by Tanya Bird
A flame ignited in Brei’s belly, all the anger she had pushed down for so long bubbling to the surface.
‘We should rest before we go through,’ Keelia said. ‘Who knows what we face on the other side.’
‘Our people. That's what’s on the other side.’
Keelia gestured towards her horse. ‘Does your horse look like a highland horse? Your saddle? Your dagger? Your clothes? What of your Roman braid?’
Brei sighed. ‘Shall I strip down and paint myself?’
Keelia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. ‘You have a baby to consider. We rest first.’
Brei closed her eyes for a moment, then swung her horse and pushed it into a trot, heading for the abandoned fort. That night they slept inside, imagining how much warmer they would be with a fire. But they could not risk the smoke. The last thing they needed was local tribes thinking the fort had been reoccupied.
‘What I’d give for some hot food,’ Brei said, chewing on leathery salted meat. ‘I’d happily eat one of the horses if we could cook it.’
Keelia smiled. ‘At least your appetite is returning.’
Dragging her bag closer, Brei lay her head on it and was asleep within moments.
The next morning, they saddled the horses and passed through the wall. On the other side, they stopped, staring out at the familiar landscape. Brei had expected everything to look different, but the only evidence the Romans had ever been there was the wall behind them.
Taking a deep breath, Keelia pushed her horse forwards. Brei glanced over her shoulder before following after her. It would take at least three days to reach their village, and they had no idea what they would find when they got there. The war had continued for months after Brei had been taken prisoner.
‘What if they’re all dead?’ She could not stop the question from tumbling out.
Keelia kept her eyes ahead. ‘Then we make a new home. This land belongs to us, and we can live where we choose.’
The first day passed without incident, though there were times when Brei suspected they were being watched. She would have felt safer with a bow, but a dagger was better than nothing.
That night they lit a fire because they were sure the tribes in the area already knew they were there. They took turns sleeping. In the middle of the night, Brei jumped as an arrow struck the ground a few feet from her leg. If they wanted her dead, she would be. It was a warning, a test to see how she would react. She gently woke her mother so as not to panic her, then got to her feet, turning in circles.
‘We are Maeatae,’ she shouted, ‘returning to our family, our home. Kill us, and you will be killing your own.’ Her right hand rested protectively over her belly. ‘We fought to defend these mountains, and we are now free to travel through them.’
No more arrows fell that night.
As soon as there was light, the women put out the fire and gathered their few belongings.
‘Leave the saddles,’ Brei said as she sprang onto the mare’s back.
Keelia mounted and looked across at her. ‘You let out your hair.’
It was the mountains, cleansing her of Rome. Not of him though. He coursed through every vein in her body. ‘Thought I better look the part.’ Her gaze drifted to the trees. ‘Let’s go.’
That afternoon they moved to higher ground, weaving through tall trunks and listening to birds take flight around them. Eventually they went in search of water, and it was there by the stream that she truly felt a presence amid the trees. She was crouched down to fill her waterskin and glanced over at her mother to see if she had sensed it also. Keelia’s rigid posture answered her question. Brei stood and walked around the other side of her horse to get a better view. She waited, her eyes trained on the trees, watching for even the smallest of movements. The sound of a bow pulling taut made her turn. She caught sight of someone and, snatching up her dagger, threw it. It pierced the tree they were hiding behind. ‘Show yourself!’ She felt reborn in that moment. Something about her stance, strength, the words echoing around them made it clear the warrior had returned.
Men emerged from the trees and rocks around them, weapons still in hand but looking far more curious than threatening. She searched the faces, recognising some of them.
‘Brei?’
The sound of her father’s voice made her breath hitch. She spotted him, all broad-shouldered and scar-faced. His dark eyes took her in. She broke into a run towards him, and he caught her in his arms like she was five years old, burying his bearded face in her neck. Neither of them moved for a moment. She was crying, and he was making shushing noises he did not mean. Then, remembering her mother, Brei pulled away and turned.
Keelia stood with a tear-streaked face, watching them. It took Seisyll a moment to comprehend who he was looking at. Brei could not blame him; no one expected loved ones to return from the dead. Finally, Seisyll’s face collapsed, tears spilling over and disappearing into his beard. Keelia moved forwards then, never taking her eyes off her husband. Brei stepped back, watching as they met in the middle, not touching, only looking at one another.
‘You’re really here,’ Seisyll said, not bothering to wipe his face.
A choking noise escaped Keelia. ‘I’m home.’
Seisyll scooped his wife into a bearlike hug, and a small piece of Brei’s broken heart was restored. She blinked back happy tears, swallowing furiously to keep her emotions in check as the other men looked on.
‘Alane?’ Keelia asked.
Brei held her breath as she waited for her father’s reply.
‘She’s well. Drust too.’
‘What about Lavena?’ Brei barely had the courage to ask the question.
Her father looked at her. ‘She was taken in by a tribe, healed, and returned to us a few months ago.’
Brei folded and rested her hands on her knees, then straightened and looked up at the sky. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Chapter 40
Summer came and went. Autumn. Then winter arrived.
Nerva’s life had become an endless sequence of meetings and social events. Was there anything more soul-destroying than a dinner party where half of the guests wished you dead? It was a game of sorts, one he was unfortunately good at—and he hated himself all the more for it.
As political conflict continued, so did the threat to his life. As a precaution, Nerva sent his mother south to their villa in Antium. He had good reason not to trust Caracalla when it came to the women in his life.
When he was not running about doing Geta’s bidding, he sat alone in the empty house with a handful of servants who had insisted on remaining behind. Interestingly, Nona’s company was ten times more enjoyable than many of the people he spent time with.
‘When do you suppose your mother will return?’ Nona had asked him one evening when he arrived home.
He was a little drunk and did not want to think about it. ‘Safer for her to remain in Antium.’ Her safety was not the only reason he had sent her away. Their relationship had been more strained than usual since his father’s passing.
‘What do her letters say?’ Nona asked. ‘I bet she misses you.’
Nerva should have put his cup down and gone to bed, but instead he filled it again. ‘It is the city she misses, and the fast access to gossip.’
Nona took his cup from his hand. ‘She’s the only family you have left now.’
He hung his head and leaned forwards in his chair. ‘Must you remind me?’
‘A bitter mother is better than no mother,’ she said, looking away.
He rested his elbows on his knees. ‘How old are you now?’
Her gaze returned to him. ‘Fifteen last week.’
He laughed through his nose. ‘Just fifteen and wiser than most people I know.’
She resumed cleaning up. ‘You should go to bed. Don’t you have a dinner tomorrow, or today?’
He rubbed his forehead. ‘I always have a dinner.’
‘Will Camilla be there?’
He shook his h
ead. Camilla had given up on him. The last time he had seen her, she had been attached to another arm. He should have felt jealous, but he only felt relief. His mother would have likely heard the news also. She would blame him for dragging his feet. ‘No’ was his only reply.
Nona straightened and sighed, taking in his expression. ‘I didn’t like her anyway.’
Nerva laughed. ‘I suppose I should be getting over there before the sun sets.’
The dinner party was hosted by Senator Maximilianus Orfius, who had been a big supporter of Caracalla’s since his coming of age. It was Nerva’s job to change that.
‘We all want to trust our leaders,’ Nerva said to Maximilianus. They were seated on lounges in the triclinium and had just finished eating. ‘You have likely heard about the festival of Saturnalia.’
‘I was shocked.’
‘We all were. I think it says a lot about Caracalla that he would try to assassinate his brother during a Roman celebration.’
Maximilianus sat with a sombre expression. ‘I have supported the man from the beginning, as you know, but this feud is taking time and resources away from more important matters.’
Nerva gestured for their cups to be filled. It would be a long night.
Later that evening, as Nerva made his way home with two guards flanking him, he made the mistake of looking up. It was winter, and he should have seen nothing but cloud cover and drizzle. Instead, he was met with endless stars.
‘That’s all we get? After everything? One sky?’ Brei had said that day on the beach.
One enormous sky.
His gaze fell to the street in front of him, the reminder too much. How long could he avoid looking up for? The problem was, it was not only the sky that reminded him of her. She was everywhere. Certain smells, particular foods, every gladiator demonstration and piece of amber jewellery that burned as bright as her eyes. The smallest thing could trigger a memory of her.
‘Sir,’ one of the guards said, grabbing him by the elbow.
Nerva stopped walking and looked around. He had not even realised they had arrived at the house. It was unusually dark. One of the servants always left a flame burning until he returned. Even the guards knew that.
Something was wrong.
When he went to move, the guard kept hold of him. ‘I’ll go ahead of you.’ He then marched past Nerva, heading for the steps. But before he reached them, a figure emerged from the shadows, plunging a dagger through the man’s belly. Nerva grabbed for his own weapon as the other guard rushed forwards. He ran after him, but by the time he got there, the second guard lay dead. Without hesitating, Nerva slit the stranger’s throat in one mighty sweep before he even had a chance to raise his weapon. The man collapsed to the ground, eyes wide and clutching his neck as he bled out in the same spot Rufus had died. Nerva ran up the steps, then stopped when he heard the scuff of a boot on the street behind him. His fingers tightened around the dagger as he turned. Two armed men stood at the bottom of the steps wearing hard expressions.
The front door opened behind him, and his head whipped around to see two intruders exit.
They had been inside the house.
Nerva’s thoughts went to the servants, to Nona. ‘I pray you were not foolish enough to harm anyone.’
The men looked far from apologetic. ‘Just be thankful your mother had the good sense to leave,’ one replied.
A flame lit in Nerva’s belly as the two men ran at him. He leapt sideways, watching the knives cut through the air. The others ascended the steps to join the fight. It was not the most ideal location, but he was not given a choice in the matter. Blades swung in all directions, and Nerva did his best to avoid them. He managed to grab hold of an arm, twisting it until the weapon fell from the man’s hand. Nerva swung him then, sending the intruder crashing into his companions. Taking advantage of the distraction, Nerva pushed past them and ran down to the street. He could have run at that moment, but he was too angry to flee. Instead, he turned and faced them.
The men descended like locusts, and he swung his weapon in a giant sweeping motion to keep them at arm’s length. But one made it through. Nerva caught him by the arm, twisting it while spinning the man to face the other way. He tugged the weapon from his hand while keeping him close, like a human shield. A moment later, he held a blade to his attacker’s stubbly neck. ‘You all walk away right now, or you all die here tonight. Choose now.’
The men glanced between themselves, then went for him. Nerva cut the throat of his hostage before shoving him forwards into one of the others. He felt the sting of a blade at his side. There were too many weapons coming at him at once. Despite the unfair odds, he fought back, all of the pain and frustration of the previous year fuelling him. He used every weapon he had: dagger, fist, foot, knee. But it was no use. One of the men finally disarmed him, and he found himself trapped in the middle of a triangle, panting while blood seeped through his tunic. More bloodstains on the road for his mother to step over. Nerva felt sorry for her. He could picture her eternally stoic face collapsing at the news of his death.
‘You chose the wrong side,’ one of the men said through bloodied teeth. He took a step towards Nerva, dagger raised, then froze. His eyes burned a little brighter for a moment, and then he coughed, sending a spray of blood through the air. Nerva looked past him and found Marcus standing ten feet away, breathing like he had come at a run. Caracalla’s man collapsed with a knife wedged in his spine. Before the others had a chance to play catch-up, Nerva threw his elbow up, hitting one of them in the face. He heard the crack of bone as the nose broke. The distraction bought him enough time for Marcus to join the fight.
The men brawled in the middle of the street like dogs, until all of Caracalla’s men lay dead. Afterwards, Marcus leaned on his knees, panting, then looked up at Nerva.
‘I came as soon as I heard.’
‘Heard what?’ Nerva tried to catch his breath.
Marcus straightened, a look of confusion on his face. ‘Geta. He’s dead.’
Nerva closed his eyes and brought his bloodied hands to his face. So, Caracalla finally got to him. ‘What a mess.’
‘You’re bleeding.’
Nerva glanced down at the superficial wound. ‘It is nothing.’
‘Good, because you need to get out of Rome—now.’
‘I am not running. Caracalla needs to be held accountable.’
‘You don’t have a choice. His men are combing the city killing anyone who supported his brother. He won’t stop until every memory of him is erased.’
Nerva understood then.
The front door creaked, and both their heads snapped in that direction. Nona peeked out of the doorway, looking terrified. ‘Oh,’ she said, taking in the sight before her.
Nerva jogged up the steps. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded. ‘I hid when they arrived.’ Her face was ghostly pale. ‘The others are… the others are dead. I checked them.’
Nerva blinked, guilt pounding his insides. It was not uncommon for a man’s slaves to be killed alongside him, but what Caracalla probably did not realise was that none of them were slaves. Nerva had granted them all their freedom upon his father’s death and kept them on as employees.
‘Marcus is right. He’ll just send more men,’ Nona said. ‘You should run if you want to live.’
And go where? Going to his mother would only put her in danger. He would have to run now and think later. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’
Nona looked around before replying. ‘I’ll be fine.’
She was lying. Nerva knew she was an orphan.
‘Nerva,’ Marcus called, his tone urgent.
‘Give me a minute,’ he replied, stepping around Nona and dashing inside.
‘We might not have a minute,’ Marcus hissed.
Nerva went straight to his rooms, trying not to look at the two dead servants bleeding out in the atrium. Snatching up a bag, he shoved his swords into it before heading to the tablinum to get the denarii
he had stashed away. Then he fled the house he had been born in, knowing he might never see it again. Passers-by had stopped on the street, hands over their mouths as they took in the massacre before them. Nerva ran straight past them to Marcus and Nona, who were looking more nervous than when he had left them.
‘Did you seriously pack a bag?’ Marcus said.
‘Well, we need money.’
The three of them powered towards the stables, Nona practically running to keep up.
‘Where will you go?’ she asked.
Nerva glanced at her. ‘You mean where will we go? You are coming with us.’
Marcus looked over at him. ‘I suppose I can’t go home either.’
Nerva shook his head. ‘Not if you want your family safe.’ He checked behind him before speaking again. ‘How do you both feel about Giza?’
Nona’s eyes widened. ‘The city?’
‘Yes, the city. Tertia is there with my sisters. You always liked her.’ He knew the women would take care of the girl. It was what they did.
When they reached the stables, they found the caretaker dead outside the stalls. Nerva stepped over the corpse and got to work saddling a horse. When he was done, he mounted and pulled Nona up behind the saddle. ‘Hold on.’
As the three of them made their way through the city, they noticed entire families outside in the cold, talking in hushed voices. The news of Emperor Geta’s death had spread. By some miracle, they made it out without being stopped or questioned. The moment they were free of the walls, they kicked their horses into a canter and rode west. Two hours later, they stopped at a roadhouse to rest the horses and make a plan.
‘We might not have the luxury of a direct voyage to Egypt,’ Nerva said. They were seated around a small table with a plate of food between them. No one had an appetite. ‘We should board the first ship we can get passage on.’
‘Agreed,’ Marcus said.
