Hadrian's wall (15 page)

Falco watched the new hardness in his commander's face, realizing what his answer was supposed to be. "Does it really matter? The man was a slave, praefectus."

"It matters to his owner."

The centurion bowed his head. "Who can afford the loss."

"And his commander can afford to reimburse him."

"Thank you, praefectus. I'll let the issue drop. I only mention that the killing still matters to the Britons we rule. They want to see Roman justice."

Marcus pointed back toward the burning valley. "Then let them come here."

he kitchen slave Marta is prettier than the vague description I had from Savia. I should not he surprised by this disparity: the two women were rival powers in a single household and looked at each other with competitive eyes. Marta has none of the refinement of a free Roman woman, of course, but she's blond and buxom and has an unusually trim waist and fine hip for a cook, with blue eyes and generous mouth and a look adventurous enough to awaken any number of appetites-including mine. In other words, I suspect she made her way by more than merely cooking, and thus has old jealousies that might be put to use for my report.

She remained in the fortress household during the attack on the grove by Marcus and Clodius, so I am curious what she saw during that time. Curious whether there was more to this Galba, who stayed behind, than mere ambition.

Marta steps into my interrogation room as if onstage, conscious of her looks. She is a slave, Saxon, and thus as coarse as she is proud, but she's also used to drawing the glance of her betters. Slaves, owning nothing, fall back on wit, muscle, and beauty. Accordingly, I keep my gaze disciplined while I explain my purpose. Then:

"I understand you served in the household of Lucius Marcus Flavius, praefectus and commander of the Petriana cavalry?"

"I did. As I serve his successor today, Julius Trevillus."

Another survivor, I think. Armies march, empires topple, and slaves serenely persist. "You were the cook?"

"I commanded the house staff."

"Except for the maidservant of lady Valeria, the slave Savia."

Marta shrugs in dislike, saying nothing. She's wearing a simple wool workstola fastened by a copper brooch in such a way as to give a glimpse of her breasts and the valley between. It makes me wonder which lover gave her the brooch.

"You were satisfied working for the praefectus and his lady?"

"They did me no harm."

"What was their relationship?"

She looks at me as if I'm simple. "Married."

"Yes, of course, but how close were they? As people? As man and woman?"

She laughs. "They were married! Familiar but formal, like any highborn couple. Stiff as statues, that's what aristocrats are. Cold as marble. The Romans work at it. Marcus was decent enough but more scholar than soldier, dull as a scroll."

I take this metaphor as evidence she's illiterate. "He wasn't interested in love?"

"What do you mean by love?" Her smile is a little wicked. "His sword wasn't just for her scabbard, if that's what you're getting at. A praefectus is a busy man, but he's still a man. Like you."

"So you lay with him." I know how common this is.

"Like any master, he sampled his property. But it was for relief as much as pleasure, if you understand the difference."

I nod, gloomily conceding that Marta too knows the difference, and knows entirely too much about those she serves. A slave is the most complicated of belongings. Owned and yet owning, subservient and yet vital. Many are mirrors of their masters, as vain or clever or base or indifferent as the Romans who bought them. They know us intimately, learn our weaknesses, and flatter, cajole, and abide. In ancient days Oriental slaves died with their owners, and what a splendid system that must have been: their master's secrets died with them. In these modern times, slaves have become outrageously expensive, truculent, proud, and indiscreet. So difficult is it to find a good slave that some landowners are actually experimenting with freed labor. This is what we've come to! And as I muse about their abject class, I think of Savia again, whether her comfort as companion would be worth her trouble as slave…

Scolding myself for letting my mind wander, I come back to it. "And you knew Galba Brassidias as well?"

"He was the senior tribune."

"No, I mean, did you know him personally? Lie with him as well?"

"I did." There is no embarrassment in her answer.

"And was he good at showing his interest?"

A smile again. "Galba was a man of strong appetites."

"He liked women?"

"He desired them."

Of course. These distinctions are important. "Did he desire more than you?"

She knows where this is going. "Undoubtedly."

"And acted on it?"

"He was a man who acted on everything."

I take a breath, finally getting to the point. "And did Galba desire the lady Valeria?"

She laughs again, short, sharp. A sardonic smile, a bittersweet memory. "You could warm yourself by his heat. And as she made herself the little queen of the Petriana, all of that energy turned on her."

My guess is confirmed. This emotional Galba, this womanizing Galba, doesn't sound like the enigmatic senior tribune that others have described. "And yet he concealed this from others."

"Galba concealed everything from others."

And by so doing, I ponder, concealed it even from himself. Lied to himself. And was tormented by his twin desires to possess Valeria and destroy her. This is my theory, anyway. "I'm told she was very beautiful."

"The most beautiful woman most men at that post had ever seen." There's no rivalry or regret in that statement, simply an expression of fact. No slave is going to compete with a senator's daughter, and Marta knew it.

"I've been interviewing soldiers about the time that Marcus and the Petriana attacked the druids in the grove. He left Galba in command of the fort."

"Yes. He wasn't just dull, he was stupid." It's an arrogant observation for a slave to make, but she senses I value candor. Besides, she's probably had sex with half the surviving officer corps and has allies I can merely guess at.

"Did Galba visit the lady Valeria while Marcus was leading the strike on the druid's grove?"

"He did, inquiring about her health and how well she was settling in. It was unusual for him to do so, for he cared little for the feelings or opinions of others. It was also amusing to see him less commanding: more human, out of his armor and away from his men. She was cool, properly reserved, but when he told Valeria that he'd found her a horse, she changed from Roman matron to excited girl. He said he was planning to canter between the fossatum and the Wall and invited her to come along."

The fossatum, I have learned, is the ditch and dike and road behind the Wall to the south. The space between, a bowshot wide, is the military zone. "She agreed?"

"Immediately. Galba was shrewd. He'd found Valeria's weakness."

"Her weakness or her desire?"

"They're the same thing, don't you think?"

I'm having the senior tribune to supper, Marta."

Valeria's eyes were bright, her skin pink and shiny, her hair curled at its edges from the sweat of her ride. Her breasts were still rising and falling in visible animation, not from shortness of breath but from excitement.

It amused the cook because she knew how the senior tribune could ignite a woman. It wasn't Galba's looks, it was his intensity.

"Your husband is still on campaign, lady?" Marta asked innocently.

"Yes." Realizing his omission sounded improper, Valeria elaborated. "I'm hoping to improve relationships with the senior tribune. Galba has been generous to us, and now I wish to be generous to him."

"Of course." Marta gave a slight bow. "Something ambitious for supper, then. A hot sauce for roast venison, perhaps. Sweet wine cakes."

"Yes, and those peas you make."

"Vitellius. With the essence of anchovy."

"Exactly. All of it served with a good wine."

"I think you enjoyed your outing, my lady."

In truth the ride had been magnificent. Galba had shown her how to handle the harsh cavalry bit and allow her body to bind itself to the saddle, flowing with its rhythm. Then they'd ridden very fast, he on his black stallion Imperiurn and she on the white mare she'd first spotted in the stables and dubbed Boudicca, after the Celtic warrior queen. Because Hadrian's Wall commanded the high crest of this part of Britannia, the space between it and the fossatum dike and ditch undulated with the topography, dipping precipitously into narrow gaps and steeply climbing the next promontory. They'd galloped this hilly course like the wind, plunging recklessly down one slope and surging up the next, her horse's muscles rippling under her thighs with equine power. It was an exhilarating pounding that had left her breathless. Galba, saying little, had kept a watchful eye, pointing out hazards and leading her through thickets she wouldn't have dared thread through herself.

His company had been flattering. The ride had been release.

Now she'd return the favor and, in doing so, help smooth her husband's path. It was no secret that Clodius distrusted Galba and that Marcus was uncomfortable with him, male pride getting in the way of friendship. As a woman she might make peace among all three. Certainly she amused Galba. She could turn this to advantage!

Valeria took a long bath, letting Savia sponge her vigorously as she tried to plan what they might talk about. Galba was too masculine to be much of a conversationalist. Too provincial to be a sophisticate. Yet he was also a warrior who could perhaps be enticed to share some of his past adventures. Share his thoughts about the Petriana. Perhaps she could reform the fort! It wasn't just pleasure to invite him to supper, it was duty.

"I don't like him," Savia said. "He's been rude to Clodius and difficult for your husband. And now, the instant Marcus is gone, he takes you riding?"

"He's a man of the frontier," Valeria said as she dressed. "We're in his world now. We have to understand men like Galba."

"There's nothing to understand. Men live on impulse, which is why they require women. We give them some sense."

"I don't think my husband is a man of impulse."

"Galba is. Be careful you don't confuse him."

"How can I confuse him with simple politeness? Really, Savia, you make every encounter more difficult than it has to be."

"It's you who are complicating things, not me. He's a killer, Valeria."

"A soldier, subordinate to my husband."

"You're naive."

"No, I'm a woman and a Roman matron and more than a little tired of your incessant opinions! Now hand me my stola and tuck in your tongue."

The thought of enduring her maidservant's frowns throughout the evening annoyed Valeria, who was hardly the girl she'd been in Rome. Savia simply couldn't bear the fact that her charge had grown up! Accordingly, she ordered her maidservant to take a basket of wine cakes to Lucinda in repayment for her generosity during the wedding. Then she attended to her own jewelry and makeup.

The senior tribune was punctual, arriving at the twelfth hour, when the sky is red to the west. Galba too had bathed, shedding his armor for a tunic of bright blue. He was clean, rugged, and slightly awkward, a combination that Valeria thought endearing: the rude trooper doing his best to keep company with a daughter of Rome! So strong. So male. So disarmed.

Marta brought them boiled mussels as an appetizer, then lingered so long that Valeria had to pointedly dismiss her. Galba, typically reserved, gradually let his hostess prompt him to talk about the nature of horses and the skills required to govern five hundred men. Valeria was politely asked in turn about her plans for the household, the reported ease with which she was mastering the Celtic tongue, and changes she had brought. The tribune noticed that a flowered tapestry now covered the bloody mural.

"You're interested in my domestic campaign, tribune?"

"This house was mine, briefly."

She looked at him sympathetically. "Of course! How strange it must be to go back to your quarters in the barracks."

His look was enigmatic. "I'm at home out there."

"This house will be the garrison's home, not just mine, tribune. We will have many dinners. I want to make my husband's officers feel comfortable here."

He looked at her evenly. "That's very generous."

"It's the least I can do."

Supper was served. Galba seemed entertained simply by watching Valeria eat, the nibble of her lips, the pearl of her small teeth, the liquid of her eyes. She enjoyed his attention. The wine relaxed her, the company excited her. "Tell me your impressions of Britannia," he finally invited.

She approved of the subject. It wasn't time yet to discuss relationships in the fort. "It's a beautiful province, of course."

"So are most in the empire." He wanted something more interesting.

"It's a curious combination of the rustic and refined. At Lucinda's villa you can find products no different than Rome's. A mile away, a Celtic farmstead hasn't changed for a thousand years. Britons are grumpy one moment and lively the next. Even the weather shifts mood. It's fascinating."

"Not dull, after the glories of the capital?" He took another bite of venison.

"I've seen those glories and feel more alive here. Clodius said it's the possibility of death that defines life."

"Did he?"

"The ambush made me appreciate life more, I think. Isn't that curious?"

"And now you're being avenged."

"Yes. By my husband and Clodius."

"By two hundred men. To make you feel safe."

She shrugged. "I feel safe already. Safe with you."

He laughed. "A suitor would not think that a compliment. Nor a warrior."

"Which are you, Galba?"

"A guardian. A wall."

"The Wall is everything to you, isn't it?"

"It's my life. Not as grand as a senator's, but the Petriana is my core."

"I don't think you're quite the rogue you pretend to be. Not the dangerous man you pretend to be. Not the provincial you pretend to be. Do you ever pretend, Galba?"

"Everyone pretends a little. But I am what I am."

"That's what I like about you. You pretend less than the boys of Rome."

"Part of being a man is to stop pretending, lady. Pretense is useless on the battlefield. Weak men who pretend to be strong get killed."

Did he mean Marcus? "You're not a weak man."

"I'm an able one who needs only the right connections to go far."

"Of course you are!"

"Who needs only the right partner to achieve great things. Emperors have started from beginnings as humble as my own."

"You mean a patron?"

"I mean an alliance. Between the two brightest people on this post."

Was this the opening she was seeking? Marta brought the cakes, and they were quiet while she served them. Galba was watching Valeria carefully, impatient at this interruption.

"Is it lonely for you, Valeria?" he began again after the slave left. "Being so far from home?"

"I have Savia, of course."

He snorted.

"But she nags. She can't see that I've grown up. She treats me like a child."

"And you're a woman."

"Of course."

"With a woman's needs."

"Yes. Though I know I live in a masculine world now. Society here is so different than in Rome! I have to make new friends. Have new experiences."

"And you're adventurous."

"I want to know what life is all about. I've been too sheltered."

"Experiences like our ride today."

"And this supper! I'm enjoying our conversation."

"My poor company?"

"I'm enjoying your company, too."

"And I yours. I can give you more experience, Valeria."

She looked at him with amusement. "Can you, tribune?"

"I can teach you what the world really is, not what poets imagine it to be. How to impose your will on it. Just like you can teach me about Rome."

She laughed, nervous now, but a little thrilled. "What an instructor you must be!"

"I can teach you what it is to be a woman."

"You, a man?"

"I can teach you what it is to be a man."

Valeria looked at him uncertainly, confused as to what they were talking about. He was looking at her with an expression of frank equality, and it disturbed her.

"I can teach you about men and women." Suddenly Galba reached with his powerful arm around her neck to grip her shoulder, and pulled to kiss her. The action was as quick and practiced as a sword stroke, and before she could resist or exclaim, his mouth was on hers, his beard against her skin, his breath and tongue insistent.

It frightened her, and she jerked her head back, pulled free her arm, and slapped him awkwardly. It was hardly more than a tap because of her fear and confusion, and it produced only a sardonic grin.

"Please stop," she whispered.

He bent to kiss her again.

So then she reared away from him in earnest, spilling her wine cup and knocking over her chair as she pulled upright. "How dare you!"

He stood too. "Indeed, I'm a man of daring. You've never known one, Valeria. Let me show you what real men are like."

"I've just been married!"

"To a man who is never around, or half absent when he is here. He's at least a day's ride away, and your maidservant is off with Lucinda. Stop dreaming about life and experience it. Seize opportunity, or your life will be filled with regret."

"What opportunity?"

"To be with a real man and soldier who could win you a real empire, not just this rude fort."

She stepped back until she pressed against the tapestry on the wall, still sensing the dreadful mural behind it. Her indignation grew with her embarrassment. How could she have miscalculated so disastrously? "You've misunderstood my invitation. By the gods, you're just a common soldier! You dare make an advance on the newlywed wife of your commander, a praefectus of Rome?" She drew herself up, trying to be haughty but her voice breaking. "A senator's daughter, a woman chaste and loyal? You've mistaken an offer of friendship for an offer of another kind!"

"Don't pretend you didn't expect that. Or welcome it."

"Certainly not! Do you think I'd ever be physically attracted to the likes of you? That I would be intimate with someone of your station?"

"You impish flirt!"

"I'm sorry that you misinterpreted my invitation."

"I misinterpreted nothing."

"Now I must ask you to leave, and not return unless my husband is present."

She thought herself too good for him, this preening bauble? Galba's fury was growing. "You asked if I pretend, and the answer is no, Roman girl. I'm an honest man and thus incomprehensible to someone as false as you. You play at outrage? I know your kind. By the gods, you can be sure I won't come back to this house, with your husband or without him. Everyone knows that your favored birth is the only cause of Marcus's appointment, and that the two of you combined couldn't survive a day on the Wall without the protection of men like me."

"What arrogance! Get out of here!"

He stepped back, the distance between them suddenly yawning. "I'm going, to leave you to your loneliness. But someday, when you really grow up, you may indeed want a real man-and when that day comes, you'll have to come to me, not me to you, and then we'll meet in the stables, not here."

"How dare you speak to me like that!"

"How dare you toy with me at your table."

"I despise you!"

"And I laugh at your pretensions."

She broke into tears and fled.

Galba looked after her, an inner pain of defeat flickering across his face, and then he kicked angrily and overthrew their table, crockery shattering on the floor and red wine spilling across the mosaics. Marta, who'd come to the door to witness their fiery exchange, darted back into the kitchen. The senior tribune began to stride toward the entry hall in fury but then checked, turned, and looked back at the kitchen with a glower. The slave bitch had heard it all! He was boiling, and needed release.

So he stamped back in that direction and burst into the hot chamber. All the slaves but Marta scampered like rabbits. Her face was red from the heat of cooking, her tunic unpinned to the cleavage of her breasts, her arms bare, and she looked at the soldier with fear and triumph as he charged, sweeping her up in a crush of arms and plopping her down on the chopping block, food knocked aside, his hand ripping open the front of her tunic, her apron up around her waist, her thighs shouldered apart.

Marta was grinning fiercely. "This is what you want, Galba. This is what you deserve. Not a highborn girl, but a woman!"

He ravaged her like an animal, his roar of fierce lust echoing through the commander's house like a taunt, and Marta's own cries carried even farther, drifting down the corridors and echoing in the drafty rooms. They penetrated finally to the sleeping chamber where Valeria lay alone, weeping.