Early the next morning they rode into a mist-shrouded valley accompanied by the echoing cries of wolves, far off. At the head of the valley they turned off the main Roman road onto a barely visible side track.
“This is the old hunters’ way,” said Tiresias, as they walked their horses while the sun cleared the mist away. When it had done its job, Juliana marveled at the bare, purple hills which appeared around them.
After staying at a farmhouse again that night, this time occupied and very friendly, they set off early, while the dawning sun reflected through dark clouds a little above the horizon, like the lit ramparts of some great gold-edged city.
Late the following afternoon, before they’d found shelter, fires reflected in red on the low clouds ahead, as if a great feast was being held beyond the hills. They spoke little that evening. Tiresias was no longer the affable character from the town. Out here, there was little Roman politeness about him.
His face looked ashen, weary, and sometimes he looked around abruptly as if checking whether they were being followed. Survival in these wilds was reserved for the fit, he said, and those who knew the old ways. “Pity provides no refuge in the hills,” he repeated, a trace of regret in his voice, whenever they passed an animal carcass.
The rain, which battered them at times, dissolved everything into a gray wet dimness that made her wonder what had happened to the summer, and if they were really headed toward the fabled lands of ice, the ultimate end of the world, and not simply Caledonia. The rain also made her reins slippery, which eventually brought stinging blisters to her hands. She was used to sheltering regularly in taverns and drying out properly from rain storms, not pressing on and on.
She looked around regularly. Her instincts said she was being hunted and, in her dreams, she felt a dark presence hidden, but lurking. Every traveler they met stared at her. At one point she became convinced that Tiresias was leading them in the wrong direction. She had to recite a prayer in her mind to distract that thought from coming back to her.
Then, early one morning, the track led downhill and she felt better. They skirted a dark wood alongside a river and joined a wide gravel-bedded Roman way. She saw the stone towers of a large fort guarding a low wooden bridge ahead. Rain drenched them suddenly, but they moved on, and the clouds were whisked past them by a blustering wind.
As they neared the fort they met a unit of bearded, long-haired Alemanni cavalry, who quickly confirmed that Lucius could be found ahead. A rush of delight tingled through her. If she'd got this far, she could find Constantine too.
Her baby would have a father.
The road forked before the next bridge with a small Roman camp on the far side. “I believe your master is there,” said Tiresias. Then he bade her farewell. “I have other matters to attend to.”
She thanked him profusely for all he'd done. He moved his horse beside hers and hugged her briefly. “Be not too trusting, Juliana. Remember this, the courage of the wolf and the cleansing power of the raven will protect you against all evil forces.” His expression was serious, almost a scowl. He patted her arm lightly, turned, and headed away without once looking back.
She stared after him, wondering if she would survive long enough to see him again. As she approached the bridge waves of cold fear rose up inside her, each one stronger than the last. She’d felt protected riding with him. She whispered to herself, “I can do it. If I came this far, I can do this too.” She smiled at an astonished looking guard on the near side of the bridge as she approached.
“Where do you come from?”
“Eboracum. I am here to report to my master. He is a senior Roman officer who will cut slices from you if you interfere with me.” She stared down at him, her expression hard as stone.
“Which officer?” He did not look impressed.
“Lucius the Armenian.”
He glanced over the bridge, as if expecting someone to appear. She held out the thin metal pass.
After examining it briefly he waved her on and across the bridge. When she arrived at an arched wooden gateway on the far side she was politely but firmly asked to dismount and then taken to a small room nearby. The waves of fear were coming faster now. What if he’d heard she’d run away and decided to punish her the way runaways were supposed to be punished? Her connection with Constantine might not be enough to save her, if her actions enraged him.
The guards were cautious here. The atmosphere in the air was different, as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. Guardsmen cast cold glances at her whenever they passed the doorway, and their hobnailed sandals crunched closer, then away, then closer, like how the practice snaps of a torturer's whip intensify his victim's fears. If Lucius was in the fort beyond, why was it taking them so long to let her through?
“Juliana?” She looked up. Lucius was standing in the doorway, wearing a shiny black leather tunic. He'd let his beard grow. Black curls ran wild over his face, which now had the red hued weather-beaten look of someone who spent most of their life outside. He called to the gate guards.
“She is my slave girl. Don’t get too jealous, you lot.” He turned to her. “Come, Juliana. You have news?”
“Yes, master.” She bowed, but not as low as she would have done before. She felt relieved at seeing him, but the next step was not going to be easy.
As they left the gatehouse she heard muttered comments. “That Caledonian girl’s not enough for him?” and “Do his slaves ever need training?” And “I’d like to show her mine.” Finally, Lucius turned and shouted.
“If you lot weren't so pox ridden from coupling with Baal, I might have considered your requests for leave.” The muttering stopped. He turned to Juliana.
“Don't mind them. The camp followers up here are no match for a pretty slave from Persia.” He nudged her and winked.
“So, what brings you here? Constantine not enough for you?” She shook her head, nervous again.
He tutted. “Don't be so serious, Juliana. “
“It's not that, master. I've heard nothing from Constantine since you left.” She looked down, blurted the rest out. “I think his life's in danger. We must . . . did you . . .?” She hesitated.
“Ssshhh, wait.” He gestured a quick cutting motion.
They walked past circular stone granaries, heading toward a tightly packed area of dark-brown leather tents by the parade ground. Two picket lines of horses were being groomed nearby. Many of the cavalrymen tending the horses grinned at Juliana as they passed, as if Lucius wasn't there.
Four bedrolls took up the back of Lucius' large officer’s tent. Inside the entrance, just under the awning, two folding stools and a storage chest, which served as a low table, had been set up. It had started to rain. The plopping noise on the leather roof was loud but it brought a welcome sense of privacy. They pulled closed the awning and the light dimmed.
On the chest sat a small bronze oil lamp. It gave off a dim light. Lucius used it to light another larger gray long-wicked lamp which seemed crafted from the mud of these parts. He sat on one stool and motioned for her to sit on the other. It didn't feel right, she was still a slave, but she was tired and did as she was told.
The sound of watch trumpets could be heard in the distance. The trumpet calls died away until all they could hear was the patter of the rain.
“How do you know Constantine's life is in danger?”
“Sybellina said so, master.”
He rubbed his hands against his tunic, cleaning them.
“I can smell evil from that one.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. “What happened?”
She told him how Sybellina had tricked her, how close she'd been to death. She said nothing about Tiresias. He shook his head in disbelief as the story unfolded. Then she told him what she'd overheard about Constantine. His eyebrows shot up as he took in the news.
“I’ll get word to Constantine.” He patted her hand. “I'll send a messenger at once.”
Juliana shook her head. “We can't rely on a m
essenger. Please, master, I must go to him. Let me do it. I cannot go back to Eboracum.” Her hands were fists by her side. She felt awkward at having made such an appeal. It wasn’t expected for slaves to be demanding.
Lucius looked at her for a long time, then abruptly sucked in his breath, as if he’d made a decision. “You can go to him. I'll be in Eboracum for the games of Apollo. If he decides to come back and confront his enemies, that could be the excuse he needs. Tell him I’ll be waiting. There are many ways I can help him.” He stepped closer to her, lowered his voice.
“I sent the papers to him about him purchasing your freedom. He's probably arranged it already. You’ll be free soon.” He put a hand on her shoulder.
Relief rose inside her. She put a hand to her teeth to steady herself. She was going to see him. She was going to be free.
“But you'll have to look the part of a messenger.”
As soon as the rain eased he went to find her a new sleeping roll, brown woolen breeches, a green auxiliary’s cloak and, most importantly, an official auxiliary legion messenger pass. He also came back with a hard leather helmet with a raised ridge around its edge, which with everything else, made her look like a boy when she tied her hair up beneath it.
The small bronze pass had an official eagle insignia etched into it, along with a request etched in thin lines of script to grant the bearer free passage. Lucius had made enquiries to see if anyone was about to travel to Gaul. He discovered that two injured decurions were about to go home on sick leave in two days.
She would have to wait at the fort until they were ready, but after he talked to them in the infirmary, they agreed to let Juliana accompany them, as long as she was issued with a good horse and didn't hold them up. One of the men had almost lost his hand. The other was on a less than speedy recovery from a deep thigh wound.
On the morning of her departure, Lucius pulled her to the side of the wooden stable block where she was to collect her horse.
“Constantine must demand his rights. He is his father’s eldest son. But make sure he seeks me out before he does anything reckless.” He leaned closer. “If anyone can persuade him to stand firm, it’ll be a woman.” He raised his fist and grinned.
“When you return, if you get back in time for the games, ask for me at the main gate house at Eboracum. Say your name is Lucia.” He pressed a bag of coins into her hand. “Spend this wisely, and don't talk about Sybellina with anyone else but Constantine. Slaves disappear very easily, you know that. I don’t want you thrown to the dogs or to a troop to bicker over who goes first at you.”
She bowed and thanked him, and as soon as he’d turned his back, unable to restrain herself, she peeked in the soft leather bag. She’d never had so many coins. They were all the new silver ones too, the ones people had been talking about, that she’d never seen.
As they approached the stables where the decurions were waiting he warned her brusquely not to show the bag to anyone. Then, after she’d mounted, he smoothed out the bottom of her cloak as it lay over the back of the horse.
“I will bring him back,” she said, looking down at him.
“I know. I see a spirit of determination in you, Juliana. Now show us where your fate will take you.”
It was a great morning for riding, perfectly crisp with a light breeze, but still she felt nervous. She kept asking herself - how will Constantine react when he hears my news? She’d seen pregnant slave girls being thrown out of their houses in the middle of winter. Some had ended up scavenging the city dumps or working as whores. She couldn’t bear that life. Whatever it took, that fate had to be avoided.
They made good progress, passing long lines of packhorses heading north, carts heading south and only a few native tribespeople on horseback. Twice she spied teams of hunters on foot up in the hills accompanied by wolf hounds. Summer was coming and although most days were dry and warm, a damp mist, brewed by Typhon, encircled them some mornings, forcing them to wait at the rest house they'd stayed at until it departed.
When they reached Eboracum, they stayed outside the city at a tavern on the road south. That night, horrors filled her dreams. Wolves could be heard sometimes in the forests, howling at their fate, but that night it was not wolves that woke her. It was fear of Sybellina and a knowledge that she was close.
They were challenged early the next morning when they passed a large encampment of legionaries, but her pass, and her companions' passes, saw them on their way quickly and soon after, to her relief, Eboracum was far behind.
Strangely her horse was startled by a grass snake that afternoon and she was thrown to the ground. Her companions laughed when they saw her dazed expression as she sat at the edge of the ditch. They offered to assist her search for injuries. She refused, loudly, got straight back up on the horse, and ordered them all to keep going.
They passed through Londinium in a day, stopping only to eat. Once they were on the far side of the river, by way of the great bridge, they headed along the southern estuary of the river past the villas of what she was told were the original, and now wealthy, early Roman colonists, and then headed onward toward the port of Rutupiae.
They set out across the channel between Britannia and Gaul the day after they arrived at the port on a post ship manned with banks of oars and fitted with a wide sail. The crossing was choppy, making Juliana vomit again, but the wind blew in the right direction and later that same day they arrived in Gaul. The following morning, they were back in the saddle.
The days fell away after that in a rhythm she was now well used to, a good breakfast of warm porridge and bread if they were lucky, followed by long periods in the saddle, watching everything around her. They ate a light meal in the middle of the day, then dinner at a small post house, usually a dark stew with meat she never asked the source of. She imagined, at the tiny rate they were paying for accommodation and food, that all she would get would be the name of some animal she’d never heard of.
Her companions rode with her as far as the road junction, with the turn for the valley of the River Moselle. They were heading south toward the frontier lands of Germania Superior. They had become friends during the journey and had, contrary to Lucius’ warning, wasted little time with tavern girls or trying to bed her, which she put down to the fact that they were both longing for their wives and still aching from their injuries. Both bade her a warm farewell when they parted. She'd told them she was going to see her lover in Treveris, but had refused to name him, despite days and nights of teasing.
Finally, and alone, she breasted a rise in the road and saw in the distance the winding azure ribbon of the Mosella. It was almost three weeks since her journey commenced.
She remembered how she'd looked down over Nicomedia, while tied behind her master’s cart at the beginning of the year. She felt very different now, hopeful, not despairing, a woman with a secret, not a slave girl with nothing. She was carrying important news for the son of an emperor. She felt a delicious anticipation and for a moment thought she might gallop to get to him faster, but she restrained herself. She didn't want to attract attention. She had to be careful. There were things to fear ahead, as well as things to hope for. Constantine’s mother was in Treveris and she might see her as nothing more than a pregnant slave girl who Constantine needed to be rid of.
As she came nearer the river skiffs came into view. They were being punted along with long poles. Some were laden down, others moved swiftly, and some passed from bank to bank. They were unlike any vessel she’d ever seen before. As the road wound down close to the river the dark wooded hills became mirrored in its shimmering, glasslike surface. Then, through the thinning trees ahead, she saw the walls of Treveris.
After crossing at a great wooden bridge, she had to wait to pass through the crowded gate on the far side, and then wait again at a watch post to seek directions to the imperial palace.
She used two of Lucius’ coins to buy a cloak in one of the busy shops that lined the road approaching the palace. The cloak was m
ade from the softest silkiest wool she’d ever felt and had tiny flowers embroidered on its edges. It was the most perfect cloak she'd ever seen.
To her embarrassment, the old lady in the shop made a big fuss of her. She even twined a ribbon in her hair, when she said that she'd come all the way from Britannia to meet a special friend. She became nervous, and then suddenly convinced she looked a total fool compared to the sophisticated women walking by under the colonnade outside. Was she a fool? Maybe he'd forgotten her, or had found someone else? Her plans would come to nothing then. What would she do? She wanted to scream.
Slowly, she made her way to the slaves’ entrance of the imperial palace, a large blank-walled villa near the forum. She walked past the door twice before summoning the courage to knock. As the door creaked open her breathing became shallow. A sour faced guard looked her up and down, grunted, then told her to go away. He closed the door. She thought for a moment that it was a joke. But the door stayed closed. He'd meant it. She banged again on the door, harder this time.
An officer was summoned to see her. He looked her up and down, sighed, then gave her permission to wait on a bench just inside the door, while Constantine was informed she was looking for him. All the guards stared at her with a mixture of curiosity and lechery, as if unknown females coming to their gate, claiming to know a member of the imperial family, meant only one thing. She shivered and clutched her arms around herself as she waited. Let him be true to his word, please, Heavenly Mother.
She closed her eyes. Was there any chance he'd be pleased to see her? Why had he never replied to Lucius? She'd enjoyed the journey. Her goal had been fixed. But now she'd arrived, all her fears re-emerged like worms erupting inside her. She felt ill. If he wouldn't see her, where would she go? Why hadn't he sent for her, or even sent a message?
And to cap it all, of course, Sybellina had been right. She was pregnant. The seed was growing and no amount of holding her breath could stop it. She'd tried to forget about it, but as each day went by without any sign of blood her fate became clearer.
The Sign of The Blood Page 40
