The Lion and the Lark (26 page)

     Bronwen watched him go through the bedroom door, then sighed with disappointment and rolled over in the bed.

     The table in Borrus’ home was littered with the remains of a meal.  The king, his son, and Parex sat forward in their wooden chairs, elbows on the table, drinking corma and staring morosely into their cups.

     “I told you working in the general’s stable would come to no good,” Borrus said to Brettix.

     “I didn’t have much choice about it, did I?  He bought me at a slave auction.”

     “You chose to stay!” Borrus said, pointing his finger.  “You could have taken off at the beginning and he would have cut his losses, but you couldn’t wait to lurk in the shadows and listen at doors.”

     “And I learned some valuable information.  That first quaestor is dead, and we have fifty new shields and some helmets and stolen uniforms from the raid the other night, and...”

     “And your description is already posted in Latin and Greek on every tree in the garrison, along with a sketch for the Celts who can’t read either!” Borrus exploded.  “And all the gods of Britain won’t help us if the Romans find out who you REALLY are.  Right now Scipio is just angry that he wasn’t able to resell you to somebody else who wanted a horseman.  He’s out some money and some pride, but if he ever finds out that you’re my son...” The king threw up his hands.

     “You always make it sound like they’re gods,” Brettix said in annoyance, toying with his cup.

     “I am older than you, I have seen what the Romans can do.  I’ve seen hundreds of crosses lining the roadway, I’ve seen villages burned to the ground in a single morning, bodies piled so deep you can’t even find the grass.”

     “I saw it too,” Brettix said shortly.  “I was young, but I remember what it was like when mother was killed.”

     “Then you’d better take care!”  Borrus said, finishing his drink and rising.  He eyed Brettix narrowly.  “Why did you have to get out of there now?”

     “The girl had learned everything I had to teach her, and I was afraid if I pressed to stay longer they would get suspicious,” Brettix said, exchanging glances with Parex.

     Borrus did not know about his son’s involvement with Lucia, and Brettix wanted to keep it that way.

     The door of the house opened and all three looked up as Parex’ sister Cartia came through it, pulling her shawl from her head and stomping snow from her shoes.  The men watched as she shed her outer garments and went over to the fire, warming her hands before it.

     “How did it go at the market?” Parex asked.  “Did you sell a lot of little native trinkets to the Italians?”

     Cartia smiled.  “I saw Maeve.  She said that Bronwen has some information for Brettix.”

     Brettix looked at the other two men, who said in unison, “You’re not going back there.”

     “What are you talking about?” Brettix countered.  “You put Bronwen in that house, marry her off to that snot of an officer, just so she can spy for you, and now you don’t want to know what she’s learned?”

     “We’ll find out some other way,” Borrus said.

     “How?  She can’t come out here for a visit, and they see everybody who goes there.”

     “But they won’t see you?” Borrus asked sarcastically.

     “I know a secret way to get inside the security walls.”

     Parex rolled his eyes.

     “It must be important or Bronwen wouldn’t have sent Maeve with the message,” Brettix said.

     “They’re looking for you,” Borrus said, speaking each word clearly, as if his son were deaf.  “You are a wanted man.  A drawing of your face is hanging on every woodshed in the garrison.”

     “I won’t look like me when I go there,” Brettix said simply.

     Cartia shook her head and bent over to stir the fire’s embers with a poker.

     “Parex, you have those Roman uniforms you stole the other night?” Brettix asked.

     Parex nodded wearily.

     “Do you think if we looked hard we could find one to fit me?” he asked, grinning.

     “Brettix, it’s too dangerous,” Borrus said warningly, as he realized what his son was planning.

     “Why?  With a close shave and short hair I could look just like one of them.”

     “There aren’t too many blonds in the Roman army,” Cartia pointed out dryly.

     “How can you say that, woman?  The colonial legions are filled with Germans from Gaul and towering Swiss from Helvetia,” Brettix replied reasonably.

     “The soldiers deployed to this fort are from the home legions, they all look like Bronwen’s husband,” Parex said flatly.

     “So I’ll coat my hair with soot.  It will be dark and I’ll wear a helmet.  I can do it.”

     “Let me go instead,” Parex suggested.  “Bronwen knows me, she will talk to me.”

     “You don’t know the fort half as well as I do, you’ll be caught the instant you get inside the walls, if you even make it that far,” Brettix replied.

     “The penalty for impersonating a Roman soldier is death,” Borrus said to his son.

     “The penalty for breathing is death, as far as the Romans are concerned,” Brettix said, thinking that if he got caught he was facing the same penalty either way.

     “Let him go,” Cartia said suddenly, causing all three men to turn and look at her.

     She shrugged.  “Can’t you see that he’s going to do it no matter what you say?  You might as well help him.”

     Brettix shot her a grateful glance.

     “Where are the uniforms?” Brettix asked Parex.

     “In the storage space under the roof at my house,” Parex said.

     “Let’s go take a look,” Brettix said.

     As they were dressing to go out Borrus looked at Cartia and made a gesture of despair.

     Brettix would never change.

     “The tunic and the cloak are both too short,” Parex said, stepping back to view his friend, who was now dressed in the untrimmed uniform of a centurion.

     “I’ll be on horseback,” Brettix replied, turning to look at Parex.  “Nobody will be able to tell.”

     Parex shook his head doubtfully.  “You’re the biggest Roman I’ve ever seen.”

     “Bronwen’s husband is tall.”

     “It’s not just height.  You’re...” Parex gestured upward with his arms to indicate a bulkier silhouette.

     “It’s dark, Parex.  I’ll be riding through at a good clip, these details aren’t important.”

     “We don’t have the right weapons,” Parex said, looking around the front room of his house, which was littered with the detritus of their attempt to outfit Brettix.  “You’ve got the sword but anyone who looks closely will see that’s a
scutum
, not the legionary shield.”

     “Hopefully, no one will notice, and I won’t have to use either one of them.”  Brettix took off the helmet and examined himself in Cartia’s mirror.  His face was now clean shaven and his hair, darkened with soot, was close cropped to his scalp.

     “Except for size, you do look very different from the description that’s circulating,” Parex admitted.

     Brettix shot him a triumphant glance.

     “But the first thing any runaway slave does is change his appearance,” Parex added.

     “Don’t worry,” Brettix said.  “There’s so much activity around those garrison gates they won’t be examining my fingernails.”

     “And how are you going to get through the inner wall?”

     “I told you.  I know a way.”

     “Something the girl said to you?”

     Brettix nodded.

     “Are you sure she’s not leading you into a trap?”

     “We wouldn’t be talking right now if she hadn’t warned me to get away,” Brettix replied, strapping on the Roman sword and setting the clasps on the shoulder of the cloak.

     Parex pulled a sheepskin
sagum
, or Gallic cloak, over his head and looked around for his boots.

     “What are you doing?” Brettix asked.

     “I’m coming with you.”

     “No, you’re not.”

     “Just as far as the gates.”

     Brettix stared at him.

     “Look at yourself,” Parex said.  “If you run into some of our people what kind of a reception do you think you’ll get dressed like that?  I know you think that everyone knows you, but there are a lot of renegades from other tribes running about at night.  At least if I’m with you we can explain what you’re doing.”

     “All right,” Brettix said, anxious to get started and in no mood to argue the point.

     “You’re going to see her tonight too, aren’t you?” Parex asked him suddenly.

     Brettix hesitated, then nodded.  “I’m going to try.”

     “I didn’t think you were doing all of this just to meet Bronwen,” Parex said dryly.

     Brettix smiled slightly.

     “I don’t suppose I could talk you out of it.”

     “No.”

     Parex sighed and shook his head.  “I don’t know what’s happening to us.  From what you’ve told me your sister has fallen for that tribune she married, and now you’re mixed up with Scipio’s daughter.”

     “She’s not like the rest of them.”

     “That’s what duped lovers always say.”

     Brettix secured brass armlets to his wrists and said, “Parex, you’ve known me since we were both nurslings rolling around in the same pen.  Do you think I would jeopardize what we’ve worked for all this time for a few kisses from an Italian strumpet?”

     Parex gazed at Brettix measuringly and then looked away.

     “No,” he said reluctantly.

     “Then give me a little credit for knowing what I’m doing, Parex.  Lucia is a good girl, they do exist in Roman families too, and she is very fair minded.”

     “She’s Scipio’s daughter!”

     “You may find this hard to believe, Parex, but she’s not much fonder of her father than we are,” Brettix said, donning the helmet again.

     “What do you mean?”

     “He betrothed her to some old coot with money back in Rome, and she hates her father’s career.  She’s against Roman imperialism and doesn’t think their troops should even be here.”

     “She must be unusual.  From what I’ve seen of their women they all seem to be preoccupied with nothing more substantial than the latest hair fashions.”

     “Lucia IS unusual, and she’s not going to turn me over to her
paterfamilias
,” Brettix said.

     “Picking up the lingo?” Parex said, and Brettix laughed.  He took an exaggerated martial stance and said to Parex, “What do you think?  Mark Antony?”

     “Mark Antony after a growth spurt and a bath in limewash,” Parex replied.  “Let’s go.”

     They went outside and mounted two of their own horses, as Stella had been put up in Borrus’ stable.  They were fortunate and encountered no one on the ride to the fort; the night was cold enough to discourage all but the hardiest or most determined travelers.  Parex saluted and turned off when the gates of the garrison came in sight. 

     Brettix rode slowly toward the high timber walls, waiting and circling until the traffic going inside became heavy.  Then he fell in behind a column escorting what appeared to be a long string of supply wagons.  When the gates opened for them he trotted through with them, looking straight ahead, concentrating on getting as close to the residential area as he could while still on horseback.  He turned down the lane leading to the Leonatus house and then dismounted, tying the horse to a tree at the end of the alley behind Bronwen’s home.

     It was late and the house was dark, but he knew Bronwen would be expecting him.  He went to the kitchen door and then flattened himself against the wall of the house as a pair of sentries walked by, hands on sword hilts.  Brettix waited until their footsteps had faded into silence before tapping on the door.

     It opened immediately and his sister grabbed his hand, leading him into the dark kitchen.  The only light came from a torch visible through the open door to the hall.

     “Where were you?” Bronwen hissed.  “I’ve been standing here half the night.”

     “I had to wait for the best time to come through the gates,” he answered.  “What’s wrong, imperial wife?  Is your husband impatient for you?”

     “He’s asleep.”

     “You took care to wear him out, eh?  Are you going to tell me again that you’re not sleeping with him?”

     Bronwen made an impatient sound and took a step closer to the light.  When her brother followed she turned to face him and then gasped, putting both hands over her mouth.

     “
Tuatha da dann
, Brettix, what are you wearing?” she whispered, aghast.

     “What does it look like?  Parex stole it.”