A familiar voice spoke to him from the shadows. "What's become of Valeria?"
He started in surprise. It was her slave woman, Savia! Huddled like the others against the blackened stones of the archway, a cloak around her trembling shoulders, her face black with soot. What was the maidservant doing here?
"Stand up, woman."
The familiar figure stood. A bit leaner, perhaps, swaying with exhaustion, but the same kind, stupid, cowlike face. That doggish loyalty he despised. "I'm servant to the lady," she reminded unnecessarily.
"And what are you doing here, handmaid, in the dung of battle?"
"I followed the Celts in hopes of rejoining Valeria. I was swept up in the attack-"
"Valeria's in prison. Locked there by her dead husband for adultery."
Savia looked at him with sorrow but not surprise. She knew, he realized. Knew he'd planned it this way from the beginning. Maybe he should just run her through now and be done with it, but no, what did he care what a slave thought? Besides, this mother hen might help persuade Valeria what her only choice must be. Savia, like everyone, had her uses. "That means your future is in my hands."
"Are you going to kill Valeria, too?" The question was a quiet one.
Galba walked close to her then so that the others couldn't hear. Spattered with blood and rank with sweat, he leaned close, the scar in his beard like a vast canyon. "Listen to me, slave," he whispered hoarsely. "Your mistress has one chance. One chance only. If you help me, then I can help you. If you oppose me, then I'll destroy you, just as I've destroyed everyone else who's ever challenged me. Do you understand?"
She nodded dumbly.
"Only I can save Valeria now. Do you agree?"
Savia said nothing, looking at him in wonder.
"Then come. We're going to see your mistress."
Galba burst through the entryway of the commander's house like a man who once more regards it as his, his black battle cape rippling behind to punctuate his urgency, Savia scuttling in his wake. "I'm here to see Valeria!" Slaves scurried out of his way and peered with apprehensive wonder from doorways. His skin was speckled with blood, hewn from his enemies. There was mud on his boots. Grim triumph on his face. And haste in his manner. He marched with a tramp as steady as a galley drum to the sleeping chamber where she was confined, the blood rings of his waist chain jangling of victory, his sheathed spatha rocking in rhythm. Two soldiers posted by the chamber's door snapped to attention.
"Unbolt the door!"
They did so, and it opened inward. Valeria stood at the sound, her back to the wall, unable to hide the worry on her face. She'd no idea who next would open that door, and thus who'd survived the battle. At the sight of Galba she tensed. He stepped inside.
His nostrils creased. The room had no window and was stuffy from the lack of air. Its lone oil lamp had created a haze of smoke, and its chamber pot added an acrid odor. Valeria hadn't been allowed to wash and again looked haggard, her eyes red from crying and her clothes sagging. She looked nothing like a Roman lady.
How he relished that fact.
"What news of the fighting?" she whispered.
"Shut the door," Galba told the sentries behind him.
It closed behind the tribune and Savia, leaving the trio in gloom. Valeria glanced past Galba for reassurance, but the maidservant leaned back against the door with her eyes shut in sorrow.
"Your husband is dead," Galba said.
Valeria groaned, bending as if punched.
"He died honorably, fighting the Celts. He'll join my fallen warriors in the pyre."
She drew breath. "His warriors."
Galba shook his head. "No, mine. They were never his, and he knew it."
"You're a cruel man to make such a remark, Galba Brassidias."
"And you're a faithless wife."
"You're the faithless one!"
"I'm a soldier, lady, who has won his campaign. Won everything."
She looked bleak. "The Celts lost, then?"
"Of course."
"And Arden?"
"Caratacus is in chains. He'll be executed when I order."
She slumped against the stucco. Just a few nights ago at Samhain, she'd known supreme happiness. In horrible payment ever since, her life had become a nightmare. She'd tried to save them all, and hadn't even saved herself.
"If I'd been given rightful command, this war would have never happened," Galba went on. "The Celts would never have dared rise, and hundreds of good men would be alive. It's you who put all this in motion, lady. You who almost destroyed the Wall."
Valeria looked bleakly past him to Savia. "What are you doing here?"
"I don't know. He found me among the survivors and brought me here."
"She's here to make you see reason," Galba said. "Your husband is dead and your lover captured, and because of that all protection has been stripped. Your family in Rome is a thousand miles away, and your usefulness to your father is at an end. I have it in my power to ruin you with scandal, a widow with no prospects, an adulteress who lay with a barbarian. You'll be disgraced and impoverished the rest of your life."
She looked at him in bewilderment. "Why do you hate me so?"
"I hate your class, lady. I hate its pretensions, I hate its unearned privileges, I hate its ignorance, I hate its joy. It lives behind my shield and gives no more thought to men like me than to a cur in an alley."
"Rome has rewarded you with career and station-"
"Rome has rewarded me with nothing! Nothing! I took what I have!"
"You'd never have had the opportunity-"
"Enough!" It was a shout. "From this moment forward you will speak to me only when I wish it, or I'll beat you within an inch of your life!"
Instead of cowing her, this sparked her own anger. "I'll speak to you as the provincial you are and will always remain-"
His blow cuffed her like that of a bear, slapping her back against the stucco. She bounced and slid down, mouth bloody and abruptly shut. Savia screamed but didn't move, fearing a beating herself.
"Listen to me," Galba growled, standing over Valeria. "You have one chance to regain your station. One chance to have a life! I can let the world know your sluttish ways; the humiliation of having coupled with a barbarian. Or… I can save and enhance your reputation in an instant."
He waited until she asked it, mumbling past her pain and bleeding. "How?"
"By marrying you."
She gave a quick gasp. "You're joking!"
He shook his head. "I'm as earnest about this as any battle. Marry me, Valeria, and no scandal will be heard. Marry me, and you retain your status. Marry me, and bring no shame on your family or yourself."
"You're a provincial!"
"So, originally, were half the emperors of Rome. Marry me, and I have entry into the patrician class."
"For your own advancement!"
"You'll rise as I rise. Enjoy what I attain. Unlike your late husband, I have ability, and have only lacked birth. You have birth, but you're a woman. We're not as different as you think. Together we could triumph."
"This is insane."
"It's the only logical course for you now."
"I'd never go to bed with you! I told you that before!"
"It is I who may never bed you. I'm seeking marriage, not love. Alliance, not sex. I'll satisfy myself with other women. Only if the mood strikes me will I take you. But I will take you, if I wish, as a husband's right."
"So I refuse."
"You'd rather have public humiliation as adulteress and traitor?"
"I'd rather have self-respect and freedom."
"Not freedom, lady. I'll leave you here to rot."
"You wouldn't dare. I'm a senator's daughter!"