Celtic Fire(5)

“Britannia leaves much to be desired,” Lucius said. “I cannot fathom why you preferred this wild country to Rome.”

Aulus looked away into the shadowed forest. Lucius’s gaze followed. He detected no hint of movement, but he was not yet delusional enough to believe his passage went unnoticed. It was said the Brittunculi sprang as if from the earth. The half-naked, blue-painted wildmen struck like lightning, spewed death, then vanished into the mists like wraiths bound for Hades. Aulus had written of Britannia’s beauty, but gazing into the depths of the ancient forest, Lucius sensed only malevolence.

His fingers tightened on the reins. The official report stated that A. Ulpius Aquila, commanding officer of the frontier fort Vindolanda, had died in a hunting accident. A plausible scenario, but Lucius was certain it was a lie. His younger brother had been no huntsman. His eyesight lacked a proper perception of depth, a handicap he’d kept secret since boyhood. Indeed, Aulus would have eschewed military service entirely if such an option had been possible for a senator’s son. A strong suspicion of foul play, coupled with insistent prodding from his brother’s ghost, had propelled Lucius north to investigate.

Aulus floated closer until he rode less than an arm’s length away. A frigid aura rode with him.

“At the least, you could put on your uniform,” Lucius said irritably. “Who in his right mind would ride all this way wearing a toga?”

Aulus shrugged.

“I suppose I should be grateful I haven’t conjured a voice for you. I—”

“Father! Who are you talking to?”

Lucius turned to the small stranger who was his son. At ten years of age, Marcus sat his horse well and had been allowed to ride in the fore rather than with the wagons. He should have stayed in Rome, of course, but the boy had begged to come north, and with Julia so recently dead, Lucius hadn’t had the heart to refuse. To Marcus’s credit, he’d offered few complaints during the six weeks of hard travel.

Just endless questions.

“Who—”

“No one, Marcus.”

“But I heard you.”

“To myself, then.” By the gods, the boy never let go of an inquiry without an answer. Lucius sent an annoyed glance past his son to Demetrius, but the old Greek physician who had been Lucius’s own tutor merely raised his gaze to the sky.

“How much longer to the fort?” Marcus asked.

“We’ll reach Vindolanda by nightfall.”

Demetrius gathered his saffron mantle about his rigid shoulders. “Not a moment too soon, if you request my counsel on the matter.”

“I don’t remember asking for it,” Lucius said.

“You should not have split the century,” Demetrius continued, unperturbed. “We will be fortunate to escape with our hides when the barbarians fall on us.”

“Forty men is a sufficient escort, my friend. The Celts rarely travel in large numbers. Besides, the repairs to the supply wagon will take only a few hours. The rear company will soon catch up with us.”

“Let us hope they find us alive when they do.”

Marcus stirred, his eyes shining with excitement. “What will we do if the blue warriors attack?”

“If Mars sends a battle, we will fight,” Lucius replied.

“Even against the women?”

Lucius shook his head. To be sure, he’d heard tales of Britannia’s females taking to the battlefield with their men, but he could hardly believe such an arrangement was common. Did the wretched Celts not protect their women? He tried to imagine Julia fighting at his side, but the vision was too ludicrous to contemplate. A woman would be a deadly burden in battle.

“Be prepared for anything, Marcus,” he said. “A Roman meets his fate with strength and fights with honor.”

Marcus gripped the hilt of his small sword. “I’m ready.”

Lucius hoped it would not come to that. The boy was a miserable swordsman.

The road dipped into mist-shrouded marshlands. Vapor rose from the black water to entangle the booted feet of the soldiers. The scent of decay clung to Lucius’s nostrils. Willows nudged the oaks aside as the forest drew close to the road.

Too close. Unease clawed at his nape and his hand drifted to his sword hilt. Behind, the road curved to the right and disappeared. The damaged axle was taking longer to repair than anticipated. Could barbarians have attacked the rear company?

Lucius let his mount drift closer to Marcus and Demetrius. The road curved, bringing the Tyne into view. The swollen river had overflowed its bank and crept onto the paving stones.

When the spear sliced out of the shadows, it came so silently Lucius thought at first he had imagined it. Then a soldier lurched to one side, blood spurting from his neck. Aulus gestured like a madman toward the forest.