pillow, should I wish it, and then I’ll give you a firm enough lesson.’
Lysandra had had her fill: it was one thing to maintain decorum, but the insults had now gone beyond a duel of wits. ‘You are drunk, Tribune’ she smirked ‘and I fear that your teaching would be anything but firm enough.’
Valerian lurched from the couch, his arm poised to slap Lysandra across the face but, even as he moved, Lysandra was on her feet, her eyes burning with a cold fire. The sound of her wine cup smashing on the floor was loud and many heads turned towards the governor’s couch. Feeling the eyes of his peers upon him, the Roman officer hesitated and lowered his hand. Turning to Frontinus he bowed stiffly. ‘Forgive me, Governor. I must leave your gathering; I just recalled an unavoidable appointment.’
Frontinus smiled coldly and nodded his assent. He kept his gaze on the young officer as he walked away, swaying ever so slightly, before turning back to Lysandra. ‘Come,’ the governor got to his feet. ‘Walk with me.’
She eyed him for a moment, before nodding her assent, but did not take the hand he extended.
XXVI
‘This has to stop,’ Sorina declared, her eyes fierce.
Eirianwen shrugged, and turned her attention to her drink. ‘I don’t see what business it is of yours. Clan Chief you may be, but it is my choice with whom I make love.’ The two sat apart from the rest of the tribeswomen; the others wisely decided to leave both Gladiatrix Prima and Secunda to themselves.
Sorina had decided that now was the time to confront Eirianwen directly regarding her infatuation with Lysandra. The feeling between the two young women was obviously growing and her own disapproval was not enough to discourage Eirianwen from the relationship. A more direct approach was required.
‘I say this not from spite, Eirianwen, but to protect you. It is a disaster waiting to happen. You must see this.’
The beautiful Briton looked up. ‘I can see that you are getting old, Sorina, and are growing bitter in the autumn.’
Sorina recoiled. ‘Before she came along, you would never have spoken to me like that. She is tainting you, Eirianwen. All can see it but you. Even Catuvolcos, who was once besotted by her, has reckoned her for what she is.’
‘Catuvolcos is hurt because she rejected his advances. This, as you have often told me, is the way of men. I no longer wish to speak of Lysandra to you.’ Eirianwen slammed her cup down on the table, causing the others to look around. ‘It is you who have become tainted, not I. Your bitterness is consuming you and you must lay it aside.’
‘Do not think to give me advice, whelp,’ Sorina warned, leaning forward on the bench. ‘You are not ready yet to challenge me for leadership of the Clan.’
Eirianwen sighed, her shoulders slumping as she let the anger drain out of her. ‘I have no wish to challenge you, Sorina. I have found some small happiness. How can you begrudge me that?’
‘Because it will destroy you, girl. I seek only to spare you the pain that I foresee coming from this. Even now, your Lysandra is with governor Frontinus, drinking and, aye, parting her legs for him. Think on that, Silurian. Next time you put your lips to her sex, think of what and who has been there.’
At the mention of Frontinus, Eirianwen stiffened once again, and Sorina knew that her barb and sunk deep. ‘Yes,’ she hissed.
‘I can see your feelings on your face. You are no longer sure, are you? Sure of her, sure of how you will feel about her. I will guess that she’ll claim that she went unwillingly. I can tell you this is not so, for Catuvolcos and I saw her — painted and perfumed like a Roman whore. Beneath her veneer of chastity, she is a wanton.’ When Eirianwen did not respond, Sorina pressed on. ‘But this you know, as does everyone who passes by whatever dark corner you can find for your lovemaking. Her moans and sobs are loud for all to hear. Does she not please you, Eirianwen? She will please this Roman in the same way, with her mouth and tongue, giving herself and enjoying her debasement…’
‘Enough!’ Eirianwen shouted. ‘You do not know her, Sorina.
Your words strike me as hard as iron, for I am sick that she must go to him of all Romans. But she had no choice. Speak to me no more of this. I have made my choice and you are not a goddess to curse me for it.’
‘Then you are not of the tribe.’ Sorina’s voice was low, but the words were heavy with doom.
Eirianwen went white. ‘You cannot do that.’
‘I can and I will, unless you cast her aside.’
For her part, Sorina had not meant matters to go so far, but now the awful words were pronounced she could not take them back. She loved Eirianwen but the corruption was deep in her and, as Clan Chief, Sorina could not allow its influence to spread amongst the others. But in that moment, she saw that she had erred greatly. Eirianwen’s perfect features began to twist in hatred, the usually soft blue eyes becoming hard and empty.
‘Then I do challenge you!’ Eirianwen hissed. ‘Here and now or in the arena. It makes no difference, for the result will be the same.’
Sorina baulked but could not back down; it was not the way of the Tribes to refuse honourable challenge. She cleared her throat, lest her voice crack. ‘The arena, then,’ she said. ‘Balbus would kill the winner if we fought without his agreement. I shall see him and tell him of our intention.’
‘Good.’ Eirianwen got to her feet. ‘I told you, months ago, that her fate, yours and mine were intertwined. Only now do I see the truth of it. Morrigan Dark Fate has decreed this, Sorina.’
‘You are sure of your course?’ Sorina set her shoulders, looking up at the younger woman from her bench. ‘You are willing to die for your Spartan?’
‘When the Mother becomes the Crone, the dark days draw close, Sorina. I am still yet the Maiden and your day is done.’
‘We shall see.’ Sorina forced iron to her voice, though her heart was breaking. ‘I have fought many battles, child, against better even than you. They are now fled the flesh, whilst I live on. You will go the same way as those others.’
Eirianwen smiled, but it was bleak with anger. ‘Everyone has her day, Clan Chief,’ she spat. ‘The time for talking is over, then.
You and I are done… till we are done.’ She turned on her heel without another word and stalked away from her kin.
She walked aimlessly through the corridors of the gaol, her eyes blurred with tears. Sorina’s mention of the hated Frontinus had twisted in her guts like the cold iron of a blade.
Eirianwen recalled the coming of the Legions, the fire and sword, and the blood of her tribe. The legionaries were like ants, moving inexorably over the land, swarming over and destroying all that stood against them. The mightiest warriors of the Silures were naught before the slight but iron-disciplined men of Rome.
Strength meant nothing against their cowards’ organisation; courage futile in the face of such honourless, efficient warfare.
Eirianwen had known Lysandra had gone to Frontinus. The news of it was common amongst the fighters from Balbus’s ludus but she had had no chance to speak to Lysandra on the matter.
The Spartan had been whisked away to be prepared for her meeting and Eirianwen had steeled herself for the worst. But she knew Lysandra and knew that she would not go to the Roman with willing enthusiasm. She was well aware that the inexperienced former priestess had come to love her and, having listened to her incessant talk of Spartan virtue and honour, Eirianwen trusted that, in her heart, Lysandra would remain true even if her body was violated by the governor. It was a sickening thought.
Eirianwen had seen Frontinus many times, the image of his lined, weather-beaten face branded onto her mind’s eye and the thought of his hands and lips on Lysandra’s skin turned her stomach.
Sorina had hit a nerve with her and she now harboured a doubt that she could look on her lover in the same light. But she would not discard her at Sorina’s say so; she and Lysandra shared too much for it to be so easily cast aside.
Sorina.
