Striding up to the house, Aquilus rapped the wood. A string of dried rabbit heads hung by the door.
A man with the look of a former centurion opened the door. His clothing split the divide between Celtic and Roman and the thickness of his girth proved retirement agreed with him.
After exchanging a few words, the man welcomed Aquilus to the plank table in the dusky interior.
Aquilus started with the regular questions, the ones he always asked. What were the main trade goods in the locality? What ran well? Poorly? What changes were needed to increase profits and better employ resources? He jotted notes on a wax tablet.
“Have a drink.” The trader reached behind him and grabbed a skin pouch. He filled two pewter mugs with whatever liquid it held.
A boy burst through the door, letting sunlight into the smoky room. The child’s blonde hair and lanky Celtic build proved that his mother was no Roman. The boy triumphantly threw down a freshly killed rabbit next to the mugs.
Patting the boy on the shoulder, the trader nodded approvingly at the kill. “My son, Arthur,” he said. “Do you have children?”
“Two sons.” Aquilus let the sides of his mouth move up. Plucky babes, too. Eric would be wanting his armatura sword before he could walk.
“A wife?” the trader asked as Arthur disappeared, letting the rabbit lay there. It must have been a sick rabbit, for it sent up a stench.
Aquilus grimaced and nodded. “As to the trade—”
Curiosity exuded from the man’s paunchy face. “How long married?”
“Over two years.” After a year with him, though, she’d upped and walked out. Aquilus scowled and readied his stylus.
The man took a long swig of Celtic mead. “Your wife—”
“Let us talk of problems that make sense, employ logic, and have a rational solution—like trade.”
The trader clamped his mug down, eyes lighting with interest. “There is trouble at home?”
Aquilus shrugged. He had no desire to contemplate that trouble at present.
“Your wife is not pleased with you?”
He could feel the irritation rising in his veins. “And what does please womankind that they do not mutilate?” He pushed his mead cup away and leaned forward to capture the man’s attention for more important things.
To his annoyance, the trader leaned back against the wall and took another slow swig. “Tribune, you are a young man, but in a high position. You have worked hard. I admire that. But women,” the trader emphasized his words with a thick finger, “they take more than ambition and talent.”
Aquilus rolled his eyes, a puerile move, but incredibly justified.
“For women, you need the wisdom of age.”
With a groan, he shifted his position on the bench.
“Women are like a battle on the frontier.”
Aquilus tapped his fingers against the table planks. Could the man talk any slower? Unfortunately, experience with these traders had taught him interrupting only made them drag the conversation on longer.
“When you are fighting the barbarians in their disorganized hordes, sometimes, in the heat of battle, they will draw back. You think they want to retreat. Yet, as any seasoned soldier knows, they are waiting for the legion to press forward, then they will re-engage, be warriors once again.”
Eyes expressionless, Aquilus raised one eyebrow. “Your point?”
“Women are the same. They want attention, affection, so they fall back as if they would leave. Yet, if you follow after, they will re-engage, restore old ways of functioning.”
“And in your analogy, aren’t the Roman soldiers taken unawares by a murderous surprise attack?”
The older man laughed. “Very true, Tribune, but women are less dangerous than the barbaric horde.”
“You don’t know my wife,” Aquilus muttered. Now he really did intend to discuss trade.
An hour later, Aquilus stuffed the wax tablet into the pouch attached to his belt and left for the garrison. Most of the trader’s information he already knew, except for the amber trade falling off in past months—and the marriage soliloquy.
Scowling, Aquilus kicked a pinecone. It skittered away but didn’t improve his mood.
A dozen paces later as the forest dirt turned to stone on the incline up to the garrison, he kicked a rock. It bounded down to the slopes below but didn’t relieve his irritation.
Halfway up the cliff upon which the garrison perched, he almost kicked a boulder but thought better of it.
Did the trader speak the truth? He had a right to anger, but it would be pleasant if Ness stopped hating him. Trying to talk to her compared to piecing together a shattered clay jar. The pieces were supposed to fit, but they didn’t.
Aquilus picked up a stone and hurled it into the valley below. He did love her. Even when he had received that rage-inspiring news a year ago about her leaving—and morosely decided to finish out his year in Germania while waiting for her to come to him—still, he had loved her. Five weeks ago, he’d sailed through the night and ridden all day from Camulodunum to see Ness and meet his new sons.
If she had stayed in Rome like a normal wife, he would have seen his sons months ago. All thoughts of anger had dissipated when he’d seen her that first time in the fields. She’d looked so beautiful standing there in the midst of wheat stalks, the setting sun reflecting off her hair, their child at her feet.
Ness had started when he saw her, fell back like a demure maiden, her eyes directed downward, eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Those blue eyes had looked so different from the way they typically flashed, her whole face lighting, but enchanting all the same.
He could tell she did not recognize him at first with the setting sun behind him, but she’d looked so endearing as the wind flicked the fabric of her dress that he had played along and waited for her recognition.
The next moment she’d talked of a barbarian lover. Her eyes big, blue, and innocent as a broadsword, she’d said she’d give him just cause for a divorce. Aquilus ground his teeth. He had been so furious with her. He still wasn’t over those emotions, especially since she’d obviously loved this Cedric from before.
Had the man rejected her and that’s why Ness had chosen to marry him? No. Aquilus shook his head. No man would ever turn Ness down.
How could one look into her face, see her high cheekbones and flashing blue eyes, her gold hair whipping in the wind, and not fall in love? Despite her other failings, she was an outstanding mother. He’d give her that.
The twins filled her arms when she held them, one on each hip. It was strange to see his wife with babes, his sons, in her arms. She looked too young, too beautiful to be a mother.
Aquilus smashed into the garrison gate. He jerked back.
Great Zeno! The philosopher would have excommunicated him from the band of Stoics for all this irrational emotion.
Aquilus grimaced. What kind of man was he anyway, forgetting what she’d done wrong, swept away by some less than rational infatuation?
His father would have murdered him for marrying an unconnected native woman like Ness. His duty, as his father would have reminded him, was to Rome, which meant a favorable match that would propel him into political office. When he had seen Ness, though, he hadn’t cared one fig for duty.
Now that he was married, even his father would have agreed that he needed to stand by his decision. He should do it stoically, though, let Ness feel the full force of her errors. Cinncinatus would have done that. Zeno would have done that. His father would have done that.
But he looked into her eyes, when they weren’t flaming sarcasm, and watched her holding their sons, even if they did scream, and he didn’t care if she apologized contritely and proved herself again. He just wanted her to love him. Like when they first married and his homecomings brought a smile to her face, and that one smile erased the entire day’s frustration of ill-done administrative work and incompetent staff.
Mayhap the trader knew something he didn’t. At least
he could try.
Chapter 15
The Germanian sun faded as the barge steward rolled a cask into the gathering of men. The cabins on either side of the back of the barge broke the chill wind. Soldiers perched on crates and planks as they stuffed down salted beef and bread.
Swallowing a bite of biscuit, Ness pulled a cloak tighter around Eric and Wryn who huddled by her side.
Lifting the cask on top of a barrel, the steward pulled out the bung. “Wine from the homeland.”
The soldiers cheered.
She held her cup up. One sideways glance proved she’d hit her mark. Aquilus lowered his eyebrows disapprovingly.
With an unsure glance at Aquilus, the steward splashed wine into her cup.
The red stuff tasted brackish, but she drained it and asked for another. As the cask emptied, the air grew cold and Eric and Wryn’s eyelids drooped.
Grabbing them up, she took them to her cabin in the back of the barge. Of course, Eric’s eyes popped open. Moments passed as she knelt over their basket bed, singing lullaby after lullaby. Finally, they pillowed their heads down in sleep and she tucked in their lamb fleece.
Behind her, the door hinges creaked. Aquilus walked into her room. He swung the door closed. The latch clanked shut behind him.
His sandals made a thudding noise against the floorboards. He reached down and touched her cheek.
Jumping up, she slapped her hand across his cheekbones.
He stood still, watching her.
“The door’s over there.” She pointed with her thumb.
He leaned up against the center post that held the high shelf crossing the room’s center. His eyes had a pensive light as he watched her. “You’re lovely, possessed of all most beautiful, besides, you alone have stolen all charm from other women.”
He quoted Catullus, right? “So?”
“Love shook my heart, like the wind on the mountains, troubling the oak trees.”
Sappho? “Why are you quoting verses at me?”
“At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”
Plato.
Aquilus opened his mouth again, and this time she couldn’t keep her ears from drinking in the words. He used all that rhetoric they teach Latin school boys and not the Cicero statesman part.
She drew back one step. Her shoulders hit the wall of the tiny sea cabin.
He stepped forward. He ran his fingers down her hair, then brushed them against her arm, but her gaze locked on his mouth. Catullus’ poetry was an ill-done shadow compared to his words. Words of approval. Words of love.
She went rigid. She was divorcing this man.
Leaning in, he slid his hand down her back. She couldn’t think straight—or didn’t want to.
What would it feel like to touch flint to steel and plunge into the heat as tinder exploded into flame? No!
He brushed his lips over hers.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was handsome, so devastatingly handsome.
Aquilus touched her waist, pressing her closer. It wasn’t a kiss anymore. It was a host of shooting stars surrounding her. He caressed her cheek. The feeling tugged at her like the wind that blew across the wastelands to the north.
Caught up in the blustery gusts, she couldn’t hear anymore for the roar of the gale, couldn’t see anymore except for the blur of leaves and fog whipping by. She could only feel.
She felt like the only woman who had ever lived, ever would live, like the Empire lay at her feet and the stars lined her pathway.
A false feeling, certainly, but oh to feel it!
He slid the fabric of her dress off her shoulder, his hands warm on her skin. She struggled with the clasp of his sword belt as she passed the point of turning back.
As the fourth watch of the night clanked by her cabin door, Ness opened her eyes. The first glimmer of a new sunrise peeped through the chinks of the cabin shutters. She twisted and her shoulder hit Aquilus’ chest.
She groaned. Of all the stulte things she could have done last night.
The fermented drink had affected her normally impeccable judgment—untrue. Did Aquilus know how charming he could be? She pressed her lips together. Oh yes, he knew very well.
She looked over at the sea cot where her babes, miraculously, still slept.
So little, yet growing so fast. She’d planned to take them to the mountain lakes when spring came. That wouldn’t happen in Rome.
What would happen if she stayed in Rome?
In her mind’s eye, she saw Bernice’s sneer and the big-nosed lady’s look of scorn. If she stayed in Rome, her sons would grow up just as prejudiced as them.
No, she tightened her hand on the bed sheet. She wanted her sons to experience the free air, life on the land, and the equality that came from the struggle to survive. She couldn’t stay.
Besides, her soon-to-be-divorced husband was a horrible father. In the last eight weeks, he’d barely touched his sons.
In sleep, Aquilus turned and flung his arm over her. Steady breaths moved his bare chest in and out, his skin touching hers.
Pushing his arm off her, she closed her fingers on the wrinkled pile of her dress.
Rubbing his hand across his eyes, he rose to his elbow. “Ness.” His Latin accent swept the memories back over her. He circled his arm around her bare back and smiled at her, that smile that could wash away all sensible thought. “You’re awake.”
She held herself stiff, though she couldn’t keep herself from gazing into his eyes. “I haven’t changed my mind about wanting to live in Britannia.”
Reaching forward, he tugged her next to him, the muscles of his arm hot against her skin. He pushed himself to a sitting position and touched his mouth to hers. Her heart pounded. Perhaps he’d changed in the last year.
The sound of a fist pounding on the door ricocheted through the cabin. A soldier called through the wood, “Tribune Paterculi. The Germania delegation’s ready and waiting. Centurion Felix said if you don’t leave now you won’t make the first town by nightfall.”
“Mea culpa. I’m coming.” Bounding up, Aquilus jerked on his tunic and grabbed for his sword belt. He tangled his fingers around her and tugged her next to him. “I’m headed to the Germanian frontier for a fortnight. Salve.” He bent to kiss her.
A fortnight? That meant he’d be gone a month. He hadn’t changed at all. She slapped both hands against his chest and shoved him away from her. “I will go back to Britannia.”
With a groan, he released her and moved to the door. “I’m done arguing with you about that.”
Oh no, he wasn’t. The door clanked shut behind him, taking him away again.
Three Weeks Later
The jangle of armored men rose over the Rhine’s water. The grate of the barge anchoring to a dock shook Ness’ footing. Above the river, mountains towered high, their purple crests half-hidden by the dark clouds overhead. A dank wind blew down the river valley.
So Aquilus had returned. He’d been gone for three weeks. Her jaw trembled. His absence brought back all the memories from their fights of a year ago. Only now she had two babes to tend also. She tugged the twins’ cover up to their chins in their basket bed and stepped through the cabin door.
Aquilus, followed by his requisite cluster of soldiers, walked up the plank connecting the dock to the barge.
Pushing past soldiers, she walked up to him and said the words that had burned on her tongue for the last three weeks as she alternately wept tears of frustration and tried to keep the twins from killing themselves. “You’re back. Can you please sign the divorce papers now?”
His gaze came up. “Haven’t you moved on from that yet?”
“No, so why not give it to me?” Before she lost her wits or he made her cry again.
“No.” He ruined the appeal of those dark eyes and square chin with the tone of his voice.
A horde of heavy feet passed by her, sinking the barge a good foot deeper into the water.
“How much longer are you going
to drag this out?” She glanced up at the little Germanian town that perched on the mountain crest above them. Journeying back to Britain with two babes underfoot would prove easier and cheaper from the Rhine than Rome.
“How about the rest of my life?” Hand on her back, Aquilus attempted to move the conversation to a more private area.
Why? So he could break her heart with kisses again? She planted her feet on the deck. “What possible need would I have for a divorce after you’re dead?”
“Exactly.” He turned to walk away from their conversation, just like he had three weeks ago.
“Aquilus Paterculi, you are a cruel, hateful man,” she yelled after him. Underneath red plumes, many soldiers widened their eyes, but she didn’t care.
His sandal struck the deck as he whipped back. “Because that’s what hateful men always do—stay faithful to their wife?”
Why couldn’t he just let her go rather than torturing her like this? “You’ll regret this,” she called over the distance separating them as the sailors tried to look like they hadn’t overheard. One of the ship boys almost drowned himself in a soap pail practicing this pretense.
“Regret what, marrying you?”
This time eyes didn’t widen. Rather, soldiers nodded their heads in agreement. Dozens of men in the uniform that conquered the known world stared their disapproval at her.
The pit of her stomach churned. Keeping her gaze down, she crossed to her cabin door and slipped inside.
Something moved.
A hag in a gray tunica leaned over the twins’ bed. The woman took hold of Eric’s legs and experimentally picked him up.
Leaping forward, Ness ripped Eric out of the woman’s hands. “Who are you?”
“By Jove, watch your step, woman.”
Ness positioned herself in front of Wryn. “Don’t ever touch my sons again.”
“Seeing as the tribune hired me as nurse, that makes my job easier.” The woman looked more plain than haggish in the window light. She rubbed one bony finger against her arm where baby-sized teeth marks showed.
This was Aquilus’ doing? She found herself hoping that Eric had taken a good chunk out of her arm. “I don’t let strangers tend my children.”
For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1) Page 20
