by Amy Jarecki
“If ye’re not going to make passionate love to me this night, have ye anymore wine?”
It was Titus’s turn for rolling laughter, and he climbed over the bed and lay on his side facing her. “I definitely will lock up the wine casks when we are wed.”
The warmth of his body drew her closer. Elspeth curled up in his arms and yawned. “When we are wed… Those words sound like a fanciful dream.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dulcitius had left York and headed north to the abandoned stone cottage as soon as he’d received word from Paulus. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before that idiot, Josias faltered. But the man’s ineptitude mattered not. Dulcitius’s plans were falling into place. Before he met his end, Josias had caused enough damage to Titus’s reputation. The count would have no choice but to dismiss the centurion as a candidate for Dux Britanniarum.
When he arrived at the cottage, Dulcitius dismounted, straightened his armor and pushed through the door. Six of his most trusted men—his inner circle of legionary spies—guarded a badly beaten and bloodied Bacchus. With his hands and feet shackled, Titus’s optio hunched over clutching his elbows against his sides as if he might have a cracked rib or two.
Dulcitius bit back his urge to dance around the prisoner with glee. Titus’s faithful optio had fallen into his hands? A soldier stepped forward and handed him a folded piece of vellum. “He was carrying this, sir.”
Dulcitius reached for the missive while studying the prisoner.
Bacchus spat a wad of blood and glared at him with the one eye that was not swollen shut. “You are a traitor to Rome. Whatever you do to me, Titus will bring you to justice.”
Dulcitius had never liked Bacchus. He glanced at the missive, addressed to the count, written in Titus’s bold hand, bearing his field mark:
The rebel responsible for the raids on the frontier milecastles has been apprehended and put to death. Unfortunately, this is far from the end. We have uncovered deception in the highest ranks of our legion. I must meet with you in confidence forthwith…
He need not read another word. Crumpling the parchment, Dulcitius chuckled. “Titus will be dead before he has a chance to bend the miserable count’s ear.” He turned to his legionary. “Stone him and ensure the body is never found.”
Bacchus struggled against soldiers who restrained him. “You send me to the death of a traitor? I am a loyal servant of Rome!” He crouched and launched himself backward, twisting free from the hands of his captors. All six legionaries drew their swords and surrounded him.
Dulcitius smirked at the condemned man’s fight. He eyed a soldier and ran his pointer finger across his throat. The legionary nodded his understanding. When Dulcitius turned to leave, the familiar squish of iron cutting though flesh followed by a gut-wrenching grunt told him Bacchus would never plague him again.
Paulus followed Dulcitius to the tethered horses. “Murdering Titus’s optio? Do you think that wise?”
Dulcitius whipped around and faced him. “You dare question me?”
Paulus bowed—smart of him. “Merely looking out for our necks, my lord.”
“I was ridding Britannia of a traitor.” He unbuckled his horse’s girth and tightened it. “Remember the riches that will come to you, Paulus. Continue to do my bidding, and you will become a wealthy man.”
The optio’s face reddened. “Yes, sir, but do you consider Theodosius so dim-witted he’ll not sniff out the truth?”
“The count only has his riches in Rome on his mind.” Dulcitius refastened the buckle and slapped the horse’s rump. “But I shall pay him a visit before he hears of this from another.”
****
The following day, dressed in his finest armor with his helmet clutched under his arm, Dulcitius waited for the tribune to announce him. He smirked. Named for his father, Tribune Flavius Theodosius, the young officer had Papa’s power behind him. He had no need to prove himself in battle. All he had to do was follow in the wake of great warriors like Dulcitius and claim glory.
Dulcitius hated to wait for anyone, even the count. He had grown tired of playing up to the older man, agreeing with his every directive like a dog. It was time for the count to return to Rome, but not before Dulcitius ensured he was named Dux Britanniarum. He would no longer take orders from a highborn, flippant cur whose sense of entitlement oozed from his misshapen superiority.
The tribune finally opened the door. “The count will see you now.”
“Your father is busy today, young pup?” Dulcitius brushed past him and assumed a countenance of grave importance. “Greetings, sir.” He kissed Theodosius on both cheeks.
The count eyed him with bland concern. “What news have you that requires my immediate attention? From the furrow in your brow I assume it is nothing good.”
Dulcitius pulled a forged missive from beneath his armor. “’Tis grave news indeed. It appears Titus cannot bring peace to the border. Stanwix to the west has been sacked.” He passed the missive to the count, who studied the mark. “I fear the uprising will never end.”
Theodosius knit his brows. “Who delivered this missive?”
“Titus’s optio carried it himself.”
“And where is he now?”
Dulcitius shrugged. “Returning north, I imagine. I told him I would pass the vellum to you personally since he seemed anxious to return to his century.”
“I do not like it.” Theodosius frowned. “I would have preferred to question the optio myself.” He turned and sat in his upholstered throne and gestured to a chair beside it. “Sit. I have received a missive from the Emperor.”
Dulcitius’s stomach squelched with an explosion of glee, though kept his face deadpan. “Oh?”
“He desires me to replace Jovinus as the Magister Equitum Praesentalis.”
Dulcitius feigned a gasp. “A great honor, sir.”
“Yes, but I do not care for the idea of leaving Britannia when barbarians are still sacking our forts on the northern frontier.” He scratched his chin. “You must send a cohort north to quash this rebellion once and for all. I either underestimated the problems we would face from the indigenous or overestimated Titus’s ability to manage such a vast area of responsibility.”
Dulcitius nodded thoughtfully while his insides continued to dance.
Theodosius poured two goblets of wine and passed one to Dulcitius. “I have made my decision.” He held up his goblet. “You shall carry on as Dux Britanniarum.”
At last. Dulcitius raised his wine. “You bring honor to my house, my lord. I will not let you down.”
“I expect great things from you.” Theodosius sipped his wine and placed the goblet on the table beside him. “My son and I shall leave for Rome in a fortnight. Go now, and make haste to quell the rebellion in the north.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I shall dispatch a missive to Titus with my decision directly.”
Chapter Nineteen
Titus sat at his table the principia and reviewed the daily missives from each decanus who supervised the milecastles along the wall. He cast one aside and picked up the next, trying to focus. Ever present in his mind was the tempting prospect of returning to his chamber. Elspeth would be waiting for him. He pictured her lying naked atop the bedclothes.
Young and lithe, she had quickly recovered from her wounds. During her convalescence, he hadn’t heard her utter a word of complaint, at least not about her wound. She was rather displeased at Titus’s orders for her confinement, but they had found pleasure in the intimacy it provided. And they’d discovered so many ways to maneuver around her injury. Titus had never experienced a relationship so arousing. Now that Elspeth had discovered passion, she threw herself into it like the tigress she was.
Titus clenched his fist and ground it into the table. He had work to do. Such daydreaming was deplorable for a senior officer.
He read the dreary report from Artorius. It detailed the change of guard and suspicious activities, which seemed contrived.
Now that Josias had been killed, peace at last had settled and the legion would be able to complete the rebuilding effort.
Outside, heavy footsteps clamored up the principia steps. Titus looked up, hoping it was Bacchus. A fortnight had passed and he’d expected his optio to return with word from Theodosius three or four days ago. Perhaps Theodosius had retained him as a witness.
A legionary stood in the open doorway. “A missive from York, sir.”
“Come.” Titus waved him in and reached for the scroll. The soldier waited while Titus ran his thumb under the count’s seal and read. His mouth went dry, and bile churned in his gut.
“Shall I take back a reply, sir?”
“No.” Titus ran a hand over his mouth. “Help yourself to provisions and return to York.”
“My thanks.” The legionary bowed his head and turned.
“Have you word of my optio, Bacchus?”
He stopped. “No, sir.”
“Did you not see him when he delivered my missive to Theodosius?”
“Apologies, sir. I saw no one from the Twenty-second Legion.”
Titus nodded and the solider took his leave. His hands shook as they crumpled the parchment. Dulcitius had been named Dux Britanniarum, and Bacchus had not been seen in York? Surely the count would not have made this decision had he known the truth.
Titus opened the scroll and checked the date on the missive. He had only four days to reach Theodosius before the count sailed for Rome. If I leave now, there may be enough time. But this smells like another deception. Where is Bacchus?
Titus was no fool. This time he would ride south with a century ready to fight. If Dulcitius wanted war, he would have it. Titus roared for Alerio, the smart boy who had matched him in the game of Calculi.
The lad marched into the war room. “Yes, sir?”
“I appoint you optio until Bacchus is found. Sound the trumpet. The century will ride in the hour.”
Titus headed to his quarters and found Elspeth by the hearth, wearing her blue Pict gown. “I must ride to York. It appears Bacchus has fallen into evil hands, and Theodosius has appointed Dulcitius Dux.”
“Ye’re serious?” Elspeth sprang to her feet. “I cannot believe Dulcitius slips beneath the count’s nose with his trickeries. Tell me, what can we do to stop him?”
“I am leaving for York immediately. This time with a full century in tow. I dare Dulcitius to attack us and leave no witnesses.” He grasped her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I must away. I heard word Greum continues to scout for us in the west. Go to him.”
Elspeth pulled back. “Ye must be tipsy with wine if ye think I’m letting yer sorry arse head south without me.”
“Elspeth. ’Tis dangerous.”
“Aye, and chasing Josias is not?”
“I cannot allow—”
“Ye want me to follow again?” She slapped her hands to her hips. “’Cause I will.”
He shook his finger. “Do not provoke me. There is no time for me to notify your brother.”
“Then ’tis settled. I shall ride with ye.” Elspeth dashed across the room and grabbed her trousers. “I can wear me costume with the hood.”
Titus clenched his fists. “I would prefer it if you stayed behind where it is safe. You are not trained with a sword.”
She yanked up the breeches. “Aye, but no one is better with a bow. If we are attacked, I’ll climb the nearest tree and kill them all.”
With a groan, Titus threw up his hands. “You will ride at the rear of the company. If anyone with the slightest air of suspicion approaches, I want you out of sight.” He marched toward her and was met with the blue dress in his face. He threw it to the floor. “Do you understand?”
“Aye.” She grinned at him with those damned dimples. “And I’ll carry two quivers of arrows if I’ll be needing to cover a whole century of men.”
Titus rolled his eyes to the ceiling. How could a woman be so fearless in the face of battle? He’d seen many men who could not match her courage. He had to give her that. He watched her pull the linen shirt over her head. She had done a good job washing out the bloodstains and mending it. “We need to march quickly. There will be little time for rest.”
“I’ll saddle Tessie and meet ye in the courtyard then?”
“Very well.”
As instructed, Alerio had the contingent assembled in the courtyard. Elspeth led Tessie out of the stables with her hood over her head, looking like a scrawny peasant. Alerio trotted his horse beside Titus. “That vagabond looks like he plans to travel with us.”
“I have asked him to come. He is witness to Josias’s confession. We must watch out for his safety.”
Alerio nodded. “I shall inform the men, sir.”
****
Elspeth was content to have the men ignore her. To them she was second class, a local ignoramus who meant nothing. The fact that Titus had ignored her since they left Vindolanda was yet another thing. For the past three days, they had been riding hard and steady, only stopping for a few hours of sleep well past dark each night and rising before dawn. Titus had ordered no cooking fire. They’d shoved down handfuls of sweet oats and dried meat when they could.
Though she loved to ride, trotting behind a company of legionaries for days did nothing to provide amusement. Occasionally the laddie Alerio would double back. Though they were probably close in age, Alerio seemed younger with his freckled skin and boyish grin. He tried to project an air of importance, posing as the optio. The men listened to him well enough—probably because they knew they’d meet with the wrath of Titus if they challenged the lad.
Bored with carrying up the rear, she considered what her wedding might be like—if Greum didn’t end up killing Titus when he asked for her hand. A giggle slid past her lips. She glanced up to ensure no one heard the gaffe from her high-pitched voice, but she’d fallen far enough back that she hadn’t drawn attention.
It seemed a peaceful day with a light breeze, but suddenly, for no apparent reason, her hackles stood on end. Her gaze darted across the open lea and then up the hill on their flank. She saw nothing—but still uneasiness gripped her like a vise. Then a legionary slumped forward over his pommel, and his horse skittered sideways into the mount beside him. With two sharp breaths, Elspeth’s gaze again darted up the hill. But she heard it first.
“Attack!” The legionary beside the dead soldier raised the alarm.
Elspeth spun Tessie in place. At least a hundred mounted men lined the hill.
Help.
Without a tree in sight, Elspeth snatched her bow from her shoulder. She spurred Tessie to a gallop. The horse’s rump dipped as the mare skidded to a stop beside Titus. “No trees!” She tried to keep her voice deep, but it came out too high.
Bellowing their battle cry, legionaries cantered their horses, barreling down the steep incline with swords drawn. Above, archers moved into formation atop the crest of the hill.
Titus looked at her with eyes ready to kill, his face as hard as stone. Thinking his anger pointed at her, she could scarcely breathe until he pointed to an outcropping of rocks behind them. “Ride like the wind and do not look back.”
Elspeth slammed her heels against Tessie’s barrel and galloped hard. The sounds of battle rose behind her, but she spurred her mare forward. She pulled Tessie to a stop at the rocks and dismounted while drawing an arrow from her quiver. A dust cloud billowed around the battle and Elspeth struggled to discern who was who with everyone dressed the same. She spied the sideways horsehair crest on Titus’s helmet. He fought two men at once, and she trained her arrow and held her breath, waiting for a shot.
Anyone who touches him will feel me arrow in his back.
When Titus spun, she found a clear line of sight to his opponent. She let an arrow fly and then another. She did not miss Titus’s quick glance before he resumed the fight. With no clear shot, she focused on the wave of foot soldiers now charging down the hill.
Did Dulcitius dispatch an entire legion?
<
br /> Elspeth fired arrow after arrow until both quivers were empty. She pulled her dirk from her belt and watched as the battle progressed. She could not shift her gaze from Titus. He fought like a wild boar, roaring and hacking men down, but the sea of attacking Romans seemed endless. Petronius reared. Titus thudded to the ground. Elspeth stood, dirk ready. Titus lay on back, making not a move.
Her blood coursed like ice under her skin. If only she could run to him now.
He told me to stay. Besides, I’ll be no good to him dead.
Forcing herself not to run, Elspeth crouched behind the rock. With Titus down, no one paid him a mind. The battle wound down, and the survivors raced back over the hill, leaving Titus’s men bleeding and dead in the open lea.
Elspeth crept out from behind her hiding place and ran to Titus’s motionless body. She fell to her knees with tears blurring her vision. Blood soaked the earth under his left hip, and she lifted his tunic to find a gaping gash. She ripped off her shirt and shoved the cloth into the wound and pressed hard while she leaned forward and listened for his breathing. When a soft exhale moistened her cheek, Elspeth’s heart leapt. “Titus. Ye must wake.”
Alerio crawled beside her and collapsed. She glanced at the lad, his helmet looking dented by a ball from a flail.
Elspeth pushed harder against the rag. “Alerio, remove your helmet.”
The lad rolled onto his back and tugged the helmet off. A knot forming on his forehead was turning purple.
“Ye must stay awake. The centurion is still alive, but he’s been skewered. I must stop the bleeding, for his breathing is faint.”
Alerio lay back and watched her. With bare shoulders, the only thing shielding her breasts from his view was the binding that had hid them under her shirt.
“You are a woman,” he said, his voice faint.
Elspeth glanced at him with a nod. “Aye, and a Pict. Titus thought it better if I traveled as a man.”
“Are you the woman who escaped the gaol?”
