“As low as you can go... and then inform the men. I’ll pay the first round for everybody.”
She screamed then, giving up. “Noooo! No...”
Marius turned, his eyes like a snake’s. “What is it, dove?”
She looked at him, pleading. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”
“Good girl...” He turned to a livid Julius. “Our priced dove here will help us kill her father and destroy their village. Make sure she gets out of the whorehouse and she’s cared for.”
“Yes, Commander...”
“She needs to cooperate fully, giving us the plans, routines, everything we need to know about those filthy savages. If she doesn’t, the first deal goes.” He looked back at her. “Understood?”
She nodded, unable to talk.
Marius gestured towards her. “You may take her away.”
Julius walked to her and gently pulled her up. Her legs trembled, and she clutched at his arm, not looking at Marius who just watched them leave, smiling.
Kyle and Clavius continued their slow march for two weeks, his wound healing faster than expected with Kyle’s remedies, honey, and clay. He had to wash out the bandages every night and left the wound under the layer of clay in the open air.
Nights had become chillier, the scent of fall in the air, and one night, they were sitting next to each other, shivering under the stars. Clavius lay down, trembling, the pain making him weaker, a slight fever coursing through his body. Kyle watched him and, after a split second of hesitation, spooned him, his arms going around him, warming his back.
Clavius froze, but then the gentle warmth radiating from the slave’s near naked body made him smile. “Just don’t tell Marius when we get back, he’ll skin me alive.”
Kyle smiled. “I don’t think so...”
“Yeah, right...”
Kyle kept quiet, and they drifted off to sleep.
“There’s a military envoy at the door, domina.”
Tertullia rose, her face blanched, and she reached for Simeon, the young man confused at her alarmed face. “What’s going on?”
She took his hand and walked down to the door, the military envoy grim, handing her two letters. “I am sorry, lady Tertullia.”
Her head swooned, and she knew, her hand clutching Simeon’s hand not to collapse. Her old slave closed the door, and she opened the official letter with trembling hands, reading the lines, her vision blurring, a sob escaping her throat as her hand clasped her mouth. The slaves knew then, and they paled, Simeon holding her up. The letter slipped to the floor and her eyes flew to the other one, Marius’ bold black letters running on it. She opened it; her heart torn.
Dearest Tertullia,
You know now that I couldn’t keep my promise to you, to protect your dear husband, my dearest friend, in this world. He died fighting, but his body fell into a river and I can’t send him back to you. This is also my failure. You must also know that my faithful love jumped after him in a vain attempt to save his life and disappeared in the flow. They are both dead and it is unbearable. I pray that one day you can forgive me for failing you. I must have my revenge now and then will hopefully join them fast.
Yours ever, Marius
Tertullia stood very still, her heart racing, her tears flowing. Clavius was gone, so was Kyle, but Marius... Marius was still alive, although barely, she knew. Her thoughts flew to Marius’ daughter, the darling six months old who needed him with her crazy mother, completely oblivious of her...
She looked at Simeon, the boy in tears. “We are leaving, Simeon. Pack up, pup.”
The boy looked at her, bewildered. “But... where?”
“To the fort.”
His eyes grew huge. “But domina, this is dangerous... a Roman lady like you, traveling alone?”
She smiled, her eyes shining. “Not a Roman lady, but a peasant woman, with her only son.” She pinched his cheeks. “And her African cook... Prepare the mule cart and get me some peasant woman's clothing, same for you.” She hastily dressed, prepared to leave. “Nikhe, come with me to my sister, you too, old man. I’ll leave the house to her cares. Pup, when I’m back, you’re ready to go. Wait for me, and then we’ll leave at night, away from prying eyes.”
“But domina...”—he wriggled his hands, mortified — “Dominus is dead... why are we going?”
