Beyond the Wall

  After that the weather turned. Riding on his third horse, it became unseasonably cold, even for Britannia. Rain poured in gushing torrents, which turned to hail and then sleet as he journeyed north.

  Following his disgrace, his pay had been stopped by Constantius Scipio. But his father’s name carried such weight that there were plenty of moneylenders prepared to deal with him. His bulging pouch of coins would take him across the Empire and back if he wished it. A shame that it could not buy him better weather!

  A horse was faster than an ox-cart, but with the elements and with Fortune so against him it took him twice as long as he’d intended to reach the wall.

  And on the very night he did, the first snows of winter fell.

  Had it been a light dusting, such as might have been expected at that time of year, he would have gone on. But it was a heavy fall and overnight a biting wind whipped the drifts into strange contortions so that the land was unrecognizable from the day before. It continued to fall all that day and then froze hard the following night.

  To travel alone into the unfamiliar wilderness with the snow so thick on the ground would have been madness.

  Marcus sent a message to Constantius Scipio that he was unavoidably delayed. That he couldn’t go further until there was a thaw. It might come next week. Or – which looked more likely – it might take some months.

  And then he sat and waited in a small room in a seedy tavern in a desolate frontier town for the bad weather to pass.

  The winter had come unusually early and it departed unusually late. It was six long months before Marcus was able to travel north of the wall. By the time he did, an entirely new plan had taken shape in his head.

  IX

  Cassia was crouching by the pool when he found her, a rough mountain pony tethered near the rowan. Her back was to him, but there could be no mistaking the colour of her hair.

  She didn’t turn as he approached and he wondered at her lack of caution. He might be a bandit, a warrior from an enemy tribe, a Roman scout … surely she should be more wary? Was she so lost in thought that she had not heard his horse? What was she thinking that held her so rapt?

  He dismounted. Walked forward. She was gazing into the depths when his reflection appeared on the surface. In the water their eyes met.

  Only then did she stand. Turn. Her face betrayed no surprise whatsoever.

  And then he realized she had expected him.

  He was a stranger on her land: perhaps word had been carried ahead? He must have been seen and not known it. And she’d come out from the hill fort expressly to meet him; chosen a place where they would not be overheard.

  He’d gone from her in the summer. It was now the following spring. All these months he’d imagined seeing her again. He’d desperately hoped there would be joy in her eyes. But there was only doubt. Suspicion. Anger.

  “So, the Eagle has flown north once more.” Her voice was cold. “What brings you here, Roman?”

  He felt as though she’d slapped him. All the words he’d prepared melted into the air. He took a step back. Folded his arms in self-defence. “Is that my only greeting?”

  “You went away without a word. I thought you dead. What did you expect?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  “Why did you?”

  The time had come. He’d played this scene over in his head every day this last winter. The confession should have rolled off his tongue. But it didn’t.

  “I made a mistake. About you.”

  “Go on.”

  “When I first saw you… I didn’t think you were a slave.”

  He’d thought she might react to that, but she simply asked, “And what did you take me for?”

  It was in the lap of the gods now. Let them decide this as they willed. “I thought you were a warrior sent from the north. A spy, plotting against the Empire.”

  Fury should have followed that revelation. Violence, even. Instead she laughed, throwing her head back, so he could see the soft whiteness of her throat. He wanted to kiss her there.

  She seemed almost relieved. How could that be?

  “A spy!” she said. “Me?”

  “Yes. Your dress, your manner … it confused me.”

  “And yet you helped me. You. A loyal Roman.” Her eyebrows were raised. She was challenging him, he thought. There was something going on here that he didn’t quite understand. “Why?”

  He hung his head. “I was never a trader. It was a mask I wore. My task was to gather information. To pass it back to Rome. I suggested to my superior that I watched you. I was ordered to see what you did. Where you went.”

  “And helping Rufus escape? Was that a part of your plan too?”

  “Yes. I was supposed to discover where your people had their stronghold.”

  “The bird flies free…” she said. “I heard you. There at the wall. For weeks after you’d gone I wondered what you meant.”

  “Well, now you know.”

  “I do. And I’m glad to hear the truth from your lips.” She leaned closer to him. “But actually, I already knew it.”

  He was startled. “How?”

  “You think rumours travel in only one direction? There is a horse trader. I believe he’s an acquaintance of yours? He passed this way before the snows came down. He told me of the evening you’d spent drinking together. Said you’d wept into your wine the whole night over me.”

  He flushed red. He remembered so little of what he’d said. Gods! Had he declared his love for her to the entire tavern?

  She was amused by his embarrassment and that, he supposed, was preferable to her rage. Yet now her voice had a harder edge. “I understand why you left. But why have you come back? Do you intend to betray us?”

  “No! I could not.”

  “Why then?”

  “I will tell you everything. It’s not pretty. I’ve had to lie my way here. Your master … he’s determined to have you back. I would never do it, but I swore on my father’s honour to return you.”

  “And why wouldn’t you? There’s a big price on my head.”

  “I know. Since I met you my heart and mind have been at war with each other.”

  “And is the battle over?”

  “It is. I’m no longer a Roman. If I go back to Londinium, I’ll die as a traitor.”

  “And so what now? Do you propose to settle here among savages?”

  “In time. If your people will have me. But first there’s something I want to do.”

  She seemed intrigued. He used almost the same words she’d thrown at him when Titus Cornelius had found her in Londinium. “I need a Briton.”

  “You’ve come a long way to find one.”

  “I need one in particular. You.”

  “What for?”

  “There’s someone I’d like to help. I have a sister…”

  “A Roman?” Her lip curled in distaste. “Why would she need my help?”

  “Phoebe is a slave.”

  Cassia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Oh? How so?”

  “Because her mother was. Mine died when I was born. Phoebe is a little older than me, but we were raised together. I’d like to see her walk free.”

  Cassia shrugged. “So do it.”

  “My father won’t allow it.”

  “Buy her then. You have money, don’t you?”

  “He’d set the price too high.”

  “And so what do you propose?”

  “To bring her out secretly. The way we did with Rufus.”

  Cassia was frowning. She stared along the valley for a while and then asked, “Where is she?”

  “Rome.”

  “Rome?!” She was startled. Incredulous. “You ask me to go with you to Rome?”

  “Only if you agree to it.”

  She stared at him, her eyes scouring his face. “I ask again. Why do you need my help?”

  She had not turned him down. Not yet. His future seemed balanced on a knife-edge. Whe
n he spoke, he chose his words carefully. “You have such courage. More than I’ve seen in any woman. Or any man.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “Besides that you have a talent for quiet, clandestine action.” He knew she’d often been afraid on their journey north. When the bear attacked, they all had. But whereas the others had been diminished by their fear, she’d seemed to thrive on it. Indeed, she’d never appeared more alive than at their times of greatest danger. Cautiously, he ventured, “I think you have a taste for it too?”

  She didn’t respond but he could see he’d hit upon the truth. There was a line between her brows that deepened only when she was thinking hard. He hoped she was already imagining leaving her homeland, making another journey by his side.

  “You need my help…” Cassia murmured. She looked up. “So this is what brings you so far north?”

  “I didn’t return for the delights of your cooking.”

  A smile flitted across her features.

  He grinned back at her, but her next question wiped the expression from his face.

  “Tell me more about this sister of yours.”

  “It’s a long tale,” he said flatly. “I need to start with my father. He was – is – an important man in Rome. Very influential. He is – some would say – the power behind the Emperor’s throne.”

  “So?”

  “Well then … Phoebe is my half-sister. We share the same father. But when I was ten – and she twelve – he took her for his mistress.” Despite himself he found he was shaking with long-suppressed emotion. He couldn’t control the tremble in his voice. “She was – she is – his daughter, Cassia! My sister. He made her his whore.”

  Ice-cold, she asked, “And you did nothing?”

  “Oh, I did. I attacked him. And was punished for it. He took great pains to teach me the error of my ways. I can still hear his words. ‘Slaves are not human beings! They’re worth less than an ox or ass! They’re chattels, to dispose of as their masters wish.’ ”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Cassia, any other thoughts I had were beaten out of me. I nearly died of my foolishness. I don’t ask for your pity. But, yes, I became the man I was expected to be. I was the obedient son.”

  “But now you want me – a slave, the scum of the sewer – to help rescue your sister?”

  “Only if you do it willingly.”

  Her silence seemed to last an eternity. Eventually she said with an irritable sigh, “I owe you a great debt. Whatever your reasons, I wouldn’t have come home to my people without your help.”

  “There’s no debt. I don’t need to be repaid! If you come, you come of your own free will.”

  There was another interminably long silence. Cassia breathed in. Out. In again. She raised her head. Fixed her eyes on his. And – at last – nodded.

  He could scarcely believe it. “Do you mean you will come?”

  “Maybe.”

  Arms outstretched, he closed the distance between them. But her hand came up, warding him off. “If I do this, I don’t do it for you,” she said. “But for your sister. No woman alive should have to endure such torment.”

  “We’re bound for Rome then?”

  “Perhaps. There is someone I must talk to first. If he agrees to it, I will come.”

  There was something almost reverential in her tone. Whose consent did she need to seek? Who had such power over her? Gods! Did she have a lover? A pang of jealousy squeezed his guts. Bitterly, he demanded, “Silvio?”

  At that she laughed aloud. “No! Not Silvio. He is indeed my very dear friend, but he married a wife this spring.”

  “Oh?” Marcus tried to keep the relief from his face. “A woman of the Wolf People?”

  “No,” said Cassia. “Of the Deer. Their land lies to the west of here. They were our ancient enemies, so I’m told.”

  “But are no longer?”

  “No. We are at peace. There was a gathering of the clans this last midwinter. Silvio met her then: lost his heart in an instant. Their marriage strengthens the bonds between our peoples.”

  “So the rumours are true,” Marcus said. “The tribes are uniting?” For a brief moment Scipio’s face flashed before him. How eagerly his superior would pounce on that piece of information!

  “Does that worry you, Roman?” Cassia was watching him narrowly.

  Marcus shook the vision from his head. “I told you,” he said, perhaps a little too firmly, “I have turned my back on Rome.” She looked doubtful and he could hardly blame her. What would it take to make her trust him? Time alone, he supposed. And action. His deeds would speak more convincingly of what lay in his heart than his tongue ever could. He changed tack. “Whose permission do you need to leave? Your chief’s?”

  She shook her head. “My brother’s.”

  “Rufus?”

  “Yes. He is… Well. You’ll see how he is.”

  Marcus watched her walk to her horse. She had changed since he’d last seen her, walking with a confident stride – a swagger, almost. There was a knife strapped to her upper arm, he noticed. She vaulted onto the back of her pony with fluid grace and when they moved off, Cassia leading the way, she seemed almost to be part of the beast. She’d learned to ride well over the winter, then. He wondered briefly what else the Wolf People might have taught her.

  Presumably she knew how to use that knife too?

  X

  The roundhouse was newly built, its thatch of lighter hue than others in the settlement. Its walls were smooth and as yet unmarked by growths of moss and lichen. He would have taken it for a modest native dwelling had it not been for the curious array of objects around the door. There were branches pushed into the ground either side, and from the twigs dangled what looked like totems and offerings. A bunch of leaves. Dried flowers. Feathers. Coloured stones. The small carving of a wolf. A tuft of grey fur, tied with grass. The fang of a large animal – wolf or bear? – threaded onto a strip of leather. At the base of one branch stood a jug of mead. At the other, a bowl of what looked like fresh blood.

  Marcus was aware of a strange power even before Cassia held aside the hide hanging over the door and invited him inside.

  A pungent smell of burning herbs struck him.

  There was a fire but it was little more than a heap of glowing embers and there was no other light. Dimly he saw Cassia gesturing for him to sit. He did so. She took her place beside him and there they waited in silence for something. Or someone.

  It was not until the figure moved that Marcus knew there was another person in the hut. Not until that person spoke that he realized he was sitting opposite Rufus.

  If Cassia had changed these last months, her brother had been transformed almost beyond recognition.

  The boy put back his hood and leaned forward. His face was lit by the embers’ glow. He looked at Marcus but when he spoke, his words were for his sister.

  “You waited by the pool?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And he came, just as you said he would.”

  “Eyes meeting on the water. I saw it in my sleep.”

  Marcus felt his jaw drop open. Was that why she’d been there? Because the boy had dreamed him?

  Rufus extended a hand. Pointed a finger. “You want to take her with you.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  Marcus was unnerved. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I want to rescue my sister. Cassia won’t go without your agreement.”

  “You have it. Cassia will go.”

  Rufus leaned back against the wall. His face was once more in the shadows.

  Was that it? thought Marcus. Could it be so easy? So straightforward?

  No. It could not.

  Rufus spoke again. “You must take Flavia.”

  “Flavia?” Marcus echoed. “To Rome?”

  “No. To Germania.”

  “Germania!” Marcus could not keep the panic from his voice. It was in the far north, wasn’t it? Beyond Gallia. Miles out of their way. A wild land beyond the limits of the Empire.
A country of forests and wild beasts, and even wilder warriors. His father had terrified him with tales of the barbarians’ savagery when he was small.

  But then, his father had put many things in his head, hadn’t he? False things: things that he no longer wished to have there.

  More calmly he asked, “Why must we take Flavia?”

  “Her ancestors call her. She must be returned to her people.”

  Marcus had no idea how to reply. It was Cassia who said, “If that’s your wish, we’ll take her, brother.”

  “Not mine,” he said. “The spirits’.”

  Cassia leaned into Marcus. “She will be glad to make the journey. She’s spoken of home so often. When death comes, she wants her bones laid with those of her people.”

  There seemed no escaping it. “Very well.”

  Marcus thought they would leave the hut then. Tell Flavia what had been decided. Make preparations for what lay ahead, but Cassia didn’t move.

  Rufus had taken a handful of something that he scattered over the embers.

  It caught. Flared. The stench was overpowering. The smoke made Marcus’s eyes stream. As he breathed in, his head felt lighter. His limbs heavy. Beside him, Cassia reached for his hand. Her palm was cold. Clammy. He wanted to speak. But found he couldn’t.

  Held in the grip of a peculiar inertia, Marcus looked across at Rufus. As he watched, the boy’s head snapped back.

  Rufus’s eyes rolled so that only the whites were showing. His mouth opened. His voice, when it came, seemed not his own. “Eagle and wolf. Wolf and eagle. Stand together. Wall. Crest of red. Hills ablaze. Fire. Blood.”

  The boy’s hands reached across the fire. His fingers stirred the smoke. It whirled. Seemed to become almost solid. For the most fleeting of moments Marcus thought he glimpsed something in it. Cassia. Flames at her back. Hair a scarlet halo around her face.

  Then it was gone.

  The smoke thinned. The fire died.

  And Rufus was himself again. A boy. Nothing more. A boy who was dazed. Blinking. Getting to his feet and pulling aside the hide across the doorway to let the light flood in. Demanding food.