Timeborne, p.16
Timeborne, page 16
It couldn’t be. Any promotion was to be given to me. I’d earned it. Marcellious had done nothing to gain the respect granted to Primus Pilus. It took every ounce of strength I had to not kill Marcellious, right here, right now.
“I see,” I said, my tone dead.
“You’re to start training Cohort IX at dawn,” he said, still poking his sharp stick of changes at my insides.
“Will that be all?” I could barely restrain myself. If I didn’t leave soon, I feared doing something I’d regret.
“I suppose.”
At least Marcellious looked deflated at my non-response to his news.
“You’re dismissed,” he said to me with a wave of his hand.
I took one long, deep breath, pivoted on my heel, then strode from the tent.
A few tents were still lit by oil lamps, guiding my way as I wove through the camp. No way could I go see Olivia—I was too hot with rage. Instead, I picked my way away from the encampment until I was well away from earshot. Finding a tree near a bubbling stream, I pummeled it with my fists until my knuckles were bloody and raw. I released my anger with shouts and cries until I was spent. Then, I returned to the encampment and beelined toward the emperor’s tent.
I stood outside the door flap, listening to his disgusting cries of pleasure and the whores’ tittering laughter. When the sound died down, I threw open the flap and entered.
“Care to tell me why Marcellious was promoted to Primus Pilus instead of me?”
“Centurion Alexander,” Severus said, nestled between three bare-breasted women, their hair in various states of disarray. “This fine wench to my right hasn’t yet been given a turn on my cock. Would you like to do the honors?”
“No, thank you. Why was Marcellious promoted to Primus Pilus instead of me?” I stared at the leather wall ahead of me.
The emperor let out a long, labored sigh. “Centurion Demarrias informed me that you’ve been dallying with a certain red-haired someone.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort, my liege.” The rage I’d spent on the tree returned triple fold, shooting flames through my veins. I glanced at the wretched ruler.
“Pity,” the emperor said, frowning. “She’s a lovely one. Still, it’s his word against yours.”
His gaze flicked toward mine, daring me to contradict him.
I resumed staring at the wall.
“I’d be willing to change my mind, however, if I got a turn with her.” A slimy smile flashed across his face.
Never would I agree to such a thing.
“No,” I said simply.
“You know I could have her if I wanted her,” he said.
“I do, sir.” I swallowed back my fury. My limbs began to shake.
“It’s your choice, then. You accept your assignment or bring her to me, and I make you Primus Pilus. Unless I decide I really want her. I simply take what’s mine to take.”
All I could see was red. My breathing came so fast that I feared passing out.
“Thank you, my liege,” I said through gritted teeth. “I accept my role as trainer of Cohort IX.”
“It’s settled then.” Without another word, he climbed on top of the woman to his right, the one he’d offered to me.
I left the tent. My hands were too bloody and beaten to take out my rage on another tree, so I stormed back to my tent and fell onto my bedding. I barely slept a wink.
By dawn, I’d forced my emotions into the recesses of my mind. I woodenly put my eighty assigned soldiers, the weakest of the weak, through their skills. First, I had them walk through the lowlands of Caledonia with forty-five pounds of weaponry strapped to their bodies, all while dressed in full armor. Their armor alone weighed nearly twenty pounds.
They groaned and complained until I, on horseback, had to punish the loudest complainer for all to see. I used a whip to mark his back, taking out some of my anger on him. I hated doing it, but I had to do my job. Severus no doubt had spies everywhere, monitoring my every move.
After the whipping, the complainer fell to his knees, and I forced him to get up and continue walking.
After that, the whining ceased.
Cohort IX completed eighteen miles in just over two hours—it was far too slow.
“Tomorrow, we run the entire time,” I stated.
A collective groan rang out.
“And again the day after and the day after that. I won’t cease until you show me you can best your walking time by half an hour.” Tempestas pranced back and forth, as restless as I was.
An officer by the name of Quintus accompanied me. I’d had him prod and jab the slowest men with a wooden staff honed to a point. Quintus was a cruel man who took pleasure in dispensing punishment to others.
“That’s enough,” I’d commanded him when he bloodied several soldiers’ arms. Even I couldn’t stomach his cruelty.
“But, sir…” he’d protested.
“I said, that’s enough!” I’d kicked my horse and proceeded up the line.
When we returned to camp, I spied Marcellious training the elite Cohort I in the field next to the encampment. His men all moved with grace, agility, and power. They were ready for battle. My men needed weeks of training—weeks we didn’t have.
Marcellious grinned at me, and I flashed him a wicked leer. Marcellious and I were the same age but two very different soldiers. He was violent and cruel. I was reliable, loyal, trustworthy, and skilled.
Since I’d been given the dregs of men to train, I’d be ruthless with them until they showed signs of strength and cunning. We’d train to be merciless in our attack. I’d work them so hard they’d be able to best these elite warriors under the command of Centurion Demarrias. Then, we’d see how much Marcellious wanted to gloat.
One of my men, Quintus, sauntered ahead, weaving between the tents.
“Quintus!” I called.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Assemble these men in the clearing at the far end of the encampment. I shall return shortly.”
“But sir?” he protested.
“What is it?”
“Aren’t we done for the day?”
“We’re done when I say we’re done. Now go.” I stabbed the air with my finger.
I didn’t want to know what form of brutality he’d use to assemble them. I galloped down the side of the camp and then had my horse pick its way toward the center, where the women were staying. I was desperate to see Olivia and tell her I hadn’t forgotten her. I hoped she hadn’t given up on me.
But none of the women were here—not even the whores.
Puzzled, I assumed they’d gone to gather supplies for a meal.
I wheeled my horse and raced back for the assemblage.
The men looked ragtag, at best, in lines as wiggly as a worm.
“Quintus!” I bellowed. “Straighten them out into orderly lines, or I’ll see to your demotion.”
My rage was tireless today.
Once the men stood in rigid lines, I said, “Quintus, you shall fight this man.”
I pointed at a man near the front of the line with my sword. He’d shown promise during the march.
Then, I navigated my horse back and forth in front of the lines. “You’re to use wooden swords and wicker shields for your battles.”
Many of the warriors appeared to relax at this news.
Clearly, they didn’t know the faux weaponry weighed nearly twice as much as their metal counterparts. They’d find out once fatigue drained their limbs of the last of their strength.
“Get your weapons from the supply tent.” I pointed to a large canopy erected for this purpose.
Quintus and the other man tromped toward the canopy and returned with the wooden weapons. The untrained soldier staggered under the weight of the fake sword to the dismay of the others.
While Quintus demonstrated, I trotted up and down the line, ensuring all eyes were trained on the front.
Then, all weapons were distributed, and the men began their practice.
Quintus and I rode among the trainees, offering suggestions, berating the ignorant, and complimenting those who showed promise. All the while, I kept scanning the tents for signs of the women.
Had they been “recruited” to serve the needs of Severus?
The thought of Olivia in bed with the emperor sickened me, nearly threatening my stomach to expel its contents. The visual stirred my anger to new levels, which I took out on my recruits. I’d indeed be loathed among the entire camp by nightfall.
After I was done with the one-on-one battle, and the men could barely move, we practiced training in the manipular system.
This system involved a four-line organization, with the younger, less experienced at the front, and the older, more experienced at the back. The velites would be light infantry armed with darts and thrusting swords. The hastati would be given a short stabbing sword. The principes would carry large shields and good quality armor, and the triarii, the most experienced, would eventually carry even larger shields and the best armor available—if they lived through this terrible war, that was.
While training in this formation, their job was to keep their ranks precisely, without opening or closing too much. They were never to crowd the others or allow too much space between them for the enemy to penetrate. Once penetrated, disorientation and confusion would ripple throughout the Cohorts, leaving them defenseless.
These men were, for the most part, imbeciles and cowards. It was a mystery to how they’d been soldiers for the other side.
I had my work cut out for me.
Disgust rolled through me as I observed them. I could have had more success with rats than these men. I was sure Marcellious found my plight laughable.
I’d laugh when I shaped these men into skilled and deadly warriors.
After a break for our midday meal, they returned somewhat restored. We worked on doubling the ranks, followed by doubling again and forming four deep. Then, we practiced the triangle formation and the circle or orb.
I was disheartened by the time the day of training had ended. After seeing to my horse, I dragged myself back to my eight men contubernium, those with whom I’d supposedly bond during our battles, and flopped on my bedding.
I covered my eyes with my forearm, not wanting to speak with anyone. The only thing I could think about was Olivia. Had she given up on me? I’d told her I’d return shortly. How could she know I’d be dragged into a cesspool of deceit at the hands of Marcellious? He knew my weakness—Olivia—and he would indeed exploit me at every turn.
How could I ever survive these long weary months of battle? Worst still—how could I protect Olivia in the process?
Olivia
Two days later, consumed with worry, I paced back and forth inside Amara’s and my leather-walled tent, my hands balled into fists by my side. An oil lamp filled the space with golden light.
I was in the middle of a war encampment of all things, surrounded by ruthless warriors. But the one I wanted desperately to see hadn’t yet shown his face. I’d waited for him the last two nights until sleep clawed its way into my brain. I looked for him this morning when the sound of hundreds of warriors marching footsteps awakened me. I kept my eye out for him throughout the day. I even sneaked toward the training ground.
But all I saw was Marcellious, looking pompous and arrogant as he put his men through their paces.
Where is Roman? He said he’d only be gone for an hour when he left me two nights ago. Now it’s been two days. Where could he be? I hope he is safe.
My mind was all over the place, the very mind I’d trained to remain calm and collected in stressful situations. It bounced back and forth between one tragedy and the next. First, it landed on the betrayal with Tristan, creating a firestorm of fury in my gut. Then, it landed on my father’s slumping form after Tristan shot him. This thought pushed tears into my eyes.
Papa. Is he really dead? Perhaps he lived?
No. It was too much to hope for. Papa was gone, and I’d never see him again. I couldn’t even say I was sorry and tell him he was right about everything.
Next, my restless thoughts turned to Lee, my mentor and friend. Had he been the one to poison me and the dagger? How could he do that to me? We were friends. At least I thought we were friends. Could I really trust anyone?
Needing comfort, I burst from the tent and entered a world of darkness. I tread softly toward the healing tent where Amara had gone. When I opened it, I spied Amara, hunched over a table covered with dried herbs as she sifted through them with her fingertips.
“Amara,” I said, my voice plaintive.
She looked up, blinking in the dim light. “What is it, child?”
“It’s Roman. He said he’d return to speak to me two nights ago, and he hasn’t. Do you…do you think something happened to him?” My voice quavered as I spoke.
Amara let out a long sigh. “Child. He’s at the mercy of the emperor. I’m sure the only thing that would keep him away from you is Severus.” She whispered the emperor’s name as if saying it loudly might conjure evil spirits. “I can prepare a sleeping draught for you?”
She gestured toward the many herbs before her.
The thought of being drugged didn’t appeal to me. What if Roman finally returned? I wouldn’t want to be in a stupor.
“No, Amara, thank you. That won’t be necessary.” I inhaled deeply and let my anxiety go. “Just talking to you has helped.”
A warm smile crossed her face, and she held out her arms.
I took a few short steps and welcomed her embrace. Amara was my comfort when things were hard and my friend when things were calm.
“Thank you,” I said when I eased back. I kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course, Olivia. I love you.”
“And I love you back.” I pivoted and exited, heading back for my tent. But my pacing resumed.
Another hour passed, and then another. I’d kept up my relentless pacing the entire time, unable to relax into slumber. I was too wired.
When footsteps stormed in my direction, I lifted my stola and grabbed my knife from its sheath around my thigh, thinking an intruder was coming. I crouched with my hands in a fighting stance and readied myself to take down whoever was coming.
The tent flap whooshed open, and I charged—straight into Roman’s arms. He wrenched the knife from my grip and threw it on the ground.
I pounded his muscular chest with my fists. “Where have you been? I have been worried sick thinking the worst happened to you!”
Stripped of armor, clad only in his loincloth, he looked wild-eyed and fierce, as if the day had unraveled him, leaving him bare-boned and desperate. His elaborate tattoo covered his heart and his shoulder. The inked symbols ranged from simple to artistic, full of detail. Scars marred his skin yet only added to the beauty of his tattoos. His face looked as if it had been carved from granite, severe and unyielding yet beautiful.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I dug my fingers into his shoulders, seeking answers in his eyes.
“Olivia,” he growled. “All I want right now is comfort from a woman. All I want is you.”
He seized my face between his large hands and crushed his lips to mine, dominant and commanding. His hand gripped the back of my head, his fingers clenched.
If our last exploration was a claim, this one confirmed what we both knew. We both wanted each other.
There was a desperation to this kiss. It seemed as if I were demanded to provide the anchor to him lest he fell into insanity. And, at this moment, no was not an answer—he was driven to be with me. And I didn’t care; I wanted him with singular focus and unwavering desire.
The taste of sweat and blood lay on his lips, begging to be cleansed.
I’d never tasted anything so arousing. I licked and sucked, taking what he offered, willing to consume his pain and transform it into something glorious.
Roman’s body was taut and commanding with hard muscle and heat. He pushed his thigh between my legs, widening my stance.
I opened to him, like letting go into the wild wind of our passion, allowing it to carry me to lands unknown. Our bodies crashed into one another, driving hard to get what we needed. And I needed him, as much as he needed me.
It felt like a tempest was in the tent with me, consuming me with the kind of passion no 21st-century woman could ever imagine.
My entire body burst into flames of unchecked longing. I’d wanted him for so long but had buried my desires. No more. I yielded to him, kissing him back with a fury. My core flooded with wet heat.
I’d been catapulted into this unforgiving land without my consent or knowledge. This kiss, this act of communion, was a way out for us. Through our bodies, we could leave everything outside of this tent behind. For a few stolen moments, the world would be ours to command.
I grasped Roman’s stubble-covered jaw with my hand and took control of the kiss, letting him know we were equals. I would not be his subservient lover.
He pried my hand from his face and laced our fingers together.
I wrestled my hand away from his and placed it behind his neck, digging my fingernails into his solid muscle. I had to let him know I could yield to him, but I could also dominate, just like he did.
He growled into my mouth.
I bit his lip, tasting blood.
He drew back, blinking at me. The sanguine fluid that pumped through his veins smeared his mouth and chin. His eyes narrowed as he assessed me. Then, he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand.
I captured his hand and sucked the blood from his skin. I owned him at this moment. Then, I hooked my fingers behind his neck, drew his forehead down to mine, and met his fierce gaze.
“You don’t possess me,” I said.
“I don’t want to possess you,” he replied. “But I intend to devour you and give you pleasure, unlike any other man. I want to mark you and make you mine forever.”
I leveled him with a steely gaze. “I know the passion that you will give me; no man will ever satisfy me. Only you can make me burn for you. I hunger for your touch and mouth. My heart beats for you….”
