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‘For marrying me and causing problems with Scaevola’s father.’
‘You mean is Nerva sending me north to be killed as some kind of punishment for our marriage?’ He chuckled at the idea. ‘No. He doesn’t think there’s any danger, remember? I doubt he would have given me permission if we hadn’t got married, but now it’s a good excuse for him to keep me out of Scaevola’s eyeline. I’m glad of it.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. I told you, if a rebellion’s coming then we need to be ready. The more I can find out, the more lives can be saved.’
‘But will you be safe with auxiliaries? You just said they weren’t as well-trained as Roman legionnaires.’
‘Ah, but cavalry are the exception to that rule, in this case especially. The Ala II Asturum were formed in Hiberia originally and they’re some of the best soldiers in the army. Their senior officer is a decurion called Ario. He’s from the Parisi tribe and...’
‘Parisi?’
‘Yes.’ He was taken aback by the stricken note in her voice. ‘Why?’
‘You mean he’s a Briton?’
‘Yes, a lot of local tribesmen join the army. Once they serve their twenty-five years they become Roman citizens.’
‘And then what? Rome gives them back the patch of the land they were born on?’
This time he twisted around in his saddle to look at her. She looked and sounded angry, as if she were angry about Rome itself. He found himself remembering something else she’d said on the palisade two mornings ago, something about Rome being all conquest and slavery. Strange how sometimes she spoke as if she disapproved of—no, more than that, actually disliked—the Empire, as if she somehow wasn’t a part of it.
‘Rome gives its protection, too. We defend the tribes on this side of the wall from those on the north.’
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that maybe the tribes are capable of taking care of themselves?’
‘Many of them are glad to come under Roman rule.’
‘Many doesn’t mean all.’ She glared at him. ‘Besides, who’s to say the tribes on the north side aren’t simply trying to reclaim territory that was once theirs? It was a Roman who decided where the wall ought to go and he did it in a straight line. He took no account of tribal boundaries.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it. More than most Romans.’
‘I’ve heard stories.’ Her strident tone faltered. ‘I told you, my mother was a Briton.’
‘So you did, though you didn’t say which tribe she was from.’
There was a significant pause before she answered. ‘Carvetti.’
‘From around here?’ His unease receded slightly. At least that explained her strange desire to see the wall, although something about that pause was mildly disquieting...
‘My father’s father came from Italia.’ She sounded defensive now. ‘Only he liked it in Britannia. He never wanted to go back.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘You can? Don’t you want to go back to Rome?’
‘No,’ he answered without hesitation, though honestly he’d never considered the question before. When he did stop to think, however, he realised he was telling the truth. ‘There’s nothing there for me now. Nearly everyone who knew my father disowned us.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She tipped her head to one side inquisitively. ‘You never told me what it was about, the mutiny.’
‘What does it matter? He rebelled against Rome.’
‘But surely his motives make a difference? Just because he mutinied doesn’t mean he was in the wrong.’
‘He was. A soldier ought to follow orders, no matter what he thinks of them.’ He felt himself scowling and made a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. ‘In any case, I can’t imagine ever going back to Rome. The legion is my family now. I—we,’ he corrected himself, ‘have to follow wherever it leads.’
She was silent for a moment before nodding her head almost imperceptibly. ‘Then it’s a good thing I have strong boots.’
