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The next day dawned cold and gray, and I found my warmest smock to pull on. As I dressed, I found myself wondering what had been said in the banquet hall about me, the night before. No doubt by this time, Maximus knew where I had come from, and all that I had told Gracchus. Nothing to be done for it, but it bothered me. My mind played worst case scenarios, while I finished my morning routine. I had already washed before putting on my simple floor-length tunic, and my hair was woven into a loose braid. A young girl brought my breakfast of bread, fruit and goat’s milk, and while I ate, I found my thoughts again turning to Maximus.Today, I was to watch Lucius practice with his weapons. This I had done before, and the poor lad had struggled with them. I had said nothing to his instructor, then. Maximus wanted my opinion now. Understandable, he knew I was a warrior, if a bit surprising, since most soldiers tended to look down on me for it. It was probably a principal reason for buying me, even with the uncertainty of whether or not I would live the day he had brought me here. Galen was already trying to put me on a horse, but the left leg was still a bit unstable, and hard to bend. It was getting easier to do so, but scar tissue and damage on that thigh would always hinder movement of it somewhat. And with the colder weather, I had to exercise it for several minutes every time I attempted to mount. But that I needed to ride, indicated to me that Maximus was not staying very long in Rome, and that I was going with him, when he left. I came from Britannia, and not Gaul, so it was quite possible that he was going there. There could be any number of reasons why, but I dreaded it. No doubt he would report to the governor. I had heard the new overseer of Britannia was a man named Publius Helvius Pertinax, but I knew nothing of him. It mattered little anyway, as far as my people were concerned, I was probably little more than a ghost, and a memory of what could have been. And in truth, there was no one to go home to, except my uncle, who was with the Caledonii. No doubt my sister had also been sold as a slave, but where, and when, I did not know. My daughter was probably dead, if the sound I had heard was what I thought- her little skull being crushed against the walls of her own home. No, I did not want to go back to Carvetii territory. What possible reason could he have for taking me back to the isles? To provide him information on the northern tribes? He would have to kill me, because he was not going to get it. To use me as a negotiating tool? I might have the blood of nobles and kings in my veins, but I was a lesser chief, and not worth bargaining for. The only other alternative was to use me as a translator, but that would be pointless, there were enough Celts in southern Britannia and in the army to be employed as interpreters. Why me? The same, nagging question I had been asking for months would be answered in due time, but the wait was nerve-wracking.
As though my very thoughts materialized him, Maximus came to my door to escort me to the parade grounds, where Lucius would already be practicing. He noted the Spartan condition of it gravely, then turned to me, assessing me. I again did not look him in the eyes; neither did I look down, only waited for him to finish his evaluation. His voice took up the room, dark, unspun honey filling a comb, when he asked if I had slept all right. I assured him I had, but he was not convinced.
“Galen says you have some sort of sleeping sickness. You fall asleep after fights, or when something troubles you.” I nodded, watching my foot crush some imaginary pile of dust on the floor, like a child chastised for some wrong. “How long have you had the problem?” He was patient, in the span of the eternity it took me to answer him.
“Since my mother died, Lord.”
He whistled low, in amazement, and with a touch of humor. “How did you live this long, with that?” I did not understand it myself. I had just learned to live with it, and before I was sold, I had been protected while I slept by my guard. In slavery, I took rest when I could. My first position was in a good man’s house, my duties easy, the education and training of his boys with weapons and protecting them. The next place I went, I could focus on other things, shutting out the presence of men while they rutted. The sleeping spells had begun again in the arena, and when I began to relive my past. I hated it, because it was a weakness. I had done everything I knew to present myself, not only to those around, but to me, as being indomitable, no matter what occurred to my person. In the arms of restful oblivion, I was vulnerable.
I picked at lint on my clothing. He must have understood how miserable I was, because he left off his questions and stood aside, to let me out into the autumn day. He picked up a long cloak from the bench outside my quarters; Galen had informed him I had nothing to shield me from the weather. “Don’t need you sick again” he told me, as he tossed it to me. I mumbled my thanks for the warm garment, and fell into pace somewhat behind him.
As I walked behind Maximus, I studied him. The armor he had been wearing the night before gave him the appearance of being very wide-shouldered, and thick through the middle. In what he was wearing this day, the illusion ceased to be, and the reality was that he was indeed, a big man. Most Romans are short in stature, and I was used to looking down at them, but Maximus was just a bit taller than I am. He wore a toga of rich green, clasped at the shoulder, belted at the waist, and tapering to his knees. He wore breeches, and his step was sure and strong. He was conditioned well; no fat was present on him that I could see. This was a man that had seen many years of fighting, and riding. I only had view of the back of his close cropped head, but I wondered if he did as I do, and looked about him, to take in his surroundings, and judge whether there was immediate danger. He knew this place even better than I did, and it was well guarded, but if he was the warrior he was purported to be, surely he did it anyway. It was hard to tell, from my vantage. If he knew I was judging him, he gave no note of it, and said nothing more to me, the way to the small ring where Lucius was, as I had known, already at instruction.
He was, as before, having trouble handling his weapon. The first time I had watched, I had known what his problem was, but did not discuss it with the Master of Arms, who doubled as Lucius’ trainer. The man held me in contempt while I looked on from the sidelines, making it clear to me that he felt I had no business there, so I refused to deal with him. I felt badly for the boy, as we held our attention on him, making our way to our seats. Maximus found a place in the box beside Gracchus and a well-dressed, lovely woman I could only guess was Lucius’ mother. I stayed below, with the manservant that held Lucius’ cloak and other things. We exchanged pleasantries, and turned back to cheering the lad on.
From above me, came the low rumble of Maximus, calling my name, and reminding me that I was there to give him my thoughts on Lucius’ shortcoming with his sword training. “Is there a reason you’re down there? There’s a much better view, up here.” There was no hint of humor in his voice, but there was no exasperation, either.
Gracchus flashed me a grin, and indicated behind him, when I reached them. From there, I could examine Maximus, and watch the boy, at the same time. I was also painfully aware of Lucilla’s appraisal of me. No matter how often I have been inspected by potential owners, or by those who have bought me, a woman never gets used to being analyzed by another female. Roman women are especially curious, I suppose because they have little enough to do but gossip and envy, or provide their husbands with heirs. Her eyes moved back and forth between Maximus and me, then went back to her son. What she was thinking was anyone’s guess.
Maximus leaned back, but motioned with his chin toward Lucius. “What do you think?”
“His sword’s too long, Lord.”
“Don’t call me that.” My sense of propriety was affronted, if my unease was lessened. He went on, “You don’t think he’ll grow into it?” Surely, he knew better.
“Weapons should grow with the warrior, not ahead of him.”
“Or her,” Gracchus interjected, laughing at me. I smirked.
Maximus continued to drill me, however. “You didn’t tell the Master of Arms. Why not?”
“He doesn’t like me. I’m a woman, and a slave.” I placed a bit of emphasis on the last word, and it was not lost on him. He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll tell him, then. Have you ever sparred with Lucius?”
I had not. I was walking steadily, without my crutches or help from anyone, but my left arm was still healing, and it was taking time. My right arm was fine, but I like to have the use of both, in a fight. I told him as much. He frowned, in thought. “Perhaps you should start.” He was right, of course. I knew that I needed to make my arm move again. It had probably already been too long. Working with it now would be a harder task; the muscles were still atrophied. I would talk with Galen, later, and figure out how soon I could have full use of it. Maximus broke my thoughts again, “How are your riding skills?”
“I can sit a horse, but I can’t control it, very well.”
“The arm, again?”
“Aye. My leg is a bit stiff, too.” He assessed the information.
“Why?” I surprised myself with the question, but Maximus barely blinked at the forthrightness of it.
“Didn’t Galen tell you?” I shook my head in the negative, and explained that he had only given me basic details of what Maximus needed of me. To ride and now, to handle a weapon. He continued, “I have been given a choice of posts. I’m trying to decide which I want. I’ll have need of you for either. However, I require you to be a bit self-sufficient, and not a hindrance.” A meaningful stare accompanied his next words. “And I need for you to be that, soon. Agreed?” It was the first time I dared look at him. I met a gaze that intended business, no fooling about. But there was underlying gentleness there, and I began to understand that even though he was in command, if I did what I was asked, and well, my lot might not be so bad. So be it. I was in the service of my enemy, but the man in the uniform could be fair.
He focused again on Lucius, who was finishing up, sweat pouring from his face. The manservant rushed to wipe the offending perspiration off, and wrap him tightly in his cloak, lest he catch cold. Lucius looked up to us, rolling his eyes, much to the amusement of the adults who were there to support him. Young men think they are invincible from the elements.
Lucius greeted his mother with a hug, and shook hands with Maximus, who strode over to the Master of Arms, to discuss a change of weapons for the boy, as well, I guessed, as letting me work with him. Lucius noticed I stood a bit removed from the rest, and grabbed my hand, to lead me to his mother. I hid my trepidation from him, and from her, as she again turned a gaze upon me, to see me, in a way I know no man could. Women can find the most hidden things about a person, and discover things without having been told a word. Certainly she knew about me. I had been living at her home for months. She had never come to see me, though. In turn, without being truly bold about it, I searched her out. She was tall, if I were to have turned my eyes to her face, I knew they would have met, with no height to account for. Lucius looked like his mother. Same hair, like the golden red leaves beginning to drop from the trees around the villa. Eyes of soft green, that bored through the soul, to find hiding places. Prim mouth, below a straight nose, not turned down, not smiling. She was hunting. And I knew her query was similar to mine. What would Maximus want with someone like me? She would know better than I would, but it was obviously not for carnal reasons. When she spoke, it was with authority, however not entirely unfriendly. “Lucius tells me about you.” I muttered a proper greeting, and otherwise remained silent. Gracchus was watching with great interest. I wished he would go find his geese.
All I could find to say was, “He’s a fine boy, my lady.”
“Yes, he is.” A mother’s pride. She said nothing else to me, so I went on observing these people, when Maximus came back. Lucilla smiled warmly, and with a hint of something else in her eyes. He returned her greeting, and nearly sent Lucius sprawling, with a clap on his back, and a hearty well done, despite Lucius’ discomfiture with the too-large sword. Gracchus was married to Lucilla, I knew, from Lucius’ account of the family. They did seem rather fond of one another, but that it was not a passionate marriage, was evident. Where did Maximus fit? I knew he was close to them; how and why were never discussed with me, but the extra emotion in Lucilla’s look said, not a brother or other relative. It was not my business, I supposed.
A silence fell, as we stood about. Maximus broke it with a statement about finding Galen. I failed to mention that he was sending for me that day, to help him with the delivery of a baby. The less Maximus knew of me the better. I would have to decline Galen’s invitation. It was deviousness on my part, but I had no intention of offering to tell him that I was a Druid. Julius Caesar had ended the influence of the Druids in Gaul; Suetonius Paulinus had sacked our sacred groves and learning places in Britannia. I could not allow Maximus to exploit my gods and abilities beyond those he already was aware of. Perhaps he would not, but the possibility he might was stronger, and hardly one I wanted to gamble on.
Maximus walked with me to my quarters. He did not enter, but watched as I did, again taking in my belongings, the absence of many personal possessions, and fixed on the little horse figurine.
“Epona?” I nodded. “Is she your matrona?” I thought about that, for a while. Brigantia is the mother goddess of my people, all over the world, though she goes by many names. And while I serve her now, I was then closer to Epona and Andraste, mothers of horses and war, respectively. But which did I serve more faithfully? It was a good question. I knew the Romans were fond of Epona, they revere horses as much as Celts do. Epona had been my goddess since childhood, but Andraste had protected me, even in my last fight, for I still lived.
“I serve two goddesses, Lord.” It was plain he was uncomfortable with the title I again bestowed on him. I pretended to be busy folding my cloak, and putting it away neatly. I would never call him by name, it was not right.
“Who is the other?”
“Andraste.”
“What is her place?”
“War and battle.” I glanced sideways, to see his reaction. He was passive, undaunted, had probably suspected.
“Good choice.”
“The gods choose us, for whatever reasons.”
A hint of sadness crossed his visage, as he looked somewhere only he could see. “Indeed they do. Whether we like it, or not. And they take forever to tell us what they plan.” He gave me something of a smile, and concluded his business with me, “I think you have had enough of me, for a day. Do whatever pleases you this afternoon. Tomorrow, you have to start getting ready to go.”
