The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(48)
Would she risk my life to save his?
I already knew the answer before I even asked the question: Yes.
And the Morrigan alone could judge the rightness of it.
Right or wrong, Arviragus was a sight to see when he reappeared, shorn of his tangled mane and beard, and dressed in a plain tunic and cloak. Even Cai looked twice, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. Arviragus could have almost passed for any merchant or a farmer from the provinces come to Rome to trade. Nothing could completely hide his warrior’s carriage, but I hoped that it would simply make men avoid eye contact, thinking him an ex-soldier or mercenary.
Mostly, I just hoped he would keep his hood up, and his drink down.
“Will you come with us, Junius?” he asked his longtime jailer. Seeing as how there would be nothing left to guard after he was gone.
“I’ve been hovering over you for the better part of the last seven years,” Junius snorted. “You’d think you’d be glad to see the back of me. No, I’ll stay here. My relief isn’t scheduled to take over for another week. That’ll give me time to think of something to tell him. Probably that you drank yourself to death and I had to bury you in the yard.”
“He’ll believe that.”
“Oh, aye. And keep it a secret, because he wants his legion pension.”
The two men clasped each other by the wrists.
“Goodbye, old friend,” Junius said.
“Farewell, old enemy,” Arviragus growled.
My heart swelled a bit at the straightness of his spine and the flickering fire I could see kindled to life somewhere deep behind his eyes.
X
THE CLOAK LEANDER had found for me was a shapeless, featureless thing with a deep hood—useful for conveying anonymity, which I desperately needed. As Caesar’s vaunted Victrix, I’d been seen by at least half of the citizens of Rome on more than one occasion, and there was a good chance someone would recognize me if I went about in the streets bareheaded.
And not just me.
We had to tie Elka’s long blonde braids up and hide them beneath a drab shawl she wore over her head. We hid Ajani’s distinctive features beneath a veil. The other girls were likewise disguised, and Cai and Quint both had to stow their legion gear in a trunk and dress in garb befitting merchants, hoping no one would scrutinize their military-short haircuts.
We made our way down to the docks on the River Tiber in pairs and small groups and, once there, used the cover of the merchant stalls and the constant, crowded flow of foot traffic to our best advantage, boarding the craft Cai had procured at inconspicuous intervals. The vessel was a low-slung, dragon-prowed affair with a tattered, faded sail that looked as though it had once belonged to some less-than-prosperous northern raiders. Its side rails were festooned with the ragged-edged sea-bleached shields of its former shipmates, and it looked thoroughly disreputable and barely seaworthy. I suspected that no one would think to look twice for a gaggle of fugitive gladiatrices sailing aboard her.
Still, I would breathe a sigh of relief only once we’d made our way past the docks of the port city of Ostia, with wind filling the sails and the boat bounding through the waves of the Mare Nostrum, heading west toward Corsica. And, I prayed to the Morrigan, my sister.
We’d agreed before setting out that Elka, Ajani, and Gratia would each take a couple of the newer girls. Elka, her tattered palla pulled up over her head, walked bent over like a crone, accompanied by Devana and Nephele. The disguise gave Elka an excuse to lean heavily on a “walking stick”—a long wooden staff that, in her hands, was almost as lethal as her customary bladed spear. Just in case she and her charges ran into any trouble.
Ajani took Kore and Thalassa and had to hide the small bow Leander had found for her beneath the heavy veils she wore. It was a cheaply made thing, almost a child’s toy, but it was accompanied by two full quivers of arrows. Ajani had spent days oiling the bow and sharpening the arrows, gently straightening every single shaft over a brazier so they would fly as true as her aim.
Gratia, accompanied by Vorya and Anat, went unequipped. In a street brawl, her bare hands would probably be just as effective as anything else, I reasoned. Whatever other weapons we’d amassed, the girls hid them in boots or packs or under wraps. It wasn’t hard—we were still light on arms all around, and what we’d been able to scrounge were mostly long knives and short swords. I counted myself extremely fortunate, under the circumstances, that I had my oath swords, strapped to my hips under my cloak.
The day grew long and I fidgeted with the hilt of one blade, leg muscles cramping from stillness, as Meriel crouched beside me in the shadows of a cloth merchant’s stall. She carried only a thin-bladed dagger tucked away in her boot, and I desperately hoped she wouldn’t have the opportunity to use it. Because whoever she bloodied with that blade would have to be less than her arm’s length away. I shifted uneasily at the prospect of a fight. We’d been lucky so far. Over the course of the last hour or so, as the sun sank toward the hills across the river, she and I had waited.
I glanced back toward the wharf. It was close to deserted now, save for a few late cargo porters and a scattering of gulls searching for scraps. I looked to the ship but couldn’t see Cai or Quint in the prow yet. At irregular intervals, one of them—both still dressed like merchants—would appear standing in the prow of the docked boat, and that would be a signal for one of our little groups to make their way onboard. The bustle of the wharves, even that late in the day, helped mask the activity. Our little bands of travelers blended into the crowds, only to disappear up the gangplank onto the ship, where they stayed out of sight.