‘You need your sword to defend us, Gaius Metullus.’
When she could see both eyes, she saw a pain in them greater than that which came from his wounds, for like him she could see how the Celt-Iberian tribesmen had crept cautiously through the gaps in the wagons in numbers too great to contest.
‘Be aware of what awaits you, Lady.’
‘It awaits all we women, Metullus. I would not have you spare me the fate of the rest.’
‘Then I shall kill you all.’
‘Do you not know that some of my ancestors were Sabine, Metullus? They survived and so shall I.’
Metullus had actually smiled then at the reference to the Rape of the Sabine Women, a piece of Roman folklore known to every citizen of the city-state, a story of brutal Roman soldiers who had assaulted the defenceless wives of their defeated enemies.
‘Face your destiny, Metullus, and I will face mine.’ Pearls were embroidered into her shawl, now wrapped round the soldier’s head. She had pulled off two and handed him one. ‘Pay the ferryman with this in place of a coin. That should ensure that your journey over the River Styx to Hades will be a comfortable one.’
The cry behind, as well as the low moan from those around him had told Metullus the final assault was coming. For the second time that day he had raised his sword blade to his lips, to salute the bravery of the young wife of his general, then he had turned as they charged, his voice rising to a yell, his sword set forward to engage the enemy. He had fought well, killing three or four tribesmen before a spear took him in the neck. By that time all his men were dead, and within the space of a few seconds the killing of the non-combatants had begun.
Claudia had sought to get to the front, prepared to take the killer blow that would end things, the pearl under her tongue seeming like a huge stone, but it was as if everything, people and events, had combined to block her path. That allowed her to observe that only the men, the cooks, carpenters and ostlers were dying; the women were being dragged to the first clear space, to be thrown to the ground once their clothing had been ripped from their bodies, several already being raped. Faced with the reality, and with a sinking heart that had her wishing she had taken Metullus’s offer, the same fate approached her. Grabbed by several tribesmen, the one who had her hair exerted the greatest force to drag her out to a place where the ground was clear of blood and bodies. Her garments, of a finer quality than those that had suffered before her, had been ripped with ease, her attempts at modesty as she sought to cover her nakedness causing her assailants great mirth.
With her curled hair and fine clothes they must have known she was special, and they decided to toy with her instead of indulging in an immediate violation. Claudia found herself spun round, punched and pushed back and forth, trying to shut out of her mind the leering faces, the spittle-flecked lips and the hoarse cries she could not comprehend. Somehow she knew there was an argument going on as to who should have the privilege of violating her first, the greatest prize, a very young woman who had been exquisitely clothed and, now naked, showed the full figure and smooth skin of a true beauty.
Whatever bargain was struck she was eventually grabbed by two individuals, her arms pinned as she was hauled to the ground. One look at the man who had won her had been enough to make Claudia want to close her eyes; yellow teeth, dark bronzed skin ravaged with smallpox, eyes like a small pig, but she fought against that. Whatever her fate, Claudia had had to look it in the eye, to let this barbarian beast know that whatever they did they could not break her Roman spirit. The glare of her look, and the pearl she spat into his face made him hesitate just a second, so that neither he nor she heard, from behind him, the swish of the falcata. The great steel blade of the Celtic sword had appeared in the corner of one eye like a flash of lightning, and the look had died in those piggy eyes as the head was lopped off the body, to jump free from the trunk like some child’s toy, that followed by a fountain of blood that drenched her, forcing her at last to close her eyes.
The shouting had stopped, and so had the screaming. Claudia had opened her eyes again, to see that everyone who had surrounded her had fallen back bar this one silhouette framed against the blue sky, a big man, even taller and broader than Aulus. The hair was long, and as he had leant forward, hand outstretched to raise her up, it had turned from silhouetted black to a red-gold colour, but, more than that, the talisman her saviour wore, which had fallen from his bent neck almost to her face, took her eye.
Gold, and as his shadow had cut out the brightness of the sun it allowed her to see that it was shaped like an eagle in flight, with the wings picked out in delicate engraving.
The moment when Claudia’s eyes met those of her husband was a sad one; he looking for the degree of affection he had known before, she unable to give it to him. Yet she felt a tenderness that came to her as a surprise, which meant that most of the words rehearsed for this confrontation remained unsaid. What followed was hurtful, just as much because she chose to lie rather than tell the truth. Aulus, seeing her condition, had struggled to hide his lacerated feelings, yet such was his open nature that he could not succeed. Claudia lacked the heart to wound him further, yet half-suspected that her actions were prompted as much by the fear of what Aulus might do if she told him the truth. At all costs she must protect the child she was carrying.
‘I will not have you speak of disgrace,’ Aulus had said, wiping the tears from his eyes. He knew that to display his emotions was wrong, but so wounded was his heart, so sure was he that he was to blame, that he could not help himself. He wondered why Claudia seemed strangely calm, as if, having practised for this meeting, she had used up all her emotion before he arrived. He could not know of the turmoil that filled her breast, could not know of the strain she was under when she replied in an even tone.
‘I cannot think what to call it, husband. What is the bearing of another man’s child, if it is not disgrace? I prayed that you would not find me, prayed that you would never know.’
He had raised his reddened eyes, as if trying to see through the canvas roof of the wagon so that he could ask the gods for help. He knew what he should do, adopt the same lack of sentiment with which he had campaigned all his life, the same obligation to his race that had him personally strangle the Macedonian King in front of the Temple of Jupiter Maximus; he was a Roman soldier and he should behave like one. How many women with child had died at the hands of his legionaries, how many children would be born as slaves who had been conceived in freedom? He had a choice, to kill Claudia or to disown her, both actions the society of which he was a member would applaud. How could he be so strong in battle, so callous when necessary in conquest, yet so weak in his private affairs? Would the gods not damn him for such frailty?
‘I will not put you aside, in any way.’
Her voice was still even, masking disappointment. ‘So all you have achieved will come to nought? The great Macedonicus, a laughing stock, because his wife bore the child of a barbarian Celt?’
Aulus had taken her hand then, his voice thick with emotion, but his mind was active, seeking and arriving at a solution, daring the deities to object. ‘There is a way, my love, there is a way.’
Bending to kiss that hand, he had failed to see the look of deep pity in her eyes.