Hadrian's wall

by William Dietrich

  The women turned to look at the lane they would follow into the forest. Suddenly their group seemed much smaller and the wood much bigger, its canopy shimmering with spring's green. Valeria hoped the Wall was truly nearby.

  Clodius pointed. "We go that way, Titus?"

  "Aye, tribune," said the soldier. "A bit of woods, and we're home."

  They set off down the track at dawn the next morning. A few rude Briton farmsteads gave way to rough pasture, dotted with sheep, and then pasture devolved into unkempt moor and boggy marsh. Birch, aspen, and willow grew along a meandering stream thick with rushes, their road following its course. There was a wall of new leaf, a hole like a tunnel where the lane led, and then they were swallowed by the forest. It was dimmer and cooler inside the wood.

  Valeria leaned out from her cart's canopy to look up into the trees. They seemed as old as time, and after the deliberately open shoulders of the Roman road, she felt submerged. The forest light was green and sallow, pressing with the weight of water, and the gnarled trunks were fat as towers, their roots sprawled outward like the legs of a lizard. Limbs entwined in an obscenity of embrace. Some trees were straight, others leaned ominously, and all of them creaked to a low moan of wind. The trees of the woods of Italy were smaller and more regularly spaced, paths broader, and intersections marked by temples. Britannia's woods seemed primitive and unexplored.

  The straight highway she was accustomed to had been replaced by a winding track paved with the previous autumn's leaves, giving no clear view of what lay ahead or where they'd come from. Her cart jounced and tipped as it rumbled along, occasionally bogging in mud until Cassius pushed it out. Insects spun in whirling clouds above stagnant water. Birdcall slowly faded. The deeper into the wood they traveled, the damper and danker and quieter it became. They were all quiet, the primary sound the creak and jingle of leather harness and the rasp of axle.

  It was with considerable relief, then, when they finally came to a place where the track forded a clear stream, the watercourse providing a welcome wedge of open sky. Titus and Clodius dismounted to water their horses while Cassius and the women climbed down from the cart. Bread, fruit, and cheese were shared. They nibbled quietly.

  The walls of the enclosing forest formed a green pit, its escape the sky. White clouds scudded across the top of the clearing like a fleet of boats seen from the ocean's bottom. Green willows overhung the stream like bowing servants, their drooping tendrils brushing the water. Valeria decided to explore under the branches of one, letting the vines close behind her to form a tent. A forest house! So obese its trunk, so arching its branches! The willow's roots plunged down into the water, and she balanced on one, looking into a clear pool for signs of fish. A shape did dart through the water, and its quickness gave her a quiet thrill. So free it seemed! Swimming where it chose. Diving as it wished. Not trapped, as people were, in an itinerary of schedule and alliance and jealousy and marriage.

  The thought startled her. How odd to think Marcus so close! He seemed farther away than ever.

  There was a snap of brush, and the soldier Titus appeared, cutting through the willow's overhang after relieving himself. He stopped uncertainly, surprised and embarrassed to encounter Valeria so near.

  "Isn't this a grand canopy, Titus?" she asked, hoping to put him at ease. "Like being in my mother's skirts."

  He looked uneasy. "I've never heard the willow thought of that way, lady."

  "You don't feel cozy here?"

  "No Briton would think so."

  "Really? And how do they think of willows in green Britannia?"

  He looked down. "Briton children are warned not to fall asleep at the willow's twisted feet, lest they be seized and pulled underground. The roots drag them under if the trees aren't appeased."

  She looked at him uncertainly. "Surely you don't believe that."

  "I haven't seen it, lady." He pointed upward. "They also say hair can become ensnared and maidens hung helpless off the ground. It's just a tale. Still, I don't stay too long under one. The Celts worship the willow god with blood."

  "Blood?"

  "Life's essence for Esus, the woodman's god. The Celts believe he demands human sacrifice for safe passage. We Romans have ended the practice, of course, but my friend Servius once saw a human skull in the crook of a willow."

  Valeria's eyes were wide. "What did he do?"

  "Crossed himself and fled. He's a Christian."

  "Surely that was from many years ago."

  "Perhaps, but the old ways are coming back, I'm told. Life is less certain, and belief is less proven. People are turning to any god they hope might help. I scoff at none and respect the places of all."

  He was just an ignorant soldier, of course, and she knew she shouldn't take his barracks stories too seriously. Still, as they moved out from under the willow, Valeria wondered just what she had seen in the water. Any deep forest could be haunted by mares, or ghosts, of the dead. Had she seen some kind of spirit in the water?

  Valeria told Clodius what Titus had said.

  "Like the black forests of Germania," he replied slyly. "Quiet as a tomb, and so cushioned by pine needles that you can't hear your own footsteps. Just dark trees, straight as pillars, and then suddenly from behind… the enemy attacks!" She started, and he grinned at her. "Varus marched in with three legions and never returned, you know. When relief arrived, all they found was a trail of bones."

  "That was three hundred years ago."

  "And Rome has never tried to conquer those forests since."

  Now Valeria imagined unseen armies of huge blond Germans slipping from tree to tree, picking out an Italian head like hers to offer to their dark and bloody gods. "Perhaps we should go some other way," she suggested. "Go around this wood instead of through it."

  "It's too late for that; we'd have nowhere to stay." He turned. "Right, soldier?"

  "Aye, tribune." Titus was standing on the lane with his horse's reins in his fist, looking down the leafy tunnel.

  "How far to the end?"

  "I don't know. The track is longer than I remember."

  Clodius looked too. "Do you sense trouble?"

  "No. But I watch most where I can least see." He listened a moment more and then, abruptly, he mounted. "Come. Let's hurry. We don't want to be here at night."

  So they set out once again. Valeria suddenly wished Galba were there.

  The forest they reentered seemed older and stiller than ever. The stream wound away from them, taking away its noise, and so they were alone with the clop of hooves and the creak of cartwheels. A mile passed, and then another. The wood seemed to have no end.

  Finally they reached a place where the road straightened enough that they could see several hundred paces ahead. They all strained to glimpse the light in the foliage that would signal a conclusion, but no, the way ahead seemed darker than ever. Then something moved lightly in the gloom, like the step of a deer.

  Titus's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his cavalry sword.

  "What is it?" Clodius asked.

  The soldier whispered. "Men, I think."

  There was another furtive shape in the shadows. "Probably woodmen. I'm going to ride a short distance ahead to learn their business. Follow as quickly as you can." Titus kicked and abruptly took off down the lane at a gallop, leaning forward, and then swerved into the trees where the shadows had gone. They heard him shouting, calling to the strangers, and then it was quiet again.

  They waited a moment, uneasy at this desertion, and then Clodius trotted his horse to the front. "Let's move smartly, then," he said. "Cassius, stay alert."

  The gladiator twitched the reins, and they followed the trace as before, the mud more visible where the hooves of the cavalryman's horse had scattered the leaves. Everything was still again, as if Titus had vanished.

  "I'm uncomfortable with him leaving us alone like this," Valeria complained. "Titus is the only one who knows where we're going."

  "We're going where the road goes,"
Clodius replied. "Our guide is simply trying to surprise trouble, rather than be surprised by it."

  "But what trouble?"

  The young tribune glanced aside at the enclosing forest. "None that I can see. It's peaceful in here, don't you think?"

  "Too peaceful," Savia said. "In Rome it's never quiet, and never dark."

  The carts crested a low hill and then descended into a dark hollow. Where was Titus? It was as if they'd been abandoned. Surely the trees would end soon…

  Suddenly there was a birdcall, quick and vibrant. Clodius straightened. "Hear that?" Another trill, answering the first. "It's been a while since we've heard birds. We must be near the edge of this wood-"

  Then there was a snapping of branches overhead, a rain of leaf and twig, and something big dropped in front of the startled mule. The animal jerked, Savia screamed, and Valeria grasped instinctively at a pole of her canopy, wishing for a dagger. Something was terribly wrong.

  XII

  By the gods!" Clodius shouted, turning his horse. "Thief!" And the forest erupted.

  A second assailant dropped to knock the Roman from his mount before he could even draw his blade, the two crashing into the underbrush and rolling over and over. When they ended, the assailant was on top, his knees pinning the tribune's shoulders and his knife at the stunned Roman's throat.

  The gladiator Cassius leaped to grasp his spear, only to find two archers aiming arrows at his heart.

  More brigands rose from the bushes or dropped from trees and formed a hedge of sword and spear, their eyes fierce, their faces bearded, their clothes earthen-colored, their weapons huge.

  In an instant, the Romans were taken prisoner.

  "Resist, and you die," the first man warned as he stepped around the mule to examine the two women clutching each other.

  His movements were like a panther. Who was he? Tall and hideously disguised, Valeria thought, his long hair tangled and his face-while clean-shaven in the Roman manner-painted half black and half green. Leaves were caught in his hair and his boots, and the Briton trousers tucked into them were dark with mud. What gave him humanity were startling blue eyes that revealed an alert, confident intelligence. A long barbarian sword was slung across his back, and a knife almost as long as a Roman gladius hung on his belt, but he had not bothered to draw either. He wore no armor. His tunic, half opened, revealed a tanned chest ridged with muscle. His voice was quiet, his Latin educated.

  "You're a long way from home, fine lady."

  She looked hopelessly for help. Clodius was pinned on his back, his assailant astride him. Cassius was having his wrists bound, a brigand murmuring in the gladiator's ear. Savia was staring wide-eyed at a spear point aimed at one of her pendulous breasts. Tales of bloodthirsty gods and creeping barbarians had come true in an instant.

  "But you've brought your things, I see," their chieftain went on, rifling through the baggage as if he owned it. His knife came out to slit her bundles. There was a cascade of golden jewelry. A hand mirror. A vial of perfume. An onyx figurine of a rearing horse. Woolen socks, a game board, a cookbook. Her linen shift, embroidered for her wedding night, lifted mockingly to display its translucence. Finally he stopped in puzzlement.

  "Pinecones to a forest?" They'd tumbled from a cotton bag. Valeria sat straight, looking away in humiliation.

  "Leave her be, or you'll be crucified to the crows, you barbarian bastard…" It was Clodius, his threat choked off as his captor's dagger pressed against his throat.

  Their leader's gaze flickered. "Kill the noisy one."

  "No!" The plea escaped from Valeria before she realized it. "Don't harm him!"

  "Ah." The painted man held up his arm to stay the execution. "She speaks! And to beg for another! Is this weakling your lover?"

  She was shocked. "Certainly not!"

  "Your brother?"

  "My military escort!"

  "Hardly an escort worth having."

  She glanced around, yearning for Galba's ominous presence. "Listen. Roman cavalry are nearby and are returning soon. If you kill us, they'll hunt you all the harder. Just take what you want and go."

  The brigand pretended to consider this. "And what is it you think I want, here in my forest on the soil of my ancestors?"

  "This is Rome's forest," she retorted, more bravely than she felt. "Near my home, not yours."

  "Really? And what home is that?"

  "The home of the Petriana cavalry."

  He seemed unimpressed. "Well, this forest is the home of Dagda, the great and good god who walked here long before any Roman saw it. Dagda still tends it for my people and dislikes all trespassers. The forest gives us all we need, and so there's nothing of yours I really want."

  "Then let us go."

  "Except, perhaps, these pinecones." He held one up. "Curious."

  "Those are stone pine from the Mediterranean, brought as a present to my future husband."

  "And why does he desire forest litter?"

  "He's an initiate of Mithras. Those cones are burned for protection and immortality. They're sacred to Roman officers."

  "Immortality?" He seemed intrigued. "And who is this future husband of yours?"

  "Marcus Flavius himself, praefectus of the Petriana cavalry."

  The man laughed. "Praefectus! Then he has more men than I do, and I have need of more protection than him." He hauled the bag of cones out of the cart. "I'll keep these for myself, and leave everything else, I think"-he looked around, as if considering-"except… yourself." His eye came to rest on her. "A Roman beauty to grace our tribe." He winked at the other men.

  Valeria drew her cloak around herself, clutching the sea-horse brooch.

  "You understand my invitation?"

  "I'd never go with a barbarian like you! I'd rather die! If that's what you want, then kill me and be done with it."

  The barbarian laughed. "Kill you? Besides these pinecones and their gift of immortality, you're the only thing of real value here."

  She looked wildly around for a weapon or avenue of escape. Her rape would not just be hideous in itself; it would annul her betrothal and ruin her father and fiance's careers.

  The bandit looked over at Clodius. "Offal of Rome! We're going to borrow your horse!" Then he whistled. Another barbarian appeared, leading Titus's horse as well. Valeria groaned. Was the soldier already dead?

  "The lady and I will make our departure sitting down," he announced to the others. Then he turned to Valeria. "I hear you like to ride, lady."

  "That's not true."

  "Which horse do you choose, you who wishes to gallop?"

  "I have no such wish! I can't ride a horse!"

  "I'm told you admire the animals and dream of riding them like a man. Which will you ride with me to my castle in Caledonia, my fort upon a hill?"

  "I'll hunt you with dogs if you take her, Britlet scum!" It was Clodius again, lifting his head out of the dirt. The man kneeling on his chest growled and drew his dagger lightly over the tribune's throat, tracing a line of blood. The young tribune winced, his head falling back in frustration.

  "Speak again, little fool," the chieftain warned, "and Luca will take off your head."

  Clodius opened his mouth and then closed it.

  The barbarian reached to grasp Valeria's forearm, his grip like iron, and hauled her off the cart.

  "I'm not dressed for riding," she pleaded, hating the way her voice was breaking. Where was her courage?

  "We Celts have a remedy for that." Without warning he jabbed his dagger at her legs, and her stola and tunic were rent in two, exposing her knees and a glimpse of her thighs. The cool air kissed them. "There, Celtic trousers. Now climb up there."

  She felt faint. "Please kill me instead."

  "Climb up, or I'll put your slave over a fire and roast her heart! I'll skin your young escort there until he screams for his mother!"

  Valeria looked at him in horror.

  "Ride with me, and I let the others go!"

  Shakily, she grasp
ed two of the four horns of Titus's saddle. The animal was immense, and she realized that in the past she'd always been boosted upward. How to climb aboard? As if reading her thoughts, her abductor grasped her legs and bottom and swung her upward with the most casual indecency, plopping her between the horns as if she were a child. "Push your butt against the two horns behind you and tuck your thighs under the two in front," he instructed.

  "I know what to do," she muttered. She felt humiliated, her legs splayed like a man. Yet she also felt more secure. No wonder the cavalry rode so confidently! She could feel the animal's rough hair against her bare calves and smell its warm heat. It twitched uneasily beneath her. Letting go with one hand, she fingered her own hair at her shoulder, feeling her brooch.

  Her abductor vaulted up onto the mount of Clodius and grabbed Valeria's bridle. "We meet where we planned," he told his men. They nodded. Savia was bawling, Clodius cursing impotently. The barbarian began to lead the woman away.

  Suddenly Valeria kicked her mount hard, and the horse bolted ahead to prance alongside its companion. Her abductor looked at her curiously. She'd stealthily unhooked the brooch holding her cape, and now she let the garment slide off her shoulders like a sheet, the folds catching a moment on her mount's tail and his eye distracted by its seductive drop. Leaning forward as if to speak, Valeria suddenly jabbed, plunging the sea-horse brooch into the flank of the brigand's stolen horse. The animal reared, screaming, and in an instant the arrogant barbarian was thrown, landing on the ground in a tangle of weaponry. Even as he scrambled up, clawing for his sword, Clodius's frightened steed crashed away. Meanwhile Valeria jerked Titus's horse around and charged back to the lane, riding over a man who tried to block her and thundering madly ahead toward the promise of the distant fort, expecting an arrow in her back at any moment. The lane twisted, and she was gone.

  "Morrigan's damnation!" The barbarian's sword was out but useless as he watched Valeria gallop away, his expression furious but grudgingly respectful. "That woman has the fire of Boudicca and the guile of Cartimandua." It was a compliment to compare her to the Celtic queen who'd led a bloody revolt against the Romans and another who'd saved her people by wily collaboration. He looked at his men. "It was a smart trick, and a brave one."