only niece lightly.”
The Legatus stared at her with spite in his dark eyes, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to go against the Emperor. “Then I guess we are at an impasse. Ready yourselves for travel. We head for Rome in the next hour.”
Rufus took her by the arm and led her through the slash Tristan had made in the back of the tent. He brought her to a stop just outside. “Why do you antagonize the Legatus?” He shook her, as if trying to get some sense into her. “Are you mad?”
Yes, she was mad!
The cracking of the whip was louder out here, echoing through the trees in the forest, and Valeria couldn’t stand how powerless she was to stop Tristan’s abuse. Gods, give her a sword and a horse and she’d free him before the others had a chance to stop her. She wasn’t totally helpless in that aspect. Rufus had taught her well over the years. She was at least familiar with different types of weapons and she could ride a horse astride as well as any man, in some cases better.
Valeria made a promise in that moment. To Tristan, to the Gods, and to herself. She would free him. No matter what. She would find a way to return to Tristan all he had lost to Rome.
The group that set off for Rome that morning was merely a fraction of the army that stayed behind in the north to continue waging war on the Picts and the other tribes. All the officers in their party were given a horse for the journey, as was Rufus. The everyday soldiers would make the journey on foot—they were used to long marches—and the prisoners were shackled together in a long line, naked to the waist and barefoot.
There were three wagons led by horses to carry the supplies, one of which Valeria was being forced to ride in because of her delicate nature as a lady. She didn’t feel delicate. Far from it. The need for violence burned so brightly inside her it was a wonder she could remain seated and keep her thoughts to herself.
She’d gotten a glimpse of Tristan when the wagon passed the line of slaves at the rear of their party. His back was a bloodied mess, the flesh stripped from his body by the cruel lashing he’d received. He should be the one riding in the wagon. His body needed rest to heal, not to be marched over rough terrain in heavy chains.
If Valeria had her way, she’d be tending him and treating his wounds. She recognized many of the plants and herbs in the forest and could easily make a healing salve for his skin. The first time she’d suggested it to the Legatus, he’d laughed, amused by her request. The second time she’d been less polite in making her request and he’d ordered her to stay in the wagon until they stopped to make camp for the night.
Valeria wasn’t much for being ordered around. Something had changed in her and she was no longer content to let others dictate her life. Brutus Dias might be the Legatus, and he might be in command of their party, but she was the Emperor’s niece and would use her position to push the man to his limits if she had to. Were Lucia here, the clever woman would already have the Legatus under her thumb and she’d be seeing to the wounded freely, both soldier and slave, making fast friends with everyone.
Valeria admired the woman who had raised her. Lucia was the greatest healer in Rome, and she’d started teaching Valeria the arts of healing and medicine from the time she was old enough to walk. She thought back to the sunny afternoons she’d spend trailing after Lucia through the forest to gather herbs, learning their names and uses, and later, as she got older, how to make the medicines and remedies. The happy memories of the woman who had essentially become her mother made her smile. They also gave her an idea.
Lucia was an emancipated woman, earning her freedom after her husband was killed in the war. She’d left the Emperor’s service, and she was partly responsible for instilling a sense of daring and independence in Valeria. She thought,
what would Lucia do at a
The Legatus stared at her with spite in his dark eyes, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to go against the Emperor. “Then I guess we are at an impasse. Ready yourselves for travel. We head for Rome in the next hour.”
Rufus took her by the arm and led her through the slash Tristan had made in the back of the tent. He brought her to a stop just outside. “Why do you antagonize the Legatus?” He shook her, as if trying to get some sense into her. “Are you mad?”
Yes, she was mad!
The cracking of the whip was louder out here, echoing through the trees in the forest, and Valeria couldn’t stand how powerless she was to stop Tristan’s abuse. Gods, give her a sword and a horse and she’d free him before the others had a chance to stop her. She wasn’t totally helpless in that aspect. Rufus had taught her well over the years. She was at least familiar with different types of weapons and she could ride a horse astride as well as any man, in some cases better.
Valeria made a promise in that moment. To Tristan, to the Gods, and to herself. She would free him. No matter what. She would find a way to return to Tristan all he had lost to Rome.
The group that set off for Rome that morning was merely a fraction of the army that stayed behind in the north to continue waging war on the Picts and the other tribes. All the officers in their party were given a horse for the journey, as was Rufus. The everyday soldiers would make the journey on foot—they were used to long marches—and the prisoners were shackled together in a long line, naked to the waist and barefoot.
There were three wagons led by horses to carry the supplies, one of which Valeria was being forced to ride in because of her delicate nature as a lady. She didn’t feel delicate. Far from it. The need for violence burned so brightly inside her it was a wonder she could remain seated and keep her thoughts to herself.
She’d gotten a glimpse of Tristan when the wagon passed the line of slaves at the rear of their party. His back was a bloodied mess, the flesh stripped from his body by the cruel lashing he’d received. He should be the one riding in the wagon. His body needed rest to heal, not to be marched over rough terrain in heavy chains.
If Valeria had her way, she’d be tending him and treating his wounds. She recognized many of the plants and herbs in the forest and could easily make a healing salve for his skin. The first time she’d suggested it to the Legatus, he’d laughed, amused by her request. The second time she’d been less polite in making her request and he’d ordered her to stay in the wagon until they stopped to make camp for the night.
Valeria wasn’t much for being ordered around. Something had changed in her and she was no longer content to let others dictate her life. Brutus Dias might be the Legatus, and he might be in command of their party, but she was the Emperor’s niece and would use her position to push the man to his limits if she had to. Were Lucia here, the clever woman would already have the Legatus under her thumb and she’d be seeing to the wounded freely, both soldier and slave, making fast friends with everyone.
Valeria admired the woman who had raised her. Lucia was the greatest healer in Rome, and she’d started teaching Valeria the arts of healing and medicine from the time she was old enough to walk. She thought back to the sunny afternoons she’d spend trailing after Lucia through the forest to gather herbs, learning their names and uses, and later, as she got older, how to make the medicines and remedies. The happy memories of the woman who had essentially become her mother made her smile. They also gave her an idea.
Lucia was an emancipated woman, earning her freedom after her husband was killed in the war. She’d left the Emperor’s service, and she was partly responsible for instilling a sense of daring and independence in Valeria. She thought,
what would Lucia do at a
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