Valerius turned to find Domitia’s pavilion a raging inferno.
XVI
HE REACHED THE
burning tent as Serpentius staggered from the doorway with a cloak over his head and a slave girl under each arm. The Spaniard collapsed in the sand, his chest heaving and utterly spent. Valerius ran to him and dragged the group clear of the flames. Where was Domitia?
‘She wouldn’t come,’ Serpentius choked. ‘Ordered me to take the girls first. I …’ He tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled beneath him.
‘I’ll go.’ Valerius picked up the cloak and rushed for the tent.
A wall of fire met him where the curtain had hung. Nothing could survive in that holocaust of flame. Then she screamed, long and shrill, the scream of a woman in mortal agony or mortal fear. ‘Sweet Minerva aid me,’ Valerius whispered. He swung the cloak over his head and charged the flaming barrier.
Domitia’s scream had used up the last of her strength. Her lungs seemed to be filled with something solid and she struggled for each breath. Dense smoke wreathed the upper part
of
the pavilion and above it the ceiling glowed red. In front of her was nothing but flame. She had thought the heat of the Egyptian sun unbearable, but the radiation from the fire felt as if it was melting her flesh. She had used the little knife Valerius had given her to try to cut through the fabric of the pavilion, but it was thick cloth, almost a rug, woven tight to provide shelter even from winter gales, and she barely scarred it. All hope fading, she slumped closer to the floor where the air was cleanest and waited for death. When the wall in front of her exploded in a shower of sparks and flaming fabric she believed it was Vesta, goddess of fire, come to carry her off.
Valerius tore off the burning cloak and rushed to the general’s daughter. Domitia lay face down on the sand with one arm thrown towards the doorway and the flesh of that hand bubbled like a boiling pot. He picked her up and turned to make his escape the way he’d come, but one look told him it was impossible. The cloak that had protected his flesh from the blistering heat was a smouldering mass on the floor. They were trapped.
In seconds the smoke wrapped itself around him, and before he knew it, it was choking him to death. He felt the moment his mind began to shut down.
Act or die. He had not come here to die.
He shook his head to clear it and again studied his surroundings. The awning at the door collapsed in a cloud of flame and sparks, and he knew it was only seconds before the ceiling followed it. No chance of digging their way out in time; they’d anchored the base of the tent with two-foot mounds of sand. His eyes took in the heavy cloth walls and he saw where Domitia had made her pathetic attempt to escape with the knife. Was there any hope? He laid her at the base of the wall and drew his sword. With the strength of the damned he hacked at the cloth, but barely made an impression. In desperation, he stabbed with the point and, little by little, the iron blade disappeared into the close-woven material until it finally broke through. Using his left hand and his right arm he brought all his weight to bear on the hilt. Slowly the fabric began to tear and he increased the pressure, sawing with the blade. Eventually he created a rip a sword’s length in height, but it was still not enough. He worked his way left and right, hacking at the threads until it was wide enough to wriggle through. Sweet fresh air poured into his lungs and the temptation was to lie and glory in it, but he stirred himself and reached back to pull Domitia away to safety.
Not
a moment too soon. The roof collapsed and the burning fabric engulfed the ground where she had lain a second before. He dragged her unconscious body a safe distance and watched the entire structure burn like a funeral pyre.
Sleep or exhaustion must have overcome him, because when he woke it was to the sound of a diabolical ululating wail. Domitia lay by his side just outside the circle of light thrown by the glowing heap where the tent had been. He feared he had lost her because the rise and fall of her breast was so shallow, but gradually her eyes opened and looked into his. They were puffy and red-rimmed, but something glowed in their depths that told him she was unscarred by her ordeal. She gave a little ladylike sneeze and laughed.
‘You have no eyebrows and your hair is all patchy.’
The statement made him smile. If that was the only price of last night’s mayhem he could count himself fortunate. ‘So is yours,’ he pointed out.
She frowned and her lips formed a pout. ‘But I am still beautiful?’
‘You will always be beautiful, lady,’ he said, and she accepted it as her due.
‘What is that noise?’
‘It sounds as if someone has died.’
‘Then perhaps we should resurrect them.’
He hesitated, caught between what he knew was right and what he knew she wanted. Knowing that he wanted it too. Just to stay here a little longer in each other’s company. Not Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and Domitia Longina, daughter of General Corbulo. Just a man and a woman. But duty was duty. He held out his hand to help her to her feet and she took it reluctantly, wincing as they touched. For the first time he saw the sacs of pus-filled flesh hanging like over-ripe grapes from her fingers and realized the agony she must be suffering.
He led her back into the light and round the fire to where her servant girls knelt with their heads covered, producing the plaintive wailing they had heard.
Serpentius stood behind them staring distractedly towards the
glowing
remains of the tent. As the two figures emerged from the darkness his hand automatically went for his sword. When he recognized Valerius, his eyes widened and he made the sign against evil.
‘Mars save us.’ He strode towards the Roman and Valerius thought the gruff Spaniard was about to take him in his arms. At the last moment Serpentius stopped short, grinning wryly. ‘You’ll have to show me that trick. Did Hades spit you out?’ He bowed to Domitia. ‘My lady, I am glad to see you safe.’
Domitia smiled and walked to the two slaves, who stared at her with their mouths gaping before they ran shrieking into the darkness.
Serpentius laughed. ‘By the gods, I’ve never been so glad to see you.’
Valerius raised what had once been an eyebrow. ‘Because you miss my company?’
‘No, because I thought that screeching would never stop. I would have jumped into the fire myself to get away from it.’
When the girls had been rounded up and convinced that Domitia was no ghost they gathered by the fire. Valerius dug up one of the precious water skins and allowed everyone to drink their fill. Serpentius vanished for a time and when he returned he reported no sign of the surviving crewmen, including the injured.
‘They will still want our water, but I doubt they’ll be back,’ Valerius said. ‘The men who escaped were those whose hearts weren’t with Susco. Whether that makes them the best of them or the worst doesn’t matter. They know what awaits them here. Either we’ll kill them or they’ll be tried for mutiny and suffer a worse death. Better to keep walking until you drop.’
‘At least they’ve left their shelter. We can salvage what’s left and move across when the sun comes up, once I’ve cleared away their filth.’
Valerius nodded and walked over to where Domitia sat huddled between the two slave girls. ‘Let me see your hand,’ he said gently.
She held it out and he studied it. He knew a lot about cuts and wounds, but very little about burns apart from the remedies which had been used on the estate. Perhaps it was better to leave it alone if he wasn’t certain what to do.
Domitia saw his confusion. ‘I can suffer it, tribune. I am a soldier’s daughter.’
‘Grease,’ Serpentius said decisively. ‘Cover it with grease and leave it for a week.’
‘And where will we get grease?’ Valerius demanded. ‘I’m not a magician.’
‘Always grease on a ship,’ the Spaniard pointed out. ‘I’ll swim out to the wreck tomorrow and see what I can find. If you can wait that long, lady?’
‘Of course,’ Domitia said gracefully. ‘I am glad that someone is looking after my welfare, Serpentius.’
It was the first time Valerius had seen the Spaniard blush.
Late in the night as he lay in the sand beneath his cloak, Valerius felt someone move in beside him. Warmth and softness and the scent of salt water and smoke.
‘You may put your arms around me, tribune. I am cold.’
So he did.
XVII
VALERIUS DREAMED OF
a river nymph with Domitia’s face dancing naked beneath a cascade of cool, clear water. Strangely, for the first time in days thirst was not uppermost in his mind. Instead, the vision stirred a feeling that had lain dormant for a long time, accompanied by a reaction that would have made Priapus proud. He woke with something soft, warm and round in his left hand and a thunderstorm building inside his skull as he realized that the thing squirming against his groin was a pair of firm female buttocks that were only just covered by the short tunic their owner wore. He tried to release Domitia’s left breast, but her hand clamped over his, and when he attempted to move away the buttocks squirmed all the harder, making the sensations he was experiencing close to unbearable.
‘Do not move, Valerius, I beg you,’ she whispered.
She wriggled round beneath the cloak to face him and her mouth came to his, her breath still sweet despite the days without water. He knew that the two slave girls were sleeping less than twenty paces away, but it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her and to feel her body moulded against his. More natural still that when the tunic rode up above her hips his hardness should find her softness and with a wriggle of her hips it was as if he had been engulfed in oiled silk and the heat of it made him groan. Domitia crushed her lips against his so
fiercely
that he could feel the individual small white teeth behind them as she fought to suppress a moan of pure pleasure. Valerius wrapped both arms around the slight figure and held her to him, the passion flowing between them, the frustration of being unable to give it full rein making it all the more intense. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes opened wide and she shuddered against him and he could not prevent himself from following her. Slowly she relaxed and he felt her lips nuzzling his cheek.
‘I have prayed for this day, ever since the morning I watched you exercising with your soldiers.’
Valerius smiled. ‘I thought you were looking at Tiberius.’
‘Tiberius is nothing but a boy,’ she said dismissively. ‘And I think that Tiberius is only capable of loving himself. You were different. I looked at you and saw a man.’
‘But not a whole man.’ It was part of the burden he carried that if the hand was not mentioned he must point it out.
She wriggled closer. ‘Your wooden hand is as much a trophy of war as the
phalerae
you wear or the Gold Crown of Valour you hold. Even with a missing hand you are twice the man of any other I have met.’
He shook his head. ‘It should never have happened. I should not have let it happen.’
A soft finger touched his lips. ‘Do not say that, my love. It was meant to be. It is possible that by tomorrow or the next day we will be dead. Why should I allow the gods to deny me any longer?’
He had no answer, but he still knew it was wrong and he had a feeling that her gods would demand a reckoning in their own time.
‘It must not happen again, Domitia. Your father …’
‘Is hundreds of miles away. You are such a fool, Valerius. For us, there is no future. Only now.’
She slipped away and woke the two girls and together they went to wash away the smoke and the ashes of the previous night in the surf. Serpentius was already up and checking the bodies from the battle for signs of life. The skin on his shaved head was blistered and his face still black from his rescue of the slaves during the night. Valerius
wondered
just how much he had heard of what had happened earlier, and received a cool look that confirmed his fears.
‘So we fight our way out of one trap to fall straight into another?’ the Spaniard grumbled as he hauled Susco’s headless corpse towards the sea where he’d already sunk three of the dead mutineers. ‘By Mars’ sacred arse, he’s beginning to stink already.’
‘A slave should mind his own business,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘I believe it was you who told me that.’
‘How could I mind my own business when you made enough noise to wake Susco here?’ the Spaniard complained, letting the body drop to the ground as he straightened to face the Roman. ‘And even a slave knows that when an old tom cat plays with a leopard kitten he’d better watch out for the leopard.’
Valerius noticed that Serpentius didn’t mention Corbulo by name, but the surge of guilt he felt was like a spear in his guts. How could he have let it happen? He was a man full grown, he knew the boundary between sex and love. And he had never allowed himself to cross it since his time with the British girl Maeve at Colonia. There had been slave girls aplenty in the proconsul’s palace at Carthage where he had spent eighteen months as military aide to Aulus Vitellius. Yes, Domitia had come to him in the night, but a sane man would have sent her away again. Instead, he had allowed himself to be hypnotized by the heady brew of her youth and beauty and sensuality, and betrayed himself and her father.
He saw Domitia watching him from the shadow and he wondered what was going through her mind. Their coupling had been urgent and as unstoppable as the waves that had battered the
Golden Cygnet
to pieces. While it was happening she had whispered words like ‘love’ and ‘for ever’, but how much of it had been driven by the intensity of the events of a few hours earlier? He had experienced before how a combination of fear and the unlikelihood of survival could swamp the senses and warp the mind. Would she end up despising him for his weakness as much as she had praised him for his masculinity? He looked up and found the Spaniard still staring at him. ‘The leopard is far away and I’m more likely to die of thirst than on another man’s sword.’