“Lucia, your mother doesn’t want me here.”
“I want you here,” Lucia replied stubbornly, “and I live in this house too.”
“You’ll get into trouble, Lucia,” he said desperately. “If your mother stays angry and insists upon it your father might well cut off your riding lessons.”
That reached her. She sighed and nodded.
“Go,” she said, “and thank you again for returning the necklace.”
Brettix fled, not stopping until he had left the house behind and reached his horse.
He had heard stories about Lucia’s mother; apparently they were not exaggerated. He felt a sharp stab of sympathy for his young pupil, living wedged between her preoccupied father and a mother who could rival the Greek harpies.
But he put his feelings aside for later. Most of the Roman officers were gathering at the Scipio house tonight, so it would be a good time for Parex and his other friends to strike. If the festival was as important as Lucia had said, the garrison was sure to be short staffed.
He had to get word to them.
Brettix climbed onto the horse and rode.
Claudius did not return to the house that evening. Bronwen knew that he was going to Scipio’s home for the Saturnalia celebration, so she didn’t begin to worry until the moon rose high overhead and there was still no sign of her husband. She went to bed and slept fitfully, waking often to see if he had returned, and long before dawn she gave up on sleep entirely. She roamed the halls of the silent house and then finally sat nodding by the fire, listening for any sound that might indicate Claudius was on his way to their bedroom, reviewing in her mind the incident that had driven him from their home.
She knew she had hurt him badly. Just when he thought she was responding, she had turned on him viciously in a way that would wound any man.
Why had she spoken to him so harshly? Her need to drive him away before she could give in completely and make love to him was not something she could explain, but it had ruled her conduct that night.
And she had not seen Claudius since.
He must be sleeping in the barracks, if he slept at all.
Bronwen heard a sound in the distance and leapt to her feet, gathering her shawl about her as she ran from the warm room into the cold hall. It was the time just before dawn and the torches were burning low as she fled through the tablinum and into the atrium.
She opened the door herself as Maeve emerged cautiously from the servants’ quarters at the back of the house, rubbing her eyes sleepily and yawning.
General Scipio stood on her threshold, with Ardus, the new quaestor. Behind him two guardsmen bore a stretcher on which Claudius lay, his face as white as curdled milk, his eyes closed, his limp body covered by his cloak.
The cloak was stained a darker red with his blood.
Bronwen gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes darted from Claudius to Scipio, then back again.
No one said a word.
Bringing up the rear of the little band were two torch bearers, the flickering illumination they provided giving an even more ghastly aspect to the awful scene.
Bronwen swayed and would have fallen if the general had not caught her.
CHAPTER six
“Is he dead?” Bronwen whispered, when she could speak.
“Not quite,” Scipio replied, gesturing for the bearers to precede him into the house as he steadied her.
“No thanks to you,” Ardus muttered under his breath, and the general shot him a silencing glance as the two officers entered the atrium behind the stretcher.
“Take him into my bedroom,” Bronwen said lifelessly, going cold with shock, too stunned for tears.
The Roman houses were all laid out the same way, so the general knew where to go. Bronwen winced as the bearers shifted the unconscious man to the bed from the pallet, then vanished quickly as Scipio directed them to leave.
“What happened?” Bronwen murmured, kneeling next to the bed and taking Claudius’ unresponsive hand in hers.
“He was attacked by some of your relatives while walking around the garrison after the Saturnalia celebration,” Ardus said coldly. “Maybe you can tell us why he felt he couldn’t come home.”
“Some of my relatives?” Bronwen said stupidly, staring blankly at the
aide.
“It had to be a group, Lady Leonatus,” Ardus replied, and his derisive use of her Roman title was not lost on her. “There’s not a Celt in Britain who could take Claudius man to man.”
“That’s enough,” Scipio said to the quaestor.
“She is responsible for this!” Ardus said, pointing accusingly at the bed. “You know it as well as I do.”
“Discede !” Scipio barked at him. “Go back to the barracks at once. I’ll speak with the Leonata.”
Ardus threw Bronwen one more disgusted glance before he left, as Bronwen held Claudius’ hand to her face.
“He’s right,” she said tonelessly. “I am responsible.”
Scipio sighed, wondering how to handle this volatile situation. His tribune and this foreign woman were obviously involved in a tangled, highly emotional relationship, and he felt responsible for bringing them together. His neat solution to the Iceni crisis had already cost him dearly, and he did not want to add Leonatus, the most valuable of his officers, to the list of casualties.
“I am not here to assert blame, lady, but to save my tribune’s life. I have already sent for the physician who attended Tullius Cato.”
“Cato is dead,” Bronwen murmured dismissively.
“His wounds were more grievous than your husband’s. The physician I have summoned is a Greek trained in Athens and his healing powers are extraordinary.”
“I will take care of Claudius myself,” Bronwen said.
“I can’t allow that,” Scipio said crisply. “I brought him here instead of the barracks because your house is warmer and more comfortable, but my man will supervise his case.”
Bronwen stared at him, then started to laugh. “Do you think I would neglect him or poison him, you fool? You Romans assume you know everything, and you know nothing. You understand spears and shields and ballistae, but not the human heart. I would die in his place to save him, don’t you know that?”
Scipio knew incipient hysteria when he saw it, and he stepped forward to grasp Bronwen’s shoulders and haul her to her feet. She stared up at him mutely, shaking violently, her aquamarine eyes wide.
“I need you to calm down,” he said quietly, his strong fingers leaving bruise marks on her pale skin. “He WILL die if you are incapacitated and can’t attend him, he needs to see your face and know that you are near. I didn’t mean that you couldn’t nurse him, only that you would take direction from the physician, who has been trained in the healing arts and has experience dealing with the sort of injuries Claudius has sustained. Do you understand me?”
Bronwen took a deep breath and nodded. Scipio released her, sighing heavily.
“Leave the dressings in place until the physician gets here,” Scipio said to her. “He has two wounds to the stomach and one to the shoulder, the last not capable of being mortal unless it suppurates. The attack on him was interrupted or he would have been hacked to pieces, there were three men on him and he had already been disarmed. He was defending himself only with his hands. Apparently the universal concept of fair play has been lost in your country.”
“I think it was lost during the Roman invasion ten years ago,” Bronwen replied tightly. “Fighting a losing battle against overwhelming forces is our accustomed state of affairs. For you to express outrage when one of your men faces the same odds is ludicrous, general.”
“One of my men? Your husband, lady,” he replied, giving the last word, domina, the same ironic emphasis she had placed on “general.”
Bronwen’s eyes filled with tears, and he was sorry he had said it. She did not need to be reminded of the grim web they had all woven together, trapping them in its fibers. She was, after all, only
a young girl, and this was a situation that would defeat the most mature diplomat.
Scipio held up his hand to indicate that such a conversation would do neither one of them any good.
“I must go,” he said wearily, “and attend to the business of the state, which somehow seems to be getting lost in all of this.” He gestured toward the room, the bed, the gathering dawn outside the walls of the house. “I will send a messenger later in the day to see how Claudius is doing, and I will bring the physician straight to you as soon as he arrives.”
Bronwen nodded.
Scipio shot her a parting glance and then left the room. The second the door closed behind him Bronwen fell on her knees again beside the bed and pulled off the cloak which covered Claudius.
She gasped and bit her lip, grasping the edge of the bed with one hand. The dressing on Claudius’ abdomen was already soaked with blood, and she peeled it back carefully as the door opened a crack and Maeve slipped into the room.
“How is he?” the old woman asked, squatting next to Bronwen on the cold tiled floor.
Bronwen gestured helplessly at the wounded man, unable to answer the question.
Maeve bent over the patient and wiped the blood away with the edge of Claudius’ torn tunic.
“Not so bad,” she said in a clinical tone. “It’s two clean cuts, not very deep. Fenugreek to draw the wound, a green yew poultice to keep it clean, foxglove for the pain.”
“The Roman general said not to touch him until the physician gets here,” Bronwen told her quietly, meeting her eyes with a sidelong, searching glance.
“By then it may be too late. Do you want him to live?”
“Don’t ask such stupid questions. Can you help him?”
“I brought you and your brother and a hundred others into this world, a far more difficult task than nursing this one back to health. He’s young and strong and has you to live for, he will survive this.”
“He doesn’t know that he has me to live for, Maeve,” Bronwen said wretchedly. “I had a terrible fight with him night before last and he didn’t come back here until he was brought in this morning on a stretcher.”
“Then you must let him know how you feel. But for the moment get me a basin and heat some water over the fire. I’ll need soap and bandages too, I want to change this dressing.”
Bronwen rose to obey, their roles reversed in light of Maeve’s superior knowledge.
“How will you get the medicines that you will need?” Bronwen asked Maeve.
“I’ll tell Scipio’s wife I have to go back to the camp for some herbs that she wants me to use in a special chicken dish. My medicines are stored there too. If she sends me in the Scipio carriage I can get what I need and be back by this evening.”
Bronwen nodded. “While you’re there find Parex and tell him to get a message to my brother out at that stable where he stays. I want to see him tonight. Tell him it’s very important.”
“I will. Now go and get the bandages,” Maeve said. She took a square of linen from her sleeve and mopped Claudius’ brow.
Bronwen turned in the doorway and looked back at the injured man in the bed.
Live, she said to him fiercely in her mind. Live and I will make it all up to you.
She rushed from the room to get the supplies the midwife had requested.
Claudius was lying in a lake of fire. Every fiber of his being ached and he was so hot that he dreamed of a pool in Etruria where the waters were cool and clear as crystal, where birds perched in the trees and the shade was plentiful. But then a face swam into view and he was confused. It was Bronwen. What was she doing in the Etruscan countryside? She didn’t want him, she had made that plain. She would never have come so far with a man she despised, but he saw the bronze hair, the heart shaped face, the cat’s eyes. He groaned and tossed on the sheet, mumbling unintelligibly.
Bronwen stepped back from the bed, turning to Maeve in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” she said. “Why is he babbling like that?”
“He’s delirious with fever,” Maeve said, wiping the injured man’s forehead with a wet cloth.
“His skin is like burning coals,” Bronwen said worriedly, touching his hand.
Maeve nodded. “It’s to be expected. If this liquid works on him he will cool down in a few hours.”
“What is it?” Bronwen asked anxiously.
“A serum made from tree bark,” Maeve replied, stirring the mixture in a wooden cup.
“Tree bark!”
“I know what I’m doing,” Maeve said. “You asked me to tend to him, now stop interfering and questioning everything I do.” Maeve lifted Claudius’ head and put the cup to his lips. He swallowed a small amount and then coughed as Maeve let his head slip back to the bed.
“Where is that physician?” Bronwen muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“The earliest he can be here is sometime tomorrow,” Maeve observed, pulling back the sheet to check the poultice she had applied to Claudius’ abdomen.
“How do you know that?” Bronwen demanded.
“The general was here while you were gone. He sent his own carriage with four guards to get the Greek, but even Scipio cannot put wings on the wheels.”
“I hope he will arrive in time,” Bronwen whispered.
“I’ll keep this one alive until then,” Maeve said confidently.
“How can you be sure?”
“I know my business,” Maeve replied simply. “I understand that you and all the other young people here think that I am nothing but a foolish old woman, but I was learning cures from the Caledonians before any of you were born.” She refilled the cup from a jug and added, “You’d better go out and find your brother. He said he would come at moonrise and it’s nearly that time.”
Bronwen pulled on her lambskin boots and wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders.
“I won’t be gone very long,” she said to the midwife. “Take good care of him.”
Maeve nodded, and Bronwen slipped from the room. She made rapid progress through the house, nodding at the two servants she encountered, and
was relieved to see that the kitchen was unoccupied. She went out the back door and peered up and down the alley, which appeared to be empty.
“Brettix!” she called softly.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped.
“I’m here,” her brother said.
Bronwen turned to face him. “How could you betray me?” she hissed at him.
“What are you talking about?” Her brother was a hulking shadow with his back to the moon, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.
“My husband was assaulted and almost killed. Can you tell me how that could have happened?”
“I heard he was wounded,” Brettix said mildly.
“You heard he was wounded, that’s all you have to say? We’ve met how many times in the last month, and each time we talked you promised me that he would be spared! You said that nothing would happen to him!”
Brettix shrugged. “This is a war, everyone takes his own chance. The men Parex sent must have confused him with somebody else, or else they just saw the uniform and knew he was an officer. The Romans are trained to take orders from a superior, and if you interrupt the chain of command they flounder. They can’t act independently. You can’t fault Parex for pursuing a good target.”
“I can fault you for ignoring my request.”
“What does it matter, Bronwen, a Roman officer is a Roman officer,” he said dismissively.
She winced to hear him echo her own words. “It matters because the man is my husband. He’s been good and kind to me, and I specifically asked you to leave him alone.”
Brettix stared at her. “I thought you wanted him spared because you didn’t want suspicion to fall on you, but now I’m not so sure. What’s going on, Bronwen?”
“You lied to me!”
“I didn’t lie to you, it was a mistake. And exactly why do you care so much?”
&nb
sp; “I’ll tell you why I care. Last night when he didn’t come home I seized the opportunity to search his study again. Do you know what I found there, on a little wax tablet he uses to keep notes for himself? A reminder to send a directive to the prison camps telling the wardens to look for you, and if they located you, not to harm you. That’s right, Brettix, he’s been searching for you, my supposedly lost brother, for my sake, unaware that you are alive and well and busily plotting his destruction!”
Brettix folded his arms and regarded her coldly. “Whose side are you on all of a sudden? Have you let his manly muscles and pretty black hair blind you to who he is?”
“You’re the one who’s blind. You’re so obsessed with blood lust that you’re threatening the peace, staging these little surprise raids of yours. Have you forgotten that the plan was for us to lay low and seem to accept the treaty, then let me use that time to get inside information about when to strike?”
“And what information have you gotten? Nothing! You’re too busy playing snuggle up and squeeze with your prize Roman bull!”
Bronwen slapped him. He stared at her, his eyes going wide with surprise as the corner of his mouth began to bleed; he felt the moisture on his tongue.
“I am not sleeping with him,” she said quietly. “I’ve told you that before, Brettix, and I expect you to believe it.”
“But you want to, little sister, don’t you? Very badly.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business when your behavior threatens all of us.”
“Keep up the raids and you’ll see who’s threatening our safety.”
“Borrus has sent word to stop the raids,” Brettix replied stonily. “He’s afraid the Romans will think it’s not the work of random hotheads but a concerted effort with his blessing. If Scipio sees the raids as a violation of the treaty it may put you in danger.”
Bronwen sighed with relief. “I’m glad Father is at least showing some sense.”
“So you can go back to your romance, and if you can find time between trysts you see what information you can pick up,” Brettix said to her, sneering.
The Lion and the Lark Page 11
