes looked ready to spark fire.

  “Salve.” He touched the doorframe. “How goes it?”

  “As if you’d care.”

  Aquilus winced. This was her reaction before he told her the law?

  “And don’t you dare say, ‘Oh, but you chose to marry me.’”

  “Wasn’t going to.” He raised his hand, palm up.

  “Here, take it.” Ness slammed a scroll into his hands.

  It was the divorce scroll. So, the legal issue arose. His heart sank. Would she ever forgive him for forcing her to stay? “You know you can’t even use it until after the babe is born.”

  “I’m not going to use it.” She looked like she wanted to hit someone and she still blocked his entrance, preventing him from moving off the snow-covered stoop into the warm house.

  Had she discovered the law? It seemed highly improbable that his rational arguments against divorce had convinced her. “Why?”

  “I have no desire to speak of it. Go someplace else.”

  Just go away. That was her opinion of him? No words of blame for the Lucius incident? It had been his miscalculation, along with Ness’ folly, that had put her and their sons in danger. She acted as if kidnappings, almost dying, and bound Germanians in the house occurred daily.

  “If you’re not leaving, I am.” Ness turned.

  She meant to dismiss him. Now that was one thing Ness had never mastered. “Don’t you want to hear what happened with Lucius?”

  Ness half-rotated. “Well, yes, and while I’m undertaking the unpleasantness of talking to you, what did you threaten those legionaries with? They were like leeches.”

  He didn’t smile. “Good. As for the kidnapping, it was Lucius.”

  “What happened? Did you use that political clout of yours to punish a dishonest man for once?” She pressed her elbows against her waist.

  He let the insult slide. “I was going to—” His voice grew hot with anger. “But Lucius holds the high dice. Domitian is cracking down on followers of the Way. Lucius had one of my scrolls and he is a friend of the Emperor. When I hear back from Cassius, I will
know how to proceed.”

  Ness set her shoulders, shoving the weight of the babe within her up. “What’s next then?”

  “Wait, I suppose. I inherited a villa here in Britannia. I should inspect the land.”

  “I thought your villa was in Italy.”

  A faint smile twisted Aquilus’ mouth. “There’s no rule a man can’t own more than one.”

  “How many do you own?”

  “Just five now, besides this one. The others weren’t generating revenue, so I sold them.”

  Sliding her foot back on the snow-covered brick, Ness stared. “Five? Aren’t they terribly expensive?”

  This time, he didn’t restrain the laugh. “I’m a Paterculi, remember?”

  “Don’t remind me.” She moved into the house.

  “So,” he unfastened his cloak, “it’s a half day’s journey to the northwest. We could leave in a few days.”

  “Very well,” she said with a tone that implied he should not get used to such compliance.

  “Sir.” Aquilus bent under the low garrison doorway.

  Legate Vocula jerked his gray head up from a stack of correspondence. His hand shot forward, covering the seal of the letter closest to him.

  “I regret to inform you that I will be unable to finish the dock project.”

  Vocula gathered his sparse eyebrows together. “Why?”

  Because it was inane and he no longer had reason to submit himself to it. “I have business in my villa a half day’s journey from here.”

  A bare smile just crossed Vocula’s face. “Leave me the location and I will forward any missives you receive.”

  Snow blew into the fur of Ness’ boots as she crossed the last few steps to the stone arch. The child inside her bore down, making her back ache. Moving ahead of her, Aquilus pushed the dilapidated door open.

  One fire illuminated the interior. A roughshod table planted its splintered feet on grimy tile. Dead weeds poked their heads through gaps in the floor.

  A spare man limped forward, leaning heavily on an oak bough.

  “Dominus Paterculi,” he inclined his head, “I made what preparation I could after your missive.”

  Aquilus smiled and set Eric on the ground. “Tullus? Still here after all these years?”

  With a smile, Tullus shed formality. “You’ve changed from that lad who used to menace your uncle’s villa. But what am I saying? You must be famished. Please, sit, eat.” He gestured to the table.

  Cornelia plopped herself on the bench first. Eric babbled as he reached for the bowl Tullus handed him. Digging a spoon into the stuff, Eric filled his cheeks full. His nose crinkled and he spat.

  “Eric!” Resting one foot on the bench, Ness swung him up to her hip.

  Aquilus stuck his spoon into the bowl then into his mouth, made a face, and then swallowed and dug his spoon in again. Cornelia began to pucker her face, but then Tullus smiled at her. Did Cornelia bat her eyelashes?

  Sighing, Ness looked at Wryn. Arms crossed, the boy glared at his porridge. “Eat, Wryn.”

  Wryn glowered and shook his head.

  Eric in one arm, Ness dug his spoon into the porridge and touched it to her lips. She ran to the fire to spit.

  Grabbing the wooden bucket that stood by the hearth, she dished Wryn’s bowl into it. Cornelia relinquished her portion more than readily and Eric’s followed.

  Ness turned to Tullus. “You are hereby banned from cooking.”

  Tullus hitched his bad foot up higher on the bench. “What will you eat? Unless she cooks?” He pointed to Cornelia.

  Let Cornelia near something edible? Ness shuddered. “I’ll cook.”

  A broad smile lit the older man’s face.

  As Eric wriggled his way free, Ness reached for Aquilus’ bowl.

  Aquilus moved his arm in front of it. He dug his spoon back in.

  Her dress flared as she slapped her hands against her hips. “Innocent children are watching you eat that stuff.”

  “I’m hungry.” Aquilus lifted his spoon.

  “That’s not food.” She grabbed his bowl and dished it into the bucket.

  A summary examination of dusty corners, aided by a puttering Tullus and an unusually helpful Cornelia, produced a bag of oats, some flour, and oil.

  Pushing snow dampened hair behind her shoulders, Ness leaned over the fire. The heat of the flames beat her face as she mixed batter and used a longer bit of firewood to expose hot stones. The batter splattered against hot rock with a delightful bubbling sound.

  By the time the first cake puffed into brownness, Tullus and Cornelia had vacated the room for a tour of the villa. Ness handed the first cake to Wryn since he’d already burned two fingers reaching for it on his own.

  Wiping away sweat, she moved back from the fire. Her back collided against Aquilus’ body. Squatting next to the hearth, Aquilus reached across her legs to steal a cake. With the movement, his arm brushed her bosom, his chest hot behind her back.

  She drew her eyebrows down. He’d done that on purpose.

  His teeth closed on a bite and he flashed his gaze to her. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

  Because he’d never bothered to get to know her, just expected her to play the Roman domina. Ness shrugged. “I burned it.”

  “Smoke-crisped edge to enhance oat texture.” He leaned back against the warm bricks of the hearth.

  “You just want more.”

  “Maybe.” Aquilus reached over her again. She felt the hardness of his chest muscles as he stole another cake off the hot rocks. For that instant, as he touched the cake, his arms surrounded her, like before. Her heart pinched.

  Yanking back from him, she raised her voice. “That’s Eric’s!”

  Aquilus glanced at Eric who sat just outside the firelight drumming his heels. Breaking the cake, he held out one piece in each hand. “Seeing as I brought you into this world, half-half split?”

  Ness snorted. “As if it cost you that much effort.”

  Eric grabbed both halves and stuffed them into his cheeks. Turning red, he spat the entire cake on the hearth. “Hot!” he screamed.

  With a sigh, Aquilus turned to her. “You glare at me every time I try to be involved.”

  Unfortunately, he had a point. She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop that.”

  Shifting back, he stared at her.

  “I figure they’ll likely never get a chance at a less lousy father than you, so why fight it?” Ness flipped more batter onto the hot stones.

  He frowned.

  “Unless you die, of course.”

  His lips thinned in disapproval. “If you still hate me so much, why did you decide against divorcing me?”

  Back rigid, she shoved an overly large blob of batter on the rock. “Why should you care? I’m staying married. That’s what you always wanted.”

  “Because,” he hesitated, “I love you?” An uncertain look lingered in his eyes.

  “Love, splendid, do we have to traverse that ground again?” Ness slammed the bowl back on the tile. One wasn’t uncertain about love. If he actually did love her, he’d have said it confidently.

  “Why no divorce?” Aquilus repeated, leaning back against the hearth as Eric climbed on his outstretched legs.

  With a vicious twist of her wrist, she flipped the cakes. “Because it wasn’t the right thing to do this time. Go ahead—gloat.”

  The firelight cast shadows across Aquilus’ body. He stretched his hand out through the darkness, the same gesture she’d seen him make a hundred times that first year of marriage as they read scrolls together by firelight. “We can make this marriage better.” His voice had the same musical timbre that had enchanted her when he’d read her the Greek plays of Sophocles and Aristophanes.

  She jerked her gaze away. Where had giving into the invitation in his voice gotten her? He always left for politics in a matter of weeks. If she refused to love him, she wouldn’t hurt next time he left. “I don’t think I even want to. I don’t trust you, tha
t’s for sure.”

  He frowned. “We can rebuild trust.”

  Scooping up the cakes, Ness dumped the plate on him. “Here, have the stulte food. And keep the twins from dying.”

  She swept out of the room without looking back.

  A Villa in Britannia, the Kalends of Martius, 89 A.D.

  Winter snows had turned to early spring and a trickle of light shone through the still covered windows as Aquilus passed the atrium fire.

  He frowned. Cassius should have answered his letter by now. Vocula said he would forward correspondence. A moan came from around the corner. He hastened his step.

  In the next room, Ness huddled next to the fire’s coals, knees tucked to her chest. Sweat dripped from her face and she dug her nails into her palms.

  He crossed the space. “Are you well?”

  “Perfectly so,” she said between labored breaths.

  “No, you’re not.” He watched her face screw up in pain, her whole body contorting as she struggled for breath. Her gold hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. “Are you ill?”

  She attempted a shrug, which turned into a shiver as her body twisted in pain.

  He knelt next to her and touched her drenched sleeve. “Did something happen?”

  She slapped his hand away. “Leave.”

  He didn’t go, couldn’t go with her looking like that. “What is it?”

  “If you must know, I’m having your child. Were you under the impression that was easy?” She collapsed into a heap, groaning.

  Aquilus reached out. “Can I do something?”

  “Yes, leave.”

  “What about help?”

  “We’re in a villa in the middle of nowhere that you brought us to. What kind of help do you expect, a wood nymph?” She dug her teeth into her lip.

  Her sarcasm got better under pain. When one’s heard enough bleeding decurions’ attempts at jesting through a wound, one had to admire that. “What about Cornelia?”

  “I think she’d make it worse.” Ness crumpled again, the lines of pain shooting across her face for anyone to see.

  “I’m getting Cornelia,” Aquilus said as calmly as he could manage.

  Aquilus stood at the corner of the bedroom and watched. Watched as the spasms of pain passed through Ness. Watched as Cornelia attempted to bathe her face and shift the sheets. Despite the nurse’s efforts, tension strained Ness’ every muscle.