The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(89)
“I know,” Cai said, lifting the decurion’s helmet off his head.
His hair beneath was back to a military-short cut, and he was clean-shaven again. He looked almost exactly the way he had the first day I’d met him. It felt for an instant as if the thread of my destiny was spooling in reverse, winding backward . . .
“We figured it would be easier going north if our company travels under what looks like military escort,” Cai explained. “For one thing, it’ll be faster, with access to better roads and amenities. For another, it will likely preempt any casual trouble we might encounter along the way.” He gestured to the legion regalia that fit him like a skin he’d always worn. “There’s an officer at the garrison here who was loyal to Caesar and a friend to me.”
“And he stole you a set of armor?” I raised an eyebrow.
“More like ‘liberated,’” Quint said, grinning. “Cai’s, uh, discharge from the legions didn’t sit right with the old boy. He was happy to help.”
“Now I’m really going to have some explaining to do when I see my father again,” I said. “You were almost starting to look like a proper Celt.”
Cai reached for me and put his hands on my waist, pulling me close. “You can present me as your captive, if that would make things easier . . .”
Quint rolled his eyes, and I reluctantly shrugged out of Cai’s embrace.
“Tempting,” I said. “But my tribe doesn’t take prisoners of war. Only their heads.”
Cai’s mouth opened then shut, and he took a step back, glancing at me sideways. I was half joking—the Cantii, in fact, took both—but I could see that I’d given Cai a moment’s pause over what to expect when the moment came and I introduced him to my father, the king. If that moment came. If we weren’t too late . . .
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” I said airily, trying to convince myself that I didn’t. “If he doesn’t like you, he’ll just marry me off to another chieftain.”
I heard Elka snort with amusement and turned to see her and Kronos walking over from where they’d been doing a last check on the chariot harnesses. “Because things worked out so well the last time your father did that,” she said.
I grinned at her and shook my head. She shrugged and grinned back. Some things really had worked out all right the last time. Most things. Not the least of which was my friendship with the tall blonde Varini girl.
“What news of Rome?” she asked Quint.
“Well, it seems as though they’ve stopped setting bits of it on fire, at least,” Quint said.
“But Antony and Brutus still might just set the rest of the world ablaze,” Cai added, shrugging off the legion marching pack from his shoulders. “With Octavian’s help.”
“Caesar’s nephew?” Kronos asked,
“Aye.” Cai nodded. “Headed back to Rome from his studies overseas.”
Quint laughed harshly. “The very moment he got the news, no doubt, the young upstart. And, of course, he’s now claiming his rightful place as mighty Caesar’s heir.” He shook his head in wan disgust. “They’re all busy massing armies, and they’ll go at it tooth and claw until one of them winds up on top of the heap of bodies. It’s going to be a bloody free-for-all. Not quite the dignified return to the Republic’s glory days that the Optimates were hoping for.”
I was utterly without sympathy. “I hope they all choke on it,” I said. “Now let’s get as far away from that nest of vipers as we can.”
“Gladly,” Cai said. “I could use a bit of clean bloodshed in the service of a noble cause, for a change.”
A short time later, our entire company was mounted up and ready to go. We had all four of the chariots harnessed to go along with the wagons and would take turns driving. The horses themselves were champing at their bits for the exercise after all of that time spent in the ship’s hold. I stood in the lead chariot with Cai as he slapped the reins, urging the Aegyptian horses forward, and we moved out, leaving Massilia and the Mare Nostrum—and Rome and Romans—behind us in a cloud of dust.
* * *
—
Time played tricks on my mind as we traveled. It took another month to reach the north coast of Gaul, and the days alternated between flying and crawling. And then, early one evening, we crested a hill and emerged from beneath a canopy of ancient oak trees at the edge of a field. In the near distance, I could see the walls of Gesoriacum—and smell the salt tang of the sea beyond. I felt my heart beat faster with hope.
That hope was dashed as the sun sank below the hills to the west of us, and instead of the gates of the town closing for the night, they stayed open to let the people of Gesoriacum out into the fields beyond the town . . .
To celebrate the eve of the summer solstice.
The distant strains of laughter and music that accompanied the flickering lanterns filled my heart with a cold, cruel dread.
“Oh no,” I whispered, leaning on the trunk of a tree to keep from collapsing to my knees. “Litha . . .”
“What is it, Fallon?” Cai peered at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re too late.” The bark of the tree was still warm beneath my palm, heated by the sun throughout the longest day of the year. “Tonight. It’s midsummer eve tonight.”