Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (19 page)

“Aye. The Picts ambushed us on the trail. Outnumbered five to one, we were.”

Titus narrowed his eyes. “And which side did you fight for?”

The Gale scowled as if insulted by Titus’s question. “I defended meself, just as any scout would in such a situation.”

Titus swatted the bat in his palm. “You said you had a message?”

“King Taran wants to rid Britannia of the raiders who plague ye. He knows ye’re blaming the Picts and he doesna like it.” Colin stepped back. “He doesna like yer men trespassing on Pict land either.”

“They best not be raiding Roman gaols and freeing Roman prisoners if they want to be spared Roman attack.”

Bacchus stepped forward. “The Pict king is wanted himself—for desertion.”

“Aye.” Colin raised his chin. “The last Roman regime plundered Pict lands to the north and took slaves to man yer ships and build yer walls.”

Titus slapped the discipline stick against his thigh. “Is that the entirety of your message? This barbarian king is upset he’s being blamed for the raids along the wall?” He jutted his face an inch from Colin’s. “Why should we not blame him?”

The Gale didn’t blink. “He still wishes to enter a treaty with ye, says he will help bring the bastards to justice if ye agree to leave the Picts be.”

Titus paced in a circle. The Lady Valeria had also offered this treaty. This king must have her ear.
And she knows Elspeth
. Perhaps entering into an agreement with this tribe might be worth investigating—especially if it would lead him to her. “Did he say anything about returning our prisoner to Vindolanda?”

“Aye, he said the price for his alliance would be the lassie’s freedom.”

“He is quite the negotiator, is he not?” Titus moved to the table and inked a quill. “I will agree to a meeting with this king. He sent a Roman subject to deliver his first offer for a treaty—the Lady Valeria, do you know her?”

Colin grinned. “She is his wife, the Queen of Gododdin.”

A jolt flickered through Titus’s mind—
another cunning woman
. Of course, why had he thought otherwise? “The plot unfolds. I now understand her deep interest in these affairs.” He scrawled out the missive, rolled it and sealed it with wax. “I trust Valeria will be able to read this to the king.”

Titus handed the scroll to Colin. When he grasped it, Titus kept his fingers wrapped around the vellum. “Did you see Elspeth?”

“She was there.” Colin opened his mouth as if he was going to comment further, but his eyes shifted and he clamped his lips shut.

Titus released the missive. “Tell the king I want her present when we sign the treaty. This once I give my word she will not be harmed.”

Colin held out his palm. “There is a matter of payment.”

Unbelievable greed
. “My men were killed.”

“I didna do the killing.”

Jaw twitching, Titus reached for his purse and dropped the coins into the Gale’s open palm. It was the price of insuring the missive reached the Pict king. And his chance to see Elspeth again.
Will she ever forgive me?

****

Well past dark, Titus climbed the tower to the battlements. On full alert, his men were spread out, crouched low to avoid being seen per his orders. He thought it unlikely the raiders would attack the command post, but he’d look a fool if they scaled the walls and his men had not followed his own directive.

He knelt down beside a group of legionaries passing the time watching two men play a game of Calculi. Titus kneeled down with a grin. An older soldier with a heavy beard was clearly being outwitted by one of the younger legionaries, the boy’s white stones mounting up on the checked board. He would soon have his five in a row.

The soldier next to Titus glanced over. His eyes popped round. “I did not expect to see you up here, sir.”

“And why not? We are lying in wait for the enemy. I should not be tucked away in my chamber whilst expecting my men to man the battlements without me.”

The boy won, and Titus leaned in to be heard. “I would like to be your next challenge.”

“Sir?” The young man looked as if he were facing a firing squad, his eyes as wide as his playing stones.

“It has been many years since I enjoyed a game of Calculi.” Titus scooted up to the game board. “I’ll take the black stones.”

A soft chuckle came from behind. “You’d best not beat the centurion. You’ll be working in the kitchen for the rest of your life,” a soldier whispered.

The boy shot him a nervous grin, and Titus asked, “What is your name, soldier?”

“Alerio.”

Titus patted his shoulder. “’Tis but a game. If you can outmaneuver me, I might just find a place for you removed from the cooking fire.”

The game was really quite simple. Taking turns, stones were placed in the squares on the board and the first man to line up five in a row won. If the board filled without a row of five, it was a draw. Titus could not remember the last time he’d lost, but as they played, Alerio showed cunning and promise.

When the game appeared as if it would end in a draw, Titus heard the faintest thud. He froze. He put his finger to his lips and locked eyes with his men. He pointed down, indicating something was below.

With a clatter, a grappling hook swung over the crenel and nearly skewered him in the head. Without making a noise, Titus glared at the hook and snarled. Silently, he motioned for the men to hold their positions, slowly drawing this short sword from its scabbard. The hook strained and scraped against the stone as someone began to ascend—footsteps plodded against the wall.

The flutter of anticipation churned in his bowels. Titus salivated, and his fingers twitched around his hilt. At last he’d seize the opportunity to end these senseless raids.

He smelled the bastard first. Then the beast wearing furs draped across one bare shoulder jumped through the crenel. As fast as the strike of an asp, Titus wrapped him in a stranglehold and clapped a hand over his mouth. He angled the point of his sword toward the brigand’s neck. “One peep and you shall be greeted by the fires of hell.”

Another barbarian slipped over the battlement, and Alerio pounced. Before the lad’s hand covered the cur’s mouth, he cried out, alarming the conspirators below.

Bacchus lunged toward the crenel and peered over the side of the wall. “They flee. Cavalry, to your horses!”

In the blink of an eye, the second barbarian broke free from Alerio’s grasp. The prisoner reached for the rope. With a roar, a legionary swung his battle-axe and hit the savage square in the back. Bellowing, he arched against the strike, blood gushing from his mouth. The legionary yanked out his axe, and the brute tumbled head first to the earth below.

Holding his grasp firm, Titus kicked out at the axe-wielding legionary. “Now we cannot question the bastard. Think before you strike, man.” He inclined his head toward the fallen enemy. “Get your arse down there and put his head on a stake outside the fortress gates. Let all see how we dispense of marauding renegades.”

Titus pulled the remaining barbarian up and faced the soldiers. “We shall question this traitor in the
principia
. Guards, shackle him now. This one cannot slip away.”

After the prisoner was fitted with manacles and dragged to the
principia
, Titus ordered him bound to a rickety wooden chair. He pulled the
decanus
aside. “You know what to do. Deny him food or water until he talks. Fetch me when he’s about to break. This will be a long night.”

****

Titus reclined in his chamber and nursed a tankard of mead. His legionaries would beat fear into the raider, and Titus would not be needed until the traitor was ready to talk. In his younger days, he had done his share of interrogating. Roman practices were brutal, and he no longer lusted for it, though he would show these beasts no mercy until they told him why they were raiding his forts and who was behind these raids.

He sipped the honeyed drink and stared into the fire.
For all that is holy, please absolve the Picts of these crimes
. A Herculean-sized hole stretched his heart. He needed to get Elspeth out of his head. Before he’d arrived in Vindolanda, he was the leading candidate to become
Dux Britanniarum
. But he’d all but ruined his chances. The idea of reporting to Dulcitius repulsed him. The only way to regain Theodosius’s favor was to stop these raids and reclaim complete control of the wall.

Titus drained the last of his mead when a tap resounded from the door. “Come.”

Alerio stepped inside. “Sir, we’re ready for you.”

“So soon?” Titus stood, brushed off his uniform and snatched up his discipline stick. “We may get some sleep this night after all.”

“I know not.” Frowning, Alerio dropped a handful of denarii into Titus’s hand. “We found these in the prisoner’s purse, but he cannot understand a word we say.”

Titus shook the coins and puzzled. “Denarii? Paid in Roman coin?”

“True, but I think we’ll not gain any information out of him even if we beat him to death.”

Together they walked to the
principia
. The
decanus
stood straight with a six-tailed whip in his hand. Titus glanced at the battered and swollen face of the captive. The pathetic man sat bound to the chair, looking like a miserable caveman. He eyed Titus with fear that hung in the room like the thick pall of fresh horse dung on hot cobblestones. Titus smirked. This was not a soldier trained to swallow his pain even in the face of death.

He slapped his stick in the palm of his hand and walked a full circle around the prisoner. “What tribe are you from?”

“No.”

Titus looked at the
decanus
who shrugged. “’Tis all he’s said.”

He turned to Alerio. “Fetch me a quill and vellum.”

Titus pulled up a stool and sat across from the bleeding captive and eyed the
decanus
. “Release his right hand.”

Alerio returned quickly with the quill. Titus dipped it into a pot of ink and drew a map of Britannia with Hadrian’s Wall across it. He looked at the prisoner and marked an X where Vindolanda was, and pointed to himself. “We are here. Vindolanda.” He pointed to the captive’s heart. “Where do you hail from?”

Titus offered the quill to the prisoner and held out the vellum. The man made an X at the top of the island, the extreme north.

Titus looked from Alerio to the
decanus
. “He’s from the highlands. That makes him Pict or Attacotti.”

“Pict.” The prisoner spat on the floor with disgust. He pointed to himself. “Attacotti.”

Titus smirked. “Well that settles that. Who do we have who can speak Attacotti language?”

The
decanus
grimaced. “We need to find someone.”

Titus scowled, blaming himself for his lack of interpreters. He held up one of the silver coins. “Where did you get this?”

The prisoner’s lips thinned.

Titus nodded at the
decanus
who swung back his arm and slammed two lashes into the bloodied flesh of the miserable wretch.

Titus clenched his jaw. “Where. Did. You. Get. This?”

Two more lashes splattered across the barbarian’s bare shoulder. Trembling with staccato breath, he hunched over and cowered. “Jo-si-as.”

Titus looked from Alerio to the
decanus
. “Do you know of a Josias?”

They both shook their heads.

“’Tis a clue, and we will sleuth out this Josias.”

Titus leaned in. The sweat oozing from the man’s pores smelled acrid with fear. “How is Josias getting your money?”

The prisoner looked at him through pleading eyes. He clearly had no idea what Titus had asked.

Titus stood, and his gaze moved between Alerio and the
decanus
. “Take him to the gaol. I want a guard posted outside his cell. If he speaks, I want to hear of it.”

Titus plodded back to his chamber. He had two threads of information. The ruffians who were raiding his forts were Attacotti. He remembered Valeria had said they were ruthless savages. They were being paid by someone named Josias—a Roman name.
Is this man the person ordering the raids, or is he a paid mercenary?

****

It was early June when Colin again rode through the Vindolanda gates. Titus was no closer to finding Josias, but the raids had ceased—at least for the time being.

The Gale marched into the
principia
and held out a scroll. “From King Taran. He didna need his wife to write on his behalf.”

Titus arched an eyebrow and ran his thumb under the wax seal. “An educated barbarian?” He turned his attention to the missive.

Centurion,

I agree to your proposed meeting, five days hence. Travel with the Gale and no others to the ruins of the Antonine Wall at the edge of Gododdin. The lady, Elspeth, shall be with us. I trust you will keep your word.

Taran, son of Brude, Chieftain of Gododdin, King of the Picts

Titus marveled at the lengthy title of the savage—even longer than his own. He rewound the scroll. “Do you know where the Antonine Wall meets Gododdin?”

Colin nodded once. “Aye.”

“Then you shall lead us. How long will it take to ride?”

“Two days, mayhap three.”

“Very well.” Titus pointed the scroll under the Gale’s nose. “We leave at dawn.”

Chapter Fourteen

There wasn’t much left of the two-hundred-year-old wooden wall. What Titus could make out were craggy charred remains that sprung up across the hilly lea, mostly covered by twisting green vines and briers. Colin led him to an erect Pictish stone standing about eight feet tall. On the top was carved a sign like the Celtic designs on the faces of the Picts, this one looking like a seabeast and dagger. Under it was a Z-rod over a shield, and the carving beneath depicted the story of battle.

The Gale pointed to the giant standing rock. “This Pictish stone marks the edge of Gododdin.”

Titus tugged on the lead he had tied to his saddle and pulled Tessie beside Petronius. He hoped returning Elspeth’s horse would help soften the rift between them. He dismounted and ran his fingers along the etched battle scene in the rock. Judging by the worn edges, the stone may have stood for a millennium or more.
A race that will not be conquered.