could hear the squeal of children and cackle of chickens. Everything was normal and yet strangely warped, as if viewed in a mirror. Her life had irrevocably changed.
She dressed hurriedly and crept downstairs. The Great House was being readied for supper, and Valeria realized she was famished again. She'd never been very hungry in Rome but always seemed that way here, where food was so simple. It wasn't just her mind that had changed, it was her very body, the buds of taste, the memory of smell. How disoriented she felt, as if still drunk!
She almost bumped into Asa, the redhead looking at her warily. Valeria's position in the clan had changed. By surrendering to the chieftain, she'd gained his power, so now Asa exhibited toward Valeria the surly deference of a disciplined dog. These were people who lived at extremes, overbearing in victory and downcast in defeat. 'Where's Arden?' Valeria asked.
'In the Council Hut with a visitor.' The question allowed Asa a small victory. 'He's not to be disturbed.'
The Council Hut was one of the round and peaked Celtic houses inside the hill fort, used for meetings when there were issues that were not for all ears. No doubt the horses Valeria had seen were from another chief. Was there some business that went with the dawn of the Celtic New Year? She'd have to ask Arden.
'Where's Savia?'
'Who knows?' Asa sniffed. 'She scurries like a lizard from rock to rock.'
Valeria got her cloak and went outside. She wore the high Celtic boots, but the mire had stiffened anyway: Cailleach had indeed struck with her staff. The overcast was low, its color sword-steel, and Valeria's breath made quick puffs of cloud. She wanted to find her maidservant, so much like a mother, and explain what had happened. Or have Savia explain it to her. She wanted, unconsciously, her slave's blessing.
Yet Savia was not at the gate, nor at the well. The corral? Valeria walked there and noticed that saddles had been taken from the tired mounts and placed on the rail. She was about to walk by, paying no mind, when she stopped and turned.
They were Roman.
The angle of horns, stitching of leather, and embedment of small coins were as distinctive as a face. These horses had come from the Wall.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Marcus, come to bargain for her release? Had she fallen in love with Arden Caratacus only to leave because of ransom?
But she should leave him, of course, out of loyalty to her husband!
She should, but she didn't want to.
She went to the railing of the corral and looked at the horses.
They whinnied, trotting this way and that, fearful they'd be made to ride again before resting. But no, she only wanted to see if she could tell which horses they were…
'The black one. Recognize him?'
She turned. It was Savia, the older woman hiding her face with the hood of her cloak. She'd stolen up on Valeria from behind.
'Go on, look,' the maidservant urged.
The black one? Yes, there he was, big and proud, head uplifted, nostrils wide. 'Galba!'
'Yes, my lady, Galba. Or rather, Galba's horse.'
'Is the senior tribune here, too?'
'Like an apparition of the devil.'
'Why?'
'Come to negotiate our release, I suspect.'
'After all this time?'
'Before anything worse can happen. Before we forget where we came from and who we are.'
Valeria felt sick. If it were Marcus, her feelings might be more mixed. But to have to ride back to the Wall with Galba…
'Why now? Why him?'
'I don't know. But if this concerns our fate, then I suggest we do what we slaves do best, which is listen. There's a hayrick in back of the hut where two women might hide while peering through a chink in the wall.'
'A chink?'
Savia held up a stick. 'When I saw Galba ride through the gate, as bold as an emperor and as wary as a wolf, I made one.'
Two Roman cavalrymen guarded the door, Valeria recognizing the posture and profile of Galba's closest decurions. A third was in the rear of the hut, squatting in boredom. The women burrowed through the hayrick and lay not four paces away, invisible to his eyes. Savia's slit in the daub-and-wattle wall revealed Arden and Galba sitting by the charcoal heat of a small fire, each holding wine cups but regarding each other with the stiff courtliness of men who are allies but never friends. Behind them, listening like an owl and swaddled in robes, was Kalin.
The Roman's boots were spattered with mud, and his tunic was wet from sweat, evidence of a hard ride. Galba looked all business. So did Arden. The gentle and passionate lover of Samhain had been replaced by the warrior. He was unarmed but tense, military, alert, his features chiseled. Galba's face was darker and more sunken, as if caving in on itself.
'Are you here for the woman?' Arden's question was carefully flat.
'Who?' Galba seemed uncertain for a moment what the barbarian was talking about. 'Oh, her. Of course not.'
Arden stayed expressionless. 'She's our hostage against attack, you know.'
Galba nodded. 'The situation has been more than a little frustrating for Marcus Flavius. I pretend ignorance about the girl's whereabouts while he fears to even hunt for her. He's wretched about doing nothing and wretched about doing something. He vacillates and broods and blames me, while ignoring letters from Rome seeking news of her plight. What a coward the man is! Given enough time, the duke would relieve him. But events on the Continent mean we don't have that time.'
'What do you mean?'
'It's I who am about to be transferred. To Gaul or Spain.'
'You?'
'It's the work of the praefectus. He's never trusted me and secretly blames me for the loss of his wife. Never mind that I lost four good men trying to save her.'
'From a rendezvous you engineered, Brassidias.'
'At your suggestion, Caratacus.'
'You didn't warn us those four would come after her.'
He shrugged. 'I didn't know. There happened to be a conscientious duplicarius that night. When they didn't succeed, I had to punish him for his diligence. I had to pretend surprise.'
Arden looked at the tribune curiously. 'It doesn't bother you to be ruthless, does it?' It was as if he only now fully realized the menace of the man he was treating with.
'It doesn't bother me to be effective, forced by the jealousies and preferment of lesser men. Marcus hates that I've forgotten more about running the Petriana than he'll ever learn. He's as afraid of me as he is envious. So he's trying to get rid of me, and now, with events changing, the duke seems inclined to listen.'
'What events?'
Galba leaned back, savoring his announcement. 'The emperor is ill.'
'Valentinian? He's been sick for a year.'
'But now near death. The appointment of his son Gratian as co-emperor has divided the court. The Germans sense opportunity. Generals are taking the child under their wing and filling his ears with nonsense. Troops are being moved into Gaul as a precaution against invasion or civil war.'
'How does this change things for us?'
'I'm to go there because soldiers are being taken from Britannia.'
There was a long quiet. Kalin, who'd been so still that Valeria wondered if he'd fallen asleep, had straightened.
'Where from Britannia?' Arden asked with quiet intensity, his posture taut.
'The Wall.'
The Celts absorbed the news. 'They'd risk that?'
