The Edge of Honor

by Minnette Meador

  He looked at the older woman staring up at him. Attached to her hands were two small children dressed in tatters with dirty faces and awe-filled eyes. “You are welcome to take refuge with us as long as you need. We will do what we can to find the children’s mother.” He glanced at his wife who smiled back at him proudly. “Perhaps she will be in the next group we find. Just give her name to one of my warriors and they will…”

  A loud murmur rose from the milling crowd and Marius looked up sharply. Making his way through the few people remaining, Delia’s commander, Evyn, firmly gripped the elbow of a hooded figure that stumbled next to him. The figure struggled, but Evyn had a good grip.

  “We caught this one trying to sneak in through the back gate.” He yanked the hood off her head.

  The woman was beautiful, tall, a tangle of deep auburn hair surrounding light blue eyes, with an aristocratic sulk lining an otherwise striking face.

  “Rheydyn!” Delia cried.

  Evyn drew his sword.

  Standing before them was a ghost; the woman who had enslaved Delia, fought with the warriors to challenge the Romans almost a year ago, the proud princess of a dead kingdom.

  Boudiga’s daughter frowned at them and the room went silent.

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter II

  “Clear the room!” Evyn stepped toward Rheydyn who dropped to her knees when she saw the naked blade in his hands. He bellowed orders and the guards herded the few remaining people from the great room.

  Like most refugees Marius had seen, Rheydyn was gaunt, her hands thin from lack of food and her shoulders bony. They shook under the scrutiny of the armed men. She was nothing more than flesh and angles. When she lifted pleading eyes to her cousin, the half circles of darkness made them appear sunken. Yellow bruises marked her face, neck, and arms. Despite the abuse, her beauty was remarkable. Marius marveled at how she and Delia were alike. The same tall form, the clear haughty eyes, the determined set of the jaw.

  “Please, Delia, do not let him kill me,” she whispered. Her voice was sultry, commanding, yet somehow demure. It affected the men like an elixir and they seemed to relax under its contrition. The only ones unaffected were Evyn, Marius, and Delia.

  When Rheydyn tried to rise, Evyn tucked the tip of his sword under her chin and she froze. “Give me a reason, cousin,” he hissed.

  “Evyn, stop,” Delia said.

  The tall Briton glanced over his shoulder at his queen, constricted his lips, and withdrew his sword, but then looked to Marius for orders. “What would you like us to do with her, sir?”

  “For all I care,” Marius said, “you can take the bitch out and behead her—”

  “As far as I know, I am still in charge of this kingdom.” Delia glared at him and straightened in the chair. Every man in the room bowed his head to her. A hot wash of irritation sparked in Marius and he could feel the color rise in his cheeks, but when he glanced at Delia, her eyes softened the blow. He had to smile back at her. She was up to something.

  “Forgive me, highness,” Evyn stammered, shifting his eyes from one to the other. “What is your wish?”

  “Have the woman stripped and search her. Check for weapons and I mean everywhere. I want every inch of her body searched for knives, needles, and poisons, whatever you can find. When you are done, bring her back.”

  “Yes, your majesty.” Evyn hurriedly ordered his warriors to remove the woman and then gave the couple a crisp bow before he left.

  * * * *

  “What are you doing here?” Delia asked.

  Delia and Marius sat in a private room where they could escape the curious eyes of many who had gathered to glimpse Rheydyn, the legend.

  The guards let her wash after their search. Although still very gaunt, she looked less abused than earlier. They found no weapons on her. She stood in front of Marius and Delia, surrounded by several armed Briton warriors.

  “I came here for refuge, like everyone else.” Her voice was deep, lyrical, and superior.

  “We thought you were dead,” Delia said.

  “I should be.” Rheydyn closed her eyes. “I lacked the courage.” She brought her hand to his lips, clutching a graying rag. “I watched mother take the lives of her men, my sister, and then herself, drinking the poison meant for the Roman general.” Her eyes welled with tears. “You have no idea what I have been through, what it was like after our people were slaughtered by the Romans on the battlefield. Mother went insane when the warriors dragged her away. She killed two of her own men before they could stop her.” Her eyes became blank shining crescents.

  “Then she poisoned us; my fifteen year old sister, herself. When it came my turn, I spat out the venom she fed me.” The light in her eyes became an accusation as she looked at her cousin. “Had a Roman not found me and taken pity I would be dead.”

  “What Roman?” asked Marius.

  Rheydyn shook her head. “You need not worry. I value my life. He did not know who I was. I crawled far away from my family by then. He thought I was one of the mass.” She pulled in a breath and clenched her teeth. “He found me desirable and made me his slave. Need I say more? I escaped him less than a week ago.”

  “Do you seek sympathy here?” Delia snapped. “Do you honestly think I would extend anything to you beyond the back of my hand?”

  “I only seek shelter, cousin.” There was a shade of contrition in her voice that did not show in her bearing. “You owe me your life.”

  Delia’s mouth fell open. “My life? You enslaved me, had me beaten, humiliated me in front of my own people.”

  Rheydyn’s bemused smile was firm, chilly. “Do you have any idea what they wanted to do to you? You were a traitor, wearing Roman clothes, befriended by one of their women, in one of their towns. What else were they to think?” Her hands clutched each other when she stared down at them.

  “More than once, the warriors begged me to let them split you in two. I denied them, Delia.” Her lips arched down and a tear hit her cheek. “Because I loved you. I do not expect you to believe that, but it is true. I could not think of any other way to save you, do you not see that? The men…” she looked at Delia, “they wanted your body. I would not let them touch you. I could not. You have to understand. I know you were humiliated, abused, but the alternative was...”

  She bit her lip and lowered her chin. “If I could have set you free, taken you out of that camp, I would have.” The energy went out of her shoulders with a feeble shrug. “It was too late.” Her face contorted into a strange mask of guilt and she brought her hands up to hide it. “Things did not go as we planned.” Sobs shook her shoulders.

  “Why did you not tell me this before the battle? You certainly had the opportunity.” Delia asked, unconvinced.

  The reddened eyes were darker, deeper, and difficult to read. “I do not know,” she whispered, the confession confused. “Maybe I hated you, too. I was not thinking very clearly then.” A chilling laugh rose from the back of her throat. “None of us were thinking very clearly then.”

  Delia regarded Rheydyn a long time before saying anything. Marius scowled at her. She finally stood and motioned to Evyn. “One week, Rheydyn, and only one week, then you have to find your own situation. A week to build your strength and then I want you off my lands. Is that clear?”

  A smile lightened Rheydyn’s face. “Thank you, cousin. One week will be more than enough time. May the goddess bless you.”

  “I only hope my trust is not misplaced. Do not disappoint me. Evyn, find her a room and see to it she has clothes and food.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Post a guard,” Marius interjected, throwing a look at Delia. “She is not to have free rein of our home.”

  “Yes, sir.” Evyn glowered at the small woman and signaled her to accompany him. As they left the room, Rheydyn bowed her head gratefully at Delia.

  Marius’ nostrils flared and he folded his arms. Delia seemed to be having trouble adjusting her dress. She smiled demurel
y at the floor.

  “You are up to something,” Marius said.

  “Me?” Her smile deepened. “Someone told me once you keep your allies close, but your enemies closer. I do not trust her, Marius, any more than you do. At the same time, she is right; in her own way, she did save me. It is because of Rheydyn I am alive. Neither one of us can deny that.” She folded herself into his arms. “We will keep an eye on her. I will put Evyn in charge. He will be thrilled. She bullied him terribly when they were children. All right?”

  “Now she asks.” Marius tucked her head under his chin.

  “In my culture, a woman seldom has to ask, my husband, and a queen never does. You are having a difficult time with that concept, I think.”

  “Perhaps,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “But I am learning, oh great and illustrious majesty, to be your humble servant.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Marius looked at the spot where Rheydyn had been and blew out a breath.

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter III

  Governor Suetonius rubbed his face as he glared out the entrance of his tent at the dark pre-dawn, allowing his aide to fasten his armor. His head ached from the previous night’s drinking with Quintius.

  Suetonius shook his head, unable to fathom what it was about the young officer he did not trust. He let the man snake his way into his limited circle as if they had known each other for decades. Quintius was thirty, very affable, deferential, and respected by the other men. Despite that, there was something about his quiet ways that disturbed Suetonius. He was smart—brilliant, actually. That was why Suetonius requested him in the first place. In fact, the tribune was almost too smart. He seemed to know things, confidential things. Quintius bore watching.

  Not that it mattered. Suetonius had enough to worry about with the continued resistance of the Britons, the lack of soldiers, the lagging respect of his own troops over his supposed brutal treatment of the natives. Not to mention the masked lunatic making the Romans look like fools. If he could find this man, bring him down, Suetonius knew he could earn back some of that respect. He would find this menace if it was the last thing he did. Despite his misgivings about the new tribune, one thing was certain; Quintius was just the man for the job.

  The young officer came highly recommended from Rome a year ago as a new centurion and had moved up through the ranks faster than any Suetonius had seen. An unrivaled swordsman, Quintius was brilliant in military tactics, weaponry, maneuvers, and every aspect of command. Suetonius had seen him with the blade, had bet on him often during military exhibitions. Suetonius was willing to wager Quintius would give even Marius a run for his money.

  The young officer was getting better every day. More importantly, Quintius seemed to have an uncanny knack for intelligence. He and his century had personally hunted down, captured, slain, or enslaved nearly a thousand Iceni and Trinovantes in the past six months; an impressive record by anyone’s standards. His crowning achievement was the capture of Prince Thane, the last surviving sovereign Trinovantes. An accomplished warrior, they pressed the giant Briton into gladiatorial slavery and sent him to Rome where he was paraded in front of the citizens as evidence of another of Nero’s victories. Quintius became a hero overnight. Every soldier knew his name in less than a week. When the reports came into Suetonius, he had Quintius assigned to his command. Something he should have done with Marius years ago—a mistake, and one he would not repeat.

  The aide finished fastening the straps to the breastplate, saluted Suetonius, and left when Quintius ducked through the tent entrance.

  “Are you ready, sir?” the tribune asked bowing.

  That was the other thing Suetonius did not like about the man. He had thick, wavy, light blond hair and pale blue eyes. He looked so much like the Germanic barbarians it was disconcerting. Suetonius hated the Gauls more than he despised the Britons.

  Quintius towered a good four inches above Suetonius’ head and had an almost distorted lankiness that gave one a feeling of light-headedness. Suetonius found it difficult to look at him long, even though he was purported to be very handsome, if you could rely on the local female perspective.

  Suetonius fastened his cloak to his shoulder and motioned Quintius to follow him out of the tent. “Walk with me.”

  “Sir.”

  As they stepped into the darkness, hundreds of leather tents in perfect angled ranks fell away from them like Roman vineyard lines, darkly polished and waxy in a thousand gleaming torches. Soldiers in crimson wool and silver armor darted everywhere, attending the horses, cleaning the camp, or doing other jobs necessary to run a standing army. Officers scanned their troops and stretched in front of their tents. The hundred or so standards set evenly around the camp looked shadowed against the purpling sky above them.

  Suetonius thought again of anthills he had seen in the African territory many years ago, an image he always equated with command camps. It was comforting somehow to his view of the world; ordered chaos.

  Another wave of headache narrowed his eyes.

  “You seem to have escaped the ale from last night. It never ceases to amaze me how much you can drink and yet it never affects you. As I recall, you drank more than I did.”

  Quintius gave him an innocent smile. “It is a gift, sir. Ale does not bother me much.”

  Suetonius shifted his balteus and stared at his men. “You disappeared early last night.”

  “Well, the women were comely.”

  Suetonius snorted and leered at him. “Well-figured, maybe.” Increasing his steps, he thinned his lips. “I heard rumors,” he said quietly. “One of the girls was hurt?”

  In point of fact, the local village master had visited Suetonius’s tent earlier that morning. The man was furious that a Roman soldier had beaten one of the tavern girls, almost to death. No one knew who did it. Someone had threatened her to silence.

  Quintius looked down at his hands and shrugged. “Only rumors, sir, I am certain. I heard she met with an accident. I can make inquiries if you like.”

  Suetonius nodded. He already made inquiries and was reasonably certain who had done it. Quintius, along with his many talents, had a notorious reputation for abusing locals, one of the few black marks on his record.

  Motioning to the command tent, Suetonius let the younger man precede him. “That will not be necessary, Tribune. I have dealt with it.”

  He caught the tribune’s eyes as he took his seat at a long table in the center of the tent. Several officers surrounded him immediately with tablets and parchments. Other tribunes sat at the table working or talking to one another.

  “I would appreciate it if you would let your men know that abusing the locals is, strictly speaking, prohibited. Especially if you are caught. Diligence to detail is a mark of my command, Tribune. Do I make myself clear?”

  A barely perceptible flash of resentment crossed Quintius’ eyes before he smiled diffidently. “Of course, Governor. I will pass the word along immediately. You are quite correct.”

  Suetonius scanned him briefly, but a soldier distracted him with stacks of folded wax tablets to sign. He was not certain if he saw a fleeting sneer pass over Quintius’ lips when he took a seat across from him. When he looked up, the tribune had busied himself with tablets of his own.

  At dawn, the work was completed and Quintius stood to leave. Suetonius motioned him to sit and then dismissed the rest of the men. He poured two cups of wine diluted with water. The tent seemed large and deserted after the bedlam of the officers.

  “I have a special mission for you, Tribune,” he said, pushing a cup across to the lanky man and then sipping his own.

  “Thank you, sir. It is always an honor to serve. What is it you command?”

  “I want this man found and arrested. This liberatio mysticus.” Suetonius could not keep his emotions in check when he spat the name.

  Quintius blinked at him and tilted his head. “It would be my pleasure, sir. However, from what I have heard,
it will not be an easy task. Have you information of his whereabouts?”

  Suetonius frowned at the condescending tone. “Had I information, Tribune, I would already have him.” He broke off the angry retort and folded his hands on the table to control it. “Did I see your couriers arrive?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And?”

  Quintius clamped his teeth together for a moment and flattened his lips.

  “The reports are not as favorable as we had hoped, Governor. It seems there are less and less of the Celts in the woods every day.” He looked down at the table. “It is not our troops that are removing them. Someone is helping them to relocate. We are certain we have not caught all the Iceni or the Trinovantes. The old rolls have huge gaps in them, perhaps several hundred.”

  Suetonius fell back into his chair and folded his arms. “They must be found and dealt with without inciting the others. I was fortunate with Boudiga and her warriors. Had they been more organized, we would have lost that fight.”

  “No, sir,” the younger man said emphatically. “We were ten to one in that battle. It was only your brilliance that saved us.”

  Suetonius chuckled, flattered by the compliment, but unmoved. “Be that as it may, soldier, we will continue to hunt them without provoking those tribes we have allegiance with. This will have to be managed carefully.”

  “Of course, General.”

  Suetonius reached across the table for a wax tablet he had been toying with earlier and scrutinized it. “To that end, I would like cooperation from the local chiefs who pay tribute to Rome.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Suetonius wrote a few more inscriptions on the tablet before sliding it over to the tribune. “This is one you will take care of personally.”

  Quintius stiffened his jaw. “Queen Delia, sir? Marius’ wife?”

  “You know him?”

  “Vaguely. He served in Caligula’s praetorian when I was a child. I lived in the palace with my uncle then. I only met him once, a long time ago.” Quintius examined the tablet briefly and smiled at him. “It is said he deserted.”