The Lion and the Lark

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Aren’t there mountains in Spain? You must have seen some snow there.”

  “I was never in the mountains. Hannibal described snow too, and so vividly I always wanted to see it.” He looked over at her and smiled. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Seen through your eyes, it is. I’m so accustomed to it that I give it little thought, except as a winter problem that makes travel impossible and

  exposure a hazard.”

  “And you’ve never seen Rome,” he said quietly.

  “Is it wonderful?” Bronwen asked wistfully, forgetting for the moment that she hated its inhabitants. She had never seen a big city; like many country people she burned with curiosity about a way of life she had heard described but could only imagine.

  “It’s as different from Britain as it could possibly be. Not wild and open like this, but hemmed in with public buildings and crowded with all different types of people from all over the world. It’s noisy and dusty and bustling; this kind of stillness and serenity is impossible to obtain anywhere in the city.”

  “Was your wife from Rome too?”

  He looked at her. “How did you know I was married? I never told you that.”

  “When you were sick you...talked.”

  “Out of my head?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “What did I say?”

  “Enough for me to know that she died after having a baby. I’m so sorry.”

  He looked down at his hands. “It was five years ago.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Dead too.”

  “Even Romans are mortal,” she murmured.

  “Her health was always fragile and she developed a fever after the birth. The baby was born much too soon and the best physicians couldn’t save him.”

  “What was she like?” Bronwen asked, feeling a fierce stab of envy for the dead woman who had shared his life and culture in a way that she never could.

  “Very gentle, loving. She was the daughter of a noble house and had been raised to be the perfect upper class wife. She was sweet and submissive...”

  “Not like me,” Bronwen said, thinking out loud.

  “No, not like you,” he agreed, laughing.

  “Thank you,” she said dryly.

  “You have other qualities,” he said, still smiling.

  “Yes? Tell me more.”

  “Courage, loyalty, alluring beauty,” he observed quietly, not smiling now, lifting a silken lock of her hair from her shoulder and then letting it fall back.

  Bronwen felt a lump growing in her throat. Why was he talking like this now, when it was too late? Was it his acceptance of the hopelessness of their situation that was making him open up to her?

  “Wasn’t your wife pretty?” Bronwen asked him.

  “Yes, in the traditional Roman way.”

  “Again, not like me.”

  “No, more like me,” he said, and laughed again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were often taken for brother and sister by people who didn’t know us,” he said.

  “Then she must have been very pretty indeed,” Bronwen said softly, not looking at him.

  He stared at her, watching as she shivered when a chill wind blew, sending a shower of snow from the roof to the ground. He tucked the shawl closer about her shoulders and said quietly, “You don’t hate me any more, do you?”

  She shook her head mutely, still unable to meet his gaze, her throat tight with unshed tears.

  “Is that because I nearly died?”

  “No.”

  “Because you know I’ll be gone soon?”

  “How soon?” she asked.

  “Next nundina, probably. There’s a supply caravan going south to Londinium and I will most likely go with them.”

  Nundina was market day, less than a week away.

  He tilted her chin up with his fingertip. “You may not miss me, but you must promise you won’t forget me,” he said.

  I’ll miss you, she thought, but said, “Claudius, we should go back inside. It’s too cold out here, it can’t be good for you.”

  He turned obediently and followed her back into the house, where they found Maeve looking for them.

  “There you are,” she said to Bronwen. “General Scipio is here to see the master.”

  “Scipio?” Claudius asked.

  Bronwen nodded.

  “I’ll see him in the tablinum, and tell her to bring us some wine immediately.”

  Bronwen gave the instructions and then watched Claudius go, wondering what her life would be like when he had left it for good.

  Scipio turned as Claudius entered the parlor; the general chuckled when he saw his tribune.

  “You’ve gone native, my boy,” he said to him. “Long hair, trousers and all, you look like an Iceni with tarred hair. If they saw you in the forum the mob would tie you to a tree.”

  Claudius grinned sheepishly, running his hand self-consciously over his

  collar. Scipio came forward and clapped him on the back.

  “How are you feeling? It’s wonderful to see you back on your feet. Any ill effects?”

  Claudius shook his head. “I’m a little tired, and the legs are stiff. I felt worse after the chest wound in Spain.”

  “And then you didn’t have a pretty rufa looking after you, eh?” Scipio said jovially.

  Claudius smiled wanly.

  The general gestured for him to sit.

  “Ardus sends his best,” Scipio said.

  Claudius nodded.

  Scipio hesitated. “Are you sure you want to leave the girl?” he finally said

  “I have to.

  Scipio sighed and let that go. “I’ve arranged for your transfer to Londinium, as you requested. I want you to know that I need you here and would be happy to keep you if your change your mind.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re still looking for the brutes who attacked you but we’ll never find them.”

  Claudius nodded again.

  “The girl probably knows who did it.”

  Claudius looked away from him. “I’m aware of that.”

  “She won’t give them up, will she?”

  “No.”

  “So she protects them but nurses you back to health at the same time. What can be going on in her mind?”

  “Too much. That’s why I have to go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What would any woman do in her position?” Claudius asked. “Betray friends and relatives for a man she was forced to marry, an invader who is the enemy of her people?” He shook his head.

  “She cares for you.”

  Claudius shrugged. “It’s not enough, not enough to overcome the long years of hatred. And I’m tired of it. I can’t be with her every day, seeing her, wanting...” He stopped.

  “I understand,” Scipio said quietly.

  Claudius glanced at him in surprise. “You do?”

  “I wasn’t always an old war horse, lion cub. I was young once, and I remember what it’s like when the blood runs hot.” Scipio sighed. “My own daughter has just given me cause to remember it very well.”

  Claudius looked at him inquiringly, but Scipio waved his hand dismissively. “Something I must deal with when I get home,” he said obliquely. “But I do regret that this treaty arrangement has resulted in such unhappiness for you.”

  “Does a general usually care about such things?” Claudius asked with a smile.

  “A good general does. The high morale of his soldiers is the foundation of victory. And you are much more than just one of my soldiers, you know that. I was your father’s closest friend. And you have served me uncomplainingly in many venues and under the worst possible circumstances. We both know that with just a little effort you could have found a way to stay home and tend your vineyards.”

  “That wasn’t just my duty to the state,” Claudius said flatly. “When Vespasia died I wanted to get away.”

  Scipio spread h
is hands. “The benefit to me and to the army was the same. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “Let the girl stay here in this house after I am gone,” Claudius said quietly. “Let her keep her servants and receive all the respect and protection due to her as a Roman officer’s wife, so that no one outside these walls knows the true nature of our parting. Will you do that for me?”

  “You have my word,” Scipio said.

  Claudius nodded, satisfied.

  Maeve tapped on the door, then entered carrying a wooden tray. She placed a goblet of wine before each man and then left without looking at either one of them.

  “I know that crone healed you, but she makes my skin itch,” Scipio said balefully. “In the old days under the Gracchi she would have been burned as a witch.”

  “She casts no spells, unless you consider folk medicine a form of magic,” Claudius said.

  “I’ve heard she has the second sight,” Scipio said, taking a drink from his cup.

  “That’s possible.”

  “You believe it?”

  “I have reason to believe it.”

  Scipio stared at him. “You HAVE gone native, haven’t you? You’ve grown more superstitious than the pontifex maximus during the Kalends. You were once very practical and disdained such ideas as the rankest ignorance. What has changed you?”

  “Living here?” Claudius suggested, half smiling.

  “I’d better get you to Londinium as quickly as possible,” Scipio said dryly, rising. “It’s not Rome, but it’s quite a bit more civilized than this outpost in the wilds. Please excuse me now. I have that domestic matter to attend to, and it won’t wait.”

  Claudius watched him go thoughtfully, wondering what had him looking so worried.

  In Roman Britain, ten months after the assassination of Julius Caesar, it could be anything.

  Lucia lay on her bed and stared up at the stuccoed ceiling of her house, counting the swirls the artisan had left in the cement. She didn’t know what to do with herself, so she did nothing, passing the time recalling her last lesson with Brettix and wondering what he was thinking.

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she recalled how eagerly she had kissed him, clinging to him like a painted whore strolling the Via Flaminia. Was she so desperate that she had to fling herself on the first man she had any prolonged contact with, a man who probably had no interest in her beyond teaching her to ride? Apparently so, because she couldn’t seem to forget his embrace, as brief as it had been.

  But why had he kissed her, if he didn’t want her? Was it just an involuntary male reaction? Had she misinterpreted his genuine joy at her riding success, taken it to mean more than just a teacher’s pride in his student’s achievement? Lucia had thought about it until her mind was numb, but there were no answers.

  She was startled from her reverie by a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” she said in a bored tone, thinking that it was another summons from her mother to help organize the household linens or play a game of tiles.

  The door opened and Ariovistus stood on the threshold.

  “Your father wishes to speak to you in his study, my lady,” the slavemaster said in his mildly accented Latin.

  Lucia sighed and rose, brushing past the servant, thinking that this would be the latest in a series of lectures on a singular subject: how she was ignoring her mother.

  No wonder she was throwing herself at Brettix. Her life had an everlasting sameness that would make a cloistered Vestal’s routine seem lively.

  Her father was sitting behind his desk, his hands folded, waiting for her. This gave Lucia a moment’s pause. He was usually reading before he began one of his monologues and she had to stand before him like a chastened schoolboy until he put aside his scroll and began the recitation. The fact that she had his full attention as soon as she arrived gave her a sudden sense that this interview would be a little different from the previous ones.

  “Sit down, Lucia,” he said, indicating the chair facing his desk.

  She sat.

  “It has become increasingly apparent to me that you are very unhappy here,” he said.

  Lucia opened her mouth to form a tart reply, but he held up a silencing hand.

  “Let me finish. You are barely civil to your mother, and you know how lonely she is. You avoid her whenever possible and when you are forced to be with her you make it clear you would rather be elsewhere. I know you didn’t want to come to Britain, you were very vocal about that at the time I received my orders, and since you are providing no companionship for your mother anyway I have decided to send you back home.”

  Lucia’s face went blank with shock.

  “But...but I can’t sail for Rome now,” she mumbled, blurting out the first thing that came into her head.

  “No, but you can go to Londinium and wait there until the boats start sailing in the spring. As it happens Claudius Leonatus will be going south soon with a supply convoy and you can accompany him, traveling under his protection. I have arranged for you to stay with Julia Agripinna Valeria until I can book passage for you under military escort on one of the ships returning to Rome, probably in April. Once you are home we will of course execute your marriage contract as previously planned.”

  Lucia stared at him, her mind racing. She didn’t for a moment believe that her father had developed a sudden sensitivity to her feelings and decided to ship her home. Not after he had dragged her halfway around the world to keep her under his supervision and to prove to his troops that living in Britain was perfectly safe. Now he was about to send her back across the seas with strangers while he stayed behind with his wife? No. There had to be more to it.

  Something else had spurred his decision, and if she obeyed him she would never see Brettix again.

  “What if I don’t want to go?” she asked, stalling for time.

  “Your life here is so rich that you would miss it?” her father countered, watching her reaction.

  “That’s not the point. I’m a grown woman now, isn’t it time for me to make some of my own decisions?”

  “If you’re mature enough to make the right ones.”

  “So you’re just going to ship me off like a package?”

  “I can’t leave this place, my orders keep me here,” Scipio replied irritably, as he saw that she wasn’t going to accept his explanation and he would probably be forced to part with the real one. “For the sake of appearances your mother, however unwillingly, must stay here with me. But you can go at any time.”

  “Why do I have to?”

  “Because you have a husband waiting for you back in Rome and he has waited long enough!” Scipio replied.

  “You weren’t worried about that when you brought me out here,” Lucia said reasonably.

  “Enough!” Scipio shouted, thumping his desk with his fist. “For once in your life you will do as I say. The subject is closed.”

  Lucia didn’t move, her gaze speculative. “What is it, Father? What’s really going on here?”

  Scipio closed his eyes. “Why can’t you ever, just once, accept what I tell you?”

  “Because you are usually lying to me,” Lucia said calmly.

  Scipio picked up the golden seal lying his desk and flung it at her head. “How dare you say that to me! Do you want the truth? Very well, you shall have it. I am sending you away to prevent you from disgracing this family by sleeping with the help!”

  Lucia blanched, stunned. It took several moments for the full implications of what he had just said to register in her mind.

  “That’s right,” her father said, as her face changed. “I know about your little romance with your riding instructor.”

  Lucia gasped. “Have you been spying on me?”

  “Fortunately for me your bodyguard is a more loyal employee than your horse trainer. When the Helvetiian saw your teacher becoming overly familiar with his student he felt that it was his duty to report the situation to me.”

  “How could he se
e anything?” Lucia demanded, outraged. “I sent him back to the stables every time I had a lesson.”

  “You are very naive, child. I am paying him, not you.”

  “You mean he was coming back to hide and watch us?” Lucia said, her eyes narrowing as she understood what had happened. He had not gone away as ordered at the end of her last lesson; he must have seen the kiss.

  “The guard’s conduct is not at issue here!” Scipio thundered, thinking that his daughter could give lessons in obfuscation to the solicitors in the forum law courts. “Lucia, how could you form an alliance with this...this horseman, a Briton who surely hates us and is laughing up his homespun sleeve at you?”

  “Nothing has happened,” Lucia said dully.

  “I’m sure due to lack of opportunity, and I am going to make certain there isn’t one in the future,” Scipio said crisply.

  His tone alarmed Lucia. “What are you going to do to Brettix?” she asked warily.

  “That is my business, not yours.”

  He looked up as Ariovistus slipped through the half-open door and stood with his hands folded behind his back.

  “Don’t you knock?” Scipio demanded angrily of the servant, glaring at him.

  “I am sorry, general, but I thought you would want to have this message at once,” Ariovistus said smoothly.

  “What is it?”

  “Your quaestor Ardus Cappius has sent word that some of the renegade Iceni have broken through the fort wall. You are needed at the barracks immediately.”

  Scipio closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Has anything been taken?” he asked.

  “Weapons from the arsenal. Broadswords, some short spears and javelins...”

  “Scuta ?” Scipio inquired.

  Ariovistus nodded. The large, well made Roman shields which covered a man from chin to knees, reinforced with brass bosses, were what the Iceni lacked most.

  Somebody was very smart.

  The general stood and addressed Lucia.

  “I want you to stay at home and have cena with your mother. We will discuss this matter further in the morning. You may go.”

  Lucia rose from her seat.