The Lion and the Lark

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “What are you waiting for?” Scipio snapped at her, when she hesitated about leaving.

  Lucia lifted her skirt with one hand and fled.

  When she was safely back in her bedroom she sat on the edge of her bed and chewed her fingernails nervously.

  She had to get word to Brettix. She didn’t know what her father had planned for him, but it wouldn’t be good. The Iceni emergency, fortunate from her perspective, would probably occupy her father through the night, which meant that she had until morning to reach Brettix.

  She had to make sure that Brettix was gone by the time her father found a spare moment to deal with him, and she couldn’t trust anyone enough to take such a message for her.

  She would have to walk out to the garrison stables and tell Brettix herself.

  Lucia made plans in her head all through dinner with her mother, nodding and smiling as Drucilla chattered about her layout for a spring garden (a suitable fantasy to get her through the hard winter.) When Drucilla went off after dinner to meet with the prospective gardener, Lucia slipped back to her room and got out her warmest clothes. She made a pile of them and shoved them under her bed, planning to take a route that was safe enough by full moonlight once she was dressed and ready to go.

  She knew a secret way out of the fort, and after her parents were asleep she was going to use it. There was a hole under the wire reinforced fence directly behind her house, and it was just out of sight of the posted guards. She had used it before when she wanted to take a forbidden night ride, and had filled it in carefully with rocks so her father would not notice it. If she dug it out again she could crawl under the fence, and then it was a simple matter of slipping through the high timber gates when they were opened to admit a new arrival or permit a departure. Traffic came and went at all hours; she would have to be patient, but sooner or later a large enough contingent would allow her to pass through unnoticed. She was small and fast and could make herself unobtrusive when she chose, a trick she had learned in childhood to escape the wrath of her father.

  Her plan would take time, but she had executed it before for lesser reasons. When it came to getting what she wanted, Lucia had the patience of Caesar, waiting and circling the fortification at Alesia while the trapped Gauls starved.

  She changed into her nightgown and got into bed, listening for the sounds that would indicate her mother had retired.

  CHAPTER eight

  Brettix took off his boots and lay down on his bunk. The room in which he lived above the stables consisted of little more than a bed and a chair and a scarred wooden table, but he didn’t need much else. The fireplace was huge, taking up almost all of one wall, and he got his wood as well as his meals from the groom in the stables. He was warm and well fed, at the expense of the man he was plotting to destroy, so he should have been content.

  But that man was also Lucia’s father.

  He hadn’t seen Lucia since the day she finally made the jump, and he didn’t know if he would be employed by the general much longer. Lucia’s horsemanship was improving daily, and he may have scared her off with his sudden burst of affection the last time he saw her. The loss of the job didn’t bother him; he had already learned enough to mastermind a break through the fort wall which should have taken place already. If all went well it would result in some stolen Roman weaponry for his men. But he had come to depend on his sustained contact with Lucia and he didn’t want to think about losing it.

  He had discovered on the days between lessons that time hung heavy on his hands when he didn’t see her. She had been a bright spot in a dreary frozen landscape. With Lucia gone there was nothing left to live for except his campaign against the Romans, and he was learning that the object of hatred lost its malignant luster when it wore a human face.

  The Roman face he knew best was Lucia’s.

  The wind howled through the chinks in the stable walls and he pulled the sheepskin pelt at the foot of the cot up to his shoulders. He was too tired to get up and renew the fire, so it burned low as he fell asleep.

  It was a bunch of burning embers when he was roused by pounding on the door at the top of the stairs which led down to the stable. He sat up, his heart leaping in his chest, wondering if one of his Iceni comrades had been arrested at the fort and given him up to Scipio.

  Then heard Lucia’s voice and he bolted from the bed, knocking over a chair in his haste to get to her. He ripped open the door and found her standing on the raw wooden landing, blue with cold, her feet soaked through, shivering too hard to say anything more than his name.

  “Lucia!” he gasped, still struggling with the confusion of sleep as he seized her hands and dragged her into his room. “Tuatha da dann, you’re half frozen! What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  She shook her head, her teeth chattering. He realized that the questions would have to wait until she had regained her equilibrium. He righted the chair and dragged it next to the fire, then stripped her of her shaggy woolen cloak and wet sheepskin boots. Her bare feet were alarmingly white; he had seen frostbite many times and once she was seated he quickly pinched one of her toes.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  She nodded, shivering.

  He sighed with relief and left her long enough to fan the fire, adding chips from a basket next to the hearth to get it going strong again, then piling on logs when it was blazing. The warmth rapidly dispersed into the room, but when he saw that her clothes were also damp and she was still shaking he said, “Lucia, you have to undress all the way. I’ll give you my tunic to wear.”

  She rose obediently and stripped, turning away from him. He had a quick glimpse of her slender naked back as he handed her his warmest shirt, which fell past her knees once she had slipped it over her head. She sat again as he seized his jug of corma and poured some of it into the kettle hanging over the fire. When it was heated he poured it into a wooden cup, handing it to her and dropping his sheepskin over her lap.

  She sat staring into the fire, sipping slowly, her rigor lessening until it ceased altogether. When he saw that she had recovered he knelt next to her and asked gently, “Lucia, what happened? Why did you walk all the way out here on such a cold night?”

  She looked at him, her dark brown eyes huge in her pale face. “My father knows,” she whispered.

  “Knows what?”

  She looked away from him, then back. “My bodyguard, Larsendt, the man who rides with me when I come for the lessons?”

  Brettix nodded.

  “He saw you kiss me that last day we were together and he told my father.”

  Bretix sat back on his heels, his expression changing as he thought over what she had just related to him.

  “What exactly did your father say to you?” he finally asked her, his tone sober.

  “He said that he was sending me back to Rome, but he tried to pretend that it was because I was bored or not keeping my mother company or something. When I argued with him he became angry and admitted that Larsendt had spied on us.”

  “I’ll have to take care of that Swiss the next time I see him,” Brettix said savagely.

  “Please, Brettix, don’t do anything to him, it will just make this worse,” she said, tears springing into her eyes.

  “All right, don’t worry about it. What else?”

  Lucia took a deep breath. “I had to come here tonight and warn you because I don’t know what my father is going to do. Under Roman law you could be prosecuted for a crime, stuprum, which carries the death penalty for any slave having a sexual relationship with a free woman. In the colonies the military commander is the chief prosecutor of the courts, so he could have you arrested any time.”

  “I kissed you, Lucia, that’s all.”

  “Do you think that’s going to stop my father? You’re in danger, Brettix, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Why is it your fault? I embraced you...”

  “You never would have done it if you didn’t sense that I wanted it. I didn�
�t think of the consequences for you, just of my own selfish...”

  He put his hand over her mouth, cutting off the flow of speech. “Let’s just say it was both of us. Now listen to me. Do you know if your father gave the order for my arrest?”

  “No, the soldiers would have been here by now if he had. He’s dealing with some trouble with the Iceni tonight, that’s why I knew I had to come now to give you a chance to get away. He will probably get to you in the morning.”

  “All right. I’ll have to go now, and I’ll have to take a horse from the stable.”

  “Take Stella, she’s the sturdiest and she already knows you. The groom sleeps like the dead in the back room, you should be able to get past him with no problem.”

  Brettix nodded as he looked around the room, thinking about what to take with him; he already knew that the groom slept heavily. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots, saying to Lucia, “You can’t wear your cloak, it’s still wet. I have an extra one, it’s threadbare but it will have to do. If you wear two tunics under it you should be all right just for the trip back to the fort.”

  Lucia stared at him. “I’m not coming with you, it will slow you down. You have to get out of here right now, Brettix, haven’t you been listening to me?”

  “I’m not leaving you here to greet your father’s arrest squad,” Brettix said dryly.

  “He won’t kill me.”

  “Lucia, will you please just listen?”

  She took a breath and nodded.

  “If we go double on Stella there’s still a chance you can slip back into your house unnoticed,” Brettix said. “With just one horse missing Scipio won’t know that you came here to warn me, he’ll just know that I’m gone. It will be a lot easier for you if he doesn’t suspect that you were involved in my disappearance. What he wants is for us to be separated, and once he sees that I’ve left I think he will calm down. He will assume that he scared me off and that we won’t see each other again.”

  “Will we?” she asked quietly, her eyes searching his face.

  He opened his arms and she ran into them.

  “I’ll be back,” he said into her ear, holding her tightly and kissing the top of her head. “Trust me.”

  When she stepped back he tilted her chin up and kissed her gently. “Now hurry and get dressed, we’re wasting time.”

  She obeyed him, donning the extra garments as he handed them to her.

  “Where will you go?” she asked him.

  “I have friends not far away,” he said vaguely. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll be fine. But I’m concerned that you will be sent to Londinium before I can get back to you.”

  “I’m not going to Londinium.”

  He looked at her.

  “I will be too ill to travel,” she said, and winked at him.

  He grinned.

  They both wrapped up as warmly as possible in the garments available, hiding Lucia’s discards in a chest, and then crept down the stairwell to the stable. Lucia checked on the groom as Brettix led Stella out of the barn and into the cold night air.

  “He’s asleep?” Brettix asked, as she joined him.

  She nodded.

  “Ready to go?”

  “I’m ready.”

  They mounted, Lucia behind Brettix and clinging to his waist, and the horse slowly picked her way over the frozen ground between the mounds of snow, heading back to the garrison.

  If the temperature was disregarded it was a beautiful night. It was clear with a nearly full moon and millions of stars, and the air was as still as the figures on an Alexandrian urn. There was no sound except the horses’ hooves and their breathing, which caused clouds to form before their faces as they rode. The trip took much less time on horseback, and when the fort came into sight Brettix reined Stella in and slipped to the ground, reaching up to help Lucia dismount.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said, clinging to him when he would have released her.

  “A short time ago you were shoving me out the door of the stable,” he said, smoothing her hair.

  “I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”

  “I promise you that you will.” He hesitated. “What about your fiancé?” he asked.

  “I’m not going to marry anyone I don’t want to marry,” she said firmly, and he held her off to look down at her.

  “Can you sneak me into the house if I come to you?” he asked, the moon shining brightly behind his head.

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “My room is at the back, the door next to the double ones leading out to the portico. You can’t miss it. Come late, after they’re all asleep. I’ll watch for you every night.”

  He embraced her again, closing his eyes.

  At last they understood one another.

  “Lucia, I have to go.”

  “How long before you return?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll come back as quickly as I can. How will you get into the garrison?”

  “The same way I got out.” She told him about her escape route and

  he grinned.

  “You’re a match for old Scipio any day,” he said. He let go of her hand and mounted the horse, reining Stella in and turning her in the opposite direction.

  “Soon,” he said to Lucia, and kicked the horse’s flanks lightly, stirring her into motion.

  Lucia watched him ride off, horse and rider silhouetted against the moon. Then she began to walk briskly over the hard packed ground back to the fort.

  Bronwen walked past the door to her bedroom, then changed direction and retraced her steps, pausing on the threshold.

  Claudius was dressed in his full uniform, his hair trimmed, his beard newly scraped. He was folding garments and packing them into a chest, his back to her.

  “How long before you go?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  “That soon?” she asked, striving to keep her tone even.

  “Scipio saw no reason to delay,” he replied, dropping a tunic on top of the pile and then closing the lid. As he did his page appeared behind Bronwen and said, “I have polished your shield and bucklers and left them for you in the atrium, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Claudius said to him. “You may go.”

  The boy slipped away and Bronwen said, “I take it you are reporting to the barracks today.”

  “I have to get my official orders and I want to say goodbye to some of the men.” His tone was brisk and businesslike; he might have been talking to Ardus.

  “Will you say goodbye to me?” she asked.

  He glanced at her briefly as he buckled on his weapons belt. “Of course.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fine. The skin around the wounds is still a little tight, but that always happens.”

  “You’ll have some new scars to add to the old ones.”

  He said nothing.

  “How many times have you been wounded?” Bronwen asked him curiously.

  He shrugged. “Always honorably in battle before this, though,” he said flatly.

  “As opposed to being jumped by a gang of barbarians?” Bronwen suggested acidly.

  “There are gangs in Rome, too,” he said evenly. “It’s not safe to be in the area of the forum after dark, the politicians hire thugs for one faction or the other and they attack the opposition’s supporters.”

  “And I thought you Romans were all so civilized,” Bronwen commented nastily.

  Claudius looked at her. She had been barely reasonable since he had made the decision to leave.

  “Aren’t you happy that I’m going, Bronwen? I thought this was what you wanted.”

  Bronwen didn’t reply, because she didn’t know what to say.

  One of the servant girls tapped on the door and said in rudimentary Latin, “Quaestor Ardus Cappius to see the master.”

  Claudius nodded. “Show him in here,” he said to the girl, who bowed her head and left.

  “I’ll take my leave of you,�
� Bronwen said dryly. “I don’t think Ardus will want to see me, do you?”

  She walked down the hall and waited until she heard the quaestor’s footsteps, then the murmur of low voices. She inched her way back until the conversation became intelligible.

  “They’re doing the weather charts now,” Ardus said.

  “So when will it be?”

  “Based on the records from previous years, it should be fine for sailing for Rome by April 3.”

  “And when will the troops be gone from Londinium?”

  Ardus said something she couldn’t understand, and then added in a louder tone, “I’ll send you a messenger later.”

  Bronwen realized that Ardus was leaving and stepped inside the open guest room door.

  She would have to get to get a look at that message.

  She dressed carefully for dinner, not sure why except that she wanted Claudius to remember her at her best. She let her hair hang freely down her back and wore a gown the exact shade of her eyes, which made them luminous. She put on the torque and bracelets from her wedding and a golden belt which emphasized the slenderness of her waist. She saw Claudius’ eyes light up with appreciation when she entered the triclinium, and he watched her throughout the meal, as if he had to store up the image for the time when he would no longer see her.

  When the servants had taken away the last of the meal he produced something from the depths of his tunic and said, “I have a parting gift for you.”

  Bronwen followed his progress across the room as he came over to her

  and slipped a metal object into her hand. When he stepped back she saw that it was a golden fibula, a brooch with a fastening pin which Roman women used to secure their draped garments. On the embossed surface was the image of a barefoot young woman with abundant bound hair dressed in a short, belted tunic which left her arms and legs bare. She was pictured with a drawn bow in her hands, a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Diana, our goddess of the hunt. She is always depicted as wild and free, and the many stories about her emphasize her beauty and her courage.” He resumed his position on his couch, picking up his goblet. “You have always reminded me of her.”