Celtic Fire(28)

“Smuggle me in a cart, then.”

“A fine plan, sister, if my sacks were nay empty on the way out.”

Rhiannon smothered a sound of frustration. “There must be another way.”

“I might persuade the village laundress to claim ye as her assistant. But nay until the guard is lightened.”

“How long before ’tis safe to try?”

“No telling.” He hopped up on the low wall surrounding the fountain and slid his bucket under the stream of clear water that spouted from the mouth of a fish. “Perhaps in a sennight if my idiot brother lies low and doesna provoke the Romans further. Ye’ll have to make the best of it ’til then.”

Rhiannon’s heart gave a strange shudder. She was sure Lucius’s careful politeness would not last seven more nights. He’d said he wouldn’t force her to his bed, but he was a man, after all, and she had seen the heat in his eyes. And, to her shame, had felt her own body warm in response.

She watched water bubble over the rim of Cormac’s bucket. “A spring within walls,” she said, trying to turn her thoughts from Lucius. “A splendid convenience.”

“No spring,” said Cormac, scuttling back to the ground. He lifted the full bucket as if it weighed nothing. “This water’s diverted from the burn.”

“The burn that runs through the valley below the fort?” Rhiannon could not hide her amazement. “Are the Romans so powerful that they command water to run uphill?”

Cormac shrugged. “I ken not how the dogs manage it.” He nodded toward the chamber into which he had carried the firewood. “But beyond that door the stream runs through their bathing rooms and latrine.”

“They bathe within the house?” Rhiannon couldn’t fathom it. She washed in a clear lake under the sky. Did Romans enclose their entire existence with flat walls?

“Aye, in a great pool of steaming water. Even the slaves are permitted—nay, required—to make use of it one day out of thirty.”

Rhiannon imagined floating in such a cushion of warmth. Like a babe not yet born, surrounded by the waters of its mother’s body. Surely even the goddesses of Annwyn did not know such luxury.

The door to the baths squeaked open a bit. Cormac caught Rhiannon’s wrist and drew her down behind one of the thorn bushes. “Tribune Vetus emerges from his bath at last. Have ye seen him?”

Rhiannon shook her head.

“He passed the entire winter with his arse submerged.” Cormac snorted. “No Roman lady could be finer.”

He fell silent as Vetus emerged from the bathing room. A billow of perfumed steam followed him. A dark man, shorter than Lucius, with features far less handsome. He wore the crimson tunic of a Roman soldier, but moved with a graceful gait more suited to a woman. His short black hair, slicked with moisture, clung to his scalp. His chin was as smooth as a babe’s. As she watched, the tribune glided to the corner of the courtyard and disappeared up the stairs.

“Hardly a man at all,” Cormac said, spitting into a flowerbed. “ ’Tis to be wondered why his cock doesna shrivel and fall off.”



“The First Cohort of Tungrians is a disgrace to its standard.” Lucius placed his palms on the scarred desk in his office and leaned forward, fixing Aulus with a scowl designed to bring him to his ghostly knees.

Aulus responded by glancing down and rearranging the folds of his toga.

Lucius’s ire rose. He’d spent the better part of the day inspecting his brother’s miserable troops, an activity that had left him disinclined to cater to the moods of a dead man. “If you were standing here in the flesh, I would throttle you.”

Aulus made a rude gesture.

Lucius swore. “I’m sorry I ever wrote the recommendation that got you this command. I was a fool. I’d thought your years in Egypt had made a man of you.” He rounded the desk, advancing on Aulus. “I was mistaken. You failed in your duty to Vindolanda.”

Aulus sent him a look of reproach along with an icy chill that stopped Lucius in his tracks. “Oh, I’m well aware you’re dead,” he said, disgusted. “But the fact remains that a disciplined garrison would not have fallen apart in six months.” He gave his brother a wide berth and strode out of the chamber.

He halted in the headquarters’ courtyard and looked back. “You should have made training your first priority.”

Aulus rolled his eyes toward the gray sky, which at the moment was fading into a mottled dusk. His pale lips compressed in an unrepentant line. Lucius could almost hear his brother berating him for his obsession with discipline. Jupiter knew he’d heard the lecture often enough when Aulus was alive.