Ruth Downie
Semper Fidelis
Hadrianus …. Britanniam petiit, in qua multa correxit …
Hadrian … made for Britain, where he set many things straight …
Map
Chapter 1
Victor’s left eye felt as though it was about to burst like a squashed plum. He ran his tongue along the inside of his gum, tasting blood in gaps that had not been there before. He made a tentative exploration of a couple of loose teeth, seeing how far they would move. It was a mistake. He gasped and fell back against the trunk of the willow as pain welled up and flooded the lower half of his face.
But all that came was the memory of Tadius struggling to rise from the floor, and the voices roaring at him,
Tadius, lying very still.
Blood pooling in the dust.
As the pain ebbed he crept forward again, peering out between the willow fronds. The trumpets had sounded the hour for the midday meal and there was hardly anyone about. The girl was still alone on the sunny slab that overhung the water, her skirts hitched up and her bare feet dangling in the river. Beside her on the stone sat a wooden platter with bread and cheese and perhaps beer in the cup. She was busy looking at something in her hand. The willow hid her from the guards over on the fort gates. She had no idea that anyone was watching her.
The guards were standing in the shadow of the wall, leaning on their shields and gazing into the distance with the air of men expecting a quiet afternoon. Victor swallowed. There was a time-it seemed years ago now- when he had dreamed that being in the Legion would be a good life.
The girl sighed and flung down whatever she was holding. She pushed a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes and turned her attention to the platter. The sunlight flashed on a blade. His fingers slid toward his own knife, but she was only cutting the cheese. He let out his breath. He did not want to hurt her, but he had to keep her quiet. If she screamed, the guards would come, and he might not be fast enough to get away with the food.
He would stroll up and try to chat with her. If he said he was hungry, she might even offer to share.
He ran a fingertip over his injured eye. She might not. If the eye was as ugly as it felt, she might scream at the sight of him.
The guards were still looking vacant and bored. The girl tore off a big chunk of bread and put it into her mouth.
Victor stepped forward. “It is a good day to eat beside the river.”
The girl jerked round. Her eyes widened in alarm, but instead of screaming she was convulsed by a choking fit. He reached for the platter, ready to grab the food and run before she could call for help, then saw one hand flapping helplessly toward him as she spluttered and tried to draw breath and thought,
Moments later she took the beer from him and nodded her thanks.
When she could breathe again without coughing, he spoke slowly, trying not to let his swollen jaw mangle his words. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“If you don’t want to startle people,” she said with the accent of a tribeswoman from farther north, “Don’t creep up on them. Especially when they are eating.”
She was older than he had thought: perhaps in her mid-twenties, and attractive in a way that would have distracted him on better days. He took a deep breath. “I was hoping-”
Her gaze shifted past him. Too late, he heard movement.
As he hit the ground a boot clamped across the back of his neck, ramming his face into the grass. Pain flared from his jaw to his temple. Something hard slammed into the small of his back and a voice said in Latin, “We’ve been watching you, sonny.”
“Please, sir, she was-”
“Shut up!” the voice said, reinforcing its meaning with another blow. “Who d’you think you are, striking an officer’s wife?”
“Sir, she was-”
“Shut up!”
There were two of them: one who gave the orders and one who looked as if he would obey them without question and without mercy. As they wrenched his arms back and lashed his wrists together, the woman began to say something. The soldier cut her short: “It’s all right, miss, you’re safe now.”
“But-”
“We’ll deal with him.”
As if to show how, one of them rammed the pommel of a sword into his ribs. He had no idea why the woman cried out. She wasn’t the one being hit. She wasn’t the fool who had thrown away an escape for the sake of bread he couldn’t even chew.
Half dragged, half stumbling, Victor was hustled up through the rough grass toward the fort gates. The officer’s wife was hurrying to keep up, still talking.
“Don’t you worry, miss,” the senior one assured her. “He’ll understand Latin when we’ve finished with him.”
“I want to speak to him myself.”
The men ignored her. A few paces farther on she appeared in front of them, holding her skirts clear of the grass with one hand and clutching a pair of battered boots in the other.
“So!” she said, looking from one to the other. “I am worth rescuing but not worth listening to?”
For a moment Victor thought they were going to barge her out of the way. Then the senior one seemed to think better of it and said gruffly, “The prisoner was watching you, miss. Hiding under the tree.”
She said in British, “Were you watching me?”
He lifted his head to look into eyes that were not quite blue, and not quite green, either.
He staggered as a blow landed on his ear, muffling the roar of “Show some respect!”
Victor lowered his head. Trying to focus on the muddy toes poking out from under the woman’s skirt, he heard himself mangle the words, “I’m very hungry, miss.”
She said, “Have you no family?”
“Not here, miss.” None who could feed him, anyway.
Pale curls tumbled forward as she bent to pull on her boots. “You should have gone to a farm.”
He averted his gaze, afraid another clout would send him sprawling on the grass. He was not going to explain
