It's a Love Thing (49 page)

Vipero’s oozed voice trails behind me.
“Is she still numb?”

“
She hasn’t moved since we
left the fortress.”

“
Mayhap the potion was too
much.”

I nudge Nerva, wondering if
she feigns or I indeed used too much
mixtum
. Miura assured me it would
only numb her, not kill her. She better not be dead. I nudge Nerva
again and this time I hear a faint moan.

The wind whispers through the
pinewoods. I want to reach for a branch and rub the green between
my fingers—it smells like the goodness of my land. July in the
mountains feels cold until the sun crests over. A few more horse
lengths and the meadow opens up. I prod Blanca, keen to finally
drink in the image of the burning fortress. I promised myself I
wouldn't look back until we arrived here, but I can’t wait any
longer.

I dismount and so do my men. Slaps on
the back and laughter disappear behind victory shouts bouncing off
the mountain walls. It gives me great pleasure to see the fortress
burning. Make Romans suffer the way I suffered when they burned my
home. Below us the flames seem to reach halfway to the sky, a
curtain of thick smoke drifting into the air. My plan
worked.

“
Your father must have been
very proud of you, Ilias.” Bastisza's hand squeezes my shoulder
like a bear paw.

“
The gods have blessed us,”
Ursus whistles. These words are more than I’ve heard him talk in
the past few days.

“
Let's have a look at our
princess.” Zyraxes, our own Apollo god, walks ahead of us with a
sprint in his step.

I find Blanca nibbling grass a few
steps away among other horses. Her ears perk up at our arrival. I
pat her neck before reaching for Nerva. She's still and yielding,
but the moment her feet touch the ground she jerks away, struggling
to free herself. Her bound ankles don't give her much room to find
her footing. She’s wrapped like a mummy, and I can't help but
chuckle. The torrent of cursing she screams when her behind slumps
into the knee-long grass brings all my men around, each one
laughing harder than the other.

“
She's quite a dancer,”
Ursus says, “who wants to sing?”

“
I lost my flute.” Galtys
slaps Ursus' back sending him two steps ahead. The brothers brawl
like two cubs. Except for Nerva everyone cheers and
laughs.

I reach for her. “Up.” She
jerks away, but I steady her as I remove the cloth from her face.
It pools at her waist and so does her dark hair. Narrowing
sparkling black eyes remind me of a nymph. She looks flushed and
be
shrewed
beautiful. It would be so easy to reach for the dagger and
kill her like Traianus killed my mother and sister. Instead my
dagger cuts the rope around her wrists.

She jumps at me, her fingernails
nearly scratching my face. But I'm quicker. Within a blink, I have
both her wrists in my hand, twisting them at her back and causing
her to flinch. I have her pressed hard against me. My muscles tense
with her breasts pressing at my chest. Curses spill out of her
mouth like foul water from a bucket.

“
For a woman you have quite
a lewd mouth, I daresay.” I squeeze her even tighter.

“
I know the just thing to
do to her, Ilias. Just say the word,” Galtys spits in his palms
then rubs them together. He comes toward us. Nerva
pales.

“
You filthy goat, you can't
touch me! I'm Princess Nerva, Traianus’ niece, let me go!” She
wrestles in my arms.

“
Traianus’
niece
,” Zyraxes guffaws,
bowing gallantly, “Why, it's a great honor you bestow upon us with
your regal presence.”

“
Tie her back.” Ursus snaps
a piece of rope between his hands. I know all he needs is my sign
and he'll tie her quickly.

“
This time gag her. I can't
take all that petty hissing,” Bastisza says, the oldest of my
friends, turning around and leaving us.

I place my dagger in my scabbard
without taking my eyes off of Nerva then grab her upper arms and
shake her. “Who you are and your title mean less than the dirt
under my sandals. You are my prisoner. If Traianus wants you back,
he’ll have to fight me.”

“
You are no match for him!
He will kill you and your filthy army, all of you!” Nerva wrestles
to free herself.

I admire her bravery. Instead of tears
she goes for clouts and scratches. Somehow she loses her footing
and splays on her back with me atop of her. The morning dew is cold
against my skin. My men laugh so hard I’m sure the people behind
the mountains can hear them.

“
Stop,” I
command.

“
Get off me, brute!” she
spits in my face.

I wipe my face, my temper roofing up
there with the blazes of the burning fortress. I bring her to a
sitting position then wrap my arm around her hair. She shrieks, but
I don’t let go. “Scream and punch all you want. You can’t go
anywhere. There’s your home—” My fingers hold her jaw, forcing her
to look down toward the fortress.

Nerva pushes on all fours then kneels.
Her cry matches a lynx when it returns to find her cub killed. I
used to imagine this very moment with Nerva hurt, the flames
reflecting on her horrified face. It gave me great pleasure in the
sleepless nights. Now it makes me edgy. Mayhap I’m just too
tired.

“
Ilias, we’ve wasted enough
time. We should be going.” Bastisza’s lower arm holds onto mine as
he helps me up. Without my asking he ties Nerva’s wrists behind her
and hurdles her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She
wrestles in his arms but he walks undisturbed.

Once atop my mare he hands me Nerva.
She doesn’t put up a fight; she must be worn out. I hate carrying
her over my saddle, but I can’t risk having her jump off and run
away. That would slow us down and tamper our plan.

And I can't just have that.

*****

Galloping atop the
mountains is hard and I don’t want to risk injury on any of our
horses. I urge my men to keep a steady pace. If needed, we will
ride into the night. We stop only to relieve ourselves. I tie Nerva
with a long rope and walk away from my men, so she won't be
embarrassed by their presence. The sun beats down on us, merciless.
We share
slanina
and bread and keep going. I doze off and on, letting Blanca
guide the group. We’ve gone down this trek so many times, I trust
her to find her way around. Once we begin descending and the pine
forests offers heavenly shade I see my men invigorated.

I untie Nerva when we first stop to
refill our jugs. She doesn’t try to run away. She goes down the
freshet’s bank behind a bush and splashes her face and arms with
water. She must’ve hurt herself for she hops on one foot, then
hobbles. She takes my breath away when she walks toward me. The
front of her blue chemise is wet, leaving little to my hungry
imagination. I can’t have my men see her like this. My extra shirt
falls to her mid thighs, but it’ll have do for now.

We leave shortly. She now rides in
front of me, straddling my mare as a man would. She doesn’t speak,
not even glancing at me. She keeps her back straight like an arrow,
trying not to touch me. But then she dozes off and relaxes against
my chest. She radiates so much heat. I’m cursing under my breath
for the way my body reacts to her nearness.

She refuses my
slanina
and bread for the
third time. I can’t blame her. I’m sure her imperial mouth hasn’t
ever tasted anything but oysters and exotic fruits. When one is an
outlaw like us, a slab of fatback with pigskin is considered a
God-sent gift. At least she drinks water. Blood from her foot
trickles on Blanca, but she doesn’t let me aid her and I don't
offer again.

The night's air chills drastically.
Moonlight barely grasses between the dense pines. A wolf pack keeps
close. I can tell Nerva is scared by their howls, the way she jolts
and grabs my forearms—then lets go as if burned by the
contact.

The path is wide enough for two
horses. Bastisza rides next to me. Ursus and Galtys ride behind us,
then Vipero and Zyraxes with the supply horse closing the group. As
always, we talk very little.

My muscles are stiff, my skin burnt,
my legs numb. We haven't rested much the past two nights. We keep
going until Nerva nearly falls off the horse. We both drifted into
slumber. I reach to catch her more from instinct than being awake.
My arm irons around her small middle too hard, the sound she makes
is as if the air was squeezed out of her. If she wasn't awake
moments ago, she is now.

“
Brute, you shall burn in
hell.” She elbows me several times and I lose the harness, trying
to avoid her anger.

“
Apology—”

“
Do not address me. The
sound of your voice
repulses
me.” Her arm rises in the air as if to stop me
from talking. She leans forward in the saddle to avoid touching
me.

“
A little respect, woman.
You're talking to our king.” Bastisza hands me Blanca's
harness.

“
Your king is
dead
. This is no king!”
Her voice is wheezed, not from effort but hate. At least we share
one commonality.

I dismount and drag Nerva down with
me. The path widens into a glade, perfect place to spend the night.
I can hear somewhere close a water stream. We are too tired to go
any further. I don't know where she has the energy, but she fights
me. Her fingernails dig into my arms as I carry her to the next
pine and tie her down. Truth be told, no woman has ever cursed me
like she does, but instead of fury I find it humorous.

My men gather dry bark and wood and
soon we have a campfire. Vipero's earlier hunting trophy is quickly
skinned and skewered. I lay the sheepskins around the fire. Ursus
and Zyraxes tend to the horses. Galtys fills everyone's jugs with
fresh water. When all is set and done, we stretch by the fire.
Bastisza hands us pieces of bread, dried apricots and apples. It's
a complete feast when Vipero opens up a bottle of wine, making the
round to all of us except Nerva.

“
You, son of a
putana
, you said we drank
the last bottle two nights ago.” Ursus smacks his lips then takes
another gulp of wine.

“
Easy, you had enough.
There’re six of us.” Galtys pulls the bottle away and wine spills,
not much, but enough to set the two in to another banter. Soon
Vipero and Zyraxes mix in and the quiet night transforms into an
arena with bullocks ready to fight one another.

The smell of grilled veal teases my
hunger. I stand closer to the pit where Vipero has entirely left
our supper to the mercy of smoke and fire. Bastisza joins me,
holding the bottle of wine. Last I saw it was in Galtys
hand.

Bastisza motions to our friends then
at the bottle, “When two fight, the third wins.” He hands it to me,
with a soft chuckle. “Too much time in the saddle. A good fight
calms heated spirits.”

I let them brawl until the veal is
done. Bastisza helps me take it down. We slice it and place it on
bread pieces. I don't yell when I say, “Mayhap we should all forget
supper and saddle again,” but I have everyone's attention. The
fight is over and we all stand by the fire, bread in one hand, meat
in the other.

I take my meal and walk over to Nerva.
I can tell she's cold by the way she keeps her arms tucked between
her body and her pulled-up knees. Her hair falls over her face and
I nearly reach to push it away, but stop brusquely.

“
Here, eat.”

Her hesitation is visible, but hunger
wins over pride. After fasting for two days, she chews hastily,
swallowing one bite after another one. I keep a piece of bread and
meat for myself but seeing how hungry she is, I hand it to her.
Again she hesitates, looking at me as if I offer poison.

“
Offering me food doesn’t
change who you are. A brute. Like your father.”

I’m tired and starved. Listening to
her insults isn’t a good idea. I start walking away, but she
doesn’t stop.

“
I know who you are and who
your father was. I’ve heard tales of you. You are the weasel
bastard of the snake Decebalus. What kind of weak boy steals a
woman to use as a tool against his enemies? Such a cravenly move
from such a little boy.”

I can take much but no one takes my
father’s name in vain, princess or not. I’m back, crouching close
by, startling her. She drops the food.

My voice is whispered though I can
barely contain myself. “Do not pretend to know my father. Do not
speak of him. My enemies are your people and you—stealing from us.
My father was no snake. He died for this land Traianus wanted for
his costly expansion. Without our gold and silver your beloved Rome
would be ruined. My father fought against taxes and debts Traianus
claimed Dacians owed him. We owed no one anything.”

I can tell by the look on her face
that she’s shocked. There are two sides to each story and I wonder
if this is the first time she considers what Traianus told
everyone—that invading Dacia was necessary for my father broke the
treaty—a lie. She looks troubled. I get up and distance myself once
again before I do something I’ll regret.