his reasons for asking questions about a lowly visiting tribune, but the quaestor ’s interest had planted a seed of concern.
Corvinus awaited him inside the shop as they had arranged. ‘Your business in Londinium was concluded successfully, I hope,’ he said politely.
Valerius mentioned the brand-new swords and shields he had prised from the quartermaster in the city, and the goldsmith’s face lit up. ‘You wouldn’t have got away with that in my day, but, by Mars’s beard, I thank you for it. That’s a dozen rusty spikes that call themselves gladii I’ll never have to put an edge on again, and a dozen shields only fit for the practice ground I can replace.’
Valerius smiled. ‘Is the work complete?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘It is,’ Corvinus said. ‘I have it here.’ He reached up into the top row of a many-drawered cabinet behind him and pulled out a leather bag, which he placed on the counter between them. ‘I hope it is to your satisfaction.’ He picked at the drawstrings of the bag and poured the contents into his hand. ‘I could have fashioned something finer — added a chain perhaps — but the time…’ he said apologetically.
‘No. It is exactly what I wanted.’
It was perfect. Hanging from a thin cord of soft leather was the tiny figure, worked in gold, of a charging boar, a replica of the insignia which decorated the shields of the Twentieth. The craftsmanship was astonishingly delicate and Valerius could barely believe it had been created by the massive, workman’s hands which held it. The pendant shone with a lustre that belied its size and was an object of incredible beauty. It had cost him a month’s pay and was worth every sestertius, because it would not look out of place at a queen’s throat. By tomorrow night, he hoped, it would be hanging at Maeve’s.
‘I congratulate you,’ Valerius said. ‘The workmanship is the finest I have ever seen. But how…’
Corvinus might have been insulted, but he only laughed. ‘Sometimes a man spends a lifetime battering swords on an anvil, but knows deep inside that he has the skill to create finer things.’
Valerius paid the agreed sum and Corvinus placed the necklace carefully back in its leather pouch. ‘Your lady is very fortunate. Tell her to bring it back here and I will fashion a chain for it. Free of charge. I have not forgotten your handsome new swords. But, of course, she will be in Rome?’
Valerius picked up the pouch, and smiled his goodbye. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She is not in Rome.’
When he was gone, Corvinus reflected on the tribune’s final words, and chewed his lip. Should he have said something? No, it was none of his business.
Lunaris didn’t suit the horse. And the horse didn’t suit Lunaris. It was Valerius’s spare mount; a Gaulish mare with handsome thoroughbred lines and a playful nature made more playful by the fact that she hadn’t been ridden for more than a week.
‘Don’t keep tugging on the reins. She has a delicate mouth,’ Valerius admonished him, wishing he’d put the duplicarius on a pack mule instead.
‘I’ve got a delicate backside. If I don’t keep tugging on the reins she’ll be in Brigante country, and you’ll be hunting on your own.’
‘I thought you said you could ride?’
‘I said I had ridden,’ Lunaris announced with dignity. ‘I didn’t say I’d ridden a horse this big.’
Valerius tried to imagine the legionary on anything smaller. ‘When was that?’
‘When I was six or seven. But there are some things you never forget.’
Valerius studied him again, hunched low over the mare’s ears as if he could control her by sheer force of will. ‘Yes, there are some things you never forget,’ he agreed.
‘We won’t be hunting on horseback?’ said Lunaris worriedly.
‘I hope not.’
They arrived at Lucullus’s villa in the fine grey drizzle Valerius had come to realize was Britain’s standard morning welcome. Lunaris grunted with relief to see the hunting party waiting on foot, but Valerius suppressed a curse when he saw how they were dressed. A Roman officer’s dignity wouldn’t allow him to appear before his barbarian host in anything but full uniform, including his scarlet cloak. The dozen men awaiting them — he noted that they were all Britons — were dressed uniformly in clothing of brown and green: heavy cloth shirts and trews that would fend off the largest bramble, perfect for blending in with the landscape and thick with lanolin to keep out the rain.
‘At least we’ll be able to find each other,’ Lunaris muttered from his side.
‘Welcome, my friends.’ Lucullus emerged smiling from the house and Valerius was pleased to see he was accompanied by Cearan, the Iceni nobleman. He looked beyond the two men, searching for Maeve, but she was nowhere in sight. The Trinovante continued: ‘You have eaten, I hope? Good. We will not eat again until the eighth hour, but I have arranged to have food brought to us on the hunt. We are civilized people, you see.’
Valerius saw Cearan studying him with a sympathetic smile. He came close to the horse’s side and patted it on the flank. ‘A fine beast. From Gaul? Good for racing — and fighting — but not for hunting.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Like your uniform. If you and your comrade follow me indoors I believe I will be able to find you something more suitable.’
The two Romans glanced at each other and the handsome Celt recognized the look that passed between them.
‘Do not be concerned. Your fine weapons and armour will be safe under Lucullus’s roof. We are not all thieves, despite what your people seem to think.’
Valerius felt the heat of embarrassment on his face. ‘I’m sorry. We did not mean to give that impression. But we are soldiers and these things are precious to us.’
‘As they are to us,’ the Iceni said graciously. ‘I will place your sword beside mine and your helmet with my arm and neck rings.’
He led them to a room where they could change their clothes and showed them where to put their armour and weapons. Lunaris finished dressing first, grunting as he squeezed into a pair of checked woollen trews which struggled to fit around his substantial backside.
‘I’m putting you on half rations for a month,’ Valerius joked. ‘Get out there and find out what’s happening. I’ll join you in a moment.’
The shirt and trews were of heavier cloth than the equivalent Roman tunic and braccae, but he could move much more freely than in chest armour and a helmet. He left his gladius with his armour, but retained his belt and the short dagger attached to it. The belt also carried a small pouch and he carefully placed the leather bag with the boar amulet inside and ensured it was secure. He felt outlandish in the unfamiliar Celtic clothing and wished he had a mirror to see what he looked like, a thought he immediately banished. Fool. You look exactly like everyone else, only with shorter hair and no festering moustache.
He hurried into the corridor and collided with someone rushing the other way. His first sensation was of softness, then of strength: of warmth, followed by fear. Maeve gasped when her body felt the touch of his and her eyes widened with surprise when she saw the handsome young man in the familiar Celtic clothing. It took a moment for her to recognize Valerius. The look was quickly replaced by another that was gone before he could decide what it was. Valerius willed his legs to move, but for some reason they wouldn’t obey. His chest tightened and his flesh seemed to tingle in a way he had only experienced once before, when he was caught outdoors in a lightning storm. She wore her hair loose today, and her long dress was of dark blue wool, belted at the waist in a way that emphasized the weight of her breasts and the breadth of her hips.
He took a step back and bowed. ‘Maeve.’
She gave a little frown and lowered her head. ‘Tribune.’
He wanted to reach out and raise her chin so that she was looking into his eyes, and tell her that his name was Valerius, but all he said was: ‘Will you be joining us on the hunt today?’
The creamy skin of her forehead wrinkled slightly and he knew she was smiling. ‘Not all British women are the mighty Amazons of your mysteries, sir. We cook and we weave, but we do not hunt — or fight.’
‘I apologize.’ They seemed to be forever apologizing to each other. ‘You must think me uncultured.’
She raised her head and stared at him. ‘No, I do not think that.’
He reached for the pouch at his belt, but she sensed his purpose and placed her hand on his. The heat of her touch felt like a brand. ‘You must hurry. They are waiting.’
‘Will I…’
‘If the gods will it. Remember the owl.’
