Alaric lifted the spoon, let the thin unappetizing liquid trickle over the lip and dropped it back into the bowl. It splashed across the desk. He sighed heavily.
“Is there something wrong?” The woman who’d brought the meal to his room seemed genuinely concerned.
“Do you know what is being served tonight?”
“I don’t work in the kitchen. I was passing and they asked me to bring this to you.” Her eyes were troubled. “If it is not to your liking, I will take it back.” She reached for the bowl.
Alaric waved her away. “Leave it.”
She stood there, puzzled.
“What is your name?” he asked, making his tone gentle. It wasn’t her fault. He knew right enough where the fault lay and taking out his temper on this woman wouldn’t garner any sympathy from Diana.
“Evadne,” the woman replied shyly.
Alaric eyed the woman’s statuesque form. Full in hip and breast, clear skinned, dark hair and eyes but the skin was pure and white. “You’re Celtic,” he guessed. “How did you come to be here?”
“I was married to a soldier and when he was injured he returned to Eboracum. Marcellus offered him a tenant plot here.”
“He was Roman?”
“Yes but he was a good man.” She ducked her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “He died four years ago.”
Alaric found his body reacting to her subtle interest despite the unexpectedness of it. He tried to ignore the pleasant tightening of his nerves, the familiar call. “They kept you on here, anyway?”
She nodded. “I am the best weaver and seamstress.” She smiled. “I have a place in the workrooms…next to the baths.”
“I will remember that.”
“That would please me.” She smiled again and left.
Alaric stared at the closed door. Perhaps the solstice would not be as bleak as he had supposed. He picked up the spoon to eat but ended up pushing it around the bowl, thinking of feminine delights. He was interrupted by a loud thumping on the door.
“Enter!” he called.
Rhys pushed inside and shut the door with a thud. He shivered inside his cloak, his whole tree-like body quivering like a nervous colt. “We’ll have snow before the day’s out, more than likely.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Is it?” Rhys jabbed a finger at Alaric’s breakfast bowl. “It’s the same pap they’ve been serving since we got here.”
“True.”
“How’s a man to keep up his strength with food like this? It’s not good enough, sir. We need meat! Bread! This sort of stuff will have our teeth rotting and our blood like water inside a month!”
“True,” Alaric agreed again.
“And it’s the solstice!” Rhys shook his head, doleful. “Griffin’s likely to burst into tears if he cannot have his feast.”
“Why don’t you select a handful of men and go hunt down something for Griffin’s feast, then?”
“We can?” Rhys asked hopefully.
Alaric nodded. The day wasn’t only significant to the Christians among them. There were a number of worshippers of Mithras among his men, although they kept the fact close to their chests. Alaric knew that tonight was also a special night for them and if he did not give a dispensation they would steal away from their posts. “We can skip drills for today,” he told Rhys. “Although duty at the beacon still holds and any man who neglects his roster will pay the consequences.”
Rhys smiled his slow, rare smile. “That sounds fair, sir.” He left to tell the men, still smiling.
Alaric wished all problems could be solved as simply. He pushed away the offensive breakfast bowl and stood. Just past dawn and already he had been handed problems to deal with.
He reached for his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before opening the door. The gusts of air both visitors had brought in had chilled the room despite the hot air that rose from the hypocaust vents in the floors and walls. Diana had the furnace burning night and day. Wood, it appeared, was plentiful. But the heated air could not compete with the chill. That and Rhys’ prediction of snow were warning enough. Alaric dressed warmly.
Outside, the air was indeed crisp but refreshing. He had intended to start his search for Diana in the kitchen where he would be guaranteed to find someone, but he took his time, enjoying the air. His room was on the west wing of the house and the kitchen was tucked away in the north east corner, between private rooms and the closed doors of the public ones—including the splintered door of the dining room.
Alaric had learned within a day of their arrival that the villa had been raided by Saxons, which was why there were no men on the estate. Given that the estate was being run by women, it was a well-ordered and organized place. That was Diana’s doing.
The fiery woman possessed an amazing ability to oversee every aspect of the running of the estate—she kept every strand of command tight in her tiny fist. Alaric wondered where she drew her energy from for she seemed too small to contain the heat and fury that constantly emanated from her.
She would unexpectedly appear among a group of workers, dressed in the short tunic and trews. She would glance around once, take in every detail, then correct their progress. Talking volubly, her hands would sketch out details in the air. Then she would depart. She expected precision and speed from everyone and invariably, unexpectedly, got just that.
Alaric had never seen her smile. He had never, in fact, seen her anything but angry or hostile. It made every contact with her draining. Alaric kept communication with her to the barest minimum and without fail walked away from any contact with his temper stirred and a determination that he would not deal with her again.
It wasn’t right for a woman to be that way. She should be malleable, gentle. Diana was a feral kitten with sharp claws and teeth who could scratch, her fur constantly raised, the back arched…one approached such a creature with extreme wariness, if at all.
Alaric pushed the curtain covering the kitchen doorway aside and stepped inside. It was hot. On the stone hearth, kettles and pots were bubbling. At the table Sosia stood mixing some sort of dough. Minna was at her side.
Smells of stewing meat and fresh hot bread made Alaric’s mouth water and his stomach clamp with an empty pang. Was this what the rest of the household ate while his men were served food fit for babes and the infirm?
Sosia inclined her head toward him in acknowledgment and went on mixing her dough, the hands moving skillfully. Sosia may have been born a slave but the proud carriage and fine features said that in her ancestry were a mighty people. Sosia’s fierce loyalty to Diana was, to Alaric’s mind, admirable of the woman but puzzling when one considered the subject of her loyalty.
“Good morning, Sosia,” he murmured.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.
Alaric looked at Minna. “Good morning.”
Minna stared, her eyes huge. He had discovered that the child was mute. He was mildly surprised to find her away from Diana’s side. Usually she followed Diana around like a shadow. The appearance of one of his men would send her behind Diana, a hand clutching her elder sister’s tunic with a grip that whitened her knuckles.
It occurred to Alaric that Minna was the only person to whom Diana showed any overt gentleness. He had seen her kneel before the girl and explain in soft tones what she wanted Minna to do, her face kind and her patience endless.
“Do you know where Diana is, Minna?” Alaric asked the girl, even though he expected no answer. The child, despite her disability, was intelligent and she could always point out a direction to follow.
Sosia looked down at Minna, waiting for her to respond. Minna slipped behind Sosia, out of Alaric’s sight.
“You’ll find the mistress in the bibliothedra,” Sosia said.
“The library? Where is it?”
“It’s the last room in the west wing, two doors up from yours.”
* * * * *
Diana buried her face in her hands with a heavy sigh.
It was only a little time beyond dawn and already she had been presented with problems to solve. This last one made her feel angry and sick at once. Sosia had arrived with Diana’s morning bowl of gruel and the news that someone had been stealing food from the store.
Diana knew that everyone blamed her for the inadequate food—and Diana hated gruel as much as anyone! She wanted to explain that even though the food was there on the shelves, they could not simply eat their fill. The supplies had to last them the winter. It made her angry that the thief believed they were exempt from the rationing, yet she felt guilty that someone was hungry enough to stoop to thievery.
Diana sighed and unrolled the curling edges of the book she had been reading to learn how to deal with the problems of household management, but her father’s cramped Latin spoke only of bountiful harvests and so-and-so many fatted cows slaughtered and an incredible number of wine barrels stored. If ever he dealt with theft and unhappy people, he had not seen fit to record it in these dry volumes. She let the book roll up again.
She would dearly like to gather everyone together and explain the facts as she had scribed them in her own records. There was barely one-fifth the amount of stored supplies than her father had ever had to deal with, and she now had thirty extra mouths to feed, with Alaric’s men. There was no surplus seed for the coming spring sowing. Whatever they ate between now and Easter would not be available for planting to ward off starvation in the next winter.
It was tempting to reveal everything to them—to place the problems in their laps and let them deal with it, so that she could go back to being just another unnoticed person about the villa. It would be nice to let someone else try to think up solutions. It would be a heaven-sent blessing to not have to deal with the unknown thief.
But her instincts told her that explaining herself and appealing to everyone for understanding would be wrong. If she laid out all her problems, then people would be able to think up ideas and ways of dealing with them and they would start to work on them without Diana’s input. She would be forced to listen to them, to perhaps do what they said. Soon, she would be back to obeying everyone’s whim and wish. She would have to abide by their plans, instead of thinking up her own.
She would have her life shaped and directed by someone else.
The idea made Diana’s heart thud with an erratic, painful beat. Sweat gathered at her temples, dizziness gripped her head and her vision swirled.
To be totally at the mercy of someone….
The red cloud swept into her mind. With it came sounds and half-glimpsed scenes. Minna screaming Diana’s name. The smell of a foul, wine-ladened breath fanning her face. A heaviness that blanketed her entire body, so that even her hands could not lift. Deep male laughter. Finally, as always before the red cloud lifted from her, the feel of ice-cold water rushing past her, numbing her skin and its chill seeping into her bones, stiffening her joints, while the soft sound of Minna crying went on and on.
The cloud dispersed, releasing her. Diana staggered from her stool, holding her cramping stomach and sagged against the wall next to the hypocaust vent. The hot air swept unpleasantly against the perspiration on her temples and forehead but Diana stayed at the vent, shivering. The red cloud always did this to her but it had been ages since the last occasion. Diana had hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
It was the idea of dealing with the thief that had brought it upon her this time. No, the consequences of not dealing with the thief, of asking for help. Of losing control.
For a moment the red haze threatened again. Diana clutched the chest next to her, readying herself for it. The cloud retreated and let her be. She stayed by the vent until the sickness eased and her heart returned to a steady, slow beat. Her head ached. It boomed with each movement.
Slowly, she went back to the book table and eased herself onto the stool. There was a pitcher of watered wine on the table. She poured herself a cupful and sipped. Her hand trembled.
Think of something else, she commanded herself. It’s solstice. Think of the food you’ve asked Sosia to prepare as a surprise for everyone. But the idea of food made her stomach roll.
There was a knock on the door and Diana looked up gratefully. “Come in!”
Alaric stepped around the door and shut it. Instantly the room grew smaller. Cramped. The cold air he brought in with him billowed across her feet. Diana put her cup down, her pleasure over the interruption gone.
He was scowling as usual. “My lady,” he acknowledged. He looked around the room, at the cupboard on the wall, the shelves of carefully rolled and stacked books, the reading table, the stools and the chests against the back wall. “You come here for solitude?” he asked.
“For knowledge,” Diana said more sharply than she intended.
He raised his brow. “You can read, my lady?” His tone was conciliatory. He was attempting to be pleasant, then. It loosened a tiny thread of the tension in her.
“Yes, I can read.” Diana tried to match his tone.
“Your family paid for your education?” he asked, surprised. He held out a calming hand as if he could sense offense. “I mean…it is unusual for a family to educate girls. There is no need for the expense.”
“Which is true in my family too,” Diana admitted. “Even if my father had thought it reasonable to educate a female, that honor would have fallen to the oldest girl, my sister Lucilla.”
“Then how is it you can read?” Alaric shed his cloak and moved closer to the table.
“My brother Verus. He went to school in Eboracum and whatever he learned, he taught me.” Diana recalled long summer evenings she and Verus had spent on the banks of the river, Verus drawing letters and diagrams in the wet sand as he explained and her own poor copies…which had grown steadily more proficient as time went on.
The memory dissolved into the swift anger Diana felt these days whenever she thought of Verus. She saw Alaric was watching her closely and turned her anger upon herself. She had been sharing her life with him, feeding on his empathy and that was too dangerous a luxury. This man had the power to take her carefully held control. If she was to lower her defenses too far…
“Did your brother die in the raid?”
“He deserted us, the night the Saxons raided. He left us to go back to Arthur’s army.”
Alaric’s brow lifted. “He fights with Arthur? I have not met any Verus. But it is a big army.”
“He calls himself Bedivere.” The thought of Verus off on his glorious campaign, totally ignorant and uncaring of her own plight, fed her anger. She had been tempted at times to send word to him but had always aborted the idea. If Verus came back, then she would lose the estate. He would legally be able to do whatever he wanted with her. Verus’ loyalty was with Arthur and his army. He would not care about the fate of those back home. He’d not cared enough to save her when the Saxons had come.
“Bedivere?” Alaric said sharply, jolting Diana from her preoccupation.
“You know him?”
“I knew him once,” Alaric said, his voice thick with loathing. “If it is the same man, then I am not surprised to find out that he was Roman, after all. Bedivere slunk out of the camp over a year ago and never came back.” He looked Diana squarely in the eye. “He is a deserter.”
“No! Verus would never desert. He wasn’t like that.” Diana began and halted. Hadn’t he deserted her?
“He was my height,” Alaric said. “Dark, like me and he had a scar here—” He touched his bare arm, where the curve of the biceps dipped down to the tendon and made a sharp hollow in his skin.
Diana gasped. Verus did have such a scar! She had seen it in the moonlight by the spring.
“I know, because I stitched that wound myself. He had an unusual knife, a bronze one with jewels in the hilt—an ornamental thing. It wasn’t a fighting man’s knife.”
Diana lowered her head. “That is Verus. I cannot believe that he deserted. He was going back. He left here with a great many men.”
“I am not
lying, my lady,” Alaric said quietly.
Diana closed her eyes. “Neither am I,” she whispered. What had happened to Verus?
She heard Alaric move and something scraped on the table next to her. She opened her eyes and found that Alaric had lifted her breakfast bowl and was examining the contents. He seemed puzzled.
“You eat this?” he asked.
“Not today,” Diana admitted.
“But every other day?”
“Well…yes.” She shrugged, puzzled.
“Then who eats the meat I saw cooking in the kitchen?”
“That’s for tonight.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone, of course.”
Alaric looked skeptical.
“It’s the solstice,” Diana explained.
“Yes, I’m acquainted with the custom of a winter solstice feast,” Alaric said dryly. “One of my brothers is a priest.”
“Oh!”
At her startled tone Alaric’s face grew even stonier. “It is not only Romans who follow the ‘true faith’ my lady,” he said.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that ....”
“What? All Celts are barbarians?”
“No!” Diana cried, unwilling to admit that she had made such an assumption. But in truth, she had. Somehow she had learned that Celts were pagans and Romans were Christians and that was that. It had never occurred to her that a Celt could be a Christian.
Alaric was eyeing her, his expression cynical and Diana felt an overpowering need to tear her gaze away from his face. She forced herself to stillness. It was important that she never retreat from this man, for she knew she would never gain the ground she would lose if she did. “You are a Christian?” she asked.
“No.”
“A follower of Mithras, then? The soldiers’ god?”
If anything, his expression grew even sourer. “There’s enough bloodshed in the army—I don’t need more of it to feel shriven.”
“Then, what god do you follow?”
“Is it necessary that I must follow a god?”
Diana by the Moon Page 5
