Quintius suddenly loomed back into his field of vision. The matted blond hair was dirty, blackened by the soot of the fires, but the light blue eyes were full moons, a dot of black shining in their centers. In his hand something smoked, making Marius cough.
He smelled burning flesh.
It reminded him of pigs roasting in pits at his old camp. The pain to his tender inside thigh drove everything else out of his head. Screams filled his ears and the world blackened.
* * * *
When he managed to open his eyes, loud voices drifted into Marius’ ears and for a split second, he thought he was back on the battlefield, trumpets blaring, and drums rolling in the distance. The music settled into human voices that were not shouting at all.
“…to know who authorized this, soldier.” Marius recognized Suetonius’ voice behind him, but did not know the second.
“Tribune Quintius, sir.”
“So, where is he?”
“I… I do not know, sir. He left moments before you arrived…”
“What do you mean, left?”
“He saw you approaching, got on his horse, and headed away from camp, sir.”
“Get him down.”
“Sir?”
“The prisoner… get him down. Medico!”
The sounds faded in and out, bursting against the pain that stirred again. The manacles slipped from his wrists, from around his ankles, sending ripples of relief through him. The rushing blood coursing back into his veins sent him back into oblivion.
* * * *
“Did you confess?”
Marius opened his one good eye and even got a slit to open on the other. “I am not certain.” The words coming out of his mouth were needles against his throat. “I do not think so.”
He was face down on a cot in the Medico’s tent. Nothing had ever seemed more comfortable. Something heavy weighed down his back, but there was no pain there. He assumed they had wrapped the lash cuts with some herb to deaden the skin. Around his thigh, another compress did little to cool the searing kiss of the brand. Marius could feel the opiates working through his system. They made him nauseous, but it was a small price to pay.
When he tried to turn his head to see Suetonius, the medico pressed down on his neck to stop him. “Hold still. Only two more stitches to go.”
Marius did not understand Suetonius’ silence.
The medico finished the job and, at an order from the general, helped Marius to sit up on the cot. It took him several minutes to get his head to stop spinning. He vomited twice into a basin the medico provided.
Soon his body settled around its new condition and the whirling ebbed away. When he looked up, he saw Suetonius sitting in a chair close to him, his index fingers in front of his lips, his elbows resting on the arms.
In the few days it had been since Marius had talked to Suetonius, the general had aged. He was frail; a dusty pallor shadowed his face and his eyes. Raising his hand, the general dismissed the medico, leaving them alone.
“I warned you about Quintius.”
“Yes.” His split lip stifled the word. He had to concentrate to speak clearly.
“Did you confess?” Those old eyes looked gray in the muted light of the oil lamps.
“To what?” Marius sneered back at him as best he could.
“To being the liberatio. It all makes perfects sense to me now.”
Marius leaned forward, careful not to pull too quickly on the stitches. He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hand. “I did not confess to anything, General. I have done nothing wrong.” He let out a sharp huff of air. “Except to my wife. I take it, Quintius told you everything.”
“He told me enough.” The general sat back and the disquiet in his face was obvious. “He has sufficient cause to make the accusations viable, Marius. I have seen the mask…”
“A scrap of cloth does not constitute a conviction in Roman law.” He winced against the pain when he sat up too quickly. “He has no evidence.”
“He has enough to convict you. He has witnesses, confessions, spies who saw you, proof of your culpability…”
“Bluffs… hearsay… I have done nothing wrong.”
“You have lied to me!” When Suetonius struck the chair arm with his fist, the force nearly crushed it. Spittle strayed across Marius’ face. “I trusted you. And here, now, by the gods, you are going to tell me the truth, man to man, without witnesses. Have you betrayed your country, twenty-five years of dedicated service to an ideal you bled for, you held as sacred? Have you?”
Marius saw why the general looked so drawn, so delicate. It shook him to the core. Suetonius believed in him. He believed that, regardless of their past, their differences, Marius still upheld the same values that Suetonius swore to those many years ago: their duty to the empire, the absolute rightness of what they did, what they brought to the people. An immense sadness enveloped his heart as he searched those angry eyes and sat back in disbelief. The general still thought that was the world they lived in.
“Do you remember when we were young, General, before we entered the Praetorian Guard?”
Suetonius gaped at him. “I do not see what this has to do with—”
“We were sitting over a cup of native ale in some village in Gaul we had that morning… liberated. There was a young girl there, blonde, blue-eyed, not very pretty, as I recall. When you looked at her that night, you said to me, ‘That girl is why we fight, soldier. We fight for her. We fight for her brother, her father, the little boy that lives next to her farm, the man who lives two villages away. We fight to protect them, to make them safe, to bring them knowledge and security. We fight so that one day they will be free.’ Do you recall that, sir?”
“Yes.” He seemed to deflate into the chair as he sat back.
“I tell you again, I have done nothing wrong. I have never betrayed the empire, or the trust her citizens put in me to protect her people… all of her people, not just those of Rome. I have always upheld the tenant of the republic, to bring knowledge, skill, help to the innocents of this world, to bring unity and rule where there was none. By the gods, I will not have you or any man tell me that I am a traitor. I have defended those laws when other men were too weak, or greedy, or stupid to do so. I have ensured that those people we defend are not harmed by the men who protect them. What I do, I do for them, for the reputation of Rome, which lies in her soldier’s hands.”
The effort of his word cost Marius his breath. He fell forward gasping and coughing, the bandages constricting his chest. Suetonius jumped to his feet and helped Marius lay back on the cot.
He grabbed the general’s arm until the worst of it passed.
Suetonius pulled his chair closer to the bed.
“An impassioned speech, my friend,” the general said softly. “If only the world was still such a place for idealists like you.”
Marius tried to rise, but the general held up his hand to stop him. “A debate for another time. You need rest. Tomorrow will be strenuous.”
“Tomorrow?” Marius’ voice was rough, the drug and effort taking their toll.
“You must stand trial. There is too much evidence. We may have to execute you, Marius. I will do what I can, but…”
“General…”
“Listen to me.” Suetonius leaned in and moved very close. “I know you and I have seldom seen eye to eye. I know you disapprove of my methods, the way I rule.” He pulled air into his lungs and released it with a nod. “The truth is I will never be as good a leader as you are, not if I commanded for a thousand years. I will never garner the respect, the devotion, the admiration of my soldiers the way you do. I am a small man in many ways.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, looking very human in the light. “But I know greatness when I see it and I am not entirely without moral center. I will do what I can to save your life. Your liberty will be another matter. It is all I can do.”
Marius stared at the ceiling of the tent as drowsiness weighed down his eyes. “I would ap
preciate that, General.”
Suetonius turned his eyes away. “Once you are convicted,” he said, “I will have to take her lands. You understand that? I will not harm her, this I swear to you, but I cannot afford another Boudiga. Queen Delia will have to submit to the empire to save her people.”
The rumble of a laugh found its way to Marius’ mouth, straining against his chest. “May the gods have mercy on you and your men if you attack that woman, General. It is the least of my concerns. Delia can most definitely take care of herself.”
Suetonius patted his arm and stood. “Good night, Centurion. Sleep well.”
The general pulled his cloak around his shoulders and turned for the entrance to the tent.
“General,” Marius called. “The letter to the senate is with my friend Seneca. Tell him ‘everything slips into the same abyss.’ He will know what that means.”
“I do not understand.”
“Tell him that and he will give you the letter. It is time to put the past away, General. As you said, we no longer live in that world.” He managed a chuckle, followed immediately by a delicate moan. “Besides, I will most likely be dead in a few days. It will not matter much then.”
“Thank you, Marius.”
Marius drifted away without answering.
* * * *
“What the hell do you mean, you cannot find the judge? He should have been here six hours ago!” Suetonius could feel his heart pounding behind his face in the shadow of the command tent. The man before him stood stiff and straight, staring just above the general’s head, silhouetted by the bright morning rays. “Did the judge leave Londinium?”
“Yes, sir. Yesterday morning.”
“Sir!” Another soldier rushed into the tent and stood at attention next to the first. “They found him, sir…”
“Good. It is about time…”
“But-but,” the second soldier stammered, “…only a part of him.”
Suetonius sat back in his chair and forced a seething calm by counting backward. He now had two men trembling in front of him. “A part of him.”
“Yes… yes, sir.”
“Which part, legionnaire?”
“Sorry, sir. I mean they found the judge’s bags and his horse.”
Suetonius sat up alarmed. Marius was no longer in the military. Had he been, Suetonius could have arranged a hearing with three of his superior officers. Because of his citizen status, a civil judge must preside over the trial. If the judge were dead, they would have to wait weeks to get another. Without the trial, he had no recourse but to keep Marius locked up until that happened. He could not march against the Corieltauvi without the conviction. They were a protectorate of Rome as long as a Roman citizen governed them. Without a conviction, Marius would remain a Roman citizen.
He glowered up at the men. “Was the judge taken?”
“No, sir,” said the second. “At least, as far as we can tell. It looks like the horse wandered away. We followed the signs down the Iter III road and lost his tracks outside of Verulamium.”
“So, search the city.”
“We have, sir. Not a trace.”
Suetonius sat back against the leather twisting his mouth to the side. He ran his hand over his eyes. “Send for Tribune Quintius.”
“We… we cannot find him, sir,” said the first soldier.
“What?”
“He has not reported since last night, sir. The prefect was about to list him as missing.”
“Has the whole camp gone insane? Where is his second?”
The first soldier turned his head toward the tent entrance and gave it a fleeting nod. “He is out looking, sir.”
Rising, he fixed a wintry stare at the two men and pressed his lips into a narrow line. “I do not care how long it takes, I do not care how many men you have to deploy, find the judge, find Quintius, and find his aide! Now, get the hell out of my tent.”
With a hasty salute, the two scrambled for the exit.
Suetonius grabbed the black cape from the back of the chair and headed out the entrance. What greeted him as he emerged was complete pandemonium.
Coming through the center of camp were Kuna and Aelius picking their way through a milling crowd of noisy soldiers, some laughing uproariously, some running with orders, and others craning their necks to see. On a small, raggedy horse pulled by Kuna, was a disheveled, portly man, half-naked, with a woman’s tunic wrapped around his loins. His hair, though well cut, was a tangled nest of gray, his eyes narrowed and unfocused. Somewhere under the shameless behavior, there was an air of aristocrat about him, accentuated by his thick lips, well-fed jowls, and manicured hands. Out of his throat careened an off-key tenor rendering of a Roman limerick about a certain young woman who met a Sherpa, and took advantage of his well-endowed verpa. He danced like an Egyptian temple priestess and tilted many times to one side or the other. Aelius rode next to him to keep the man from falling.
Suetonius’ grip tightened on the handle of his gladius as he strode purposefully toward the trio.
“Who the hell is this?” He had to shout above the din of noise emanating from the drunk. “Will someone please shut him up?”
Aelius’ mouth twisted in an obvious effort to suppress a smile and grabbed the man’s arm to get his attention, then put a finger to his own lips. The singer clamped his mouth tight, scrunched up his face and glowered back at Aelius, trying to focus his eyes.
A waft of a heavy Celtic perfume mixed with sweat, bad wine, and the smell of sex drifted into Suetonius’ nostrils. He took a step back fanning his face.
“Centurion, report.”
Kuna dismounted and stood at attention. “This judge, sir.”
“What?” Suetonius folded his arms over his chest. “He is drunk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Suetonius narrowed his eyes at Kuna. “Did you have anything to do with this?” he snapped.
Kuna looked appalled. “No, sir,” he replied indignantly. “Kuna hurt you think such thing.”
“Never mind,” he said sardonically. “Where the hell was he?”
“Just outside of Verulamium, sir,” said Aelius, dismounting and helping the drunken man from his horse. The judge slid through the young man’s hands to the ground, apparently finding it very funny since he laughed uproariously. Aelius let him sit on the ground and brushed his hands.
“He was at one of the farms with a…” He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck before speaking. “…with a native, sir. One of the local girls.”
Suetonius eyed the two soldiers and pursed his lips, knowing they had to have something to do with this, a tactic to delay the trial, he was certain. He moved his jaw back and forth, trying to decide whether he would call them on it now, or wait until they were no longer under Marius’ sway. Kuna served only one man in the world and Aelius was practically Marius’ son.
“Very well. We will discuss this later… after the trial.” He examined the two men carefully, but both merely nodded with a crisp yes, sir.
Was it defiance he heard in their tone?
Suetonius turned on his heel to head back to the command tent. “Sober him up. I want him ready for trial by this afternoon. Dismissed.” He did not turn around to see if they obeyed him. At the moment, they did not have a choice.
The Edge of Honor
Chapter XII
The garden was strange. The sunlight filtering through the trees was too bright, too yellow. It made Delia’s eyes sting. She shaded them and caught a glimpse of Marius standing across the field of herbs. He was naked, his chest and arms gleaming with sweat, the defined muscles sun-dappled in the shadow of the trees. A warm glow coursed through her middle when he moved toward her.
She was confused. Something was out of place; she should not be here. Delia looked down at the bright red tunic wrapped around her body and there was no bulge.
When Marius reached her, he grabbed her shoulders and roughly pulled her against his naked chest, crushing his mouth onto hers. The prickle o
f his un-shaven cheeks scrapped against her skin. His lips had never been more wonderful. He grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her lips open with his tongue, drinking deeply of her mouth. The breathless masculine moans tingled against her face and down her spine. The kiss sent sparks of pleasure over her breasts, through her belly, and into her groin, saturating her. She had never wanted him inside her more.
Marius’ hands fell from her face and gripped the front of her tunic. In a swift rending tear, the material parted, leaving her naked body exposed to him. Without releasing her lips, he tugged her closer and wrapped his hands around the mounds of her buttocks, making the soaking folds at her center open as he parted them. Air rushed through the moisture and her muscles contracted, making her shiver in his arms.
The heat of his chest burned her nipples, the sweat making them slip against his flesh until they were stiff and needy. His erection was full, hard, the blood saturated muscle hot against her belly.
When he lifted her off her feet, it took her breath and the ensuing gasp made him snarl in response. Delia wrapped her legs around his waist, hating to leave the contact of his hardness.
The silky head brushed her folds, tickling the opening, causing a torrent of moisture she could not hold back.
Marius broke from her lips and lifted her higher until her breasts were at his mouth. She looked down into those spectacular brown-black eyes, tiny flecks of gold and silver spinning like stars in the dark irises. The side curl of his mouth gave the rugged face a mischievous candor and a wicked light sparked. The expression nearly drove her over the edge and she groaned with need, deeply digging her fingers into the muscles at the back of his neck.
Sticking out the tip of his tongue, he flicked it once against the right nipple. The sensation made her thrust her hips down to engulf him, but Marius held her tight and she whimpered in frustration. He repeated the act on the left nipple and then again on the right, moving back and forth, watching her face until she clenched her teeth and hissed. Without warning, he sucked one into his mouth and sank his teeth into it. Every inch of her skin quaked in response.
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