by H. B. Ashman
“Get away from me! And what are you looking at, slave whore?” she barked at Amalia, who was smart enough to stay quiet. Domitia swirled around and stomped back to her carriage.
Arminius scratched the back of his neck. “Women are confusing and frightening creatures. That one in particular.”
Amalia nodded, still staring at the carriage, which was moving once more.
“Amalia,” Arminius said, using her name for only the second time since they’d met. This must be serious.
“Yes?”
“Listen carefully. You cannot tell anybody else about your ability to fight—or these other talents of yours.”
“Why not?”
Arminius pursed his lips. “Because Germanic slaves are already among the most expensive in the empire. If people find out about your talents, it will make slave owners offer sums for you that I could never pay.”
Amalia raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want to buy me?”
Arminius nodded. “I have already sent for money from my estate in Rome. Marius will allow it, I am certain. But if you become any more valuable . . . I can’t outbid a gladiator master. They are the richest in all of Rome, and Marius needs the money for the centurions.”
Amalia studied Arminius. “Why are you doing this?”
“So you can teach me how to fight.” Arminius smiled.
“I’m not stupid. What do you really want from me?”
Arminius’s smirk vanished, and he looked into her eyes as if searching for an answer.
“I am not certain. I know the gods have sent you to me for a reason. I just don’t know why yet.”
He seemed sincere, but Amalia remained silent. Arminius would not be the worst of masters, she knew that, but the word master gave her goose bumps. She didn’t want to be a slave, but how could she convince Arminius to let her go? And where would she go? Back to the lake? How?
“And . . . so you can teach me how to fight,” he added, his boyish smirk returning. This time, Amalia smiled back. She had to admit that the idea of throwing Arminius around eased her anger considerably.
“You’ll have to be prepared to get hurt. Your pride as much as your ass.”
For the first time, they both laughed together.
“We shall start as soon as I return from Lugdunum,” Arminius said. “Away from the camp would be best. Look for a campfire after dark, near the front gate. We will train there.”
“Make sure to let Cassius know or he’ll think I’m running away.”
Arminius nodded. “I am glad I found you.” Then he turned his horse and rode off to join Germanicus and the rest of Domitia’s escort. Amalia watched him until he was lost among the crowd of soldiers.
This was good. She was making progress with Arminius. Maybe they could become friends. A step closer to her freedom.
“Just a little longer.” This time, it almost sounded like she meant it.
Chapter Twelve
M arius stood on top of a mountain canyon and watched his marching legion below as the wind blew against the fur cloak on his shoulders. This was the coldest part of the mountain range, one of its highest peaks, and although there was no snow yet, the nights were brutal. Still, there was a might to these mountains’ white peaks and deep lush valleys that never ceased to amaze him. Quintus, Germanicus, and Arminius rode their horses next to his. They heard a screeching overhead and looked up to see an enormous white bird circling high above their heads. It was an amazing creature. It looked like an owl, but it was the size of an eagle. Strangely enough, Marius felt as if he had seen this very same bird in Germania. The day after they had crushed the rebellion for Lucius, he had seen a bird just like this one sitting high on a pine tree, watching him.
“It always makes me feel small, being so high up,” Marius said, still staring at the bird.
“There is a humble wisdom in that,” Quintus said.
Arminius turned to face Quintus. “Have you been sharing wine with the philosopher from the supply train again?”
Quintus grunted. “I did indeed.”
The group broke out into laughter. Even Marius couldn’t help but smile. Quintus had been by his side for many years; he was loyal, his heart still pure despite the many horrors he had done and seen. He was like a brother. Marius watched as Quintus’s smile faded and his gaze drifted to the ground, a look Marius knew well.
“What is it, Quintus?”
“It might be nothing.”
“Or it might be the philosopher spiking the wine,” Arminius said, with a grin still on his lips.
“Shut your mouth, boy,” Quintus said.
“Boy?”
“Yes, boy. I’d already taken my first life when you were still swimming in your mother’s slit.”
Arminius’s grin faded, but Germanicus threw his head back in laughter. As camp prefect, Quintus was the one who trained the tribunes. He was third in command after the broad-striped tribune, Gnaeus, but Marius knew whom the men held in higher regard.
“If it wasn’t Arminius’s tongue, what is troubling you?” Marius asked.
“The rebellion . . . some of the men have heard rumors that Bato the Breucian is leading it,” Quintus said.
“King Pinnes’s commander?” Marius frowned.
“Yes. But it’s only a rumor.”
“Who spreads such rumors?” Germanicus asked.
Quintus cleared his throat. “Prostitutes.”
The group was silent for a moment.
“Prostitutes are the true spies of Rome,” Arminius said.
“If the tribal king is truly behind this rebellion and is sending Bato the Breucian as his henchman,” Germanicus said, “wouldn’t that mean that this small rebellion, in truth, has the strength of an army?”
“An army with artillery,” Marius said. “It would mean war with Pannonia, not crushing a few mountain pirates. How far ahead is Germania I?”
“Over a week,” Quintus answered. “Should we send a messenger to King Pinnes? Maybe he’s simply lost control of Bato the Breucian. His army has not moved since we left Salona, and he gave his word not to raise arms again,” Quintus said.
“King Pinnes is known for keeping his word,” Arminius added.
“I’m afraid this will have to wait. If we send a messenger to King Pinnes and he is indeed behind all of this, we will simply be alerting him of our intent to intercede. He will openly send his whole army to join the rebels. We would need more than three legions to fight all the Pannonian tribes, God forbid the tribes of Dalmatia join them. All of Illyricum would tumble into war once more.” Marius drew his brows together. “Germanicus.”
“Yes, my Legate.”
“Send a messenger to Lucius Ahenobarbus. Tell him the rebels might be heavily armed and outnumber his Germania I. Tell him . . . tell Lucius to wait for us. That he shall command the attack.”
“Why give him that honor?” Germanicus asked. “If this rebellion really has an army, Rome will treat its defeat as a provincial victory. Augustus could award Pannonia to Lucius, maybe even all of Illyricum.”
Marius pressed his lips tight before speaking. “Believe me when I tell you that I would rather die a hundred deaths than see Lucius turn Illyricum into his personal shrine. But Germania I belongs to Rome, not to him. They are our brothers. We cannot send them to be slaughtered. And if the rebels are victorious, other tribes might join. Tens of thousands could perish.”
Nobody said a word. The air had become thick between them.
Germanicus broke the silence. “As Quintus said, humble wisdom.” He turned his horse back down the slope. Marius watched him go. The worst part of all of this was that they wouldn’t even be in this situation if Lucius had not specifically asked for Marius’s aid in Germania.
“If this were a play,” Arminius said, “then Lucius would have caused the uprising himself as a trap.” Arminius looked at the others, clearly waiting for someone to refute him. Marius would have done just that, but the boy was speaking the painful truth. Luciu
s had his fangs in Marius’s legion.
“We will unite with Lucius’s Germania I and fight the rebellion,” Marius said. “With him, or under him, he shall decide.” Marius looked up at the great white bird once more as it circled them one last time before flying off into the horizon. “At least my mistake will be of the mind and not the heart,” he said before he, too, turned his horse and rode down the narrow path back to his marching legion, followed by Arminius and Quintus.
The cold mountain winds stirred the fire, sending hundreds of little sparks into the air. Amalia was sitting on a rock and staring into the flames. Weeks had passed since she’d seen the Aqueduct of the Gier and come to the realization that she had traveled back in time. And despite the fact that she was two thousand years in the past, she found herself recognizing the landscape. The dense forests, the mirror-glass lakes, and the endless sky-high mountains left no doubt that she was somewhere southeast of the Alps.
As they traveled, Amalia would meet Arminius at these little campfires. They made them far enough from the camp that nobody would bother them, but close enough for Arminius to hear the camp’s horn in case they were under attack.
The first night, while Amalia had been walking by herself through the woods toward the fire, she’d thought about running. She might have made it far enough if she ran like the devil—or an angry Roman soldier—was after her. But she had nowhere to go, no chance of finding the lake, let alone surviving the harsh land on her own.
Amalia picked up a branch and poked the fire, watching more sparks shoot out. The flames were hypnotizing. She thought of Anni and her mother again, like she did every night when her feet finally stopped marching. Were they well? Living their lives without her, in some alternate timeline? Or were they simply not born yet? No matter how often she went over her predicament, nothing made sense.
“Drusus,” she said into the flames. That was the last word she’d heard before she lost consciousness in the lake. She had asked Arminius about that name, but all she was able to find out was that Drusus was the name of several men of prominent Roman families, the most famous being Germanicus’s father, a dead general. Another dead end.
The sound of snapping branches startled her, and just as she was jumping to her feet, she felt the warm touch of a hand on her left shoulder. Instinctively, she grabbed the arm. In one smooth motion, she dropped to a knee and flipped the body over her shoulder. It landed on the hard ground with a thud. Amalia looked down to see Arminius. He greeted her with a grimace and a nod, rubbing the back of his head. Amalia let go, rose back to her feet, and crossed her arms—a gesture she seemed to be doing a lot around Arminius.
“I told you not to sneak up on me,” she said. “I could have accidentally thrown you onto a rock, or the fire.”
Arminius sat up, eyeing the flames and patting dust from his tunic and cloak. “Don’t get too excited. Killing me won’t give you your freedom,” he said.
Though she knew he was being playful, the words hit her like a slap in the face. She sat down on the rock again.
Arminius’s smile faded as he caught her eye. “Do you miss your tribe and family?” he asked.
“I do. Just as much as my freedom.”
They both frowned. It was a sore topic. By now, Arminius and Amalia were more familiar with one another. They had trained together for weeks and exchanged stories at the fire.
“I promise that you will have your freedom someday. Just not yet. At least not until the gods—”
“I told you I don’t believe in omens,” she said. They had been down this road before. Somehow, he’d gotten it in his head that she was an omen from the gods. Amalia sighed. “What does it matter? It’s not like you understand what all of this is like for me anyway.”
Arminius scratched his jaw. “I understand you better than you think. Pity you—”
“Oh yeah? You understand me? When you sit on that nice horse while my feet are bleeding from marching all day? Or maybe when you sleep on your soft sheets at night while I curl up like a dog on the ground?”
Arminius threw his head back in laughter. “Amalia, Amalia. Your tribe must weep with the loss of your humor.” He threw a log into the fire. “What I said earlier was sincere. I understand you better than you think. I was once like you. A prince from a tribe in Germania. But I was taken to Rome with my brother when I was—”
“Wait, what?” Amalia’s mouth dropped open, her mind spinning, old history lessons coming back to her. Arminius, the boy who was taken from his tribe.
“Amalia . . . are you unwell?” Arminius asked, a worried frown on his face.
Amalia stared at him in shock. According to her old textbooks, the man sitting in front of her was the very officer who would betray Rome and destroy several legions in the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest, one of the most disastrous battles in Roman history.
Amalia threw her face into her hands. “But you look so Roman! Your hair is brown, you speak Latin perfectly, you fight for them, and . . .”
“I thought I was the one thrown on the head,” Arminius said.
Amalia took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. But then it struck her. Had she become a part of this story now? Would her presence in this time period change history? She looked up, glancing at Arminius’s Roman tunic and cloak, a Roman solider through and through. There was no way in hell he’d ever betray Rome. He loved Marius more than his own life.
“Amalia, you are worrying me.” Arminius scooted toward her.
Amalia turned her gaze to the fire. Was she changing history with every breath she took? It was the basic law of every time-travel story: the butterfly effect.
Her poor sister and mother. What world did they live in now? Her head was spinning.
Slowly, as if not to startle her, Arminius grabbed Amalia’s hand. She flinched under his rough grip. He loosened his grasp. His gaze turned soft, drifting down to her hands as he turned them in the dim glow of the fire. They were raw and scabbed in places.
“You work too hard,” he said as his eyes moved back to hers. For a moment, they stared at each other, the wood crackling in the fire beside them. Sitting so close to Arminius awakened a strange feeling inside her. His hand was warm, and his dark eyes reflected the flickering flames.
“Amalia,” he whispered. Was he leaning in? No, this could not happen!
Trembling, Amalia pulled her hand from his and turned away. The warmth of his palm was immediately replaced with the cold night air. “I’m fine,” she said, dropping her gaze. Arminius shifted away from her.
“Tomorrow you will ride on the cart.”
“I can walk,” she said.
“Tomorrow you will ride on the cart as I said.” His voice was emotionless. Then he stood and walked to the fire, kicking dirt over it. What was left of the flames hissed and smoked as it died.
The woods surrounding them turned silver from the moonlight.
Amalia bit her lip. She’d offended him. “Arminius . . . I—”
“Let’s go back to camp. We need to rest. Pannonia is getting closer.” Arminius turned and walked away. Motionless, Amalia watched him go as the shadows of the trees swallowed his dark silhouette. Amalia felt lost, lonely, desperate. She was torn apart by a kaleidoscope of emotion. She had nearly drowned, lost all of her family, traveled back in time, become a slave of ancient Rome, and maybe even changed the course of history as the world knew it. Returning home was now just one of two worries. From this day on, she had to make certain that the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest would happen. It was one of Rome’s biggest defeats in history. Without it, who knows what the world would turn into? But how would she do that? She was a slave, nothing more. Maybe she had to get as far away from Arminius as possible.
Amalia lay back on the cool grass and looked at the moon and stars. They glittered and blinked as they always did, undisturbed by her problems.
Until she had more to work with, she would stay close to Arminius. She would watch his every move but stay out of his way as muc
h as possible. It worked in her favor that he believed she was an omen.
Amalia sighed. Now she had to become one for real.
Marius was standing at the edge of the training grounds with a cup of water in his hand as he watched Quintus oversee the men’s weapon training. Unlike other commanders, Marius spent a great deal watching his men practice combat techniques. A commander can learn a lot about his men from watching them fight, his father had told him at one of the many gladiator games Marius had gone to as a boy.
Belli, who was walking one of the warhorses, stopped next to Marius. Both men watched one of their strongest and most experienced centurions, Maximus, use his heavy shield to block an attempted stab from his younger opponent’s wooden sword. Before the young solider could try another blow, Maximus used his shield to shove the soldier off his feet and onto the ground. A few men laughed as the young man gathered himself and limped off the training grounds.
Marius watched as Arminius stepped into the ring and in front of Maximus. Maximus stretched his neck with a confident smile on his lips. Arminius was good, but nobody withstood the wrath of Maximus the Mountain. Arminius dropped his heavy shield, sending a wave of mutters through the rows of men. Maximus looked over to Quintus with raised brows, but Quintus just nodded. Maximus shrugged his shoulders and then launched toward Arminius, stabbing at him with his wooden sword. Without his shield, Arminius had no way to protect himself. He took the stab with a growl of pain, falling to one knee. The crowd laughed again.
“A shield would help,” one of the soldiers called out, causing another eruption of laughter. But instead of leaving the fight, Arminius got back up. Maximus shook his head, waiting for Arminius to get his shield, but Arminius stood motionless.
“Your choice, boy,” Maximus said as he stepped closer, hiding most of his body behind his own heavy shield. Like before, the giant man launched forward, stabbing at Arminius with his wooden sword, but this time Arminius jerked sideways and grabbed Maximus by the wrist of his sword arm, pulling it. Arminius pushed him by his shoulder while placing his right foot behind Maximus’s heel. The ground shook as Maximus hit the dirt, his heavy shield falling beside him. Sword still in hand, Maximus’s baffled gaze shot up at Arminius. The whole training ground was quiet.
