The sky was a slate-coloured grey, heavy with rain that threatened to pour over their heads at any moment as Marius tucked the last of his equipment inside his goatskin saddlebag. There were only ten of them riding north that morning, a single contubernia of his finest soldiers to accompany them, but he’d made sure that every man was armed and armoured to the hilt. Ordinarily he would have made the journey on his own, but today he wasn’t taking any chances. There were still breaches in the wall defences and if Nerva insisted on him taking his new wife with him then he wasn’t going to do it without a heavily equipped escort.
His new wife.
He looked across to where she was standing to one side, gazing forlornly back at the Legate’s villa as if she’d left a part of herself behind. Which in one sense, he supposed, she had. He hadn’t witnessed her farewell to Julia, but her face had been paler than usual and her eyes distinctly red-rimmed and swollen when she’d appeared in the vestibulum that morning.
After their brief wedding ceremony the evening before—so brief and so sparsely attended that it was hard to believe something so monumental had actually taken place—they’d dispensed with the usual formalities so that she could spend her last evening with her daughter. He’d even insisted on her sleeping in Nerva’s villa, claiming that he needed to arrange matters for their departure, though truthfully because he hadn’t wanted to separate her from Julia any sooner than was necessary. He felt bad enough about separating them; even worse about taking Livia into potentially dangerous enemy territory. Letting them spend their last night together was the least he could do.
It wasn’t quite the way he’d thought to spend his wedding night, alone on a pallet bed in his barracks trying not to think about how heart-stoppingly radiant Livia had looked in a plain white wedding gown tied with the traditional woollen belt and a deep yellow flammeum crowning her glorious curls, but the last thing he’d wanted was a bride wishing she were somewhere else. Besides, they hadn’t discussed that aspect of marriage yet and, much as he was looking forward to it, he didn’t want to rush her either. Not that she’d seemed so averse to him yesterday. On the contrary, if they hadn’t been in public, in the middle of a market in broad daylight with her four-year-old daughter at their side...
He clamped down on the memory before he got carried away and went to stand beside her, speaking gently. ‘It’s time to go.’
‘Yes.’ She dragged her gaze away from the villa, pressing her lips together as if she were trying not to cry. ‘How far away is Cilurnum?’
‘Just a couple of miles. We’ll be there before noon.’ He hesitated, wondering whether or not to address what was obviously upsetting her and then deciding to go ahead. ‘You won’t be far away.’
‘I know.’ A look of anxiety touched her eyes. ‘It’s just hard. What if she has a fall? What if she catches a chill?’
‘Then Hermenia will send word and I’ll bring you back.’ He reached out and took one of her hands, folding both of his own around it. ‘I promise, Livia. You can come back whenever you need to.’
‘Thank you.’
Their eyes met and he felt the familiar urge to envelop her tightly in his arms, but he couldn’t, not yet anyway. Their trip to the market had gone some way to restoring the closeness between them, but he didn’t want to jeopardise it again so soon.
‘We should be going.’ He took a firm step backwards, releasing her hand again.
‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded faintly unsteady as she plucked at the folds of her cloak. ‘You were right about this. I’d be freezing without it.’
‘Here.’ He tugged the hood up over her head, settling it gently over her hair. ‘In case it rains.’
‘In case?’ She looked pointedly skyward.
‘When it rains. Welcome to north Britannia.’
‘I don’t mind the weather.’ She walked alongside him to where the horses were waiting, grasping hold of the bridle and pulling herself up into the saddle before he could so much as offer to help. ‘If it didn’t rain so much then the scenery would look different and I love it too much to object.’
‘You do?’ He lifted an eyebrow, surprised as much by the easy way in which she’d mounted her steed as by the words themselves.
‘Yes.’ She seemed equally surprised by the question. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I do. Only a lot of visitors find it too empty and weather-beaten. I thought you might prefer the area around Lindum.’
‘No.’ She shook her head almost fiercely. ‘This is just how I imagined it would be.’
Imagined? He wrinkled his brow at the wistful note in her voice. She sounded as if she’d spent a lot of time imagining it, as if it were more than just common interest. A vague memory came back to him from their very first day together. I’ve always wanted to see it... She’d been talking about Hadrian’s Wall—the same wall she’d asked if she could see from Coria, that she’d seemed so excited about when he’d told her they were going to Cilurnum yesterday...
‘This way.’ He mounted his own horse and led their small procession out through the gates, impressed by her skill in the saddle as she guided the horse with a mere tap on the shoulder.
‘I told you I grew up in the country.’ She must have noticed him looking because she gave a small smile. ‘I rode most days when I was a girl. I always enjoyed it, but my husband...’
‘Didn’t approve?’ He finished the last sentence for her. He was starting to wonder if there was anything her husband had approved of.
‘He preferred a carriage, but I’ve always loved riding.’ She leaned forward, patting her horse’s neck as if to prove it.
‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that Cilurnum is a cavalry regiment.’
She sat up straight again. ‘But I thought you said all the forts on the wall were manned by auxiliaries?’
‘They are. These are auxiliary cavalry soldiers.’
‘I didn’t know there was such a thing.’ She sighed. ‘I’m starting to think I have a lot to learn about the Roman army.’
‘I feel the same way at times. Most of the forts along the wall are manned by infantry regiments, but a few are mixed and four of them are cavalry only. They’re organised differently to the legion. For a start, they’re called alae and they’re divided into turmas, not centuries. Each turma has thirty-two riders.’
‘As opposed to eighty soldiers in a century?’
He nodded approvingly. ‘You’re learning.’
‘So what’s the difference between an auxiliary and a legionary? Apart from auxiliaries not being Roman citizens?’
‘They get less pay and less training, but there are some advantages. Fewer rules, for a start, and not so much hard labour. It’s a better life in some ways.’
‘You sound as if you want to join.’
‘Some days I think so, too, but it doesn’t work that way. Every so often, a decurion gets promoted to the legion, but not the other way round.’
‘So how many men are there in Cilurnum altogether?’
‘About five hundred riders, give or take.’
‘Just in one fort? That seems like a lot.’
‘It’s a long wall.’
‘So why are we going there? I mean, I know why we’re going, but I mean why there in particular? Why to a cavalry regiment when you’re an infantry centurion?’
‘Because Nerva’s finally given permission for me to take a patrol north and we can cover more ground on horseback.’
‘What?’ Her voice sounded higher-pitched all of a sudden. ‘He said it was too dangerous!’
‘If I were on my own then he’d probably be right, but I’ll have men with me.’
‘But what if you’re right and the tribes are planning a rebellion?’
‘Then we’ll find out once and for all.’ He felt stirred by the note of concern in her voice. ‘I’ll take care, don’t worry.’
She fell silent for a few moments after that, though he could still see her chewing her lip. ‘So it’s not a punishment, then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For marrying me and causing problems with Scaevola’s father.’
‘You mean is Nerva sending me north to be killed as some kind of punishment for our marriage?’ He chuckled at the idea. ‘No. He doesn’t think there’s any danger, remember? I doubt he would have given me permission if we hadn’t got married, but now it’s a good excuse for him to keep me out of Scaevola’s eyeline. I’m glad of it.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. I told you, if a rebellion’s coming then we need to be ready. The more I can find out, the more lives can be saved.’
‘But will you be safe with auxiliaries? You just said they weren’t as well-trained as Roman legionnaires.’
‘Ah, but cavalry are the exception to that rule, in this case especially. The Ala II Asturum were formed in Hiberia originally and they’re some of the best soldiers in the army. Their senior officer is a decurion called Ario. He’s from the Parisi tribe and...’
‘Parisi?’
‘Yes.’ He was taken aback by the stricken note in her voice. ‘Why?’
‘You mean he’s a Briton?’
‘Yes, a lot of local tribesmen join the army. Once they serve their twenty-five years they become Roman citizens.’
‘And then what? Rome gives them back the patch of the land they were born on?’
This time he twisted around in his saddle to look at her. She looked and sounded angry, as if she were angry about Rome itself. He found himself remembering something else she’d said on the palisade two mornings ago, something about Rome being all conquest and slavery. Strange how sometimes she spoke as if she disapproved of—no, more than that, actually disliked—the Empire, as if she somehow wasn’t a part of it.
‘Rome gives its protection, too. We defend the tribes on this side of the wall from those on the north.’
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that maybe the tribes are capable of taking care of themselves?’
‘Many of them are glad to come under Roman rule.’
‘Many doesn’t mean all.’ She glared at him. ‘Besides, who’s to say the tribes on the north side aren’t simply trying to reclaim territory that was once theirs? It was a Roman who decided where the wall ought to go and he did it in a straight line. He took no account of tribal boundaries.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it. More than most Romans.’
‘I’ve heard stories.’ Her strident tone faltered. ‘I told you, my mother was a Briton.’
‘So you did, though you didn’t say which tribe she was from.’
There was a significant pause before she answered. ‘Carvetti.’
‘From around here?’ His unease receded slightly. At least that explained her strange desire to see the wall, although something about that pause was mildly disquieting...
‘My father’s father came from Italia.’ She sounded defensive now. ‘Only he liked it in Britannia. He never wanted to go back.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘You can? Don’t you want to go back to Rome?’
‘No,’ he answered without hesitation, though honestly he’d never considered the question before. When he did stop to think, however, he realised he was telling the truth. ‘There’s nothing there for me now. Nearly everyone who knew my father disowned us.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She tipped her head to one side inquisitively. ‘You never told me what it was about, the mutiny.’
‘What does it matter? He rebelled against Rome.’
‘But surely his motives make a difference? Just because he mutinied doesn’t mean he was in the wrong.’
‘He was. A soldier ought to follow orders, no matter what he thinks of them.’ He felt himself scowling and made a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. ‘In any case, I can’t imagine ever going back to Rome. The legion is my family now. I—we,’ he corrected himself, ‘have to follow wherever it leads.’
She was silent for a moment before nodding her head almost imperceptibly. ‘Then it’s a good thing I have strong boots.’