The mass of soldiers managed to find their way into formation, staring at three blue-black ravens in a distant tree. As if called, the birds suddenly lifted and flew across the dismantled marching camp and disappeared in the distant tree line.
An omen? It couldn’t be. Julius Agricola replayed the morning’s offerings to Mars and Jupiter. The omens had been good. The damn roosters ate the grain….all of it. Every grain. And, the centurions had agreed that the morning omens were acceptable.
However, finding the bodies of the master slaver and his men mutilated on the side of the road as well as all the Iceni prisoners gone had been disturbing. Even now, he could feel the men watching his reaction to the ravens. A few muttered about how high the ravens flew and their caws. Were they distress or joy? Had the bird’s flight been a silent and swift?
Was it a message from the gods?
He had no choice but to keep to the plan of continuing on to Camulodunum—for whatever unknown reason he’d been ordered there. His first centurion Felix had reported the road wasn’t as well used, but it made their time to Camulodunum shorter. The first scout reported earlier that all the villages along the way appeared to be doing no more than preparing for spring planting.
Julius vaulted up on the bay stallion and settled in the saddle, pulling his red cape from beneath him, and then turned so the restless soldiers could see the unconcerned façade he had to present. Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect us.
He waved to Marcus, his first decurion of his guard and his friend. “Decurion, send a group to check on the scouts. I want a constant report.”
“Yes, Tribune.” Marcus saluted and turned his black stallion to his mounted guard, motioning ten toward him.
The Iceni stallions they both rode were magnificent horses from Prasutagus’ herd, ones the procurator had claimed for taxes and had sold to him and Marcus…as he had Kianna. He smiled as he glanced back at the soldiers who appeared more like farmers than Rome’s lethal force.
Each man wore a long brown wool cape and carried a pack pole of his belonging over one shoulder. Hoods shoved back revealed heads of mostly short brown hair and every variety of face possible, young, old, scarred, and fresh. Their polished bronze helmets were hooked to the hidden armor that bulged like masses of shoulder muscle. Each man also carried a leather-covered shield strapped across his shoulder like market baggage. They were casually chatting and laughing now—the ravens all but forgotten.
He took a deep relieved breath, scanned the three supply wagons in the middle of the formation, and saw Kianna riding on his personal wagon. Her golden hair gleamed in the morning sunlight the way it had the first time he’d seen her.
The insanity of that turmoil flashed before him again. Catus Decianus had disregarded the final will of the Iceni’s chief, desecrated his burial mound, and had his queen Boudica whipped. Then, when her people fought for her, the bastard ordered all present at the funeral taken back to camp and allowed the men to beat and rape the women…all except for Kianna. Julius had seen that Kianna had been taken to his tent to protect her, but now, during these few weeks, he was in love with her. He’d never intended for that to happen, nor had she.
From beneath his leather cuirass, Julius drew Kianna’s gold chain with brooch of the Iceni symbol of a racing horse that she had given him the night before. “It’s for the man I choose to give my soul to and I choose to give it to you. As long as you wear this, my soul will be yours.”
He would never take it off.
Julius dropped the charm beneath his cuirass. He noticed Felix standing nearby, scowling at the formation. “So, Centurio, are you sure you don’t want to ride today?” he asked, knowing the short crusty soldier wouldn’t climb on the back of any horse even if Jupiter himself demanded it.
“I’d rather ride the boat with the Ferryman than be on one of those monsters,” Felix snarled. “Unpredictable bastards.”
Julius laughed and watched Marcus loping back from the departing cavalry guards. “Ready, Decurion?” Aerie pawed the ground beneath him, ready to move as he was.
“As ever,” Marcus answered as he worked Skye into line.
Time to start.
He spun Aerie around and cantered out toward the first section of men. He halted with his guard following in his wake. “Are you ready to fight?” he yelled, demanding the traditional answer asked three times before leaving any camp.
“We are ready!” echoed back in answer.
Relishing the sound, he kneed Aerie into a canter toward the middle of the column and the three wagons overloaded with tents, gear, and plunder. Kianna sat beside his personal slave on his wagon, her brilliant blue gaze sparkling with pride as he rode closer. Her smile ignited his soul as he drew Aerie to a rearing halt. “Are you ready to fight?” he yelled to the men.
“We are ready!”
He rode toward the rear of the line and halted for the third and final time. He suddenly felt he had already lived a lifetime for just this moment. “Are you ready to fight?” he yelled enthralled by his own excitement.
“We are ready!”
The thunderous answer echoed hot through his veins. He released Aerie into a full gallop toward the front of the column. His cape tugged the shoulders of his cuirass. His black crest whipped his back like a lash. He drew the stallion to a sliding halt and nodded to Felix.
The short, middle-aged centurion motioned to the two trumpeters. Horns sounded, filling the brisk air with their clarion command. The first cohort’s standard lifted and leaned forward. On down the column, other standards echoed the signal and soldiers adjusted the pack poles and started forward.
He felt Kianna’s charm shift on his skin. Not only had he spent far more than he should have for Kianna, he also knew he’d have to break the betrothal with Domitia’s family. Domitia would be the perfect Roman wife. She came with a dowry large enough to see him into the senate, and she was a gentle soul as well as very attractive. However, none of that mattered now. His soul belonged to Kianna as much as he held hers. He’d write his mother and uncle a letter and explain once he reached Camulodunum.
Marcus rode closer. “Why the new orders to Camulodunum?” he asked as he swatted a fly.
“All I know is they were orders, no explanation.” He shrugged as the fly decided to feast on his arm. He slapped at it and missed. “At least, we’re away from that bastard.”
Marcus sneered. “You mean, you don’t like protecting Catus’s greedy little ass.”
“Little?” Julius laughed. “I’d say it’s bigger than most senators back in Rome.”
The obscene marching ditties reached the front of the column, bringing smirks and grins on faces around him. Julius grinned. Along with the nuisance of flies feasting on any available flesh, his only concern now was the looming rain clouds growing above the thick tree line and hoping Kianna didn’t understand any of the ditties. He smiled as he gazed ahead at the road.
A Roman scout broke from his group and loped closer to the trees, sniffing for something. “Do we take him?” Torin whispered as he crouched behind a thick evergreen.
Calgacus shook his head, praying the embers for the arrows burning in buried clay pots stayed hot and well hidden in the underbrush.
Finally, the Roman scout returned to his group and shrugged, allowing everyone hidden in the underbrush to breathe again. “Wait for the column and kill all the Romans you want,” Calgacus whispered. “Start with the tribune and make sure you cover me until I get to Kianna.” Heads behind him nodded. Kianna was his and he wanted her back. She belonged with her people.
He glanced again at the gathering clouds. Seric said it would rain after high sun and the boy was never wrong about weather. The brewing storm would provide the perfect cover to get Kianna. He wanted to be the one to kill the tribune but he had no choice but to leave the bastard to Torin and Orvic. His concern was getting Kianna away while the men created a diversion by killing as many Romans as possible.
The brush behind him rustled. Calgacus turned, only to see Torin dragging an eight-year old boy fighting the grip on his collar. “Seric, I told you to stay in the cave,” Calgacus seethed in a whisper.
“I fight. I kill Romans.”
Calgacus glanced up at Torin. “Tie him. We’ll get him later.”
“NO!” echoed across the open field, turning the heads of the Roman scouts and looked directly where he and his men were hidden. Torin clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, and yanked him face down to the ground.
“Did you hear anything?” carried across the grassy field.
“Sounded like a cat.”
