William Dietrich: Hadrian's wall

"Who goes there? What do you want?" It was Galen, Falco's servant. He blocked her entry to the villa with drawn sword.

"I come from the lady Valeria. I need to see centurion Falco."

"Savia?" He squinted at her in the dark. "I thought you prisoner in Caledonia."

"I got back in the fighting. I was in the battle at the Wall. Please! My mistress is in peril."

"As are we all. There's a war on. My master has no time to see you now."

"What's happening?" She looked past him to the tumult of packing. "Is Lucinda leaving? Rome won the battle."

"The battle, but not the war. The Wall has been broken in other places, and each hour brings a worse dispatch. The duke is missing. It's not just the Picts and Attacotti. The Scotti, the Franks, and the Saxons are also attacking. My mistress is fleeing to Eburacum. Maybe Londinium."

"That defeat is what I'm here to prevent! Lady Valeria is in peril, as is the fort and everyone in it! I need to talk to Falco about Galba!"

"He's no time for Galba anymore, no more than Galba had time for his praefectus," Galen spat. "My master is tired of treachery. We've become a divided and dispirited command, each officer looking to himself. If the Celts come again, my master won't guarantee the outcome."

"That's what I need to talk to Falco about! That, and Roman justice!"

"Justice?" He laughed. "Where do you find that these days?"

"It's about a murder. The murder of his slave, Odo."

"Odo? That's an old matter, long buried." But Galen was curious.

"No, he was exhumed by the druids and spirited north of the Wall. When they carried him, he spoke a final time, naming his murderer. The killer wasn't young Clodius, as everyone believes."

"What are you saying?"

"That the Petriana is falling under the control of a man not just ruthless, but a criminal. Your own master is just. Let me explain to him."

They found the centurion in his office, instructing the foreman to drive the cattle into the nearby woods. An anxious Lucinda was bustling from room to room, issuing instructions like a general.

"What's this?" Falco said to Galen in annoyance.

"This slave has urgent news about Odo."

"Urgent? All Britannia is under assault. Odo and his killer are long dead."

"That's where you're wrong, centurion," Savia spoke up. "I've come because you're the last chance for my mistress. You remember the handle of the knife that killed your slave-"

"From my own dinnerware, which tribune Clodius was using."

"As was every other dinner guest, including Galba."

"You're accusing our new commander? Odo and Galba had no quarrel."

"He murdered Odo to cast doubt on Clodius. To provoke the attack on the grove. To maneuver lady Valeria to a place where she might be captured-"

"That's absurd!"

"The senior tribune dishonored you by misleading you, centurion."

Falco was impatient. "I've no love for Galba Brassidias, but you have no proof."

"Unless a dead man talks."

"What?"

"Did you know the Celts exhumed Odo's body?"

"There was report of this."

"They carried it north for return to the Scotti. A druid named Kalin oversaw this, and in the north, I met him. Now he's a prisoner, so I went to him and was reminded of a very strange thing. It seems that when they bathed and prepared the body of poor Odo and tried to place a coin in his mouth, something was already there."

"What thing?"

She held up a warrior's ring, heavy gold with red stone. "Do you recognize it?"

Falco looked puzzled. "The foray in support of old Cato. Galba took that ring from a Scotti chieftain he killed. It was the fight where Odo was captured."

"If you count the rings on Galba's lorica of chain mail, you'll find one missing."

"So?"

"Odo must have seized it as he died."

"He clutched Galba's belt?"

"The rings spilled like coins. In the dark and haste of having to prepare for the wedding processional, Galba couldn't find one. Instead, the druid Kalin eventually did, in the victim's mouth. The slave named his killer."

Falco was grim. "So Galba lied to all of us about poor young Clodius." He sighed. "Well, what of it in this catastrophe? What's one more victim?" He began to turn away. "Galba's in command now. If I challenge him, he'll simply have me arrested, or worse, put in battle to be killed. There's nothing to do except try to save what I can."

"But there's something you can do, centurion. Something before Galba weds the widow of your dead commander, Marcus Flavius."

"Weds Valeria!"

"Something before he creates a new tyranny over the wall that your family has defended for generations. Something before he betrays more armies, as he surely will do. Something before you and the last of the Petriana are sacrificed to his ambition."

"What, slave woman?"

"Help me free Arden Caratacus. And let him seek Roman justice for you."

The wedding of Galba Brassidias, senior tribune of Rome and de facto commander of the Petriana cavalry-soldier of the empire, winner of thirteen battles, killer of every man who'd ever opposed him, man of the border-and the lady Valeria, widow of the praefectus Marcus Flavius and daughter of Rome, was to be neither a formal nor a leisurely affair. A wounded but still-dangerous barbarian army was camped somewhere in the forest beyond the Wall. Signal flags warned of continuing assaults, feints, and partial breakthroughs elsewhere along the barrier's eighty-mile length. The north was in full revolt, and all Britannia was threatened. Galba had triumphed, but his orders for transfer to the Continent still stood. Both the imperial succession and the barbarian war were far from decided. His garrison was drastically depleted. The future could change in a moment. He wanted to triumph over his last opponent now, during that predawn quiet that marked the exhaustion of his garrison. He wanted to vanquish the woman by marrying her, thus tying her fate to his. He wanted the political protection she represented.

"Pin the rag, and let's begin," he muttered. "Where's that fat maid to help?"

Valeria was sullenly arranging the same wedding dress she'd worn to marry Marcus only half a year before. Galba had insisted she put it on.

"I don't think she wants to witness this."

"She doesn't approve?"

"She hasn't approved of me for a long time."

He grinned. "That, at least, we have in common."

Galba had ordered the rousing of Sextus, the soldier who'd married Valeria the first time. He liked symmetry in his conquests. The man appeared sleepy, sore, and confused, having received a sword cut over one eye in the recent fighting. The entire side of his head was purple and black, and the blow had left him befuddled.

"I want you to marry again, Sextus," Galba instructed brusquely. "Marry the lady Valeria and me."

Sextus blinked. "But the lady is already married."

"Her husband is dead, dolt."

"Oh. Yes." He tilted his head as if to clear it. "When will the ceremony occur?"

"Now, you dull-headed shit! Now! There's a war on!"

"Now? With a war?"

"Yes, now." It was a growl.

"Here? In this house?" They were in the dining triclinium of the commander's house, Valeria standing stiff and pale and Galba wearing grubby chain mail over a simple woolen tunic, ready for quick battle should another assault come. His belt of rings once more numbered forty, the last in the chain the wedding ring his dead commander had given his new bride. The slave Marta had been pressed into service as witness, the tribune taking perverse pleasure in forcing the wench into the role. It was near dawn, a cock crowing from the village outside the fortress walls, oil lamps providing a dim, smoky illumination. There was no feast, no decoration, and no other guests. Just the mural of Roman triumph over Celtic chariots, which Galba had once more uncovered by ripping Valeria's tapestry down. He liked the cruel triumph the mural represented.