Tracy Cooper-Posey

Chapter One

Britain, early winter 469

"NO SON of mine fights with that Celtic bastard who dares to call himself Pendragon!"
     Diana hunched in her dark corner of the dining room, pulled her legs up on the divan, and tucked her tunic hem beneath them. She made herself small and unnoticeable.
     Verus, her brother, stood squarely in front of his father, and shook his head. "You’re not listening to me!"
     Diana had heard this cry from her brother before, but never had it been mor—e true than now. Their father had taken one look at Verus’ square shield and long sword, and his warrior’s clothing—utterly devoid of anything Roman—and Marcellus Aurelius had decided in that instant that Verus was wrong, and this Arthur that he spoke of so highly was a heathen upstart....
     Verus should save his breath.
     Because the argument would end as it always did, with her father refusing to listen and Verus stomping off to cool his temper at the spring, Diana took the opportunity to let her eyes feast on Verus before he stalked from the room. She wanted to confirm that he was really here, alive, and—
     —oh! So different!
     This was not the boy who had played with her, taught her to read, and shared everything with her. This was a man who had seen things she had not. His strange clothes and weapons, even the way he spoke, hinted at exotic worlds and ways that made Diana feel abandoned. She envied him his freedom. She would gladly pay the price he was paying to share it, but that would never be.
     Verus shook his dark head, and Diana watched, fascinated, as he visibly hauled in his anger. War had changed him, tempered his spirit. He wouldn’t’ve been able to do that last winter.
     "Father, if you could only speak to the man, and learn of his plans for Britain—"
     "By what authority does he claim ascendancy over Rome?" her father roared back.
     "By the fact that the last Legion left Britain over fifty years ago. Gods above—"
     The oath caused Diana’s mother, Ursula, still sitting at the dinner table, to gasp. Her kohl-emphasized eyes widened. Diana, too, was startled. Had Verus turned away from Christianity, as well? Mother would forgive him of all but that sin.
     But Verus seemed unaware of his mother’s distress. His gaze remained upon his father. It was as if Verus were trying to persuade Marcellus with the power of his gaze. Verus spoke quietly, but the intensity of his tone worked as effectively as a shout.
     "We are on our own here! They aren’t coming back. When will you accept that?"
     "Accept it?"
     Diana flinched back ever further. Her father’s face was as red as turned leaves, and two white lines ran from each corner of his mouth up past his nose. She could see a pulse beating at the corner of his throat, where the skin had begun to loosen and wrinkle.
     Possibly alerted by some small noise Diana made, her mother swiveled and reached across the corner of the table to pinch Diana’s arm. The little sting made Diana jump.
     "You! Go and get some wine! Make yourself useful at the very least, girl."
     Diana stood quickly, straightening the folds of her tunic, and sidled past Ursula. If she didn’t obey at once, a slap would quickly follow the pinch.
     Once out of range of her mother’s quick hands, Diana moved slowly towards the door, delaying her exit for as long as possible. She did not want to miss anything.
     Her father recovered from his indignation, and drew in a long breath as she passed behind him. Diana tried to catch Verus’ eye, intending to give him an encouraging smile, but Verus was concentrating on her father.
     Disappointed, Diana slipped out of the room. Behind her, her father began: "You are saying I should accept that a man with questionable parentage knows more about ruling Britain than Rome, who has administered Britain for generations—"
     Diana regretfully shut the door, turning her father’s words to an indecipherable mumble behind the heavy oak. She wanted to hear more about Arthur, but if she left the door open, the cold air wafting into the heated room would betray her eavesdropping, and her mother would not settle for a simple slap for such a transgression.
     Shivering, Diana hurried down the covered verandah past the open doorway of the kitchen to the larder next door. She glanced out past the row of elegant columns edging the colonnade towards the gates of the villa. It had grown fully dark since the evening meal had begun. From the stillness of the villa, Diana judged that after escaping the dining room when her father had first lost his temper, the household had prudently decided to retire for the night.
     It meant that she would have to climb to the upper shelves to get the wine herself. It was a dangerous stretch for someone her short height.
     The larder, like the dining room and her parent’s bedchamber, had a proper door on it. She slid the copper bolt aside and slipped inside the room, then paused while her eyes became accustomed to the dark. Moving by feel alone, she stepped onto the bottom shelf, pulled herself up by gripping the third shelf, and groped along the top until her fingers found a flask.
     Wary of the passing time, she hurried back to the dining room with the wine, and pushed the door open just enough to step inside, holding her breath.
     Verus was gone, and her father stood with one hand pressed against the wall, his head down and eyes closed. Her mother was sitting very still, her eyes on her husband. Wariness showed in her eyes, and a tiredness that not even her finely applied kohl and ochre could hide. All her faded beauty had fled.
     Diana felt her heart pick up speed, feeding on the air in the room. She moved to the table, silent except for the whispering slide of her tunic hem across the mosaics, and handed her mother the wine.
     "Pour it," her mother commanded, barely moving her lips.
     Her heart sank a little. Her plan to escape from the room quickly died. She fumbled at the wax around the stopper, then paused to pull out her knife and cut it away. The uneven blade, worn into odd curves from too many sharpenings, slipped and cut her other hand. Diana muffled her cry of pain, and bit down on the wound to stop it bleeding.
     "Heavenly father...will you hurry?" her mother said in an undertone, shooting a fearful glance at Marcellus.
     Her mother’s whispered words stirred her father. Diana sensed him walk over to his couch and sit down heavily. He pushed his goblet toward her, the metal scraping impatiently on the stone table top.
     Finally the wax fell from the stopper. Diana worked it out of the neck using her left hand for she did not dare let her blood spill on the table. The flask was heavy for one hand. As she poured, wine spilled over the rim of the goblet and spread across the table, jewel red in the light of the oil lamp. Her father leapt to his feet.
     "Idiot!" he roared. His arm swung.
     Diana threw herself backwards but was too late. Her father’s big hand caught the corner of her jaw and sent her sprawling across the mosaics, her hip and elbow taking the brunt of the impact.
     "If you were any less useless, girl, I would have sold you as a slave years ago. Get out of my sight!"
     Diana blinked her eyes, trying to clear her head, then rolled quickly onto her back before her stillness could be interpreted as disobedience.
     Her mother was finishing the pouring, but she looked up to sharply motion her head towards the door. "Go!" it meant. Diana rose to her feet and hurried out of the room, careful not to let the door slam.

MINNA WAS sitting up waiting for her. Diana saw the pale disc of her little sister’s face hovering above the high bed in the far corner of the room. From the closer bed came quiet steady breathing. Her younger brothers, Marcus and Titus, were asleep. They were too young to let the tensions of the night bar their slumber. Diana envied them that.
     "I had to put them to bed," Minna whispered. There was little kindness in her tone, for this was one of Diana’s tasks.
     "Thank you," Diana murmured. When she spoke her jaw ached, but her hip and right arm were throbbing sharply, blanketing the ache. She could feel a minor stinging on the palms of her hands, too. She must have scraped them when she fell.
     Her acknowledgment had disconcerted Minna, for she was silent. She crossed the room to her chest, opened it, and fingered the few garments in there.
     "Is Father letting Verus return to that army?" Minna’s voice was a little louder.
     "I don’t know." Diana felt warm thick wool, grasped the fabric, and pulled out her cloak.
     "I wager he doesn’t. Did you see how angry he was?" Minna’s voice rose with her excitement.
     Diana’s hip protested hotly as she twisted to grasp the other side of her cloak and draw it around her. "I noticed."
     "You’re going out again?" Minna bounced up.
     "Yes." Diana tried to think of something to ease the abruptness of her reply, but couldn’t. She needed to talk to Verus, and that was all her tired mind could concentrate on.
     "Where? Can I come too?"
     "No, I’m going to find Verus."
     "He’ll be at the spring as always. Let me come! Please? I want to find out what Father was shouting at him."
     "It’s dark out. Time for young ladies to be in bed."
     "I’m ten years old! I’m not afraid of the dark!"
     "Well, you should be."
     "It’s winter. Saxons can’t cross the sea in winter, they get seasick. Everyone knows that." Minna was derisive. "Please let me come with you."
     "God above, no! It’s not just Saxons." She didn’t explain her sharpness, but her mind skipped ahead. On Michaelmas, two months ago, a woman from a neighboring estate had set out for Eboracum in the morning. Her body had been found five days later in the Arbus. Although no one would tell Diana the full story, she suspected from the way women shook their heads and crossed themselves that the murdered woman had been interfered with, in the way men took women.
     Diana had only to imagine Minna being caught by some desperate outlaw, his hands pawing her body while terror shadowed her perfectly formed face, to know that she could not risk Minna being outside the walls of the villa at night.
     "I’m sorry." Diana said, softening her tone. Her eyes were adjusted to the dark, now. The full moon blazing through the uncovered doorway revealed the disappointment on Minna’s angelic face. The bow of her mouth dropped down, and her enormous eyes seemed on the verge of tears. Even her skin had lost its glow. It was this sorrowful expression of hers that made Diana feel like the most hateful person on earth. Used in counterpoint to a rapturous smile made a person’s breath catch, Minna could generally change the mind of the most determined adult, including their father.
     Remember this, Diana tightened her resolve. "It’s too dangerous." She kissed Minna’s forehead. "I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Including what father told Verus."
     "If it’s so dangerous, why are you going?"
     "Verus needs me." Diana tucked Minna back under the blanket and patted her cheek, marveling as always at the softness of the skin. "Goodnight."
     "Goodnight." Minna’s eyes were already closing.
     When she left, Diana pulled the curtain over the doorway to keep in the warmth.

VERUS WAS so still that even in the moonlight he was merely a dark stone monolith hunched next to the spring. Diana felt a tinge of relief when she spotted him, for it was indeed chancy to be outside protective walls at night.
     She climbed the slope with the hem of her tunic over one arm, for the grass was dew-soaked. When she reached the spring Verus visibly relaxed. Above the trickle of water falling over the flat rock she heard his sword slide back into its scabbard.
     "You shouldn’t be out here." He was gruff.
     "Neither should you." She sat next to him, and hugged him, her arm not quite reaching around his shoulders. The silence was comfortable. From the trees that started further down the hill an owl hooted.
     Verus sighed deeply. "I’m going back, Diana."
     "No! You can’t!" The protest was out before she could censor it. She straightened and turned to look at him. "I can’t believe Father gave his blessing!"
     "He didn’t."
     "And you’re going anyway?"
     He hung his head.
     "But what about us? Your family?" Diana cried.
     "Diana—"
     "Who is this man Arthur, that can command greater loyalty than your own family?"
     "It’s not like that—"
     "He’s a Celt, a bastard, a pagan who... who—"
     "He’s a great man, Diana. His plans for Britain—"
     "He’s an upstart!"
     "You’re not listening to me!" Verus cried.
     Diana’s protests scattered. He was right. "All I know is that he’s taking you away from me."
     "Don’t say that! I can stand Mother’s tears and Father’s censure. I can withstand everyone’s disapproval bar yours."
     Diana couldn’t speak around the constriction in her throat—it was too painful to even swallow. Her vision blurred as tears formed and she let them fall.
     "Ah—" His tone was dismayed. He pulled her roughly against him.
     Diana winced as her arm twinged.
     "What is it?" Verus loosened his hold. "Your arm?" He pulled her cloak aside. "Did Father hit you again?"
     "I fell getting the wine down tonight," Diana lied. When Verus’ fingers continued to probe her arm she added: "Truly, it is nothing. A bruise." She wiped her tears away to see if Verus believed her.
     His face was studiously blank but anger grew there. "And Mother said nothing?"
     "She didn’t see me fall."
     "Fall? Stars above! Nothing has changed, has it? I suppose Lucilla still ignores you, too?"
     Diana defended her older sister. "You know she’s busy with her own children."
     "I know that she’s the oldest daughter and every other daughter is considered a waste, but Minna is Father’s favorite—no, everyone’s favorite—and you get ignored. I’m going to speak to Father—"
     "No!" Diana grasped his arm. "Please don’t!"
     "It’s high time something was done. They should have found a husband for you seven years ago. You’re twenty-two—"
     "Twenty-one." Diana was unwilling to have unnecessary years added to her already advanced age.
     "Twenty-one. How long are you willing to creep around the estate, hoping no one notices you?"
     "What else is there for me?" Diana asked reasonably. "Father has his one daughter. I’m extra, a waste. They can’t marry me off without a dowry, not at my age. Minna’s lucky. With her looks there will be men aplenty willing to marry her when she’s of age. The only alternative for me is the convent north of Eboracum...and I would suffocate there." She smiled to remove the challenge from her words. "What else is there?"
     Verus sat for a long time, frowning. At last he said slowly: "There must be something." His frown deepened. "I have learned something from Arthur’s army, Diana. If Britain is to survive, we must examine the old ways of doing things with new eyes. That is what you must do, too. You need to find your place in the world."
     "This is my place."
     "Do you believe that? In here—?" and he touched the center of her chest.
     She frowned. In her mind a mist shifted, revealing hazy shapes. It was exciting, a hint of an unsuspected future. It was terrifying, too. She struggled to see the whole shape of the idea as it slipped away. Then it was gone.
     "There is nothing else for me. I am content with my place." But even as she spoke, she questioned the opinion. The very act of questioning established customs scared her—like an act of rebellion.
     "Tell me about Arthur," she said quickly.
     Verus smiled as if he recognized that she was shepherding his attention away from her. "What do you want to know?"
     "I want to know why you must defy your father, leave your family, and risk traveling in winter to join him."
     "Traveling isn’t that risky, yet. Winter is late this year. But I need to go back very soon. Before winter does arrive."
     "Before Christmas?" Diana asked, appalled.
     "Sooner. Perhaps even tomorrow."
     "But you just got here three days ago!"
     "I know already that Father will never accept my plans. Besides, Arthur needs every man he can get."
     "Explain it to me!" Diana cried, feeling fresh tears building. "I want to know why. Why you?"
     "It’s not just me, it’s many men. Hundreds of men have learned about Arthur’s plans and agree with them. Even here, on the estate, the men I’ve spoken to have been curious, interested..."
     "Why?"
     "Arthur gives men hope in the future. It’s as if he knows, somehow, what is coming. As if he can see further ahead than any man, and he is determined to make what he sees happen."
     Verus stood up, as if his enthusiasm couldn’t be contained while he was sitting. He faced Diana, with one foot on the lip of the spring, and spread his hands for emphasis as he spoke.
     "Do you remember, years ago, when the farmers wanted their tithes lessened? Remember they marched to the villa and Father stood in front of them?"
     "I remember." She had been frightened and had hidden behind the oak tree to watch, unable to run away completely.
     "Father stared the leader down. He just looked at him, and the man gave up. Do you remember?"
     She nodded.
     "Arthur is like that, only ... ten times stronger. When you look at him, you can feel your soul being drawn to him."
     "He sounds evil."
     "He’s good, Diana. You would know that just by looking at him. He’s good and kind, but he will not rest until he has achieved all that he can see in Britain’s future." Verus’ face was alight with passion. When had he grown so tall? He was eye to eye with her father, and his shoulders had filled out ... he was truly a man. No, he was a warrior—Diana could even see a faded scar on his arm. It peeked beneath the folded-back edge of the thick cloak he had tossed back over his shoulder. He was leaner, too, as if he had spent a lot of time working hard and growing stronger.
     Verus had run away last summer—May it was, for they had been completing the second plowing of the fallow fields. He had simply been her big brother then, confused and frustrated. He had come back a different person, alight from within, powered by an obsession with a man and a vague dream.
     She shook her head. "I don’t understand," she confessed. "And I don’t like it. It sounds foolish, Verus. An ordinary man chases a vision and you follow blindly. He has offered you nothing in return, no proof...how can you believe him?"
     "There was no choice involved. I listened, and I believed him. I wish you could do the same."
     "I wish I could, too," Diana admitted. "I wish I could run away with you."
     Verus rested his hand on her shoulder in sympathy. He reached under his cloak and withdrew something, which he held out to her. "Here."
     It was his knife with the bronze and jeweled hilt. Eboracus, the Bishop of Eboracum, had given him the knife upon his christening. Diana had seen it in his hand at every meal she had ever shared with him.
     "I want you to keep it, Diana. That little thing of yours has long passed the time when it should have been replaced. This knife has a good blade, and it is long enough to reach any vital organs."
     Diana had reached out to take the knife, but recoiled at his words, shocked.
     Verus laughed. He picked up her hand and placed the knife in it. "Keep it as a reminder of me, if you prefer, my gentle Diana. And when you think of me, remember that I made you a promise." He straightened up and put his hand on his chest, over his heart. "If you need me, send word. I will come."
     Diana weighed the knife in her hand. "Where you are going, you will need every blade you have."
     "The jeweled hilt gets in the way, and holding it throughout a whole day of fighting..." He reached for his belt again, and withdrew a long, heavy knife with a plain hilt. "This is a much better tool for my needs."
     Diana stared at it. "Where did you get it?"
     "Spoils of war," Verus said off-handedly. His casualness told her how much Verus had truly changed. He meant he had killed the previous owner of the knife in combat. She swallowed.
     Verus held out his hand. "Come, I’ll walk you back to the villa."
     "Where are you going?" She accepted his hand, and stood.
     "I’m meeting some of the men tonight, to tell them tales of my glorious life in Arthur’s army. Bedivere the Great!" He laughed, and started down the hill with her.
     "Bedivere?" It was the Celtic rendering of Verus. "You call yourself Bedivere, too?"
     "It goes easier on most men’s tongues," he said with a shrug. "There are no benefits in being from a Roman family there. Every man is equal."
     "Equal?" Diana gave a startled snort of laughter. It was another revolutionary idea, one that kept her occupied all the way back to the villa.

THE SCREAMING woke her.
     Diana lay blinking away sleep, listening, puzzled, when the door curtain was thrown aside.
     "Diana!" It was Lucilla’s voice. Diana sat up.
     "What is it?" she asked her sister’s shadow.
     "Wake the children and bring them to the triclinium. Hurry!"
     Diana automatically reached for her cloak and girdle, while her mind dealt with a thousand questions. The screaming was coming from outside, and beneath the shrieks was a low heavy booming that filled her with foreboding, even though she did not recognize it. She shook Minna.
     "What is happening? Why are the women screaming?" Diana asked Lucilla.
     "Saxons!" Lucilla hissed, then spun away and was gone.
     Coppery fear flooded Diana. Saxons! Here! She shook Minna harder, her own body trembling violently. She knew, now, what the booming noise was.
     The Saxons were ramming the gates to the villa.
     As soon as Minna roused, Diana pulled her out of bed, threw her cloak around her shoulders, scooped up Titan, the smallest, and pushed him into Minna’s arms. Diana picked up Marcus, who snuggled sleepily on her hip, then pushed Minna out of the room ahead of her.
     Pre-dawn light filled the sky. By the stout villa gates, short Roman sword in hand, Ambrosius stood with Lucilla. As Diana and Minna hurried along the verandah to the dining room, Lucilla turned and ran for the wing where she and Ambrosius and their boys lived.
     Diana pushed open the heavy door and they moved inside.
     Her father was standing at the main table, his arms up in the air, while her mother buckled the fastenings of his grandfather’s old legionnaire armor. At the sight of the polished chest plate, Diana felt dizzy. Her father was too old to be fighting! Yet he had to fight.
     Diana put Marcus on his feet and pushed him towards the divan, where Minna curled up with Titan, and Lucilla’s three boys. The little boy ran over and climbed up with his siblings and nephews and sat watching, his eyes enormous.
     Ursula stepped back from her husband and picked up the short sword from the table. Her eyes met Diana’s and Diana saw tears glistening there. Ursula turned back to strap the sword around Marcellus’ waist.
     "Hurry, woman!" her father hissed, his voice trembling.
     Lucilla ran into the room, weeping.
     Marcellus’ jaw clenched. "No tears, daughter. We are Romans. Have Verus and the others gone to defend the gate?"
     "Oh, Father! He’s not here! Verus has gone and so have nearly all the men—slaves, freedmen, even the farmers! Gone!"
     "Gone where?"
     "Sosia told me—they left last night, they’re going to join the Pendragon. Ambrosius is out there alone. Father, we’re completely defenseless!"
     Marcellus’ face grew gray and mottled. "Gone? Left us? All of them?" he whispered.
     "Mama!" Minna wailed, reaching for Ursula, who pulled her daughter into her arms. "Hush, child." Ursula looked to her husband expectantly.
     Alarmed Diana stepped closer. "Father?" she whispered. She saw his lips working but no sound emerged.
     Outside, the heavy pounding on the outer gates was punctuated by sharp cracking and a strange tearing sound. Triumphant cries sounded.
     "The gates have been breached," Lucilla breathed.
     "Mother of God save us!" Ursula invoked.
     Lucilla whirled and slammed the door shut. She pushed the bolts home, weeping again.
     Diana caught her father’s hand. "Father?"
     His hand suddenly clenched hers, mashing her fingers together, and a rictus of pain contorted his face. His right hand grabbed at the metal over his breast.
     "Mother!" Diana cried out in warning as her father began to fall.
     Ursula pushed Minna aside and leapt to help Diana lower Marcellus to the floor. His whole body was contorting with pain.
     "The armor! Get it off!" Ursula ordered, and Diana worked frantically on the old leather buckles, her fingers trembling and unwieldy.
     Shockingly, the door to the dining room shuddered under an almighty blow.
     Ursula looked up, her eyes wide with fear.
     "Lucilla!" Minna screamed.
     Diana whirled around to Lucilla. Her sister had Marcellus’ sword and as Diana turned, Lucilla pushed the sword deep into her body, and sagged to the floor. "I go to join Ambrosius," Lucilla whispered weakly. "They will not reach me there."
     Minna screamed again, a wordless cry of protest.
     Another blow on the door dislodged the bolt, and the door quivered aside. Diana leapt to her feet, and backed away from the doorway, and away from the warriors with horned helmets that stood on the other side, their bloody battle axes glinting in the rays of the rising sun.
     They boiled into the room, dozens of them, and the smell of hot blood came with them. The women and children, all that were alive in the room, shrieked and fell back.
     From between their ranks stepped the tallest of them all, a huge man with a horned helmet and a dirty beard which curled over his thick belt. He looked around, sizing the room up.
     Diana looked to her mother, for it was Ursula’s place to stand before their attackers, but her mother lay across her husband’s body, her eyes glazed and empty. From beneath her glinted the handle of her husband’s sword.
     Diana held back her cry of dismay and horror. They had deserted her and the younger ones—all of them had escaped and left her alone to face her fate.
     She glanced at Minna, who held Druscilla’s two boys and Titus and Marcus. They were shivering, watching her.
     If Diana had ever doubted how insignificant her place was in the family—her place, and the place of those trusting children she looked at now—then she doubted it no longer.
     She barely hesitated. With a cry that sounded like an animal in pain, a cry she would never have thought herself capable of sounding, she spun and rushed at the Saxons. She had no idea what she intended.
     The leader dealt with her with an ease that astonished her. She was flung across the room to smash against the wall with a solidness that stopped her breath, and made her groan. Knowing there was no other choice, she turned and rushed back at him again.
     He grabbed her arm, and she grew suddenly still as his knife pushed against her throat. He laughed, showing foul teeth amidst the hairy lips.
     He spoke a badly accented Latin. "Peace, woman. I don’t want you dead yet. There’s fun to be had first." And again he roared with laughter, his men laughing with him. As he laughed, his glance took in Minna and the boys, and his laugh grew louder.
     Fear grabbed Diana’s throat, and clenched her stomach. But cold reason whispered to her.
     I am alive. I’m alive, and while I breathe still I will do whatever I must to keep us all alive. I, Diana, swear this by whoever listens.
     And from the corner of her eye she saw the old wall fresco of the moon goddess, Diana, smiling upon her.