31
The sound of the door swinging open made the pair of Roman lovers jump to their feet. Antonia's hand automatically reached for her helmet.
Six German burst into the hut and surrounded their captives, "Out! Quick! Out!" they said in awkward Latin, pushing the pair toward the door.
Outside it was still dark, the only light came from the moon and the torches that some of the barbarians had in their hands. Quintus exchanged a worried look wtih Antonia: they had not been expecting this sudden intrusion. It was so near their emotional and physical release, and they were not prepared for what was going to happen.
There was something strange in the atmosphere- an urgency to the Germans' actions which made Quintus' heart surge with new hope. What happened few moments later confirmed it. A young boy come running in their direction shouting in his native tongue. He was clearly frightened and from the jumble of unfamiliar words, Quintus picked out the term 'match'- which not only meant 'mighty' in Quadi but more importantly was used to indicate the Romans! The boy repeated it more than once pointing to the woods. In a flash Quintus understood: the Romans were arriving at the village and the Germans were afraid they would find Quintus and Antonia there! Quintus wanted to explain to the young woman what was happening but he had no chance. Their hands tightly bound, the duo was once again herded into the forest -- in the opposite direction from which the soldiers where the soldiers seemed to be coming. Their march began anew.
*
After another exhausting day, more harder than the others because the prisoners had enjoyed less time than usual to regain their strenght, Quintus, Antonia and their captors arrived in yet another village. Since the sun had not yet set, they had a clear view of the little hamlet to which they had been led. It seemed more populous than the others and was full of children. Quintus wondered for the umpteenth time how these barbarians could be so inconsiderate as to drag their hostages to a place full of women and babies, risking the possibility that the full ire of the conquerers would be loosed on the noncombatants.
The legatus saw that something seemed to be wrong between their captors and the village inhabintants. Instead of being greeted with the usual cheers, the small group had attracted only hard stares from the locals, especially from a older man which was now speaking --no shouting -- with the leader of the little band. The discussion went on for many minutes until the older German shook his head and, with what seemed to be a resigned sigh, motioned to the group to lead Antonia and Quintus inside a hut.
The house was bigger than the others which had imprisoned them during their treks through the woods. Even more strangely, the purpose of this building did not seem to be as a prison or smokehouse, but a true home , consisting of a great central room containing a kitchen area and the furs of its owners' beds, and a smaller one chamber, probably used to store the food. The entrance to this second room was guarded by a door with a solid bolt.
Quintus and Antonia were shown inside, their hands freed of their bonds,
and then left alone.
Antonia dropped heavily on the floor, the misery of the days march and the night extertions crushing in on her.
"Are you all right?" Quintus asked and she answered with a slight smile which did not reach her eyes.
Quintus noticed it and wondered about it. Was Antonia worried by their situation? Or was she regretting what had happened the night before? Dragged along as they had been for all the day they had not enjoyed an occassion to discuss the matter. However, the woman seemed so exahusted that Quintus did not have the heart to force her to speak. He simply sat down in front of her and closed his eyes.
Antonia watched the soldier, feeling a pang in her heart. Why wouldn't he sit near her as he usually did? Was he having second thoughts about their love-making? In all sincerity, Antonia could not be mad to him if he was confused. She did not know how to account for what had happened the night before either. She needed time and peace to sort out her feelings, and in that moment she had neither, her emotions were too wild. She just hoped she had not lost Quintus' friendship. She needed her brother-in-arms back. But how to ask him?
They both remained silent, lost in their thoughts, until the door opened.
It was the old man who had argued with the leader of their captors and who probably was the owner of the hut. He walked into the room and nodded to them both, a never seen before gesture of respect. Then he bent down and placed some food and water on the floor. After that he nodded again and went away. The smell which rose from the little bowl on the ground told Quintus and Antonia that their food was not dried meat but something more appetizing. Almost at the same instant their hands reached out to pick up the pottery vessel and their fingers brushed. Their eyes met in a moment of shaken surprise and then they smiled gently to each other. It was as if, without speaking, they had decided not to discuss the subject of having been lovers, but to concentrate to their friendship. Of course this did not mean that it was all resolved between them. This understanding was simply in recognition of the fact that they needed more time to reflect on their feelings and decide if what had happened between them was only an action spurred by the danger -- a desperate way to reaffirm their will to live -- or if there was something deeper which might endure beyond life and death situations.
32
The next morning Quintus and Antonia were awaken at dawn by the sound of voices. They immediately disengaged from their embrace -- having spent the night as usual, cuddling together for warmth -- and the emperor's niece put on her helmet. Then they both sat up and waited. They knew that it was still more than possible that the barbarians wanted to 'interrogate' them and Quintus squeezed Antonia's hand in support.
They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity but when the door finally opened around mid-morning, it was only to let admit the same old man from the evening before. He distributed two chunks of bread dipped in honey, then dissappeared again. The two Romans accepted the meal gratefully , not only because they were hungry but even more importantly because it was improbable they would be feed only to be killed later. After their breakfast, Antonia rose to her feet and began to pace the little room. The action was dictated both by nervousness and the need to stretch her crampled muscles. Quintus watched her in silence, noticing how graceful she was, even dressed in a muddy, crumpled soldiers uniform. In the end Antonia leaned against one of the walls and began to look out the small window, watching the life of the village inhabitants unfold in front of her. She saw women carrying dirty clothes to a stream and wash them; she saw a group of rambunctious children follow an aged man who was gesturing and speaking to them with gentleness and patience, probably teaching them; she saw men leave for the woods with longbows and arrow, ready for a day of hunting.
Just past midday the door was opened again and another bowl of soup was delivered. Quintus and Antonia ate and then she dozed off with her back resting against the wall. Quintus wanted to offer her his shoulder but the possibily their captors might enter unexpectedly had convinced him to stay silent.
The sun was already low on the horizon when the door opened for a third time. It was not the gentle old man but the leader of their captors.
"You, get out!" he shouted, "Your time is arrived!"
Quintus and Antonia paled and the woman began to tremble as their hands were tied behid their backs and they were led outside their prison, to the little yard in front of the hut.
As they stepped out the Romans found themselves surrounded by the village's inhabitants. Scanning the faces Quintus saw fear on their features, not the hate encountered in other villages. On the far left of the crowd he saw many older men -- probably the village council -- debating fiercely among themselves. The older man who brought their food was among them and his voice was the loudest. Quintus and Antonia could not understand the words, but the fact that the men continued to look in their direction made it clear that the Romans were the topic of discussion. In the end, the argument ended, and the old German they knew walked to the leader of their captors and began to talk to him, determination and rage flashing in his eyes. Quintus and Antonia shared a look. What was going on?
*
Hildegarde smiled to herself and looped her arm through Match's as they
walked the final steps back to the village. The sun was high and warm. After
the harsh cold of the preceeding weeks, it seemed more like an early spring
morning, than an afternooon in midNovember.
She grinned happily as the little town came into view. Across his back,
Match had strung on his spear, two rabbits that he had caught with the
weapon. Around his shoulders, struggling a bit beneath the weight, he
carried a young deer.
The German had been impressed with the skill he showed in throwing
the long stick. She knew that the Roman's were trained in using the long
pilum, but she had never guessed what effective weapons they could be-
especially compared to longbows and arrows. She had been somewhat won over
by this afternoon's display. Match had hit his first target- the rabbit-
with ease- and the creature had been running at the time. His skill filled
her with pride. She didn't want to admit it, but his ineptitude with the bow
and arrow had disappointed her. In her mind, such a great soldier should
have to be outstanding in every task. Of course, it was not so- seeing his
comfort in other arenas, the spear today, and the bear weeks before, had
compensated for the fault.
Besides, there were other things to do besides hunting. Hildegarde
blushed to recall the way they spent most of their time-pressed tightly
together on the floor of the little hut, forgetting sometimes even to eat
when they lost themselves in each other.
Rodelind had returned, but she discreetly disappeared as often as
possible, leaving the youngsters alone. Hildegarde was pleased with the
deference, but confused as well. Since the first night that they had spent
together, she and Match had not articulated their feelings for each other.
She had never dared broaching the topic of the future, hoping somehow that
things could go on indefinitely as they were, but a voice deep within
Hildegarde warned her that they could not. She was nearly twenty-three. It
was time for her to become a mother...to have a home of her own. How could she
convince Match to make her his wife-- and how could she convince herself
that he was not going to turn back into the Roman that he had been?
Hildegarde frowned at that thought, and slackened her pace. There had been one blemish to their happiness...since the night of their first joining, Match
had suffered nightmares with shocking regularity. He could never tell her
what the dreams had been about, but she harbored her own suspicions.
Something in his past was trying to break free. How long until it suceeded?
She was so pre-occupied, that she did not notice the commotion at the
edge of town until she heard Match grunt beside her. She looked up, frowing
sharply at the little congregation of villagers. Squinting, she could just
make out the face of the man in the center of the congregation- Godeoc!
More interested, she quicked her pace.
Match laid his kills inside their hut, and then hurried after Hildegarde
toward the assembled tribesman. There were some sounds of annoyance as she
entered their midst, but the crowd parted to admit her in.
The men of the tribe were very tall, and it was difficult to who Godeoc was addressing, and impossible to see the other strangers arranged behind him, but Hildegarde could make out his words by craning her ears.
"....here! they'll all come after us!.....children....thinking! That's right , you weren't......hide.....until......"
Sighing in frustration, the German girl looked around for someplace to stand higher, or an opening in the crowd which would allow her to press closer in.
There was no opening, and so she turned, meaning to climb one of the
nearby roofpoles to see what was going on. As she turned, however, she
collided with the broad, wool-covered chest of Match.
"I can't see!" She complained, and then sucked in her breath as he
scooped her into his arms and easily held her aloft.
She looked forward, shielding her eyes agianst the sun, and looked to
the speakers....and then she gasped.
Romans.
There were two Roman soldiers standing just behind Godeoc's son, their hands bound tightly behind their backs. One of them had his head exposed, his dark blonde hair cropped closely to his scalp in the typical fashion of the invaders. The other, a much smaller man, was hidden beneath a heavy helmet. Hildegarde shivered when she realised that the first face was familiar. The soldier was from the same camp as Match - she had observed them speaking together. He seemed to hold some sort of authority. Perhaps they worked closely together.
She gasped again, and this caused Match to lower here again to the ground.
"What is it?" he asked. "Who are the prisoners?"
"Romans." No sense denying the truth. The whole camp would be talking about it soon enough. She watched his face carefully as he studied the captives.
There was no sign of recognition-- and for that, she was grateful, but
still, her heart was hammering in her chest. What if he rememered the other
soldier...? What if the other soldier remembered HIM and revealed Match's
true identity?
"We should go home." She said quickly, the day seeming suddenly less warm and pleasant.
"Don't you want to see what will happen?" Match asked, turning to follow her nevertheless.
"No."
Taking his hand, not waiting for a reply, she began to lead him away....she didn't see the captured Roman's turn their heads toward them, their attention attracted by the sudden movement- and she didn't see the look of recognition that flashed across their faces.
33
Quintus sucked in his breath with shock. Had he really just seen what he thought he saw? Was really Maximus the bear-skin covered man he had watched being dragged away by a pretty German woman? The legatus blinked again, trying to focus better on the image of retreating backs, but they were already too far to see much more than the man's broad shoulders and short dark hair. He turned to Antonia to ask if she had seen the same thing, but when he met her eyes, her surprised expression answered him without speaking. The man really was Maximus. But why he was in the village?
Quintus was snapped to reality by a rough shove from their captors' leader.
"Roman dog, you are lucky. The council doesn't want me to kill you here but in few days I will be able to move you again to another place and then you will finally pay the price of your many sins." And with that , Antonia and Quintus were once again placed in the hut, their hand freed , and the bolt drawn tightly behind them.
As soon as they were alone Antonia turned to Quintus, "It was really Maximus, wasn't it?" she asked, in excited tones.
"Yes, it was him."
"Do you think he will be able to free us?"
"I don't know....I....There was something strange in his behaviour...Why did he walk away before leaning what would become of us?" Quintus' voice was perplexed.
"There was a woman with him...she took his hand and he followed her...Maybe he is her prisoner..." Antonia's argument was so unconvincing that, despite their situation, Quintus could not stifle a wry chuckle. "Maximus prisoner of a woman? I don't think it is possible."
"Me either," Antonia agreed miserably. ".....But what other explanation is there? You surely don't believe he is a traitor?" Antonia seemed outraged by the very thought.
"Of course not! Maximus would die for Rome, he would never betray the Empire." The officer shook his head in frustration, "I don't know what has happened to him and until we know more about the situation we should not speculate . Let's just hope he will be able to help us. He might represent our last chance."
*
Match and Hildegarde were still unloading their successful hunt when they heard voices approaching the door. Rodelind's voice carried into the dwelling.
"...overreacting. You don't know what he plans to do."
Hildegarde started as the door swung open, and Godeoc stepped inside. He looked very different than he had when he was with her- younger, and his features were twisted with anger.
"I can guess what he plans to do." The warrior continued his rant. "I've known the boy all his life- always flying off the handle. I hate the Romans as much as the next man, but I know better than to do what he has done. He wants to make an example of the invaders, but when the others find them, the 'examples' will most certainly be us."
Rodelind made a comforting sound and eased the man to a chair, pouring him a cup of beer, and giving her daughter an arch look, as if inquiring after how much she already knew.
"Where are they even from?" The healer asked as she sad down the mug. "The Roman castrum is hours from here."
Godeoc shrugged miserably. "Apparently they were wandering around the caves by the river. Brettix has marched them through every village within days of here. The Romans keep chasing them away."
"Then perhaps they won't be able to trace them..."
"Or, perhaps, they'll just wipe out all the villages, knowing they've eventually got to find the right one...." Godeoc put his head in his hands, sighing deeply.
"They might be deserters." Hildegarde's voice was timid as she entered the conversation. "The smaller one looked...different, somehow- and I've never heard of them moving in groups of two."
Godeoc looks up at the girl, studying her intently. Hildegarde blushed under the look and quickly turned away, unable to overcome her embarassment for the awkwardness of their past association.
"Perhaps." Godeoc said evenly. "But from his uniform, the taller man is an officer- and I don't think that the soldiers would be looking with such determination for a pair of lowly runaways."
Hildegarde nodded miserably, seeing the logic in his words at once.
"What will happen?" She asked.
Godeoc shrugged."I've told him he can hide here for a day or two- he is my son, after all. Idiot or not, I can't simply leave them to his mercy."
"And after that?"
"They'll move on. Brettix's friends are convinced that they should make an example of the pair. Two days is a short amount of time to talk sense into such thick heads.....in the meantime, we need to coverup their presence here. If the Romans find them..." He let his voice trail off. They all knew what the consequences would be for the village if the whereabouts of the prisoners was known. "They'll stay in my storeroom. With any luck, it won't be for long."
Hildegarde nodded. She looked anxiously to Match, wondering if he had absorbed any of the conversation, but his expression was blank. He was simply studying the other man, more interested in the appearance of his one-time rival than in the strangers who had entered the town.
"Hildegarde, help me prepare some food." Rodelind said sharply. "Godeoc is going to stay here. I told him that we would help over the next few days. The prisoners have been through a lot, and may need our services."
The younger woman nodded, moving like a sleepwalker toward the door.
*
Hildegarde arrived at the hut at dinner, a little kettle of soup and a loaf of bread tucked under her arm. In addition to the prisoners, she had made food for Godeoc's son and his friends, and she struggled beneath the weight of her burdens.
Rodelind had suggested that Match accompany her on the walk, but her daughter had demurred. She wanted him to see the prisoners as seldom as possible- fearful that they might bring new memories to the surface, and even more worried that Match would be recognized by his friend.
Finally she reached the door, and entered the hut. Brettix and his friends were lounging on the dirt floor, talking in low voices. They jumped to their feet when they saw her, reaching hungrily for the food.
"Save some for the prisoners!" She reminded them sharply, frowning to see that the better part of the bread was already gone. She carefully reached forward and seperated a portion of the meal before it could be devoured by the others. "What do I do with it?" She asked.
Brettix shrugged. "Feed them yourself, if you want."
Nodding, Hildegarde walked toward the door. She paused at the opening, leaning forward to peer through a slender crack in the door. She saw them inside, huddled next to each other, speaking in the lyrical tongue that Match had used in his life as a Roman. She noticed that one of the voices was higher than the other, and even more musical, squinting in the darkness, she tried to get a better look....and then blinked in surprised. One of the men wasn't a man at all- it was a woman, the woman from the camp....
No, a voice inside warned her. Not just a woman. Selene.
Hildegarde withdrew her hand from the door as if it was burning. she backed away a few of steps and then turned to the men.
"I...I think it could be dangerous to open the door, they might try to
escape," she stammered, "Perhaps is better if you feed them."
Bettrix threw her a sarcastic look, "You are a witch like your mother, I am
sure they won't try to escape from you. Now go inside and feed those dogs, or
go home with the soup because we certainly aren*t going to waste our time feeding them." he snarled before returning to his game.
Hildegarde bit her lower lip. A part of her wanted to run home and take
Match away from the village, at least until the prisoners were removed; but another part of her, the healer part, wanted to help the captives. She
clearly remember how beautiful and fragile the young woman -- Selene -- had
seemed to her the day she had stepped out the carriage, and she knew she had
been forced to walk for many days in the forest....Hildegarde was sure she
was not used to it and that she needed food.
The healing instinct won over the frightened -- and jealous -- woman. Hildegarde balanced the plates on one arm and opened the door.
When she stepped inside she saw the two prisoners scramble to their
feet while the woman shoved the helmet over her head. Fully dressed, it was easy to mistake her for a very young soldier but now that Hildegarde knew better, she was able to notice the delicate hands and her smooth cheek. If the circumstances were not so bad, she would have laughted at Bettrix and his friend's stupidity: How had they possibly failed to notice that the younger soldier did not sport a single hair of beard while the other, Match's friend, looked like a bear? Hildegarde kept her eyes lowered and offered the food to the Romans, waiting for them to pick up it from her hands.
*
Quintus and Antonia watched the young, scared woman in front of them and gently moved forward to take the offered meal. Quintus took both the bowls,
handing one to Antonia. The young German raised her head and as her eyes met
Quintus', he thought she was somewhat familiar. He frowned a little and then
realization stuck him: she was the same woman who had pulled Maximus away that afternoon!
"Hey..." he began to say, unable to control the natural response to his
discovery, but the girl gave him no time to add anything else: in a flash she
turned on her heels and left her room, closing the door behind her back.
34
Hildegarde ran from the house as though she had a pack of wolves behind her. Finally, at the far edge of the village she stopped and leaned against a tree, while she regained her breath. She knew that she could not return home in such agitated state. Match and her mother would surely notice it and ask what had upset her. No, she had to calm down. Hildegarde sat down with her back against the trunk and peered at the sky. It was a beautiful night and the stars were shining above her.
She hoped that the serenity in the sky was a sign that she was still in favor with the Gods...
*
The following morning Quintus and Antonia decided to take turns to look out of the window in the hopes of seeing Maximus again. They needed to make contact with him and to discover what was going on. The two prisoners spent all their time leaning against the wall, looking outside, sometimes commenting about what they were seeing. The village inhabitants seemed curious but also unnerved by their presence and kept themselves well away from the hut.
Finally, in the late afternoon, when the Romans had almost relinquished hope, Quintus saw his commanding officer's familiar shape striding through the village streets. The man was carring two wooden buckets full of water and seemed very relaxed.
*
Match had gone to the river to draw the water for preparation of the evening meal and to wash himself. It pleased him to feel helpful and he enjoyed doing errands for both Hildegarde and Rodelind, especially now they were so tense and worried about what was going on with Godeoc's son.
As he thought about the Roman prisoners, Match unconsciously turned his head in the direction's of Godeoc's hut: two heads were clearly visible pressed against the little window, looking attentively outside. Match stopped to see them better. He was feeling curious about the Romans...He should fear them as Hildegarde and the other did but he did not. Something inside hin told him they were not a danger...at least for him.
It was then a hand appearded from the window and beckoned him to approach the hut.
Quintus had felt his heart surge with hope as he saw Maximus stop and look in their way, but the fact his friend made no move to approach the hut made him frown. He knew his face -- and Antonia's -- were clerly visible and that Maximus was near enough to recognize their features. Why didn't he do anything but stare? Quintus put out his hand and gestured for Maximus to came near, calling his name at same time, "Maximus, come here! Maximus." But his friend did not move. He remained rooted on his spot, looking at him with a strange fascination.....he looked like a child watching something he had never seen before...
In the end, he seemed to decide that he had looked enough. Maximus picked up the buckets that he had settled on the ground and started to move the direction fo the hut, but Quintus' and Antonia's relief was short lived because Maximus stopped after few steps, his attention caught by a female voice.
"Match! Come home, we need the water for the soup!"
Quintus craned his head as far as he could and saw the young woman from the evening before gesturing to Maximus from a dwelling far on the fringe of the settlement.
*
At the sound of Hildegarde's voice, Match's head snapped to the side and he stopped as he remembered what the young woman had said him in the morning. After dinner Rodelind and Godeoc planned to go in his home to clean it and check on the prisoners-Which meant that Match and Hildegarde would be left alone for at least a couple of hours...A smile of anticipation crossed Match's handsome feature as he walked to his home, every thought concerning the Romans forgotten.
*
Quintus punched the wall in frustration. Maximus had been so close! -but then the woman had called him away...The legatus turned to look apologetically to Antonia. "I am sorry.."
"It was not your fault...It is nobody's fault." she shook her head, "You know, I am starting to wonder if Maximus has lost his memory for some reason ... Did you see how he looked at us? He seemed fascinated ..."
Quintus sighed, "You may be right. That would explain why he is answering to the name 'Match'.."
*
"Where were you?" Hildegarde asked impatiently, helping him carry the two buckets further into the house. Under her breath she added suggestively.
"The sooner they eat, the sooner they will leave," and then she forced a
smile that she did not feel. She knew exactly where Match had been going-
toward the Romans. They had been calling to him, and it was clear that his
identity, at least to the captives, was a secret no longer.
She was lucky that she had been able to lure him away. For just a moment, it had seemed that he wasn't going to come, and Hildegarde had felt as if her heart had begun to break in two.
"May I help you with the dinner?" Match asked, moving closer to Hildegarde, and stirring the kettle which hung over the fire.
"No. I'm fine."
"Then why are your hands trembling?"
Hildegarde gritted her teeth. "It is nothing. I- I haven't been sleeping
well these past few nights." It was the truth, Match's nightmares were
getting more intense, robbing the girl of rest as much as he.
*Well, you certainly haven't been sleeping MUCH." He said with a smile, and she felt her skin flush crimson.
Hildegarde hurried through the preparation of the meal and was glad to see her mother and Godeoc leave, a bowl of the new soup, and a crust of bread
for the prisoners tucked under their arms.
I hope she chokes on it. Hildegarde thought spitefully, but she instantly
reproached herself. She didn't really want anything bad to happen to the
other girl. She simply wished, desperately, that Match truly was what he
appeared to be: a hunter who had wandered off from another village, a man
who could belong only to her and stay here always.
"Hildegarde?"
She didn't know that she was staring into space until Match's voice caught
her attention.
"What are you thinking of?" His inger slid along her chin, forcing her to
look into his eyes. "You look so sad..."
"I am thinking of your going away." She answered truthfully.
"Away?"
"Yes,when your memory returns." She clenched her hands in her lap as she fought away her tears. Speaking the words aloud had made her worries seem all the more rational.
*But why should I go away? Even if my memory does come back*..?*
*You might-* Hildegarde stopped herself, remembering her claims that she had watched him from afar, and knew that he was not wed. *You might be
someone completely different*you might not want me*.*
*It would be impossible to be that different.*
35
That evening, the meal was particular adbundant and, for the first time in days, Quintus and Antonia finished eating with full stomachs. After eating they sat with their back against the wall, the moonlight filtering from the small window to create patterns of shadow and light on their faces. They were silent for a long time, simply staring ahead until Antonia spoke softly, "In case I never get the chance to tell you again, I want to thank you for everything that you have done for me, Quintus. It is because of you that I didn't break down andwas able to carry on my act of being a man. You are the best... friend... a woman might desire." Antonia took his hand and squeezed it, "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," he replied, bestowing an answering squeeze but feeling his heart constrict at the word she had used, 'friend.' So, Antonia considered him only a friend...
"I also want to apologize for dragging you in this situation....I know that if I hadn't been so stupid, we would not be here. I beg your forgiveness." Antonia looked at him miserably and Quintus saw how badly she needed his absolution.
"You are forgiven. You made a mistake...in different circumstances nothing would have happened, but the Gods decided otherwise." He smiled and Antonia did the same, before quickly lowering her eyes.
"And finally I want to thank for..... what you did for me the other night....I will treasure the memory for the rest of my life."
Quintus swallowed. "It was the least I could for.....a friend. You....we needed to feel alive again....I did it as much for myself as you..." Quintus wanted desperately to tell how he really felt, but something held him back.
"As I said before, you are a wonderful friend...my...my best friend." Antonia kissed him gently on his bearded cheek and then turned her head away, looking back through the tiny window. Deep in her heart, she knew her feelings for Quintus were stonger than mere friendship, but the memory of what had happened 12 years before tied her tongue. She had already bared her heart to him once and the results had been horrible, she could not risk the humiliation- and the pain- again.
*
Hildegarde smiled sadly. "I wish that were true."
"It is true." Match heistated, his eyes suddenly afraid. "I want YOU, Hildegarde...I can't....I can't imagine loving anyone the way that I love
you. Even if I am...." He shook his head, not wanting to say the words, but
needing to tell her. "I don't believe it is possible to love anyone as I love you...you have been everything. You saved my life...and then you let me
borrow yours- your home, your family, your....you- when I had nothing."
He threaded his arms around her waist, aware that his words were upsetting
her, but not understanding why. "I want to marry you." He murmured against
her hair. One broad palm slid possesively down her chest to rest in the
center of her stomach. "I want my sons to grow here....I want them to suckle
at your breast....I want to wake up forty years from now and bury my nose in
the pine-scented tresses of your silver hair, I-"
"Match. Stop." Hildegarde was trembling with emotion. She wanted his words to be true so badly....wanted to believe.....
"Why?" He questioned, brushing her chin again with his index finger, and then leaning forward to graze her lips with his own. He released her, and
then used the back of his hand to push back her hair from her watery eyes.
"Why won't you let me tell you how much I love you?"
Hildegarde forced the edges of her mouth upwards. "I wastes time." She
whispered softly, and then lifted her hands to Match's own head. He had been
with her for nearly a full moon- and the hash, cropped Roman style had
softened, the brown locks falling in loose waves. She threaded her fingers
into them, and drew his lips against her breast. "Don't tell me..." She
whispered, arching forward as she felt his fingers- growing skilled with
experience- looseninging the stays of her dress. "...show me...."
With a low sound, Match did as he was bidden. With a tug, the bodice fell forward, the loose fabric gathered at the German's waist, ignored as he claimed her breast with his tongue. He circled it very slowly, planting a tender kiss on each inch of the marble-like flesh, and the he licked it in wet, lazy
circles, spiraling toward rosy peak at its center.
Hildegarde made a gratified sound, allowing her own hands to stroke his back. She tried to loose herself in pure sensation, blocking out her
thoughts...her doubts.....
Match continued his ministrations to her chest, while his hands moved
elsewhere. One held her shoulder tightly against him, while the other cupped
the sultry curve of her hips, and coaxed away the last of her dress.
Hildegarde shivered at the sudden feeling of cold air on her skin, and then again, as Match's fingertips teased the sensitive skin on the backs of her legs.
He pulled away, his eyes glazed with passion, and she straightened her posture self-consciously, under his gaze, awe-struck by the pleasure he took merely in looking at her- the boldness with which he stripped away her clothes.
"Wife..." He murmured appreciatively, licking his lips- dry from constant
use- and then reaching for her again. The heat of his kiss was like a brand
pressing against her shoulder, and she met it in grateful acceptace, so
happy to be possesed.....
Match leaned forward as his mouth moved upwards along her neck, along her jaw and to her ear. His body pressed forward, the weight of his form forcing her downwards to her knees and then, at last, she puddled liquidly on the floor amidst the furs, her body melted and malleable beneath his touch.
At last, their mouths joined. His tongue thrusting between her teeth,
tempting her with hints of what would come, and she felt another shimmer of
desire. Her hands, no longer content with their restive wanderings, came
suddenly to life, clawing for his tunic and breeches. She wanted him naked,
wanted to feel his skin pressing into hers.....
They rolled awkwardly on the floor as they completed the task, and when it was done, Hildegarde pulled away, wanting to savor him just as he had
admired her. She wanted to burn the image in her mind: the breadth of his
shoulders, the powerful musculture of his thighs, the symmetry of his
face......
"Hildegarde..." Match was not patient enough to allow the delay. "I need
you...."
She closed her eyes, admiting to the same. She could feel the length of his
hardened shaft pressing urgently between her thighs. She surrendered to him,
wrapping her legs around his waist and inviting him to make his conquest.
The moment of their joining left her breathless, powerful tremors coursed
along her spine- the sensation so intense that it was almost a pain. A
hunger. A need. A destiny that she could not deny.
Their bodies fell into rythmn easily, trained to each other in the
preceeding days, building slowly, carrying them higher, faster, deeper...
Hildegarde arched her back violently as she met her end, whimpering as she
heard Match's echoing cry, and felt his seed spread within her. They clung
to each other tightly, as the fire that had consumed them smouldered, then
slowly died away.
Match's head fell forward against her chest, and she squezed him tightly, shifting position slightly so that she was not suffocated under his weight
She smiled as she saw his passion-glazed eyes droop sleepily, and then
close, grateful that he could find rest, and praying that his dreams would
be free of the nightmares that stalked him.. Hildegarde was not sleepy, but
she was not ready to leave his embrace. She wished that she could linger
there forever, but she had a terrible premonition that their days of happiness were moving swiftly to an end.
36
"Where are your friends? They should have been here by now." Godeoc
questioned his son in harsh tones. The man was tired. Brettix was drunk, and the Romans' made him nervous. He was anxious to get his lover home.
Brettix shrugged. "They'll be back. They are hunting...you know how they
can be."
Godeoc snorted. He knew- too well- that hunting was probably a euphemism for spying on the Romans or staging minor, but dangerous raids.
"Go, if you want to." Brettix said, pouring himself a glass of beer. "The
prisoners are probably asleep."
Godeoc looked between Rodelind and his son. The woman looked very
weary...and the older man wouldn't exactly be sad if the Roman captives DID
get away- at least then the village might be safe...
"I'm taking Rodelind home. " He said after a long pause. "Don't do anything while I'm gone."
Brettix made a disgusted sound. "I brought them here by myself, old man.
Don't you think that I can handle them on my own?"
"That's what worries me." Godeoc said dryly. He took Rodelind's shoulder, helping her into her shawl. "I mean it. Leave then alone."
Brettix made another sneering sound, but Godeoc was too tired to argue. His son was impulsive, but not stupid. Surely he appreciated how important it
was that the Romans be well-treated at least until they were moved away.
Brettix watched as his father walked away, and then picked up a thick stick lying next to the fire and rapped it sharply against the storeroom door,
grinning as the Romans- huddled together on the floor like children, jumped
at the sudden sound.
"Do you like that, wolfmen?" He asked in broken Latin. "That is the sound
that your bones will make when we we break them under out stones...."
The older soldier's jaw twitched, but otherwise betrayed no emotion.
Brettix smiled to see how the younger one quailed, turning a paler
shade of white.
"That frightens you, little boy?" He taunted. "Then perhaps we can arrange
something special..."
Brettix knocked the stick loudly on the wood again, and took another swig of beer. A sound drifted to him from the closet. And he strained his ears,
gratified to discover that it was the sound of crying.
"Shut up!" the older captive shouted in angry Quadi, but Brettix did not listen.
"Do you want your mama, little pup?"
Again, the older man responded, this time in Latin that Brettix did not understand, but his intent was clearly conveyed.
Brettix smiled.
Emboldened by the soldier's response, Brettix looked around the room,
trying to think of a way to frighten them some more. He frowned as he
realized that his father had taken his sword- then his humor returned as he
saw the hot twigs crackling in the fire.
"Perhaps now you are willing to talk." He said, pulling open the door. The
bare-headed soldier rose defensively to his feet, and Brettix branished his
short dagger. The man met his eyes, defiantly, looking from the weapon to
the other captive. He was testing him, gaguing whether it was worth the risk
to try to overpower him and get away, but in the end his resolve seemed to
vanish, and he looked away.
"Come here." He demanded.
The captives exchanged a look, then the man did as he was told, stepping
forward and standing silently as he was bound at the wrists and ankles.
Brettix lowered the dagger as he checked his work. Then, content that the
knots were secure, kneed the man who had yelled at him powerfully in the stomach, sending him to the floor.
The German moved toward the smaller soldier, flashing his teeth in glee to feel the boy tremble with fear as the German bound his wrists bahind his back.
"Now." Brettix said, darkly, dragging the captive from the room. "Now, we will have our ?discussion?." The door was left open and he turned back toward the older Roman, who was lying on the ground gasping for breath. " You might want to see this...."
"Leave h-" The Roman in the storeroom said, his voice still hoarse with pain. He struggled to his knees. "Leave him alone. I'm the commander. He doesn't know anything." There was almost desperation in the voice. If anything, Brettix was encouraged.
"Good. Then I shall practice." Brettix reached for one of the sticks,
plucking it carefully from the fire, its tip glowing a menacing red as he
brought it toward the Roman soldier's chest.
"No....!"
The cry was high and terrified, and Brettix's lips curled into a sneer. How
like a Roman- to cry like a woman....
...a woman.....
Brettix frowned, and then squinted his eyes, noticing the smooth features of the young man's face for the first time.
He reached for the helmet.
"No!" Both soliders cried at the same time, but it was too late. The
helment was wrested away, exposing the boy's features to the German's view.
But it wasn't a boy.
Brettix blinked, stunned for a moment at the unexpected discovery. How had the captive remained hidden from their view for so long?
It was impossible!
It was insulting.
"So..." He said angrily, bringing his hand roughly across the girl's cheek.
"You are not exactly what you seem...." He twined his fingers in the hair at
the nape of her neck, and jerked it roughly free, pulling loose the tresses
that had been hidden in the back of her uniform. They fell around her
shoulders in glorious, unruly curls.
She was beautiful.
She was infuriating.
The combination was irresistable.
"Perhaps your 'commander' was right." He said, hauling her roughly to her feet. His clawlike hands stripped away the cuirass in a single cruel stroke,
while his second hand tore away the leather apron at her waist. "He is
better for talking. You are suitable for... other things."
"No!" The other man cried again, but Brettix was too intent on the woman to pay attention. Godeoc?s son grasped the woman's breasts through the wool of her tunica, growling in satisfaction as she recoiled in fright. She would pay
for what the Roman's had done. She would know what it felt like to be
conquered.
*
Quintus watched in horror as Antonia's identity was exposed, knowing with sickening certainty what was to come. His body was still in agony from the
blow the Germans had dealt, but he forced himself to ignore the pain. He had to save her. If they were going to try to escape, it must be now. He had not made out all of the German's earlier conversation, but it seemed that the other guards had not returned. If they were lucky....
Twisting wildly, he fished the dagger from his boot, holding it awkwardly
between his bound wrists and sawing away the ropes that held his feet.
Antoina was crying. Looking up, for only an instant, Quintus saw that the
German had finished stripping away her armor. His hands were moving on her body now, touching her irreverantly.....Quintus felt as if he would vomit as the other man's hands pushed Antonia's tunica to her waist, and then pushed her
forward across the table.
Anger surged within the legatus. With a fierce cut, the ropes at his feet
at last fell free, and he did not wait to unbind his wrists, clutching the
blade between his two hands as he hurried across the room.
*
"No..." Antonia whimpered, her pride forgotten in her despreation. "Please, please...."
Brettix merely growled, her helplessness merely stoking his lust.
The Roman bit her lip, clenching her eyes tightly, knowing what was to come and praying that the Gods would give her the courage to endure it....
But Brettix did not begin the rape. There was a gurgling. Then the sound of a body slumping to the floor. Then silence.
"Antonia..." The hands that pressed her tunica down did not belong to
Brettix. She turned quickly, amazed to find the Germans collapsed on the
floor, blood spilling from stab wound in his back.
The world seemed to spin, and for a moment, she felt as though she would collapse. Then, relief washed over her like a flood, bringing with it all of
the terrified tears that she had held within.
"Antonia-" Quintus tried to keep his voice even, but he could not hide his
desperation. The others could return at any moment. They had to leave
quickly. "Turn around and let me cut the bidings.."
Antonia meekly obeyed, and he sawed through the ropes
at her wrists. "Now mine...."
Clearly, the girl was still in shock, but she was s soldier through and
through. Like the men that Quintus commanded, when she was no longer capable of thought, her training carried through, and Antonia quickly freed his
wrists, smartly reaching for the dagger in Brettix's own belt before heading
quickly to the door.....