out here. You two better come to Eburacum with us.'
'No, Savia and I will just slow you down. Go while we mislead Galba. He can take us back to the fort.'
'She's right, tribune,' Sardis said. 'Better to flee alone if we're to…' Suddenly the man jerked, cut off in midsentence, and then lurched sideways as if drunk. Valeria strained to see in the moonlight. Something was protruding from the front of his throat. The man gave a curious gurgle.
It was the point of an arrow. Savia screamed.
'It's Galba!' Clodius spat. 'Quick, inside the temple!'
As they moved, a staff snaked out from the underbrush. The young tribune tripped, sprawling, and silent men sprang. One stamped on his hand, and the spatha came free. More men blocked the door of the temple, and still more came from behind. They were bearded, their skin blackened, their swords unnaturally long. The women whirled in shock and confusion. These weren't Romans! Even as Valeria realized that the man holding Clodius down was the one called Luca, the barbarian who'd cut him in the forest, strong arms snaked around her from behind. She heard a familiar voice in her ear, speaking Latin again. 'This time we'll ride together, lady.'
It was the man who'd tried to abduct her before! She twisted, trying to kick backward, and he squeezed and laughed. 'I'll keep your hands from your brooch this time. You'll not prick my horse again.'
Other barbarians had seized Savia and were gagging her squeals. The approaching horses were drawing nearer.
'Who's coming?' one of the men demanded of Valeria.
Her captor turned his mouth to her ear. 'Did you bring an escort, lady? Speak honestly and quick, before Luca cuts your Roman friend.'
The barbarian once more held a knife to Clodius's throat.
'It's Galba Brassidias,' she said, 'come to arrest Clodius.'
The Celts cursed.
'I thought you said the Thracian wouldn't come here,' Luca complained to his leader in Celtic. Valeria's tutoring in the language from her servants let her eavesdrop.
'Galba?' the chieftain repeated skeptically. He chose Latin again. 'I think you're mistaken, lady, which means you're either fool or liar. It's somebody else, looking for you in the dark.'
She squirmed, trying to get enough freedom to bite or scratch. 'My husband is commander of the Petriana!'
'And a hundred miles away.'
How did the barbarian know that?
'Let's move, Arden,' a man urged in Celtic again. 'We've got what we came for.'
'I want their horses, too.'
'Gurn is already fetching them,' a female voice said from the dark.
'What about this one?' Luca asked. He was sitting on Clodius, holding his head to the ground by his hair.
'I'll not kill a man when he's already down. Clout and leave him.'
The man struck Clodius on the head with the hilt of the dagger, making him slump, and then kicked him, hard, to make sure he was out. The Roman didn't move.
Then their leader swept Valeria up as if she were no heavier than a cloak, flipped her upside down over his shoulder, and began leading the pack deeper into the trees at a quick trot. He jumped. 'The vixen is scratching me!'
His men laughed quietly.
A boy appeared with the Roman horses, even as they could hear new Romans cantering into the clearing.
Valeria screamed. 'Help! We're being stolen!' The sound of pursuit swerved at her cry.
'Plug her noise,' Arden said with exasperation, and someone ripped her hem for a gag. But even as he moved to fasten it, there was a crashing ahead, and another shout. 'Over here!' a Roman called. 'Barbarians!'
It was Clodius, risen from the ground and circling around to save them!
'I thought you knocked him out,' the leader called Arden muttered.
'He must have a head like a helmet.'
'I'll silence the bastard,' another Celt said, notching an arrow. Yet even as he did so, a Roman javelin sailed out of the dark and struck the archer squarely in the chest, knocking him backward. His arrow flew harmlessly up into the moonlit branches, rattling as it passed, and the archer fell on his back, impaled, the shaft erect as a standard.
'You Britlets won't get away again!' Clodius was charging, sword up, head bloody, vengeance in his eye. It was as magnificent as it was foolhardy, and so unexpected that he was almost on top of the barbarian leader before the Celt could react. Arden was forced to drop Valeria like a sack of wheat, stunning her, and desperately claw for his weapon. Clodius would run him through! Yet honor made the tribune pull up short of a kill. 'Draw and die, brigand!'
Surprised at this reprieve, the chieftain did so. Then a clash of steel, sparks bright as the blades slithered across each other. Even as rough barbarian hands reached to gag Valeria, she could hear the shouts of other Romans dismounting and plunging into the trees. Their leader didn't sound like Galba at all. It was Rufus, the soldier at the gate.
'Clodius!' Valeria gasped. 'Wait for help!' Then the gag caught her mouth.
His sword rang. 'I'll not fail you this time!'
The Celt crouched low, sidling to one side in the manner of an arena swordsman. There was skill here, the Romans could see. Clodius darted forward but was parried, the long swords repelling the combatants from each other, their song sharp in the night. And then again, and again, the clash of metal.
'Finish him, Arden,' one of the Celts hissed.
'The lady is fond of him,' the leader said, breathing heavily.
'Finish him before he dooms us all!'
Valeria lifted herself to run, but a boot caught her in the stomach. She went down again heavily, the wind knocked out of her, stars dancing, breath clogged, the distraction diverting the barbarian leader's eye. It was enough! Clodius leaped, sword whistling in a long overhead stroke. Now he would avenge his ambush!
And yet the counterreaction was instinctual and instantaneous. The Celt ducked under the descending blade and lunged forward, his own sword stabbing through the Roman's stomach and out his back before either man knew consciously what was happening.
Clodius froze, his expression not of pain but utter surprise, as if something inconceivable had happened. His weapon left his hand and stuck in the ground.
The graveyards are full of fair men.
Then the Celt butted the Roman with his shoulder, knocking him backward, and as he did so his sword slipped from the Roman's torso to shine in the moonlight, its blade slick with the young tribune's essence. Clodius was dead before he hit the ground.
Yet now came the other Romans, Rufus and three companions, weapons out, unsure what they'd stumbled into but anxious for battle. They were running silhouettes in the dark. 'Put the sword to them!'
Bowstrings twanged and arrows buzzed. The other Celts had set themselves ready, and the Romans ran into a volley. There was almost no sound, just the quick thwack of missiles striking armored flesh, and then the four would-be rescuers toppled like puppets with their strings cut. They hit the ground and lay still, each bearing two or three arrows.
The Celts ran forward and severed the Roman necks with a howl of triumph. Great gouts of blood blackened the shadows.
The Celtic leader wiped his own sword on the grass, sheathed it, and strode back to Valeria, scooping her up in his bloodied arms. She felt hurt, winded, sick, and faint all at the same time. It had all happened so fast!
'If your friend there had let us go, all of them would still be alive now,' he said. Then he carried her through the trees and threw her over the front horns of his saddle, mounted, and gave his horse a hard kick. 'To Tiranen!'
His men gave a cry of shrill agreement. 'Tiranen!' They mounted themselves, swords raised in triumph, Savia captive as well, their whoops an echo across the glen, the spring of Bormo still serene under the moon. Then they rode north, away from the Wall, and deep, deep, into the barbarian night.
