by Amy Jarecki
Elspeth slapped her reins. “Faster, lass!”
Just as she began to pull ahead, she realized they were heading straight for a cliff. She cut right, but the men had fanned and closed in on her nose.
She cut left. They had her surrounded.
She pulled up at the edge of the two-hundred foot drop and stared down at the rocky crag below. To jump would be certain death.
Paulus chucked with an ugly grin and ripped the reins from her hands. “You’re a feisty wench. It looks as if you’re in a hurry. What are you doing, slipping out of the fort like you have a secret lover?”
She could scarcely breathe. “’Tis no business of yers.” Elspeth tried to grab her reins but he snapped them beyond her reach. “Leave me be.”
“Exactly who were you meeting up there in the rocks?”
Elspeth pursed her lips and stole a glance in the direction of the cave. Good. He mustn’t have seen Greum. “I do not report to the likes of you.”
“Ah, but I think you do.”
She pursed her lips. The dragon-hearted cur wouldn’t wrench a word out of her.
“We shall know what you were up to soon enough.” He pointed at one of the soldiers. “Bind her wrists. She’s proven she cannot be trusted.
After they tied her with hemp rope that grated into her flesh, Elspeth seethed inside, peering through the scrub as she searched for more Roman scouts. She prayed Greum had made it safely away. It was dangerous for him to be south of the wall. He had been slave to a Roman ship, and the Romans considered him a deserter. If they caught him, they would surely hang him without a trial.
As they rode toward Vindolanda, Elspeth reasoned the optio would take her straight to Titus. The whole time, she cemented her explanation to the centurion. Surely he would believe her. This would be no setback at all. But the bottom dropped out of her stomach when Paulus detoured south into the tented camp of Dulcitius’s men. He stopped beside a large tent with two Roman flags fluttering on either side of the entryway. “A delivery for you, sir.”
The canvas pulled back, and Dulcitius stepped out. A smile crept up one side of his face, his brown eyes assessing her like they would a stallion on the auction block. His tongue shot out and licked his lips. “Quick work, optio. And where did you find this lovely morsel?”
“She was riding through the woods. It appears the whore has a lover to soothe the itch between her legs.”
Elspeth gasped. “No.”
Dulcitius sauntered up to her. “Not a lover? Then who is it you met, hidden in the forest?”
Elspeth clenched her teeth. She would never tell them.
Dulcitius grabbed her wrist and yanked her from her horse. Elspeth kicked out her leg to break her fall, her knees jarring. Dulcitius twisted her arm, and her shoulder hit the dirt hard. She scrambled to stand, but her efforts were met with a kick to the gut. Wind whooshed from her lungs.
“I asked you a question.”
Gasping for air, Elspeth rolled to her knees. A fist connected with her temple, and stars crossed her vision. With quick breaths, she recovered her wits and scooted away.
Horse hooves thundered toward them.
Dulcitius yanked her up by the shoulders and looked toward the riders.
“The traitor eluded us,” said a legionary.
“What?” Dulcitius shifted his gaze to Elspeth and shook her. “Who is he? Plotting another attack on the wall, are you?”
With a snarl, Elspeth spat. Greum was safe—they would never be able to lay a hand on him once he cleared the wall. That was all that mattered. They could do what they liked with her.
Dulcitius shoved her away, and she stumbled to the ground. Her head throbbed and she curled forward, crossing her arms over her aching stomach.
“We shall find him.” Dulcitius bent down and jammed his face within a hair’s breadth of hers. “But you will burn.”
A raw chill shot through Elspeth’s bones. Anything but fire.
He straightened and turned to Paulus. “Fit her with manacles. We will confront Titus at once.” He lifted the canvas of his tent. “Where is the count?”
A guard stepped forward. “He’s with Titus in the principia.”
The braggart grinned. “Excellent.”
****
Titus knew something was amiss by the hurried footsteps outside the war room door. He looked up from the map he was studying with Count Theodosius.
Dulcitius was the first to push through the door. “We have a traitor in our midst.”
When the guards ushered Elspeth into the room, Titus stepped back. Instinctively, he drew his sword, ready to fight the bastards with their hands gripping her elbows. His gaze shot to her face—her expression had an edge of defiance even fiercer than he’d seen before. Her mussed hair partially hid her eyes, but he didn’t miss the angry red and hint of purple surrounding her left.
“What is the meaning of this?” he bellowed.
“We caught her in a rendezvous with a man outside the grounds. She’s a spy and a whore.”
Elspeth shook her head, a stricken expression in her pleading eyes. “No. ’Tis not what ye think.”
The count stepped forward. “Dulcitius, your charges are grave. What is the basis of this?”
“Paulus followed her when she slipped away from the fortress this morning. We had hoped to catch the man she met, but he eluded my officers.” He shook an accusing finger. “What Roman confidences has she revealed to our enemies whilst feathering Titus’s bed?”
All eyes shifted to Elspeth.
A vice gripped Titus’s heart. He gaped at her in disbelief while hot sweat sprang across his skin. He did not want to believe it, but she hadn’t been there when he woke. Elspeth often rose early and tended to her chores. She’d met a man in the forest? His gut churned. Absently he took a step forward, sweaty fists returning to his hips. “Elspeth. Whom did you meet?”
She raised her chin and her blue eyes turned as cold as the northern sea. “’Twas me brother. He’s of no interest to the lot of you.”
“Brother?” Titus’s gaze snapped to Dulcitius’s glare and then to Paulus. He spread his palms. “But you said you have no family.”
Elspeth’s gaze shifted sideways. “Me brother was spared in the fighting.”
“This matters not. Clearly she’s a spy. She met the man in secret.” Dulcitius gestured to Titus. “What confidences have you shared with the wench?”
“You dare accuse me of divulging military business to a servant?” Titus roared. “She cleans my mail. That is all.”
Theodosius cleared his throat. “Take the woman to the gaol. She has proved herself to be a traitor.” He turned to Titus with disgust written on his face. “And I’d held such high hopes for you. See to it that she burns for her crimes against Rome.”
Titus glared at the count. The way Count Theodosius pronounced her sentence without so much as a trial made his blood boil. If only he could draw his sword, fight his way out of Vindolanda’s walls and spirit Elspeth away. But that would be treason. How can I even think it? He had spent his entire life serving Rome. He believed in Roman ideals. He could not turn his back on his country because of an infatuation—a woman who had clearly misrepresented herself. He thought back to each conversation they’d had. How much had he told her? Just last night he’d bared his ideals—his plans for a united Roman Britannia. But that wasn’t anything the barbarians could use against the empire. She didn’t have enough information to betray his trust. She couldn’t be a traitor.
Could she?
But Hades’s fire, Elspeth lied to me about her family. What else has she lied about? Why did she come to me if her brother was alive? His gut roiled. The woman deceived me. Titus glowered across the room. There she stood looking like a miserable urchin in her ragged blue dress. Even through his anger and confusion, his heart immediately went to her. But then he glanced at Dulcitius.
Titus couldn’t have looked more a fool if Dulcitius had plotted against him. And like it or not, it was
Elspeth’s fault. Why couldn’t she just have told me she had a brother? Has she been plotting against me this entire time? Is that the reason for the flash of defiance I’ve oft seen in her eyes? Or is she telling the truth? If I had enough information to defend her, she wouldn’t be punished, and I wouldn’t look like such a fool. By Zeus’s lightning, she brought this upon herself. And I allowed it, so entranced I was by her damnable jasmine scent.
Titus’s fists slid from his hips. Tilting his head back, he held Elspeth’s gaze. “Yes, sir,” he said without glancing at the count. “Elspeth will be tried and if found guilty, she will receive the same treatment as any subject who commits treason.” Titus still couldn’t bring himself to say she would be burned. His jaw twitched, still unable to believe that right under his nose the vixen had caught him in her web and tricked him.
And Dulcitius was reveling in his victory, the smug bastard. Oh how he enjoyed making Titus the fool in front of the count.
He nodded at the guards and they tugged her toward the door. “M’lord Titus! Ye cannot believe them.” She wrenched her elbows away from the guards and faced him her hands reaching out to him. “Who saved yer men at Rudchester? ’Twas me arrows.”
Titus stepped forward, but Dulcitius cut him off. “Take her away.”
When the doors slammed closed, blocking Elspeth retreating with the guards, Theodosius folded his arms. “You must act quickly or this will be seen as weakness by the men. There is no place for women within our fortress walls.” He shook his head. “You have disappointed me.”
Titus gave him a thin-lipped nod. Why did she help us at Rudchester? Caesar’s bones, he rued the day they’d met.
Dulcitius cleared his throat. “If I am no longer needed here…” The man’s damned voice was far too chipper.
“We shall march south on the morrow. Matters in York will not wait while we idle away our time in the north,” Theodosius said, turning to Titus. “Show the men your muscle, and they shall respect you for it. I trust all skirmishes will be dealt with quickly with a firm hand.”
Titus bowed, still numb and angered by Elspeth’s ruse. “Absolutely, sir.”
“I will still expect your weekly missives.”
Titus nodded, and Theodosius moved toward the door. Placing his hand on the lever, he turned. “Ensure your first missive gives details of the woman’s execution.”
“Yes, sir.” Titus stood motionless until the door closed behind him. Elspeth a spy? How could I have been played for such a damned fool?
Chapter Eight
Elspeth crouched in the corner of her cell. She had been wallowing in the dank dungeon for three days, and Titus had not made any effort to see her. The guard gave her no sympathy—told her she would have a trial, merely a formality before they tied her to a stake and set fire to timbers below her feet.
Carved out beneath the fort, the gaol had a damp earthen floor, and water trickled a pathway down the walls through green slime. The two gaps near the ceiling cast slivers of light along each wall. Iron bars separated tiny cells, sixteen of them, with an aisle down the center. Elspeth was the only inmate, aside from a family of rats that occupied the cell on the far end.
She hugged herself and rocked, her chest as hollow as the dungeon itself. She’d heard tales of the Vindolanda gaol. Her own brother had been interned there with King Taran when they had tried to escape the tyranny of the Roman Navy. After the uprising, Queen Valeria and Bishop Elusius had also spent time behind its bars as guests of the tyrant Morgon. Valeria was nearly killed when Greum set fire to it, unaware of her presence. Taran had Morgon killed for deceiving the king. Morgon had falsely testified that Queen Valeria had died of exposure.
Elspeth gazed at the ray of light beaming through the gap. No Pict had died as a result of their internment at Vindolanda, and that thought gave her renewed strength. But still, she shuddered when she recalled the flat, condemning tenor of Titus’s voice when he pronounced her punishment. She would not forget the abhorrence in his eyes when he learned she had betrayed him.
Elspeth knew better than to permit herself feelings for the centurion. She hated herself for allowing him to touch her heart, and now he would be the one to ignite the fire that would send her to the underworld. At least she would be done with spying. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She trembled. The thought of dying did not bother her so much, but burning did. She’d hardly slept for nightmares of fire singeing away her flesh. It had to be the most painful death imaginable. She’d been burned once—stepped in a pit of coals and scorched the bottom of her foot. It had felt like someone had peeled off her skin, or as if a million stinging nettles pierced through one small space.
Elspeth stared at the cavernous opening to the winding stairs. If Titus descended them, she would plead for death fitting a warrior. That would be her only request.
****
After the count made his departure with Dulcitius, Titus carried out his duties like Poseidon wielding his trident. He spent a few days inspecting the repairs at Vindolanda and the nearby milecastle of Houseteads. He grumbled orders, pointing his discipline stick at sloppy work or jabbing it at inept soldiers who would be unable to neither pound a nail nor lay a stone even if they had trained for months. His men needed to realize the campaign to regain the wall was over. They were now a frontier army, employed to rebuild and defend the northern border, and that was where they would stay until they had served their mandatory twenty-five years—or they died, whichever came first.
He’d received a report of a skirmish at Stanwix to the east. He hadn’t time to visit the fort, but word was that it was a small uprising of vandals and the local decanus had dealt with it swiftly.
Titus’s armor weighed heavily upon his shoulders when he returned to the principia that afternoon. Bacchus stepped out onto the portico while Titus climbed the steps. “A woman awaits within.”
“A woman? I am finished with women.” He groaned. “Can you not put her feeble mind at ease and send her on her way?”
Bacchus leaned in with a wide-eyed expression. “She demanded an audience with you, sir. I think this is one woman with whom you will want to speak.”
Titus stopped before the door, planting his fists on his hips. “Who is it? The queen of the Angles, travel here from Londontown?”
Bacchus scratched his chin. “No, ’tis Valeria Fullofaudes, daughter of the murdered Dux Britanniarum.”
Titus blinked twice and then barreled ahead. “Hercules be damned, why did you not say so in the first place?”
Bacchus had no time to reply.
The tiny woman with raven’s hair stood when Titus bounded into his office. She held out her palm. “Centurion, ’tis good to make your acquaintance.”
Titus bowed and gently kissed the offered hand. “My lady. This is quite the surprise. All of Rome thought you dead.”
Her dark eyes watched him with practiced aloofness. “Mine is quite a story.”
Titus gestured toward a chair, assessing her lavender silk peplos. It was a fine gown of a Roman noblewoman, and he wondered how she had kept it so pristine after all this time. He glimpsed a reddened scar on her neck, partially covered by her shoulder-length black curls—short for a woman of her stature. “Please do share your tale. There are many unanswered questions about the conspiracy. Where have you been all this time, my lady?”
A soft chuckle slipped past her lips. “Let us take one thing at a time, shall we?” She looked up at the ceiling as if to collect her thoughts while Titus reclined in his chair. “My life changed forever that night. ’Twas the Attacotti who attacked Vindolanda and murdered my father.”
“Attacotti? That’s a tribe to the extreme north, yes?”
She nodded. “They are unkempt brutes who eat the hearts of men. They live in the rugged hills and are sworn enemies with the Picts and Gales.”
“They sound like the spawn of Hades. But what happened to you?”
“The Attacotti spirited me away with intent to sell me
into slavery, but I was rescued by the Picts.”
“Picts?” Titus scratched his chin. “I understand they’re the most barbaric tribe in all of Britannia.”
Valeria folded her arms. “Fearsome is a better choice of words.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Elspeth is a Pict.”
A hundred icy pricks tickled the back of his neck. “The traitorous spy?” How on earth does this Roman noblewoman know Elspeth? “Is that why you are here? I thought surely you would be seeking safe passage to Rome.”
“Elspeth is one reason for my visit, but I shall remain in Britannia.” She cleared her throat, folding her hands in her lap. “Word from Elspeth is that you are a respectable leader with empathy for your legionaries.”
“Oh?” Titus crossed his arms. “And what else did that woman share with you?”
Lady Valeria smoothed her fingers over her gown as if she had a thousand things to say and was being careful about what to reveal. “’Tis my husband’s fault she was here. He wanted to insure you would not invade Pict lands.”
“Invade? You know as well as I that Hadrian built the wall to mark the end of the Empire.”
“Yes, and then Rome breached that edict by pushing out to the Antonine Wall, which fell to the Picts. Roman centuries have always traveled into the wild seeking slaves to row their warships and to build their bridges. The Picts will have none of it. The land beyond the wall is theirs by birthright. All they ask is to be left in peace.” The lady was not only beautiful she was shrewd.
“And is that your second reason for visiting? To warn me away from Pict lands?”
“I should like to suggest the signing of an agreement between Romans and Picts.”
Titus chuckled. “My lady, as the daughter of the former Dux Britanniarum, I would assume you are aware Rome negotiates with no one.”
She held up a fine-boned palm. “Hear me before you so easily cast aside a treaty that will save lives on both sides of the border.”
Titus rolled his hand, signifying for her to continue.
