We leave shortly. She now rides in front of me, straddling my mare as a man would. She doesn’t speak, not even glancing at me. She keeps her back straight like an arrow, trying not to touch me. But then she dozes off and relaxes against my chest. She radiates so much heat. I’m cursing under my breath for the way my body reacts to her nearness.
She refuses my slanina and bread for the third time. I can’t blame her. I’m sure her imperial mouth hasn’t ever tasted anything but oysters and exotic fruits. When one is an outlaw like us, a slab of fatback with pigskin is considered a God-sent gift. At least she drinks water. Blood from her foot trickles on Blanca, but she doesn’t let me aid her and I don't offer again.
The night's air chills drastically. Moonlight barely grasses between the dense pines. A wolf pack keeps close. I can tell Nerva is scared by their howls, the way she jolts and grabs my forearms—then lets go as if burned by the contact.
The path is wide enough for two horses. Bastisza rides next to me. Ursus and Galtys ride behind us, then Vipero and Zyraxes with the supply horse closing the group. As always, we talk very little.
My muscles are stiff, my skin burnt, my legs numb. We haven't rested much the past two nights. We keep going until Nerva nearly falls off the horse. We both drifted into slumber. I reach to catch her more from instinct than being awake. My arm irons around her small middle too hard, the sound she makes is as if the air was squeezed out of her. If she wasn't awake moments ago, she is now.
“Brute, you shall burn in hell.” She elbows me several times and I lose the harness, trying to avoid her anger.
“Apology—”
“Do not address me. The sound of your voice repulses me.” Her arm rises in the air as if to stop me from talking. She leans forward in the saddle to avoid touching me.
“A little respect, woman. You're talking to our king.” Bastisza hands me Blanca's harness.
“Your king is dead. This is no king!” Her voice is wheezed, not from effort but hate. At least we share one commonality.
I dismount and drag Nerva down with me. The path widens into a glade, perfect place to spend the night. I can hear somewhere close a water stream. We are too tired to go any further. I don't know where she has the energy, but she fights me. Her fingernails dig into my arms as I carry her to the next pine and tie her down. Truth be told, no woman has ever cursed me like she does, but instead of fury I find it humorous.
My men gather dry bark and wood and soon we have a campfire. Vipero's earlier hunting trophy is quickly skinned and skewered. I lay the sheepskins around the fire. Ursus and Zyraxes tend to the horses. Galtys fills everyone's jugs with fresh water. When all is set and done, we stretch by the fire. Bastisza hands us pieces of bread, dried apricots and apples. It's a complete feast when Vipero opens up a bottle of wine, making the round to all of us except Nerva.
“You, son of a putana, you said we drank the last bottle two nights ago.” Ursus smacks his lips then takes another gulp of wine.
“Easy, you had enough. There’re six of us.” Galtys pulls the bottle away and wine spills, not much, but enough to set the two in to another banter. Soon Vipero and Zyraxes mix in and the quiet night transforms into an arena with bullocks ready to fight one another.
The smell of grilled veal teases my hunger. I stand closer to the pit where Vipero has entirely left our supper to the mercy of smoke and fire. Bastisza joins me, holding the bottle of wine. Last I saw it was in Galtys hand.
Bastisza motions to our friends then at the bottle, “When two fight, the third wins.” He hands it to me, with a soft chuckle. “Too much time in the saddle. A good fight calms heated spirits.”
I let them brawl until the veal is done. Bastisza helps me take it down. We slice it and place it on bread pieces. I don't yell when I say, “Mayhap we should all forget supper and saddle again,” but I have everyone's attention. The fight is over and we all stand by the fire, bread in one hand, meat in the other.
I take my meal and walk over to Nerva. I can tell she's cold by the way she keeps her arms tucked between her body and her pulled-up knees. Her hair falls over her face and I nearly reach to push it away, but stop brusquely.
“Here, eat.”
Her hesitation is visible, but hunger wins over pride. After fasting for two days, she chews hastily, swallowing one bite after another one. I keep a piece of bread and meat for myself but seeing how hungry she is, I hand it to her. Again she hesitates, looking at me as if I offer poison.
“Offering me food doesn’t change who you are. A brute. Like your father.”
I’m tired and starved. Listening to her insults isn’t a good idea. I start walking away, but she doesn’t stop.
“I know who you are and who your father was. I’ve heard tales of you. You are the weasel bastard of the snake Decebalus. What kind of weak boy steals a woman to use as a tool against his enemies? Such a cravenly move from such a little boy.”
I can take much but no one takes my father’s name in vain, princess or not. I’m back, crouching close by, startling her. She drops the food.
My voice is whispered though I can barely contain myself. “Do not pretend to know my father. Do not speak of him. My enemies are your people and you—stealing from us. My father was no snake. He died for this land Traianus wanted for his costly expansion. Without our gold and silver your beloved Rome would be ruined. My father fought against taxes and debts Traianus claimed Dacians owed him. We owed no one anything.”
I can tell by the look on her face that she’s shocked. There are two sides to each story and I wonder if this is the first time she considers what Traianus told everyone—that invading Dacia was necessary for my father broke the treaty—a lie. She looks troubled. I get up and distance myself once again before I do something I’ll regret.
“Decebalus’ head putrefied on the Gemonian Stairs as he deserved. No one defying Rome goes unpunished. Alone for being his bastard, you should’ve died with your father.”
“And what makes you any less a bastard?” I’m back next to her. I only need one hand to wrap my fingers around her long neck. Hate and rage cloud my mind. A little more pressure and I can break it before she blinks. “Your pig of a father masquerades you as a niece, but we know the truth of it. At least my father wasn’t ashamed of who I was.”
Nerva tries to loosen my fingers on her throat. When she can’t, her arms beat the air, like a bird in distress.
“You’re killing her.” Bastisza’s hand on my shoulder shakes me; it’s all I need to snap out of it. “Her time hasn’t come. Yet.”
I stand and walk away, leaving Nerva coughing and laying on the ground. I hate how she made me lose control. I hate it. I’m so wound up I take first watch. Wouldn’t be able to slumber anyway. Everyone must be tired for no one says another word. Soon, along with crickets, there are five different snores filling the night. Once in a while I hear howls, but as long as we keep the fire going, wolfs won’t come too close.
To stay awake and calm myself I gather more wood. It’s Galtys turn to take the watch. I slumber on my sheepskin and my muscles scream in pain. I toss and turn, the thought of Nerva being cold nagging at me. I shouldn’t care, yet here I am, getting up and walking to where I tied her down. I cut the rope and carry her to the fire. She shivers in my arms, but she doesn’t fight me.
My sheepskin is large enough to lay Nerva on it and I could easily fit next to her. But I won’t. I’d rather be fed to the lions than lay with a Roman woman. She lays on her side, facing me. I tie her right wrist to my left, and cover her up. The fire is behind her back. Her large eyes follow my every move. I lay on my back, my free arm bent under my head. The tall grass offers softness, but I’m so tired I could slumber standing. I glance again at Nerva and she watches me intensely. I don’t know how to read her face, but it’s clearly not hate.
“Who else knows I’m not . . . I’m not Traianus’ niece?”
“Only my men here. You needn’t worry. Your secret will follow them to their graves.”
r />
Nerva sighs. “I’m not worried. At times I want the world to know. I wouldn’t be forced into a marriage I resent body and spirit.”
I almost say her days are numbered and marriage shan’t distress her any longer, but I’m in no mood to deal with a frantic woman.
“Sleep.”
*****
We’ve been up and gone since before dawn. Time is of the essence. I need to arrive at our camp and ensure my army is organized before Traianus gets there. They were ready when we left a few days ago, but I still feel at ease when I’m among them, not away from them. If my estimation is correct, we should have four more days and nights riding.
I gave Traianus ten days to get to the battlefield. That gives us an advantage of several days if we keep the same steady pace. It’s enough time for him to get there, but not enough time to call for more forces. He has to rely only on the garrisons at hand—two of them—for his out of control military campaign has his legions fighting elsewhere.
When we stop it’s around noon. We find another stream and men and horses get a boost of needed energy. The water is freezing, but it feels good to get clean. I wash my shirt and let it dry in the sun. It’s another cloudless day. While my men finish cleaning up, I hunt for the morning meal. I make good use of my bow and arrows, returning with two young pheasants.
I don’t know how Vipero does it, but aside from being a fearless warrior, he knows how to cook. Feathers fly up in the air as he plucks the pheasants. After our confrontation with the Sarmatians last autumn, when his neck injury almost killed him, we’ve heard they call him Hermes for his speed and once again he doesn’t disappoint. Since this will be our only meal until tonight, Vipero cooks polenta bread, completing our meal with dried fruits, nuts, and wine.
I leave the camp for a bit, walking up the stream. I need all the walking I can get before we saddle. I wander deep into the woods; my heart beats to the wind’s rustle, the water’s swirl, the vulture’s cry. Soon all this land shall return to us, into the hands of Dacians where it’s belonged since before my father’s father and their longfathers.
Back in the camp I find my men taking turns arm wrestling. Nerva is gone.
“Where is she? Where?” My voice stops everyone in their game. I have my dagger out and whistle for my horse, fuming at my men for being so careless. There will be hell to pay if I can’t find her.
“She ain’t gone nowhere,” Ursus motions toward the stream, “She’s by the water.”
“Why isn’t one of you with her? Why?” On my way to the water I grab my shirt and put it on. Galtys is right in my path. My shoulder bumps his when I say, “Mount. We’re leaving.”
It’s quite a distance before I find Nerva resting on a log. I now understand why my men didn’t bother to watch over her. She won’t be able to make it far with the gash in the ball of her right foot. Her hair shines in the sun, wet and braided to the side. My shirt hangs lose around her, one bare shoulder revealing beautiful silky skin. The fine blue chemise she wore two nights ago is torn in a few places; she has no other clothing.
We don’t talk. She’s refused each time I offered food, but she takes it from Bastisza. I also offer wine, but she refuses it. Then Bastisza tries and she accepts it. I’m determined to offer aid with the injury just once and I swear by Zamolxis, if she doesn’t take it, I’m finished with her. I don’t understand women anyway hence I give up. Bastisza shall handle her from now on.
“Let me see it.”
I expect her to refuse me, but to my surprise she places her foot atop my knelt leg, grimacing when I touch the skin around the cut. It’s deep and ugly. I try not to look at her, but can’t miss the bruises around her ankles and wrists. She flinches when I reach to lift her braid. My stomach knots painfully when I see the horrible marks my fingers left on her neck.
She was right to call me a brute.
I whistle. Shortly my men bring my mare.
I don’t need to say anything and Zyraxes kneels next to me, examining Nerva’s wound. Two lines form between his eyebrows as he confirms my suspicions— the wound is infected. If anyone can help Zyraxes can. He’s saved Ursus from losing his left arm to a poisonous arrow and sewn Bastisza’s innards back after a scythe split him open. He saved me.
Zyraxes brings his leather bundle he treasures more than life, and pulls out a jar with a horribly smelling paste. I know what he is about to do and dread it.
“It’s going to hurt,” he says.
Nerva pales and tries to flee, but I’m already behind her, holding her tight in my arms while Vipero and Ursus hold onto her legs. She screams and fights us.
Is then when Bastisza's sica swooshes by my ear and a mortal scream erupts behind me. The blade rests in the middle of a man’s forehead behind a bush. We move as one, guarding Nerva as we fight with three men. Somehow they snuck closer to us, highly unusual for anyone to accomplish, as we are always vigilant about our surroundings. They are thugs, fighting barehanded; only one of them has a blade and stands no chance when confronted by Ursus.
“Have mercy, master, they are but lambs—my sons,” the older one speaks. They kneel circled by us.
They stink badly, are ill dressed and barefoot. I take a closer look at them—the younger ones whimper; tears leave streaks down their faces.
“Hang them and get it over with,” Galtys offers.
“Master, please, have mercy,” the toothless man says. “The Romans destroyed our village. My wife and daughter have been slaughtered . . .” He cries outright with slumped shoulders, then continues, “My sons and I went hunting and when we returned . . . the village was ablaze. Since then we’ve hidden in the woods, barely finding something to eat. I'm a good hunter, I've fought under King Decebalus, but have no weapons. I have to feed my children, please have mercy . . .”
The knowledge of yet another crime committed by the Romans has my blood boiling in seconds. My men turn toward Nerva, accusatory looks on their faces. She stands, wobbling on one foot. Why she chooses this moment to move I cannot fathom, but it distracts me. I'm not worried about her running away as much as for the infected foot.
I focus on the thieves.
“What's your name?”
“I'm Severinus, this is Thrax, my oldest, and this one is Gruia, my youngest.”
“How many other people have you attacked?”
“None, master, you're the first. I was desperate.”
“Take your clothes off.”
The boys look hastily up at their father and, at his nodding they get up and undress. He follows suit, covering his manhood when completely naked.
“Wash,” I motion toward the stream.
My men laugh and cheer, always up for some cheap amusement. I turn my attention on Nerva who averts her face when the three naked males pass her then sits on the log again.
“Burn their clothes.”
A quick fire swallows their clothing before they return from the water.
“One of King Decebalus’ soldiers, you say. Which battle?”
Severinus’ face hides behind a long tangled beard, but his eyes light up as if reliving dear memories. “Tapae and Sarmizegetusa. The fortress would stand even now if Romans had not cut the water supplies. I’d fight them all over again if given the chance.”
“The gods have favored you today for that’s where we go—to fight the Romans.” I turn to my men and say, “Clothe them. The young ride with Galtys and Vipero. Severinus takes the supplies horse.”
I walk toward Nerva who leans back, dread on her face. Zyraxes and Bastisza follow me. I grab her and cover her eyes with one hand, trying to be gentle, but she bites me. Taking a better hold of her, I’m nodding at Zyraxes who holds her right foot in one hand, ready to cut the infected area.
Nerva’s scream outmatches the eagles before she goes flaccid in my arms. I already bestow so much pain upon her, I only wish I could suck it all out and protect her of all pain.
Then it hits me. It hits me so hard, I need a moment to catch my breat
h. She’s supposed to hurt. She’s supposed to suffer. She needs to suffer for all the hurt I’ve endured at the hands of her father. And I’m supposed to laugh and enjoy seeing her agony. I’m supposed to feel liberated, fulfilling my promise to my father, fulfilling my revenge. Then why does it feel so wrong?
*****
“I’m not leaving without her.” It’s past midnight when we arrive at Aemirius’ sheepfold and we are welcomed with a praiseworthy feast. Five huts built on the side of the mountain shelter Aemirius’ people, who’ve raised sheep for generations now. They stayed out of trouble and out of the Romans way, too high up on the mountain, too peaceful to impose any threat. They are the first people we’ve seen in days and the reunion is warm and loud, as always. Aemirius’ sheep provide the best clothing for my army. I’ve known him since Bastisza brought me here shortly after my father’s death.
Vipero disappeared with his new bride who jumped in his arms as soon as he dismounted. They’ve been apart for quite some time and I don’t expect to see him before we are ready to trek again. Bastisza, Aemirius and I sit by the fire, each with a bottle of wine in hand.
Nerva slept almost the entire time since Zyraxes tended to her wound two days ago. Whenever she came out of it, he packed more paste into her wound. Aside from healing, the paste keeps her in a haze. My arms are stiff from holding her strapped to my saddle. I’m glad I trek light, without my armor; it would’ve been impossible to hold her, too. She’s burning with fever since sunset and nothing seems to aid, not even ancient spells Miura knows and uses on the ill.
“You mustn’t trek with her, she’s too sick. Only Zamolxis can save her now.” Miura sits next to Aemirius, her husband, and looks over the fire at me. With her whiter-than-snow braid and leathered skin Miura looks to me now as she looked when I first met her, with a kindness in her blue eyes I’ve never seen elsewhere.
“If we must, we stay a day longer, but I can’t leave her here. She’s part of the plot.”