"I don't understand."
"Have you ever watched a street magician, master?"
I'm annoyed at her manner, of teacher to slow-witted pupil. "Yes, yes. What of it?"
"Do you know how he does his trick? He persuades you to look at one hand while he does his mischief with the other."
"What does that have to do with the arrest of young Clodius?"
"Galba was a magician."
"I don't know what you mean."
"There was never to have been any arrest. His talk with Falco was intended only as slave gossip, designed to reach the ears of the maidservant Savia through the eavesdropping Clio. And through her to Valeria."
Suddenly I see it. "He didn't care about Clodius at all!" Galba had seen the girl escape her abduction. Watched his rival marry her. Failed to undermine that marriage by seducing her. But her husband had blundered by attacking the druids, and if Galba could eliminate the source of Marcus's political influence…
"The young tribune was of no real importance to him, "Marta says. "But Valeria had scorned and humiliated him. She was naive enough to believe any plot. Rash enough to leave the fortress. Brave enough to warn her young friend of an impending arrest that was never to have happened. Fated enough to go to a new world."
XXIII
"I can't get up there," Savia decided.
"Then don't come at all!" Valeria hissed.
The slave glared. "And how would you feed and dress and bathe yourself? Or what would I tell your husband when he asks where you've gone? Better to get lost in the wilderness with you, torn apart by wild animals, than explain your absence."
"Then stop complaining about Athena, who's as tame and plodding and placid a mare as you could want, and mount her." They were whispering in the garrison stables, not daring to risk a light. "Come, I'll give you a boost."
"She's too big!"
"Don't you imagine she's thinking the same about you?"
Savia finally clambered up, moaning softly as she did so, and Valeria mounted Boudicca, the white mare she'd ridden with the presumptuous Galba. The tribune had revealed his base character at their dinner, and so it had come as no surprise when Savia whispered he was planning treachery against poor Clodius. Now she must outwit and out-race him! Nudging her mount, she led the way past the headquarters building to the north gate, threading through the tightly packed buildings. It was midnight, the fort quiet, a faint illumination provided by a half-moon. Sentries were silhouettes against the sky.
The duplicarius in charge came out from the sentry house. "Lady Valeria?"
"Open the gate, Priscus. We go for a Christian service. We're meeting our church at the moon's crest."
He was wary. "You've become a Christian?" There'd been no rumor of this.
"Like our emperor."
"But I've seen no other worshipers."
"My slave is to prepare the site."
He slowly shook his head. "You need a pass, lady."
"And who am I to apply to?" She drew herself up. "I, who am of the House of Valens, a senator's daughter, a commander's wife? Do I ask the governor? The duke?"
"I'm not certain, lady-"
"Perhaps you think I should send to the emperor himself for permission to go through his wall and pray to his God? Or wake senior tribune Galba?"
Priscus hesitated. She had a lifetime of practicing the imperious-ness of her class, and he a lifetime of surrendering to it. To make an enemy of a commander's wife was foolish. He signaled the gate open. "Let me send an escort-"
"We can't wait for that. We've no need of that." She kicked her mount, and it started ahead through the archway, her slave's horse instinctively following. "Don't bother others about our prayers. We'll be back by dawn!"
And with that they were across the embankment that crossed the ditch and trotting down the hill, Savia bouncing fearfully on her saddle as her horse broke into a trot.
The duplicarius watched uneasily. Something wasn't right. He turned to his companion. "Rufus, rouse three others and follow her. Make sure she meets no harm."
"It will take us a while to saddle, decurion."
"No matter. You'll catch them, judging from the jiggling rump of that fat slave."
Valeria stopped on the open moor and looked back at the Wall. It was the first time she'd been north of the barrier. Its undulating, crenellated crest stretched east and west as far as she could see, each tower marked with torches like a chain of lighthouses, the stars cold sparks above their fire. The whitewash glowed in the moonlight like wet quartz. It looked impregnable from this side, its approaches shorn clear, farmsteads forbidden within a mile of its ditch. How strange it must be to come from the north, ignorant and unwashed, and see its regal length for the first time!
"It's lonely out here," Savia said gloomily.
"The tribes are somewhere. Asleep, we hope."
"I think this is a very bad idea."
"And I think we're going to save our friend Clodius. I've seen the true nature of Galba Brassidias, and it's necessary to warn our young tribune."
"His true nature?"
"He's a very arrogant, very incautious man."
They rode on, Savia bouncing in her unfamiliar saddle and muttering misgivings. It was frightening to ride north beyond the Wall's protection, Valeria readily admitted to herself, and eerie to be out at night. Every wooded hollow seemed a possible haven for wolves or bears. Every rise threatened to hide skulking barbarians.
Yet as they rode mile after mile without incident, the thrill of the night's freedom began to infuse her. She was finding her own way! Never had she experienced such freedom. She felt like a bird or spirit, gliding like a ghost over a silvery landscape of lunar-lit dew. No one was watching her. Judging her. Coveting her. Envying her. Resenting her. What if they simply kept going?
Savia had no sympathy when Valeria expressed this idea. "I don't feel free, I feel hungry," the slave said. "And what are we going to do when we get there?"
"Send poor Clodius to the duke, where this preposterous accusation can be laid to rest. It would also amuse me to see this arresting posse of Galba Brassidias net us instead. I'd have no hesitation in telling him exactly what I think of him!"
Savia looked reproachfully at her young charge. "I warned you, lady."
"We'll say nothing more about that."
So they were quiet for a while. Then the slave spoke again. "But what if Clodius did kill this Odo, and didn't pay for him?"
"Savia! How can you think such a thing of our companion, a man who tried to save me in the forest?"
"Save you? He couldn't even stand up."
"And had his throat cut for his defiance. Marcus said he fought well at the grove. Galba has been unfair to Clodius since we stepped ashore in Londinium."
"I'm afraid of Galba's soldiers."
"I'm not."
The last mile was the most intimidating, the track to the spring of Bormo leading down into a wooded glen. The gloom under the trees was much deeper in the night, the path hard to follow. As they picked their way through the murk, they heard a distant rumbling of horses, as if someone was following. Galba already? "We must hurry!"
They trotted recklessly ahead, narrowly missing low branches, and finally Valeria heard the murmur of gently falling water. The spring! They came at length into a small clearing in a circle of silver elm, the moon overhead and the world turned white. On the far side of the glade was a Celtic shrine devoted to the water god Bormo. Carved on a rock cliff was the voluptuous representation of a nymph, the spring's fount the creature's mouth. Water tumbled down a carpet of wet moss to a wide dark pool, ripples marching in rank across it. Moonlight reflecting off gold and silver coins on the pool bottom like another sky of moons. Flowers, small items of clothing, jewelry, and tokens of a person's life-a comb, a knife, a chariot whip-had been left in hopes of improving the efficacy of prayer and curses. Beyond, in the trees, was a small Roman temple. Horses were tethered there.