Slave Princess. Juliet Landon

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СКАЧАТЬ be interesting.’

      ‘It will be. This is where I need your support.’

      ‘Go ahead,’ said Tullus.

      ‘Except for one, our hosts don’t know us. I just happen to own a slave who’s a Brigantian princess. Right?’

      ‘Unusual, but I don’t see why not,’ said Lucan. ‘Go on.’

      ‘Well, that’s it, really. I shall not present her. She’ll stay in the background in my room with Florian. She’ll be safe enough with him.’

      Lucan and Tullus nodded, smiling in unison. ‘And how long has this … er … relationship been going on? In case we’re asked?’ said Lucan, innocently.

      Quintus stood, brushing the crumbs from his lap. ‘Since a few days ago, I suppose. But I don’t see why anyone needs to know. I’ll get some proper clothes for her at the next market.’ He stood still for a moment with a pensive look in his eye.

      ‘What?’ said Tullus. ‘You doubt she’ll accept them?’

      ‘Nothing more certain. Find a barber before we reach Lindum, both of you. Now let’s get this lot moving. Come on.’ He strode away, shouting orders.

      Lucan released his grin at last. ‘Halfway there,’ he whispered.

      ‘Oh, I think that’s rather too optimistic, my friend,’ Tullus replied. ‘From what I’ve seen of her, I’d say she’ll keep him on the hop for a while yet. What’s going to happen when she hears about her father?’

      ‘Expect all Hades to be let loose. Do I really need a barber?’ Lucan wiped a hand round his blue jaw.

      ‘If the boss says shave, we shave. We owe it to our hostess. D’ye know, I’m looking forward to a decent bed.’

      ‘As will our boss be. He’s pretending, you know, that she’s a bit of a nuisance—I believe he’s quite taken with her.’

      ‘That’s the impression I’m getting too. There’s a new spring in his step.’

      ‘As there would be in yours, young Tullus, after a night with the Princess.’

      Brighid was shaken out of her sleep by a gentle hand on her arm. ‘It’s late,’ Florian was saying in her ear. ‘The camp is already packing up. Wake, or you’ll get no food. Did the Tribune keep you awake all night?’

      She rolled herself upright, pushing away her loose hair. ‘Mind your own business,’ she said. ‘What’s all that din?’

      ‘We’re almost ready to leave. What do Brigantian princesses eat for breakfast these days?’ he said with a knowing grin.

      ‘Porridge, and a thin slice of masseur’s tongue, if you’d be so kind.’

      ‘Tongue’s off,’ he quipped, ‘but I’ll find you some stodge, if you insist.’

      ‘Clear off while I get dressed. Where can I go and bathe?’

      Florian paused at the tail-board. ‘Bathe, domina? I would not recommend it. Not here. Not unless you want an audience.’

      ‘Then how am I ever going to get cleaned up?’

      ‘Better do it in here until we reach our lodgings. Wait. I’ll bring some water.’

      The extraordinary events of the night came back to her as she unravelled the blankets and saw the pillow with the dent in it close to her own. He had left without disturbing her, she who always woke at the slightest sound. Even more remarkable was his opening of the chest beside her where now her treasures lay in a row on top of her folded clothes, set out for inspection like a soldier’s kit.

      Even by Roman standards, the pieces were of the highest craftsmanship, technically perfect. The most impressive was a flat crescent-shaped neck-collar with a raised pattern of sinuous spirals studded with cornelians and lapis lazuli, and inlaid with coloured champleve enamel. One bracelet was a wide band of beaten gold with triskeles, sun discs and lunar crescents in relief, the other was fashioned like a coiled serpent with rock crystals for eyes. Her earrings were the delicate heads of birds with garnet eyes, spheres hanging from their beaks chased with spirals, as intricate as man could devise. There was a pile of anklets of twisted gold, a belt with a gold enamelled buckle, several brooches and long hairpins with gemstone tops. Gathering them on to her lap, she fondled them lovingly.

      The horses were being hitched to her wagon by the time Florian brought her the porridge and a bucket of water in which to wash, and by the time the wheels were back on the road she had sluiced away the scents of the night that clung to her skin, leaving her only partly refreshed and longing to bathe at leisure. However, her clothes were clean; she could only assume that someone had washed them and laid them out to dry overnight, ready for her to use.

      She dressed, clothes and ornaments alternately, ears, ankles and wrists, brooches fastening front to back, the belt buckled in a tighter notch. Without a mirror, she could not know how the starving had hollowed her cheeks, or how the violent events of the past week had diluted the girlish bloom given her by sun, breeze and ice-cold stream. Unable to see the fastening beneath her chin, she found it impossible to manage the hinge of the neck-plate at the front. But as she held it, the canvas flap was lifted to admit a leather-covered leg, then the other, then wide shoulders ducking underneath.

      She turned her face away, suddenly unnerved as her body responded to his nearness, recalling his bold searching hands and the male warmth of his skin. Guiltily, she realised that the memory had scarcely left her since waking, sneaking into every thought, relevant or not, just to taunt her.

      ‘You slept late,’ he said, poking upwards at the puddles of rainwater on the canvas, tipping the last drops away.

      ‘I hardly slept at all.’

      ‘You’ll get used to it.’

      ‘I don’t intend to.’

      He chuckled, a deep throaty murmur as meaningful as any argument. ‘Here, give that to me. Turn round this way.’

      She stood up to face him, lifting her hair for him to place it round her neck and to bring the broad edges together. ‘The rivet?’ he said, softly.

      She held it up for him to slip through the precise dovetails, aware of his fingers upon her skin. Quickly, she stepped back, almost losing her balance as the wagon jolted over a rut. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For these, too. Where are we?’

      Like a colossus, he braced himself against one of the wooden ribs. ‘Next stop will be a small place called Danum. I shall send Florian out to purchase some stuff to make you something after the Roman fashion, and, before you start to protest, let me remind you that you promised to adapt.’

      ‘I didn’t promise to apply for Roman citizenship, Tribune.’

      ‘You won’t be a Roman, will you, wearing Brigantia’s wealth round your neck and arms? How could anyone possibly mistake you for a Roman citizen, woman?’

      ‘So what’s wrong with my own clothes? Are we out to confuse everybody?’

      ‘Sit down before you fall СКАЧАТЬ