The walls of the enclosing forest formed a green pit, its escape the sky. White clouds scudded across the top of the clearing like a fleet of boats seen from the ocean's bottom. Green willows overhung the stream like bowing servants, their drooping tendrils brushing the water. Valeria decided to explore under the branches of one, letting the vines close behind her to form a tent. A forest house! So obese its trunk, so arching its branches! The willow's roots plunged down into the water, and she balanced on one, looking into a clear pool for signs of fish. A shape did dart through the water, and its quickness gave her a quiet thrill. So free it seemed! Swimming where it chose. Diving as it wished. Not trapped, as people were, in an itinerary of schedule and alliance and jealousy and marriage.
The thought startled her. How odd to think Marcus so close! He seemed farther away than ever.
There was a snap of brush, and the soldier Titus appeared, cutting through the willow's overhang after relieving himself. He stopped uncertainly, surprised and embarrassed to encounter Valeria so near.
'Isn't this a grand canopy, Titus?' she asked, hoping to put him at ease. 'Like being in my mother's skirts.'
He looked uneasy. 'I've never heard the willow thought of that way, lady.'
'You don't feel cozy here?'
'No Briton would think so.'
'Really? And how do they think of willows in green Britannia?'
He looked down. 'Briton children are warned not to fall asleep at the willow's twisted feet, lest they be seized and pulled underground. The roots drag them under if the trees aren't appeased.'
She looked at him uncertainly. 'Surely you don't believe that.'
'I haven't seen it, lady.' He pointed upward. 'They also say hair can become ensnared and maidens hung helpless off the ground. It's just a tale. Still, I don't stay too long under one. The Celts worship the willow god with blood.'
'Blood?'
'Life's essence for Esus, the woodman's god. The Celts believe he demands human sacrifice for safe passage. We Romans have ended the practice, of course, but my friend Servius once saw a human skull in the crook of a willow.'
Valeria's eyes were wide. 'What did he do?'
'Crossed himself and fled. He's a Christian.'
'Surely that was from many years ago.'
'Perhaps, but the old ways are coming back, I'm told. Life is less certain, and belief is less proven. People are turning to any god they hope might help. I scoff at none and respect the places of all.'
He was just an ignorant soldier, of course, and she knew she shouldn't take his barracks stories too seriously. Still, as they moved out from under the willow, Valeria wondered just what she had seen in the water. Any deep forest could be haunted by mares, or ghosts, of the dead. Had she seen some kind of spirit in the water?
Valeria told Clodius what Titus had said.
'Like the black forests of Germania,' he replied slyly. 'Quiet as a tomb, and so cushioned by pine needles that you can't hear your own footsteps. Just dark trees, straight as pillars, and then suddenly from behind… the enemy attacks!' She started, and he grinned at her. 'Varus marched in with three legions and never returned, you know. When relief arrived, all they found was a trail of bones.'
'That was three hundred years ago.'
'And Rome has never tried to conquer those forests since.'
Now Valeria imagined unseen armies of huge blond Germans slipping from tree to tree, picking out an Italian head like hers to offer to their dark and bloody gods. 'Perhaps we should go some other way,' she suggested. 'Go around this wood instead of through it.'
'It's too late for that; we'd have nowhere to stay.' He turned. 'Right, soldier?'
'Aye, tribune.' Titus was standing on the lane with his horse's reins in his fist, looking down the leafy tunnel.
'How far to the end?'
'I don't know. The track is longer than I remember.'
Clodius looked too. 'Do you sense trouble?'
'No. But I watch most where I can least see.' He listened a moment more and then, abruptly, he mounted. 'Come. Let's hurry. We don't want to be here at night.'
So they set out once again. Valeria suddenly wished Galba were there.
The forest they reentered seemed older and stiller than ever. The stream wound away from them, taking away its noise, and so they were alone with the clop of hooves and the creak of cartwheels. A mile passed, and then another. The wood seemed to have no end.
Finally they reached a place where the road straightened enough that they could see several hundred paces ahead. They all strained to glimpse the light in the foliage that would signal a conclusion, but no, the way ahead seemed darker than ever. Then something moved lightly in the gloom, like the step of a deer.
Titus's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his cavalry sword.
'What is it?' Clodius asked.
The soldier whispered. 'Men, I think.'
There was another furtive shape in the shadows. 'Probably woodmen. I'm going to ride a short distance ahead to learn their business. Follow as quickly as you can.' Titus kicked and abruptly took off down the lane at a gallop, leaning forward, and then swerved into the trees where the shadows had gone. They heard him shouting, calling to the strangers, and then it was quiet again.
They waited a moment, uneasy at this desertion, and then Clodius trotted his horse to the front. 'Let's move smartly, then,' he said. 'Cassius, stay alert.'
The gladiator twitched the reins, and they followed the trace as before, the mud more visible where the hooves of the cavalryman's horse had scattered the leaves. Everything was still again, as if Titus had vanished.
'I'm uncomfortable with him leaving us alone like this,' Valeria complained. 'Titus is the only one who knows where we're going.'
'We're going where the road goes,' Clodius replied. 'Our guide is simply trying to surprise trouble, rather than be surprised by it.'
'But what trouble?'
The young tribune glanced aside at the enclosing forest. 'None that I can see. It's peaceful in here, don't you think?'
'Too peaceful,' Savia said. 'In Rome it's never quiet, and never dark.'
The carts crested a low hill and then descended into a dark hollow. Where was Titus? It was as if they'd been abandoned. Surely the trees would end soon…
Suddenly there was a birdcall, quick and vibrant. Clodius straightened. 'Hear that?' Another trill, answering the first. 'It's been a while since we've heard birds. We must be near the edge of this wood-'
Then there was a snapping of branches overhead, a rain of leaf and twig, and something big dropped in front of the startled mule. The animal jerked, Savia screamed, and Valeria grasped instinctively at a pole of her canopy, wishing for a dagger. Something was terribly wrong.
XII
By the gods!' Clodius shouted, turning his horse. 'Thief!' And the forest erupted.
A second assailant dropped to knock the Roman from his mount before he could even draw his blade, the two crashing into the underbrush and rolling over and over. When they ended, the assailant was on top, his knees pinning the tribune's shoulders and his knife at the stunned Roman's throat.
The gladiator Cassius leaped to grasp his spear, only to find two archers aiming arrows at his heart.
More brigands rose from the bushes or dropped from trees and formed a hedge of sword and spear, their eyes fierce, their faces bearded, their clothes earthen-colored, their weapons huge.
