didn’t move, regarding him warily instead. His eyes were actually green, she noticed, but of such a dark shade they seemed to blend into the wintery foliage around them. She had no idea what he thought of her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she went back to the carriage then she’d only spend the rest of the journey fearing the worst, reliving the scene of her humiliation over and over in her head. Whereas if she stayed...well, hopefully then she might find some way of salvaging her dignity, not to mention of overcoming this strange physical effect he seemed to be having on her. What did Aesop’s tale say, something about familiarity breeding contempt? She only hoped that was true.
Besides, even if he wasn’t her new husband—a thought that, to her renewed shame, did nothing to relieve the fluttering sensation in her stomach—perhaps he could tell her something about the man she was going to marry. Apart from his name, all she knew about Lucius Scaevola was that he came from a senatorial family in Rome and was heavily in debt to her brother. Since those debts had most likely been accrued drinking and gambling in one of Tarquinius’s establishments, neither fact was particularly reassuring, and she didn’t want to spend the next few hours cooped up in a carriage, her nerves stretched even tighter than before. Julia would be safe with Porcia and surely her skittish maid must have realised they weren’t under attack by now.
‘I’d prefer to walk for a while.’
One eyebrow lifted at the same time as the furrow in his brow deepened. ‘We march at a fast pace, lady.’
‘Then I’ll march, too.’ She felt determined not to be thwarted. ‘I have two legs as your soldiers do and no armour to weigh me down.’
His gaze dropped at the mention of her legs, lingering briefly before he pulled his helmet back on with a jerk.
‘Pulex!’ His shout was so loud and yet so seemingly effortless that she took a surprised step backwards.
‘Yes, sir?’ a voice from somewhere within the mass of legionaries answered.
‘Lead from the front. I’ll march at the rear.’
‘Yes, sir!’
Livia heaved a breath of relief, taking up a position beside him as the column of soldiers all turned around at once, moving in unison as if they were one and not many individuals. Then she looked down at her feet, belatedly wondering if she were making another mistake, after all. Her thin sandals were completely impractical for marching over hard cobbles and as for her pristine white stola... She threw a surreptitious glance towards her companion and then tugged the hem up around her calves, hoisting it out of the dirt.
‘Have you changed your mind, lady?’
She whipped her head up in chagrin. She hadn’t thought that he was looking at her—he wasn’t even looking at her now, staring straight ahead as if he were keen to inspect the tops of his soldiers’ helmets—and yet apparently he still knew what she was doing. She had the distinct feeling he didn’t miss anything.
‘Not at all.’
‘As you wish.’
She narrowed her eyes at his insouciant tone, then had to start the march at a near run as the column started forward abruptly.
‘I thought that centurions usually rode?’ She looked around for a horse, increasing the length of her stride to match his.
‘Some do, some don’t, but I never ask my men to do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Like march in full armour on a warm day?’ She wondered how heavy each man’s equipment was. ‘It doesn’t look very comfortable.’
‘If there’s one thing the Roman army’s good at, lady, it’s marching.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘As for the armour, it’s something a soldier gets used to. If we were attacked, we’d be glad of it.’
If they were attacked? She felt a flutter of panic, Porcia’s earlier words echoing in her ears. Was such a thing really possible, then?
‘I thought the frontier was peaceful again?’ She tried to keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.
‘It is, for the most part, but it’s still wise to be cautious.’ He glanced downwards, as if detecting the fear behind her words. ‘You’re safe with us, lady.’
‘Yes...thank you.’
She threw a swift glance over her shoulder at the carriage. Now that she’d insisted on walking, she wished that she hadn’t. She wanted to be near her daughter instead, holding her safe in her arms. The thought of Julia being in danger made her feel physically sick. More than that, it made her furious, too. Tarquinius had assured her that it was perfectly safe this side of the wall and she’d been fool enough to believe him. As if she didn’t know that almost every word out of his mouth was a lie! But how could he? She’d never deceived herself into believing that her half-brother cared a fig for her happiness, but she’d assumed he might at least want to keep her and his niece alive. Now it seemed even that much was beyond him! All he cared about was money and social advancement—allying himself to people who might prove useful to him. In his eyes, she and Julia were nothing more than commodities to be traded. Roman or not, they were little more than slaves.
She clamped a hand to her throat, as if there were actually a shackle there that she couldn’t unfasten, determined to ask her questions of this disconcerting Centurion and get back to the carriage and her daughter as quickly as possible.
‘Is the pace too fast, lady?’ He was looking down at her again, she noticed suddenly. If she wasn’t mistaken, he even looked faintly concerned.
‘No.’
She dropped her hand to her side. The pace was too fast, forcing her to take two steps for every one of his, but at least it distracted her from her anger at Tarquinius. Besides, she still had questions to ask...
‘I was just wondering who sent you to meet us. Was it Lucius Scaevola?’
He twisted his face to the front again, the muscles in his neck and jaw bunching visibly before he answered.
‘No, lady. Fabius Augustus Nerva, the Legionary Legate at Coria, sent me.’
‘Oh.’ Even though she’d sent her message directly to her new husband... ‘Then is Lucius Scaevola away on some kind of mission, perhaps?’
‘None that I know of.’
‘Is he unwell?’
The few heartbeats it took for him to answer told her the truth before he did.
‘No, lady.’
‘Oh.’
She felt the last vestige of hope crumble away. If Lucius Scaevola wasn’t away or unwell, then it seemed he had no desire to come and meet her himself. The thought was depressing even if not unexpected... Well, she’d wanted to know what he thought of their union and now she did. Apparently he was just as enthusiastic about it as she was.
But at least she was there, she thought with a renewed burst of anger. She was the one who’d come all this way, doing her duty to her family, which in her case meant following Tarquinius’s orders. Scaevola might at least have come to greet her.
