Aquilus leaned further forward, his one hand just touching her hair as he gazed at her.
That’s exactly how she had ended up carrying his third child, the one who would give her a divorce and send her back to Britain—back to Cedric. She felt unfaithful to Cedric, to her promise to come back at least. She carried her husband’s babe, yet she felt unfaithful to another man, oh the irony.
Aquilus buried his hands in her loose hair, tipping her face up to him. “We can’t live like this forever, Ness. You have to listen to my side.”
She moved wet eyelashes up to read the message she already knew resided in his eyes. Let things be as before. A Roman tribune doesn’t change, his wife does. Accept that and we will enjoy happiness.
He slid his hand down her arm, trailing sunshine. He moved his other hand up, caressing his thumb across her cheek as the warmth of summer days and joy of bubbling brooks wrapped around her.
To think, she’d almost agreed to his offer hours before he decided to sell his own son. Good thing she’d discovered what a Cretan Aquilus was before she’d committed herself to staying. She stood. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
Aquilus let out a dissatisfied sigh but withdrew his hands. “I got the governor’s support. I leave for Germania next month.”
With the withdrawal of his hands, the sunshine departed, leaving only winter snows. Ness slammed the lid of the money box shut. Who was that stulte philosopher Aquilus always quoted about controlling the passions—Horace? Perhaps she would read his work for surely something ailed her wits that she still looked across the space separating Aquilus and her and wished for him to touch her again. Thank heaven he would leave for Germania soon.
“You and the twins should come, see Germania.”
She shook her head violently. Next journey she went on would involve her and her sons leaving Aquilus, divorce in hand.
“Upper Germania is a day’s sea voyage from the Britannia coast. If you come, we can visit Britannia afterward.”
Ness bit her lip, not happily. “Very well.”
Chapter 22
The mist-crowned Germania Mountains rose to the west, a sight more glorious than anything except Britain. A food satchel over her shoulder, Ness led the twins down the steep incline to the roaring depths of the Rhine below. A fallen tree hung above the torrent the distance of a single pace.
Finding a seat on the log, she dangled her feet over the water’s edge and hugged her boys tight. The sound of rushing water filled her ears and she smiled.
Eric squealed and pointed to a raven that soared out of a thicket. She moved her gaze up to the shrub-lined path on the hill above and caught a glimpse of dark hair, broad shoulders, and metallic armor. She swung her feet hard enough against the tree trunk to break off the bark. Aquilus was supposed to be working in the next town over on trade-related things this week, not bothering her.
Pebbles flew as the man scrambled down the path. He moved past the overhanging shrubs covered with red berries and she caught sight of his face. Lucius.
Ness groaned. Speaking to Lucius aggravated her slightly less than speaking to Aquilus, but only slightly.
“Not interested,” she called out while Lucius still had a hundred paces left.
He kept picking his footing down the bank. Reaching the river, he rested one foot on the log and struck the classic lover pose. “You’re beautiful.” He pointed up toward the purple glories of the crests surrounding them. “Magnificent as the mountain tops.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. You’re tedious.” Ness rescued a hunk of cheese from Eric’s throwing obsession and at the smell a wave of nausea rolled over her. The boy had stayed awake all night long. If Lucius would just leave, she could set Eric and Wryn down under that beech tree there and perhaps close her eyes while they napped.
Lucius’ scabbard hit bark as he plopped himself on the branch. “Is it that I’m not rich enough?”
With a snort, Ness kicked her feet into the cold water. Eric strained against her grip and peered into the murky stream below.
Lucius slid his hand up her shoulder.
“Don’t even think about kissing me.” Ness wrestled Eric back before he belly-flopped into the flowing water.
“Sorry.” Lucius subsided onto the tree branch.
“Not as sorry as you would have been if you’d tried.” Ness saved two cakes of bread from being squished by his movement.
Lucius wrinkled his brow. “What if I was emperor and had the wealth of the land?”
Ness groaned. This was what, the fifth, ninth, she-couldn’t- remember-time she’d said ‘no.’
“It’s not so far-fetched. A little help from the Germanian tribes, using the legions I already have. I could claim the empire.”
Wryn moved a careful step away and picked at bark with his thumb. “I hate emperors.” Ness tried to grab Wryn. Eric squirmed and pushed himself out toward the water again.
“Here, hold a babe.” Ness shoved Eric at Lucius and grabbed for Wryn.
From behind her, Lucius feigned interest. “What a pretty child.”
Did he think Eric a girl? She pried Wryn’s fingers off the tree limb. He didn’t scream, but persistence? Oh yes, enough for a Paterculi. Wryn grabbed another branch. Ness sighed and turned. Eric sank his teeth into Lucius’ shoulder.
Yowling, Lucius threw the child. Rapidly moving water splashed up as Eric hit the surface.
“Villain!” Ness dove into the rushing water. Ice cold water slammed into her as she grasped for anything in the dark depths. Her hand met fabric.
She almost squished the child as she hugged him to herself.
Eric’s bottom lip trembled. Water dripped down his ears and his soaked tunic clung to him in the chill air. Lucius could have killed him!
Struggling against the current’s pressure, Ness scrambled back to the tree branch and glared murderously at Lucius. “Leave now before I have to resort to the unpleasantness of talking to my husband.”
Lucius lounged back on his hands. “That’s a threat? He’s just a tribune. I’m a governor.”
“You underestimate the Paterculi possessive streak.”
Lucius looked at her, looked up the hill, and stood up. “You’re really not worth the trouble.”
“Exactly! Now explain that concept to Aquilus,” Ness called after Lucius’ departing back. What had he meant by that emperor gibberish?
Lucius tilted his stool back and plopped his sandals on the table, squishing several important tax records. No matter, his secretary had to rewrite them all anyway to hide the tenth he planned on stealing. The morning sun made patchwork designs on the littered floor of the governor’s mansion.
A young legionary came to the door and stood stiffly. “Sir, a missive from Legate Vocula.”
Lucius eyed the legionary’s sword as he rose to take the parchment. “How’s training these days?”
“Good, sir.”
Dropping Vocula’s missive, Lucius unsheathed his own blade. “Show me.”
The legionary fell back a step. “Sir?”
Lucius brought his sword up. “Come on, boy. That’s a sword on your belt, isn’t it?”
Eyeing the door, the legionary unsheathed his blade. Lucius flicked forward with his sword arm. Steel ground against steel and the legionary’s hand trembled as he blocked Lucius’ uppercut.
Lucius swung to the right. The legionary sidestepped and attempted a forward jab. Lucius pressed forward, the weight of his arm in his sword as he pushed aside the legionary’s blade.
Falling back, the legionary tripped over a wood chest and sent amber flying across the room.
The legionary dropped his arm. “My apologies, sir.”
Lucius shrugged. “If I’d been trying to kill you, I would have right there.”
A decurion walked through the door, holding his helmet in his hands. “Sir, a grain shipment’s been delayed. The cohort centurion says we will be reduced to half rations.”
“Just demand some from th
e townsfolk.” Lucius kicked away amber stones to make a clear space. “You’ve seen a few wars, Decurion. Help me show this lad how real battle is done.”
The decurion blinked then drew his sword. Lucius cut forward with his blade, but the decurion stepped closer, catching Lucius’ steel on his own. Lucius slid on amber stones as they moved left and right.
The secretary ran into the room so fast his limp brown hair flew back. “I finally found it!”
Lucius parried the decurion’s blow. “Found what?”
The secretary gazed aghast at the strewn amber. “Alone, sir?”
With a sigh, Lucius dismissed the decurion and legionary. “What is it?”
The secretary stumbled over fallen crates and slid on amber stones as he rushed forward. “A scandal with the tribune. See this.” He plopped a scroll with the Paterculi seal on the table.
Lucius stared at it. “Greek words? Or is it Persian?”
“Not just any Greek, a passage of the Christians’ holy book.”
Lucius frowned, wrinkling his nose. “So?”
“Emperor Domitian’s been executing those following the Hebrew religions. Of course, the tribune’s a bit influential for that penalty. Still, it could cause him trouble.”
Lucius sheathed his sword. “Wait months for a possible conviction, that’s the best you’ve got?”
The secretary slipped the scroll back into his tunic and crossed spindly arms. “You have a better plan?”
Lucius scratched the bristles on his cheek.
The door opened to another legionary. “Tribune Paterculi is here, sir.”
Lucius groaned. “He’s always here.”
Pushing past the legionary, Aquilus himself stepped through the doorway. “Governor.”
Why did that man have the Paterculi fortune instead of him? It wasn’t fair. Lucius threw himself on his stool. “What is it?”
“The trade plan. You need to start implementing—” the overly zealous man started.
“Later.” Lucius kicked his feet up on top of a table. The fates, they must hate him. That was the only explanation for why this stoic tribune who had no idea how to enjoy money inherited millions of sestertii while he was born to an impoverished patrician line.
“You’ve been saying that for two months.”
Lucius shrugged. “Why not make it an even three?”
Aquilus slammed a wax pad of figures on the table. “No. This needs to be done now or we’ll have a revolt on our hands.”
Lucius’ feet hit the stone floor as he jumped to a stand. “Do you really think so?” He fingered the pommel of his sword.
“Some people prefer live soldiers and justice for the natives.”
Shrugging, Lucius sat. He edged a wine amphora toward Aquilus with his finger. “Want a drink?”
Aquilus looked down at Lucius. “I don’t drink at this hour.”
Lucius rolled his eyes. “If you were having my morning, you would.”
Mid-scowl, Aquilus slipped on something. He bent down and grabbed it. “Is this yours?” The tribune dangled Vocula’s muddied letter, which, if opened, had information that would convict him of treason.
“Yes!” Lucius lunged over the table. His hips caught on the wood and the table overturned.
Aquilus took a step back, away from crashing wood. “You should take better care of official correspondence.” The tribune dropped the missive in Lucius’ hand and left.
With a scowl, Lucius picked himself up off the floor.
The secretary graced Lucius with a pitying look. “My plan, sir?”
“No.” Lucius slammed himself down on the fallen table between the table legs. “What about Hispania’s governor? Hispania always has trade troubles. Maybe we could get the Hispania governor to take Aquilus off our hands.”
The secretary coughed. “Wife. Eighteen months ago. Remember?”
“Oh.” Lucius looked down at the floor. His face brightened. “How about the Hispania legate?”
“Wife,” the secretary said again.
Lucius wrinkled his brow. “I’m sure I didn’t seduce his wife. She had auburn hair and spoke with an accent. I would have remembered.”
The secretary coughed. “The legate has blacklisted you thrice. I think that’s better proof than your memory.”
“Well, I did kiss her in the legate’s bed chamber once.”
The secretary sighed. “That would do it.”
Lucius shook his head in disgust. “Some people are so narrow-hearted.”
The secretary tapped the upside down table leg as he looked disapprovingly at the wrecked room.
“How about this? I’ll send Aquilus to Legate Vocula, have the tribune murdered on the way, and blame it on Germanian Celts. It’s believable since the Germanians are making rebellious complaints about losing profit on trade.”
“Wonder why.” Sarcasm tinged the secretary’s voice.
Lucius gave him a poisonous glare. “You’ll lead the Germanian assassins I recruit.”
The secretary rubbed ink-stained hands together. The Cyprus tree on his signet ring jutted out from his thin fingers. “Me?” he said, voice a peep.
“Yes, I’ll tell the tribune to leave for Britannia by week’s end. Go plan your ambush.”
The secretary fingered the cloth of his oversized tunic. “These Celts are warriors?”
“Of course. I wasn’t depending on your sword arm.”
The secretary still trembled. “If it’s Britannia, his family will go with him. Do you want them killed?”
Lucius jerked his gaze up. “How do you know that?”
The secretary crossed prim arms. “You’ve had me tracking the tribune for months. I know everything about him.”
Lucius chewed the insides of his cheeks. “Eliminating all witnesses would be safer.”
The secretary twitched uncomfortably.
Lucius waved a nonchalant hand. “Let them live then. Might as well do our good deed for the year.”
Heaving a relieved sigh, the secretary grabbed a dusty tablet and stylus. “Did you know his scrolls are ordered alphabetically on the horizontal axis, chronologically on the vertical axis, and by size on each shelf?”
“Aquilus’?” Lucius groaned. “We’re doing this man a favor killing him.”
Aquilus waited, yet again, in the courtyard of the governor’s palace. Blasts of fall air sent colored leaves whisking about the place. A medical detachment filed in from the north gate, soldiers in litters with limbs covered in bandages. Anger heated Aquilus’ blood. These insurrections had to stop.
Moments later, Aquilus stepped over a pile of scrolls and entered Lucius’ office.
Lucius sprawled over a table. With a jerk, he sat up. “You got my missive then?”
Aquilus grunted an affirmative.
“I want to talk to you about trade plan implementation.”
“That’s a first.”
Lucius ignored the sarcasm. “Since much of Germanian trade is conducted with Britannia, I thought we should have Legate Vocula’s approval.”
“A statistical examination of the destination of Germania’s trade assets actually shows Britannia near the bottom. Gaul, and even Arabia, rank higher.”
Lucius slapped his hands on the table. “I don’t care! I want this man’s support.”
Aquilus stifled a groan. “When will that come?”
“I want you to secure the legate’s support.”
Aquilus spread his feet on the stone floor.
“I will work on the plan in your absence.”
“And be ready to implement the trade plan when I return?”
A broad smile spread over Lucius’ face. “By the time you return? Most assuredly.”
Half an hour later, Aquilus ripped open the door to a smallish Germanian house built with a Roman floor plan. The wind blew leaves in after him, spreading them out across the courtyard.
Why had he let Lucius force him into this absurd mission? Oh, that’s right, because the Emperor had give
n the incompetent man a governor post.
In the atrium, his sons sprawled on the tile. Eric closed his fists around a game set of knucklebones. He pounded them against the floor. Aquilus crossed the space.
“Eric cheats,” Wryn lisped. He clutched only one knucklebone in his chubby fist.
A smile twisted up Aquilus’ mouth as he squatted next to the boys.
“Look,” he scooped up knucklebones and held them out flat-handed. “Men have played this game for centuries. Caesar threw just such bones before he made his rise to greatness. Horace loved the sport. Even Zeno likely—”
“Me turn!” Wryn clapped his hands.
Laughing, Aquilus flopped forward on his stomach, his weight on his elbows. “Like this.” He nudged one knucklebone in front of him and threw the rest high.
Inexplicably, Wryn melted into tears.
Aquilus reached for the boy.
Wryn drove his hands against Aquilus’ chest. “No. Mama!”
A curtain swished. Aquilus looked up. Ness stood there, scowling.
“I have an assignment in Britannia.” He didn’t rise from the floor. Wryn whimpered in his arms.
Ness’ light eyebrows flew up, exposing her blue eyes. Dirt smudged her fair hands and stained the white linen she wore. Why did she love the earth and growing things so much?
If he’d thought she hated him after he took her away from her crops a year ago, he’d had much too weak a view of hate. Since the Cassius incident, she wouldn’t so much as look at him. Heaven knew he’d tried to coax her into smiling upon him these last weeks. King Leonaidas and his three hundred who died at Thermopylae faced a less determined foe than he did each time he spoke to her.
With a sigh, he pushed the rest of the knucklebones toward Eric. “Can you make ready by week’s end?”
The boy grabbed a handful of bones and hurled them at Wryn’s head. One bone thumped against Wryn’s eye. He clenched both hands over his little eyes and wailed.
For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1) Page 29
