She made a hundred excuses for Darius’s inattention. Commanding an army is difficult and serious work, she told herself time and again. So many lives depend on each decision he makes, Darius must—MUST—give all his thoughts and energy to what lies ahead. I will be patient. I will encourage him with my silence and be waiting when again he turns to me. I will show him I understand what his responsibilities demand of him—and of the one who would share his life….
But in the silence of her own tent, her determinations often failed her and the doubts, bom out of the hours of loneliness, still whispered.
One night, when Darius was once again staying long in Alaric’s tent, Callestina’s patience failed her. Loneliness was like a fire in the pit of her stomach and she knew that if she did not put it out, it would consume her. Grabbing up a cloak, she headed out into the darkness.
She did not care who saw her as she marched through the camp. This time there was no surreptitious movement from shadow to shadow. She was going to Darius’s tent to wait for him. She would show him that, tonight at least, she needed him as much as his army.
There were those who would have asked her why she was out alone in the night, but one look at her face stopped them. Tonight she would answer no questions, stay at no man’s word. As she passed by campfires where those who were still awake were gathered over cups of wine and small ale, she paid no attention to either the silences or the whispers that followed her. In her mind, she was already in Darius’s arms.
As she neared his tent, she saw a figure step out from inside. He turned and looked at her. Grayson. Over the last days and weeks, she had grown jealous of his constant companionship with Darius. Grayson was like Darius’s shadow; they were always together—laughing and talking, sharing the hours Callestina was denied.
Why are you here? she wondered, knowing that Darius was still in her brother’s tent. I don’t want you here. Go away.
But he did not go. Folding his arms across his chest, Grayson waited.
Tonight, Callestina would not let his presence stop her. She was here to spend the night, at least this night, again in Darius’s arms. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Darius is not here,” Grayson said coldly. “He won’t be here for hours yet.”
“I’ll wait,” Callestina replied. She started to step past Grayson, but he grabbed her aim.
“Don’t be a fool,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “waiting around him like some pathetic dog hoping for a few crumbs to fall your way. There is more ahead in life for you, Callestina. Much more.”
Callestina tried to pull away, but Grayson tightened his grip. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh. He leaned closer until she could smell the wine on his breath.
He’s drunk, she thought, suddenly realizing she had never seen Grayson drunk. Her brother was drunk frequently, and she had even seen Darius drunk once or twice—but never Grayson. She wondered what had happened, why he was drunk tonight.
His face was so close, she thought for a single instant that he was going to kiss her. But instead he just smiled a dark, humorless smile. It was like a wolf’s snarl.
“Poor Callestina,” he said. “You think he loves you, don’t you? Well, he doesn’t. Darius doesn’t love anything except Darius. You’re just a plaything to him, a toy for his amusement. The whole world is just a plaything to Darius.”
“How dare you!” Callestina was angry now. “How dare you talk about him this way. You—who say you are his friend.”
Grayson’s smile grew a touch broader. “I am his friend,” he said. “If any other man were to say these things, I’d cut his tongue out and make him eat it. But, believe it or not, little Callestina, I’m trying to be your friend as well. Go back to your own tent. Forget your dreams about a life at Darius’s side. It won’t happen.”
Callestina jerked her arm away, and this time Grayson let it go. “My dreams are my own,” she said, “and my future is no concern of yours.”
Grayson inclined his head slightly and stepped aside, giving her free access to Darius’s tent. She brushed past him, head held high. But as she started to step inside, his voice followed her.
“You have been warned, Callestina.” he said. Callestina dropped the tent flap behind her, cutting off anything else he might say.
Inside the tent the air was cold, but warming quickly from the fire that had been recently lit. On the small table in the corner, a pitcher waited. Callestina went over and sniffed its contents. It was ale, strong and black. She found a cup and filled it, then drank it down quickly. It was bitter and it burned as it hit her stomach, but not as bitter as the words Grayson had said to her.
He was drunk, she told herself again as she poured a second cup of ale and sipped it. And he’s jealous because I want Darius instead of him. His words don’t mean anything. Darius does love me.
The fire was continuing to heat the air and the ale Callestina had drunk so quickly made her cheeks feel hot and her head feel a little dizzy. She stretched out on the sleeping furs to wait for Darius.
Lying there, the memories of his kiss, of his touch, enveloped her. He does love me, she thought again. After we defeat Rome and Alaric forces them to give us land and citizenship, there will be no more reason to fight. The armies can disband and Darius and I will be together every day—and every night.
Callestina smiled a slow, languid smile as she gave her thoughts over to imaginings of how her life would be. She pictured days of warmth and sunshine, nights of ecstasy. Darius was with her, loving her, giving her a family. She did not notice when her eyelids closed and her self-willed imaginings gave way to sleep-filled dreams.
Callestina awoke to the sight of Darius’s face bending over her. With a little cry of joy, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers. His kiss was warm and real and for that instant all of her dreams became reality.
A moment later, Darius drew back. He stretched out beside her and gently brushed the sleep-loosened hair from her face.
“I could not stand another night without you,” Callestina said. She would not hide her feelings from him. “I’ve missed your arms around me.”
Darius gave a low chuckle. “Is that all you have missed, my little Callestina?” he asked.
Callestina moved her body closer. “You know it is not,” she answered as her hands pulled at his clothing, eager to reach the skin beneath.
Again Darius laughed. As he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, Callestina turned her attention to the fastenings of her own clothing. Soon the two of them were naked. Darius’s hands began to move knowingly across her body and his lips sought those places that gave her the greatest pleasure. Callestina closed her eyes. She let herself be carried on the mounting waves of passion.
She did not need Darius’s words to tell her of love. Love was in his breath upon her skin. It was in his lips, his tongue, his touch; it was in the weight of his body covering hers. What else could matter but these things?
She almost laughed when she thought of Grayson’s warning. Poor Grayson—he did not know. How could he know what passed between herself and Darius when they were together? How could anyone, anywhere, know joy such as this?
There was only one Darius—and he was hers.
Chapter Eighteen
It was summer in the valley before the passes were deemed clear enough. Despite weeks of preparation, it still took many days to break camp and for the combined armies to be on the move.
Behind the armies came carts and wagons, the extra horses and supplies, the women and the families of the warriors. As always, the men would lead and their passage would widen the trail and clear away any obstacles that might impede the progress of those who followed.
Even with the armies clearing the way, the passage from the lower Danube Valley into northern Italy was slow and arduous. Once in Italy, they built a temporary camp near the city of Cremona. Here the families would remain while the warriors began their march of devastation southward.
Alaric worded his message carefully so neither the threat nor the promise within could be misunderstood; he would meet the answer from the Emperor Honorius outside the city of Ravenna.
To show that his word was good, Alaric ordered the army to march peacefully between Cremona and Ravenna. There would be no sacking of the northern towns, no burning of the farms and villages they passed—for it was here in the fertile lands of the north that Alaric hoped to settle his people. It would be foolish, he said, to destroy what they would soon possess, and unnecessary. The presence of so great a fighting force would be enough to strike terror in all who saw them, and their peaceful passage would lay the responsibility for any future destruction on the shoulders of the Senate in Rome.
Darius’s men, not as intent upon Italian settlement, grumbled over the lack of booty. But Darius saw the wisdom of Alaric’s plan. A Visigoth kingdom on the Italian peninsula would provide a power base for future expansion. It would also give his men, mortals that they were, a place to think of as home when the years began to weigh heavily. For these reasons, Darius supported Alaric’s orders, and because it was Darius’s will, his men obeyed.
The night before the armies were to march, Callestina lay again in Darius’s arms. Their lovemaking had been even more passionate than usual, for she could not bear the thought that she would not see him, would not touch him again for weeks. Now, in the aftermath of that passion, she lay with her head on his shoulder, running her fingers through the hair on his chest and listening to his heartbeat slowly quiet.
“I will be waiting for you when you return,” she said softly.
“I know,” Darius replied, absently running his fingers along her arm. She could hear the closeness of sleep in his voice and she was not yet ready to let him go.
“You are coming back, aren’t you?” she asked.
Darius gave a small sigh. “We’ve been through this, my little Callestina. I will not make such plans for the future. If I come back, then I come back—that is all I will say. It takes only the fall of a sword to change all plans, no matter how carefully laid.”
“But no sword can fell you, Darius. My brother says you are nearly invincible.”
Darius laughed. “Not even I can control all the Fates,” he said. “Enough now, Callestina. I wish to speak no more of this.”
Callestina was silent. But as she lay there her mind began to form a bold and daring plan. It frightened her to think of it, but it excited her, too. If she had not been bold, not been daring, she would not now be in Darius’s arms. Perhaps, she thought, life only consists of what we are strong enough to take.
She nestled a little closer to Darius’s body. I will be strong enough, her thoughts continued. Nothing will keep me from being with him forever.
It was not yet dawn when Callestina felt Darius rise from his bed. The sudden absence of his warmth shocked her awake; she could not let him go—not yet.
She opened her eyes. The only light in the tent came from the glowing embers of last night’s fire, but it was enough for her to see the outline of his body as he stretched to shake sleep’s hold over his muscles. The sight awakened the hunger deep inside of her, the desire his touch seemed to feed rather than satiate.
He reached for his clothing. “Wait,” she said softly. “Not yet.”
At the sound of her voice, he turned. Even in the dim light, Callestina could see the familiar smile that tugged at the corners of his lips and the amused look that came back into his eyes. She did not mind that she amused him as long as that amusement fed his desire for her.
Could love be born oj laughter? her heart wondered briefly. Yes, it answered itself in that same instant, if the need for laughter is great enough.
I ‘II make him need me, she told herself.
“Are you awake, then, Callestina?” Darius’s voice silenced her thoughts. “I thought to leave you sleeping.”
“Did you think I could remain asleep knowing you would soon be gone?”
She held out her arms to him, but he shook his head. “There is no time for that, Callestina,” he said.
She listened for a moment to the sounds of the camp. All was silent.
“There is no one moving about yet, Darius,” she said, keeping her voice low and soft. “Even the horses are still. There is no reason you must go now.”
“I must prepare for my men. I will not have them think me lazy as we go off to battle.”
It was Callestina’s turn to be amused. A low chuckle escaped her throat.
“Do you think you are the only warrior in camp who has spent the night in a woman’s arms, knowing that at dawn he must again take up the sword? And do you also think that I am the only woman in camp who seeks the solace of a lover’s touch one last time before that dawn comes?”
“No, my little Callestina,” Darius said as he came back to the bed and to her side, “I do not think these things.” He pushed the hair back from her face and kissed her once, gently. “But a commander cannot act only as he wishes.”
“Then, for a while yet, forget you are a commander. Be only a man whose woman has need of him.”
As Darius’s hands began to move almost involuntarily across her body, Callestina knew that she had won. For a while yet, he was hers.
And later? Later, she knew what she would do. They would be together again sooner than he thought.
Callestina stood among the women of the camp, watching while the men rode away. Although many stood dry-eyed, she alone had a smile upon her face. Her body still glowed with the sweet exhaustion of making love, but it was not this that made her smile. It was the thought of what was to come and of her own courage.
She watched the women around her turn away from the sight of the men and back to the everyday tasks of children and cooking fires. She noted the subtle changes that had come over them. Their voices were lower, their movements a trifle slowed, as if with the departure of husbands and fathers, sons and lovers, a certain measure of their life force had been drained away.
But not Callestina; she felt alive. Her thoughts and her heart already rode with Darius, and soon her body would follow. She knew she had to choose her timing or her brother would merely send her back here. But if she was careful and did not reveal herself too early, then her return to camp would cause more trouble than letting her stay with the army.
Oh, Alaric would be angry. He would yell and bluster, as was his way. Callestina did not care. She had stood up to his anger before and would do so again unflinchingly. Darius would understand. He would see that she was willing to fight for what she wanted from life, to reach out and take it heedless of the cost, and he would approve. He would see that she was worthy, was strong enough, to share not just his bed—but his life.
For Grayson she spared not a thought.
The long, dark line of the army could still be seen in the distance, but Callestina did not care. Hugging her secret to herself, she turned away from the sight. She would go back to her tent now and begin to gather the things that she would take. Then, as on the day Darius arrived, she would make a prayer to the Norns, asking the three Goddesses of Destiny to give their aid to her undertaking.
Tomorrow, before dawn, before the camp was yet awake, she would ride away.
At the head of the army, Darius rode his great stallion. To his left rode Alaric, looking ursine in his great bearskin cloak, and to his right—always to his right—rode Grayson.
Darius smiled to be on the move again, to feel
his horse beneath him and hear the sounds of his men at his back. Soon they would face an enemy and his sword would sing in the summer sunlight.
Unlike Alaric, Darius harbored no vain hopes of peaceful settlement with the leaders of Rome. For three centuries he had watched the Roman Legions march across Europe. He had fought them many times and in many places and he knew what they thought of “the barbarians from the north.”
No, the Roman Senate would not accede to Alaric’s demands. There would be fighting. There would be death.
And much of it would come from Darius’s sword.
It was difficult to keep to the sedate pace at which they were traveling, but it was a steady rhythm that would cover the miles without overtiring either the men or the horses, a pace every army had learned through centuries of experience. Yet Darius was tired of control and necessity. He wanted to gallop forward, to revel in the sense of freedom he felt. His horse felt it too, for beneath him the creature pranced and sidestepped. The long winter had been hard on both of them, as winters always were, and he was glad to leave it behind.
Callestina’s name whispered itself in his ear and Darius felt the briefest pang of regret, but it passed almost before he felt it. She had been pleasurable, certainly, but of late her presence had a cloying edge. She sought to possess that which he would not give—his love, and his freedom.
No, he was glad to be leaving her behind with the winter.
Darius turned to Grayson and found the man watching him with eyes narrowed against the bright sunshine. It was hard to read the expression in them.
But then Grayson smiled at him. “You seem even more eager than usual at the beginning of a march,” he said.
“I am, my friend, I am,” Darius replied. “It feels good to be on the move again, to be doing what we were born to do.”
“And after,” Grayson asked. “Have you decided?”
Darius gave one curt nod, knowing that was all Grayson would need to understand. They would fight beside Alaric in his conquest of Rome, as much for the glory of battle as for any call of friendship. But they would not remain after the fighting was done. There were other places, other battles, awaiting.
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