Venator, page 13
They continued down the row. Luciana strained to see past the protruding heads to the stalls within. Bright scarlet siding came up to the top of the half-doors before giving way to a whitewashed wood-and-daub mixture. A series of three rectangular posts arose between the stall partitions, separating each stabled horse from the next. The boxes were certainly roomy; it looked as though four horses shared the same accommodation, each tied in a separate partition of the stall. One set of half-doors provided the entrance and exit route for the quartet. The horses rustled about in their boxes, placidly chewing hay from nets hung inside the corners of their stalls.
The pair rounded a corner and passed along the shorter side of the barn. Here, smaller boxes housing single horses stood together, once again separated with half doors and wooden partitions. Given the roomier private accommodations, Luciana could guess that these steeds belonged to more senior personnel.
They stopped before one of the box stalls and the centurion finally released her hand. ‘This,’ he gestured to the form standing with head lowered and one leg cocked within, ‘is Aquila.’
‘Oh…’ Luciana leant over the stall door and peered inside, her face bright. The tall bay stud was far larger and sleeker than the horses her own tribe had bred. His neck was long and thick, his shoulder sloping, his girth wide. His back was short and muscular and his haunches long and powerful. Her eyes travelled appraisingly down his straight, strong legs. The left hind ended in a white sock around the pastern. Save the small white snip that curled over his grey muzzle, it was the only white that spotted his seal bay coat. Luciana held her hands out when he ambled over to investigate the stranger. ‘He is magnificent,’ she breathed.
Decimus hummed his agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘He is the finest horse I’ve ever owned. And the most well-mannered. An easy keeper for an army mount.’
Luciana stroked the horse’s long, slightly convex forehead. ‘Not very like his owner, then.’ She shot the centurion a cautious, teasing smile.
His eyes flashed warningly, but his approving grin remained. ‘You’ll be spending a lot of time with him. Caring for Aquila and his tack are part of your responsibilities.’ He took hold of her elbow and directed her attention to the trunk sat in the aisle directly beside his stall. ‘Have you used a Roman saddle or bridle before?’
‘I can’t say as I have.’ She raised a brow at him. ‘Perhaps you should show me.’
Decimus met her challenging gaze with a cool look. He pried open the trunk that bore his century’s insigne and grabbed a brush out of it. He slid inside Aquila’s stall and began running it over the stallion’s silky hide with brusque, sweeping strokes. The horse rumbled a deep, companionable wicker of recognition, turning his head to eye his master.
Luciana folded her arms and studied his efficient, self-assured motions. His muscular arms rippled in the soft beams of light that penetrated the stall. His confident, assured manner around the stallion, whose ears flicked kindly in response to his master’s mumbled coos, captivated her interest. So, the centurion was familiar with horses. She ran her tongue over her purpled lips and tried to bite back a smile as she admired his work.
Decimus lifted his head high, smirking. She knew he could feel her gaze boring into him. He sauntered up to her, tossing the brush over the stall door. ‘Pass me that saddle blanket, will you?’
Luciana gathered up the folded scarlet mantle that sat inside the trunk and suddenly gasped. She recoiled, frowning down into the trunk.
The centurion’s dark, severe brows knitted together. ‘What is it?’
‘I thought you said this was a Roman saddle?’ Luciana pulled it out of the trunk and held it up accusingly.
‘I did.’ He nodded. ‘That’s what it is.’
‘Liar!’ She spat. ‘You acted as though I wouldn’t know what this was.’ She slid into the stall and bumped past him on her way to arrange the blanket and saddle on the horse. ‘You nicked our tack!’
He turned, frowning, as he watched her work. ‘I can assure you, princess, that the article you’re holding is made from genuine Roman leather.’
‘Oh, I don’t deny the provenance of your saddle, my lord.’ She shot him a triumphant smile before stooping to buckle the silvered breastplate across Aquila’s chest. ‘It’s the design. My people came up with it first.’
Decimus wrinkled his nose. ‘Impossible!’
‘No?’ Luciana finished fastening the crupper and walked around the horse, gesturing to him. ‘Centurion, I have lived in Britannia my entire life. All I know of horses I learned from my elders. How did I know the proper way to tack your horse up without you showing me?’
He stormed past her to closely inspect her work. He checked the buckles, ran his hands along the crupper and tested the slack of the breastplate with his fingers. He shook his head in frustration and turned back to her. ‘Lucky guess?’
Luciana rolled her eyes. ‘Really, you Romans must stop stealing everyone else’s ideas and pretending you created them.’ She picked his bridle out of the trunk and chipped off a piece of mud from the reins with her finger. ‘And you ought to keep your equipment in better repair.’
He bristled, drawing himself up. ‘That was Cato’s job.’ He turned and watched her expertly feed the iron bit between Aquila’s teeth. ‘And now it’s your job.’
‘Good. I look forward to cleaning it up so that it can be dropped in the dirt again.’ She shot him an accusing look.
Decimus clenched his fists at his sides, glaring back at her.
‘But thank you so much for showing me how to tack a Roman mount.’ She led Aquila over to the stall door and held out the reins. ‘Your horse, sir.’
He gruffly took them from her, scowling. ‘If Your Grace likes horses so much, you can make your bed in Aquila’s stall.’ He opened the door wide and began leading his stud down the barn row.
‘I would prefer it to my current situation.’ She tossed her golden mane over her shoulders and haughtily followed behind.
Decimus shook his head, carefully keeping his gaze forward. Something about his studious avoidance suggested that her fire excited him. Luciana bit her lip in a vain attempt to stifle her grin. He probably wishes he were about to throw a leg over me instead of Aquila.
They came to a stop at the green intervallum running behind the stables and along the inner perimeter of the fort. Decimus gathered his reins and vaulted up onto Aquila’s back. The pair took off down the straight, leaving Luciana in their wake.
The princess shielded her eyes and carefully observed the pair in the brightening dawn light. The centurion’s stallion moved as powerfully and gracefully as his conformation had suggested. His long strides, in stark contrast to Belena’s, effortlessly devoured the ground beneath him. He arched his neck and responded willingly to the bit, bending to his rider’s touch almost as soon as it was asked. And that rider’s touch…
Luciana could hardly contain her smile. Decimus, unlike most Romans, was no heavy-handed brute in the saddle; he handled the reins with a light, expert touch, his arms connected to his horse’s mouth. His legs didn’t dangle aimlessly but held straight and firm on either side of Aquila’s barrel; their cues were so subtle that Luciana could hardly see them. His seat seemed attached to the double-pommelled saddle, as though he were an extension of the animal. His military bearing was as straight and true as when he marched on foot. The pair made a noble picture galloping back and forth against the dawn.
Suddenly, Aquila rose into a half-rear and shied. Decimus wrenched the horse’s head back down and maintained his seat as the stallion rapidly side-stepped to the right. He brought Aquila to a halt and quickly slid down to inspect the ground.
Luciana frowned, squinting. ‘What is it?’
Decimus stood, holding a small creature in his arms. Aquila threw his head up and backed away another few steps. ‘It’s a hedgehog.’
‘Poor thing. We’ve disturbed his gathering.’ Luciana eyed the twitching little nose nestled between the centurion’s sturdy forearms. He held the hedgehog gently, his coarse hands taking care not to distress it. Luciana lifted her gaze to Decimus’s face and a small shudder coursed down her spine. He was frowning down at the animal in contemplation, his handsome features shadowed by his helmet.
Suddenly, Decimus caught a flash of red moving across the corner of his vision and he lifted his head in its direction. ‘You!’ He shouted to the stable orderly who’d just appeared toting a barrow of manure behind the stable block.
The boy dropped the handles and hurried over to the centurion’s side. ‘Sir?’
He held the hedgehog out to the boy. ‘Remove this creature from the grounds. It’s disturbing my horse.’
The orderly tucked the hedgehog under one arm, drew a hasty salute across his chest, and obediently scurried away.
Decimus had already leapt onto Aquila’s back and walked the horse over to the offending patch of grass. The stud snorted uneasily but crossed the ground at his rider’s prompting. Once the centurion had walked Aquila over the spot enough times to reassure the horse there was no cause for alarm, he urged the stallion into a canter. They rode back over to where Luciana stood, looking as perfectly matched as they had before.
Luciana smiled, watching Decimus slow to a walk. ‘You must be careful, Centurion. You were almost charming for a moment.’
‘Infernal little scavengers,’ he muttered gruffly under his breath. He halted beside Luciana and patted the horse’s neck. ‘I assure you that wasn’t normal behaviour for Aquila. Nothing ever disturbs him.’
‘Except for hedgehogs, apparently.’ She folded her arms and gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling in wonderment. ‘And am I supposed to believe that the Roman army trained a foot soldier to ride like that?’
He effortlessly dismounted before her. ‘I was a stable lad growing up in Rome.’ A wistful, faraway look stole across his eyes before they returned to her. ‘The retired decurion who ran the place paid me in lessons.’
Luciana’s gaze softened. ‘You were eager to learn, no matter the cost?’
‘Something like that.’ He held the reins out towards her. ‘Would you like a go?’
Her expression suddenly brightened. She eagerly snatched at the reins and jumped onto Aquila’s back. Luciana didn’t even spare a momentary backward glance at the centurion. She clapped her knees around the horse and took off down the straight, bent low over his neck.
As soon as she felt the horse’s lolloping gait beneath her, Luciana’s grin widened. Aquila practically felt like a coracle beneath her, rising and falling on the waves of the wind. The ground streamed past in a blur. So this was what flight truly felt like! She lifted her head above the stallion’s short, rippling mane and let loose an exhilarated cry.
With just a flutter of a touch upon his reins, the horse smoothly turned a half-circle, checking his momentum with grace. Luciana marvelled at the sheer power within Aquila’s haunches, the rhythm of his strides, his sensitivity to the bit. The centurion did not just have this horse trained, but he’d conditioned him to a level of fitness that rivalled the man himself.
She flicked one eye upon the figure stationed far down the intervallum. He was, indeed, built as sturdily as his horse. What would it feel like to sense his back course beneath her; to have that solid mass respond to her touch as docilely as Aquila’s; to feel his power pulse within her? Was he likewise capable of taking flight?
She tore her gaze away and refocused upon the centurion’s incredible animal. Aquila smoothly transitioned between his gaits: gallop to canter to trot to canter to walk to trot to gallop. Each patterned footfall was a joy to sit. She laughed gaily, never wishing the ride to end. Caring for Aquila would be no chore; it was a privilege she would savour.
At the other end of the intervallum, Decimus frowned after her with a critical eye. Luciana’s bright, long mane streamed out behind her like a streak of flame trailing the horse and rider. The rising sun captured them in a hazy light, lending a glow to her pale, fine features. She expertly turned the horse in circles, wheeling him about and changing leads with a playful laugh. Aquila responded very willingly to everything she asked, the pair moving as one. The British girl had melted into Aquila’s back. It was hard to say where she ended and the horse began; just as she had felt the night before against the centurion’s body…
Decimus tore his gaze away, shaking his head angrily. He fought the desire stirring once again within his loins. This was absurd! He was worse than a green recruit in the first flush of his virile youth! He closed his eyes and slowly began to count, willing his mind back into line.
By the time Luciana breathlessly trotted back over to him, he’d brought himself under control once more. He scowled, his eyes flinty and remote beneath his visor.
‘Did you find my riding suitably skilful for an attendant, my lord?’ She held one arm aloft, lowering her head in a mockingly subservient gesture.
‘I suppose. You looked like you were enjoying yourself a little too much.’
She arched a brow. ‘Do I detect a note of jealousy?’
Decimus rolled his eyes. ‘I should have you flogged for a remark like that.’
‘Why don’t you?’
He met her gaze. The two stared at each other for a silent, breathless moment.
Decimus, fearing that she could read his thoughts once more, blinked and cleared his throat. ‘Ride Aquila as often as you like. A horse of his calibre requires regular exercise, which my duties don’t often permit. Just don’t take him too far beyond the vicus. Aquila wears a distinctive brand that is easy to track. You will not get far.’
‘I understand,’ she breathed, nodding.
From the parade grounds came the notes of the trumpeter sounding the legion awake. Decimus quickly glanced in its direction before turning back to his slave. ‘Cool him out and clean his tack. Return to my quarters when you have finished here and await further instruction. I’ve to see to the men first.’
Luciana’s gaze followed his straight, retreating form until it vanished from sight.
XV
D
ecimus cast his gaze over the men exercising on the parade ground just outside the fort’s south gate. His century, broken up into its eight-men contubernia, wheeled abruptly on his command and arrayed itself into a series of rhombus formations. He narrowed his eyes critically from his perch on a small knoll at the edge of the field.
‘Valentinus, adjust your lines! You’re too far forward! Unimanus, where are you going? Left, son! Your other left! Falto, did I give the order to draw swords?!’
The legionary ruefully sheathed his gladius and hastened to keep step with the rest of his contubernium.
Behind him, Tullius cleared his throat. ‘The men look to be in fine order, sir.’
‘Fine? Fine?!’ Decimus wheeled around to face him. ‘Optio Servius, just what about this disaster do you consider to be fine?!’
‘The fact that they’re drilling as fine today as they did in battle a couple of days ago, sir!’ He boldly met the centurion’s gaze. ‘I had a fine view of the century from my position at the rear up on Viricio and they acquitted themselves admirably to a man!’ He pointed. ‘Just as they are doing right now!’
Decimus narrowed his eyes. ‘And that, Optio, is why you will never make the centurionate.’
He hunched his shoulders and stalked down the knoll, brandishing his vine staff menacingly. ‘Halt! Halt! Fucking halt! You disgraceful pack of nanny goats!’
Tullius frowned as he watched Decimus storm between the formations. There was something odd about him, something hostile and menacing. He’d become abstracted, half listening to conversations and half lost within his own world. Anything Tullius or the other officers said to him had been met with an aggressive, bullish reply. The veins upon his arms twitched impatiently as he moved, his scars flushed beneath his deep tan.
Presently, Decimus gruffly rapped his staff against the chests of every legionary out of step with the formation, prodding and pushing them until they’d inched into perfect diagonal lines. This meant he was finding fault with almost every man. This wasn’t the Decimus Tullius had first met on the Rhenus frontier half a lifetime ago, or the Decimus who had shared his quarters and tent with him for many years. It wasn’t even the Decimus who had marched out of this fort with him nearly a week ago. The Decimus he saw before him was boiling with an impotent rage his normally disciplined self would never have expressed.
The worst part about this new Decimus was that he’d clammed up around his friend. Tullius and Decimus had always felt comfortable sharing nearly everything that came to mind, from officers’ gossip to horse racing to the relative merits of different wine vintages to shared reminisces about Mediterranean weather. Decimus knew how much Tullius despised the wife he’d taken back in Rome, how little married life suited him, and how much he endured merely for the sake of his heir. Tullius, in turn, knew how little Decimus cared for romantic entanglements, and they commiserated with each other over the many deficiencies in such bonds. They were blood brothers, fratres sanguine, sharing a bond forged by decades of shared hardship and bloodshed. They had always been an open book to one another.
Until Viricio.
Tullius watched Decimus angrily dress down the century and sighed. He knew exactly what had changed his friend. That little viper Decimus had taken to his bosom after the battle had sunk her fangs into him, draining him of all reason. Centurion Decimus Maximus, an officer adamantly immune to cloying feminine wiles, had become a very sick man.
‘Get into parade formation and draw swords! On the double!’ Decimus tapped his vitis against a shin greave impatiently as the men hurried into their broad lines. ‘Shields ready! And…march!’
He slowly backed up the knoll towards Tullius, keeping his eyes on the men all the while. ‘Vulso, straighten your line! Unimanus, get in step! Other left! Other left!’
