Cassius smacked grasping hands away. In reply, a cabbage flew through the air and struck the bodyguard. The gladiator put a hand on his sword. An apple sailed past his head.
"Coins! Charity for poor islanders!"
"What a rubbish heap of a province," Clodius gasped.
"Pity for a people oppressed!" More bits of food flew at them.
"This is a scandal!"
And then, in deliverance, came a sharp cry of pain.
VI
Their siege ended as quickly as it had begun. The yelp had come from the rear of the crowd, the product of a whistling in the air that ended with a sharp crack. "Ow!" Then another smack and another, in remorseless rhythm, like harvesting wheat. The Britons were being parted by a military baton wielded with the cadence of a whip.
"Out of the way, dock dung! Get back from your betters!"
Their rescuer, Valeria saw, was a tall and heavily muscled Roman officer in chain armor and peaked helmet, his thick arms braided with tendons and nicked with scars. He had the shoulders and solidity of a bull. And the meanness of its temperament, too, it seemed.
"Offal!"
One beggar didn't scramble fast enough and was caught across the mouth, flung backward. Others retreated in fear as more Roman soldiers materialized, carving a path through the crowd with the shafts of cavalry spears, their lance heads black and broad. "Part, Britunculi! Get away from the Romans!"
"Brassidias!" The warning sifted through the assembly. "It's Galba!"
The sword at his side swung to the time of his baton strokes like a warning pendulum, and his stride had the powerful deliberation of a man fording a river. His physical strength was reinforced by a brutally handsome face: dark eyes, hooded lids, set mouth, and a broken and reset nose. The enclosure of Britons gave way, and when he turned to face them, none offered challenge.
So instead he swung to the Romans, offering no more approval of them. He had a full beard flecked with gray, an old wound leaving a crevice in its growth, and a complexion brown and leathery. A Thracian, Valeria guessed, backbone of the Roman cavalry. She saw in fascination that a piece of one ear was gone, and as if to balance this loss, a single gold earring hung from the other. Valeria found his masculinity and ruggedness disturbingly sexual. Embossed disks of courage were layered on his chest like a silver roof, his belt held a golden chain that threaded a curious number of rings, and he held his vinestaff tightly in both hands, as if contemplating snapping it. His eyes flickered disdainfully from one of the newcomers to another before coming to rest on Valeria, her cloak open, her hair half unpinned and cascading down, her garment wet. She straightened against a look that seemed to disrobe her.
His voice was gravel. "So what gaggle of Romans is this that disembarks in a sewer of Londinium and, faster than a cock can crow, provokes a riot?"
Valeria glanced around. With no gate nearby, where had this officer come from? She looked at the top of the city wall. Now there was a sentry peering down at them. Had he been there before? She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted.
"I am Gnaeus Clodius Albinus, newly assigned junior tribune of the Petriana cavalry," the young Roman announced. "And this is the lady Valeria, daughter of the senator Titus Valens and the betrothed of my commander, the praefectus Lucius Marcus Flavius." Clodius was stiff with pride and indignation. "Our thanks for your help, soldier, but I must complain it's tardy. We'd expected proper reception. Instead we've had to find our own way ashore. Word of this indignity will reach the governor!"
"Indeed?" The tough-looking soldier inspected Clodius as well, with disdain. "You'll discover that the governor isn't here, tribune."
"Well, then, a senior commander."
"Who was expecting advance word that you apparently neglected to send. Who was waiting to provide the escort expected."
"Oh? And where is this elusive officer?"
A soldier snickered, his leader's eye silencing him. "Standing before you, junior tribune Clodius. I'm senior tribune Galba Brassidias, second in command of the cavalry to which you're reporting- and thus in command of you."
Clodius colored. "Tribune! I didn't realize…"
"Nor report, it seems."
"But I sent a message that our lateness required us to take a merchant vessel-"
"A message that obviously didn't reach us. Common sense would suggest waiting for a navy galley or, lacking that, waiting in your merchant tub for proper greeting. It's your impatience that has embarrassed Rome."
Clodius flushed.
"And when making an opposed landing"-Galba pointed to the slave Cassius-"don't rely on arena thugs."
The ex-gladiator's mouth tightened.
"Or women."
Someone in the crowd of Britons laughed.
"I don't think recriminations are necessary," Valeria said. Not liking the arrogance of this provincial, despite his timely rescue, her voice carried the sharp authority of her class. "We were unaware that docking at Londinium was considered an opposed landing, tribune."
Her reprimand made him appraise her anew. "It wouldn't have been, if you'd waited for me."
"And how long did you intend to make us wait?"
He smiled thinly. "I would have hurried had I known your beauty, lady." He bowed slightly, having apparently decided on caution. "And please, call me Galba. A pity that our acquaintance should begin so awkwardly, but I think we've all been taken by surprise. Marcus Flavius sent me here to escort you to the Wall. The noise of this rabble drew me."
"A remarkable coincidence."
"Fortunate." He looked around. "So let's get you to the governor's palace. He's touring in the south but left word to give you a night there."
Clodius spoke. "A lady requires proper transport-"
"Which I'm about to provide. Titus!"
"Yes, commander!"
"A litter for the lady Valeria!"
The man moved off at a trot.
"My apologies for this mob. If your tribune there had sent word ashore, we could have avoided- Your cloak is torn!" He looked concerned.
Valeria had clutched it around herself. "I was jostled by the crowd. A boy made off with a brooch."
"A what?"
"It was sudden. A small thing-"
Galba swung to the Britons and pointed. "Her."
A middle-aged woman screamed as two soldiers seized her and dragged her forward, anxious shouts rising. Galba drew his sword, the spatha rasping as it came out of its scabbard, and put its point under her chin. The blade gleamed dully in Londinium's gray light.
"A brooch is missing!" he shouted. "I want it back, and back now! Tell the thief who stole it to hurry, or I cut her!" A spot of blood appeared at the woman's throat, and she writhed, begging for time.
There was a commotion, a succession of cries. Someone small darted forward under the cover of the adults, and the gold clasp spat from the crowd's cluster of legs. Then the furtive thief ran madly away.
Galba glared at the others for a long minute and then dropped his sword, shoving the woman away. "Next time I slice off hands until I find the one that holds it!" Then he scooped the clasp up and presented it to Valeria. It was in the shape of a sea horse. "Your missing brooch. A horse of the sea. Appropriate for your new garrison."
She was shocked at his tactic. "You seize a woman at random, tribune?"
He slid his sword into its scabbard. "To get back what's rightfully yours."
"For which I thank you. But her terror-"
"I make clear what isn't tolerated so women are never terrified."
"Rome relies on the affection of her people-"
"You're not in Rome any longer, lady. Manners are rougher in the provinces and worse yet on the frontier, as you'll learn. But these people won't bother you again." He raised his voice so the Britons could hear. "Count on it!"
She hastily pinned her cloak once more, hoping the brute didn't notice that her fingers trembled slightly. The mob began to break up as quickly as it had formed. "Well," she said, straightening as she tried to regain composure. "Let's see the rest of this rough Londinium, then."