Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (17 page)

Valeria felt herself blushing. Standing next to her, Paulus’s face was split by a huge grin as he cheered with every bit as much fervor as the men. Below, on the ground beside Hercules, Karan did not cheer, but knelt on his knees and put his forehead to the ground.

On a hand signal from Marcus, the cornicens blew a brief flourish on their horns, bringing the ceremony to its conclusion as he sheathed his sword. “
Legio Invictus
,” he bellowed, “prepare for march!”

***

The journey to the sea was not nearly so long as that from Rome to Augusta Viromanduorum, but Valeria had never felt so exhausted or miserable. No roads led to their destination, and so she and the men of the legion had to trudge along deer tracks, through streams, and up and down slopes thick with trees and undergrowth as they followed Karan’s lead. They marched late into the night before Pelonius finally ordered a halt after Karan warned of how treacherous was the ground that yet lay ahead of them. After a restless few hours of sleep in chill air without fires, the legion marched again at first light, Valeria and the men zigzagging their way up and down a series of treacherous rock-strewn hills behind the tireless Ghost. More than once a voice quietly uttered thanks that they had not tried to force a crossing in the darkness, or many would have suffered sprained and broken ankles, or worse. Even Hercules was grumbling.

“Look!” Paulus pointed as they came over yet another crest.

“Thank the gods,” Valeria breathed as her eyes fell upon the beautiful azure waters of the Haunted Sea. Whitecaps lapped against a white sand covered beach that was lined with dense ferns and tall palms whose fronds waved gently in the breeze, and a few puffy clouds chased one another slowly across the sky. It would have been a breathtakingly beautiful sight save for what lay on the horizon: the silhouette of the sawtooth mountains of the Dark Lands. The highest of them was a volcano that had erupted violently several times since the Long Winter, and was always belching smoke and sometimes oozed orange lava down its long black slope. A lesser volcano, one of several that could be seen from their vantage point, also rumbled and spouted smoke and ash with more than passing regularity.

“If you look carefully,” Pelonius said, “I believe you can see the shadow of the bridge beneath the water.”

It was true, she decided. The color of the water differed with the depth, with deeper areas being darker and shallower areas lighter. A band of slightly lighter colored water, perhaps two hundred feet wide at the narrowest point she could see, trailed away from the beach, pointing toward the far shore.

She shook her head in wonder, then turned to Karan. “You came all that way in the midst of a terrible storm?”
 

“Yes, princess.” His eyes were fixed on the dark mountains of his former home.

On an impulse, she reached out and took his hand. “You need not fear the Masters,” she said. “Not anymore.”

He looked down at their joined hands, a look of uncomfortable surprise on his face. Then his gaze found hers, and she felt an odd sensation of warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the heat from the sun. “I thank you for saying so, but as long as the Masters live, they must be feared.”

Paulus cleared his throat, and with some reluctance she let go of Karan’s hand. “If they try to attack the Empire, my father will ensure they receive a proper welcome,” she promised.

“That’s why we’re here,” Marcus said. “But we’re going to have our work cut out for us until he can send us reinforcements.”

Pelonius nodded as he surveyed the area with a practiced eye. “Then we had better get started.”

***

Pelonius and Marcus wasted no time, and any legionary who thought he might enjoy the remainder of the day resting was sadly disappointed. The men grumbled amongst themselves, as was the time honored right of soldiers since the dawn of time, but they set to their tasks without the centurions having to prompt them with their vine stick staffs.
 

While the legions of Rome were first and foremost fighting units, the skills of the men went well beyond organized mayhem, for the legions, which often found themselves in far flung places with little support, had to be self-sufficient in virtually everything. Every man had at least one secondary skill, and those who had been in service more than a few years had at least two, from fishing and hunting to building roads, siege engines and fortifications. They were fortunate in that a source of fresh water was nearby in the form of a stream that ran from the surrounding rocky hills, and hunting parties were sent forth to find game and any edible fruits and vegetables.

“We can eat coconuts,” Valeria observed, pointing to the nearly head-sized nuts hanging from the palm trees. “I think they also have water or oil inside them, I can’t remember which.”

Septimus gave her a dubious look. He, Karan, and Hercules were her only companions now, acting as her personal guard. Everyone else, including Paulus, had been given other duties. “Huh.”
 

“It is true,” Karan said. “I ate them when I came here, and they are also found in the lands across the sea.” His lips curved into a smile. “I will fetch some for you.”

Removing the belt that held his sword and handing it to Septimus, Karan gripped the round trunk of the tree and quickly shimmied to the top. With his dagger, he cut a few coconuts free before he climbed back down.

Septimus grinned. “He’s half monkey!” After handing the sword back to Karan, Septimus picked up one of the coconuts and said, “Now I just need a rock to set this on so I can open it up. Hmm.” The nearest rock larger than a pebble was over a hundred yards away. The beach, in addition to being beautiful (and with sand that, surprisingly, was not hot against the feet), was quite wide.
 

“Do you trust me?”

Septimus turned to Karan and narrowed his eyes. “I suppose as much as I trust anyone.”

“Hold out the coconut in your hand.” Karan drew his sword, the long, curved blade glittering like a mirror in the sun.

With a quick glance at Valeria, who shrugged, Septimus did as Karan asked, stretching out his arm, and balancing the coconut in his palm.

Karan’s blade whistled through the air, faster than Valeria’s eyes could follow.

“You missed,” Septimus said with disbelief. The coconut was still in his hand. He’d felt a slight jarring sensation when Karan had swung his sword, but that was it. “How could such a swordsman as you miss something like this?”

Valeria slowly shook her head, her eyes wide. “He didn’t miss, Septimus.”

The coconut now boasted a thin line a third of the way from the top. Furrowing his brow, Septimus took the top in his free hand and it came right off. “Blood of the gods,” he whispered, looking at Karan’s sword as he sheathed the weapon. “I’d give any part of my body to have a sword like that.”

“You can talk about swords later,” Valeria told him as she reached for the coconut. “Finding things to eat and drink are more important right now.”

Septimus muttered something that she pretended to ignore. She held the coconut to her lips and, with a final glance at Karan, who nodded, she took a sip of the liquid inside. Surprised at the sweet, nutty taste, she tilted the coconut further and drank deeply. “Well,” she said happily, “I don’t think we’ll die of thirst any time soon. Here, taste this.”
 

She handed it to Septimus, who eyed it with suspicion before taking a swig. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“The white meat inside the riper ones can also be eaten,” Karan said as he chose another coconut and tossed it in the air. Drawing his sword in a blinding movement, he sliced the coconut in two, then somehow managed to catch both halves before they fell to the sand.

“Bloody show off!” Septimus sputtered angrily as Valeria laughed.

“I’m glad you three are having such a good time.”

They turned to find Paulus coming toward them, an angry expression on his face. As he joined them under the shade of the tree, he turned his attention to Septimus, “The men are drowning in sweat as they work, while you cavort like children.”

Septimus stiffened to attention, dropping the coconut to the sand. “My apologies, tribune.”

Valeria was aghast. “Paulus! Why are you so angry? We aren’t playing, we were laughing with happiness because we found something right here on the beach that the men can eat and drink.” She picked up the coconut and shoved it into Paulus’s hands. “Taste this.”
 

Paulus hesitated, his face still clouded with anger.

Leaning closer, Valeria said, “
Drink
. I command it.”

“Yes, princess.” With that, he put the coconut to his lips and did as he was ordered. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue, his eyes widened with surprise. “That…that’s good,” he said, taking the coconut from his lips. “Excellent, in fact.” The anger quickly faded, to be replaced with a look of acute embarrassment.
 

“It is, indeed.” To Septimus and Karan, she said, “Would you two give me a moment of privacy?”

“Yes, princess.” With a gesture to Karan, Septimus led him away, far enough to be out of earshot, but close enough to return to Valeria’s side should some unknown enemy appear from thin air.

Stepping close to Paulus, Valeria asked, “What’s wrong? This isn’t like you. I hope being dubbed tribune to half a legion hasn’t gone to your head.”

“No, it’s not that.” He cast a glance at Karan, then lowered his eyes. “It was just…seeing the three of you over here while the men are working so hard, I…”

“Are you jealous?” She reached out to lift his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Paulus, answer me. Are you jealous of Karan?”

Paulus took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before he answered. “Yes, now that you mention it, I am. I’m sorry, Valeria. I know it’s unworthy of me, but I can’t seem to help it.”

“Being exhausted and sweating buckets doesn’t help, I’m sure,” she said, running her hands over the white stains of salt that were bleeding through his clothing, even the leather armor, from his sweat. “Listen to me. You have no cause to be jealous. Karan is…he is a curiosity, a novelty. You know I have the greatest affection for you.”

“Not enough to consent to marriage,” he said quietly. “And you know I have not wished to press the issue upon you.”

“That’s because you’ve been letting my father do your work for you, you silly coward.” She smiled to make sure he knew she was only jesting. Then her expression turned more serious. “You must understand something. The time I have now to be my own woman is probably the last I will be able to enjoy. You well know that father intends for us to marry, and I know you have pretended that you’re content for us to be friends — no, brother and sister — until then. He has given in to my protestations and granted me more leeway than most fathers might, but soon propriety will force him to arrange a marriage. Politically, he will have no choice, and I certainly will not disgrace him by refusing when the time comes. I cannot imagine that it will be to anyone but you, for your family name is old and honorable, but it’s not my choice to make. As paterfamilias, that will be up to father to decide.” She stepped closer, their faces only inches apart. “Once that day comes, I will be forced into yet another gilded cage, don’t you see? I will have to don the mantle of a good Roman noblewoman and wife, giving up any hope of living life as I might otherwise choose. I will be subject to the will of my husband, and my primary role in life will be to give him sons to carry on his line and daughters who will be used to further tighten the bonds among the patrician families that are important to my husband’s stature and future prospects.” She put a hand to his cheek. “Please, for my sake, do not wish for that day to come any sooner than it must, nor let jealousy cloud your otherwise good heart. It would sadden me terribly to think less of you on any account or for any reason.”

“Please,” he said, “forgive me. This is not the time, I’m sure, but I love you, Valeria. And at the heart of that love is your happiness. I never want to do anything that would make you unhappy, including marrying you, if it was not truly your wish, and yours alone.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “I mean every word. I want you to know that is the measure of how much I care for you.” After a moment, he grinned. “If marrying Senator Agrippa would make you happier than being wed to me, I would be the first to give my blessing.”

Valeria nearly choked as she fought to restrain her laughter. Senator Agrippa was the oldest, ugliest, and fattest man in the Senate, and perhaps in the entire Empire. Once she had regained control of herself, she said, “Things are well, then, between us?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And I’m sorry I was angry. That was wrong of me. We’re all just tired and miserable under this hot sun.”

“Well, how about if you use your power as the senior tribune of the legion to send some helping hands to harvest some coconuts so the men can have something to drink and eat.”

“Yes, princess!” After giving her a tender smile, he turned and headed back into the organized chaos of the men who were preparing what would become the legion’s barracks within the encampment, shouting for a centurion to organize a special detail.
 

As she watched him go, her eyes settled on Karan, who stood on the sand with his back to her, his gaze fixed upon the dark mountains across the Haunted Sea.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Well, this is a damn sight better than any of the pest holes we ever enjoyed in Gaul,” Septimus conceded as he surveyed the progress the men of
Invictus
had made in constructing their castrum, or fort, which would be the anchor of their defensive position at this end of the underwater bridge.

Marcus, who stood beside him on a convenient rocky overlook, snorted. Both men had served many long years in Gaul under the now-Emperor during the final campaign to bring the province to heel. The stretch of rocky terrain
Invictus
had marched over to get here, to the Haunted Sea, was as nothing to the endless rock-strewn and jagged peaks and valleys that stretched across Gaul. The Romans had been forced to pry the barbarians from behind every rock, out of every cave, killing so many that at one point Marcus had wondered if any Gauls would be left when the Romans were through. Not that he particularly cared either way. He had no hatred toward the Gauls, nor any other people not yet under the authority of Rome. It was his job to do as his commander ordered, and so he did. He had fought hordes of barbarians and organized soldiers. He had executed prisoners. He had slaughtered women and children. If it was his duty and for the glory of Rome, he would have it done. But he was just as glad when the Gauls, broken at last, submitted to the will of the Emperor and Senate and surrendered. Those who had fought were returned to Rome to be sold as slaves. Those who surrendered were put under the authority of a Roman governor, taught Roman laws, treated well as long as those laws were obeyed, and were encouraged to start along the path to becoming Roman citizens. He couldn’t remember the night before his legion departed Gaul, though. He had been far too drunk in celebration of leaving behind that inhospitable no-man’s land, hoping to never return. “Yes,” he finally said. “The worst whorehouse on the Aventine would be better than Gaul.”