be alone.”
He grabbed both her arms and squeezed her. “My girls, Delia! Where are they? Who has them?”
When she grimaced in pain, Thane let her go. “I do not know, Thane. I have sent letters to Seneca and Afranius, but I do not think they are still in Rome. It is said Nero is mad; many have fled. Seneca fears for his own life. It may be months before I can reach them.” Spattered tears fell from her lashes. “Once there, only the gods can help you, I am afraid. I can do nothing more for you, save this.” She swayed over to the pile of clothes and pulled out a leather bag. “It is gold, all that I have,” she said pressing the bag into his hand. “Will you be on the road?”
He stood back from her. “Tell this Greek I will meet him tomorrow night outside of Londinium on the Iter III .”
Delia leaned in to kiss him again and was out of the water in a flash. She donned her clothes, imparted one last look and disappeared into the steam and out into the night, the soldiers following close behind her.
Thane pulled himself out of the water, numb from the news and called for his guards. Tying the bag inside his loincloth, he strapped the material over his hips. A small sound, like the coo of a bird echoed against the tiles from behind one of the pillars. Now on alert, he sprinted to the pillar and looked behind it. It was as vacant as the rest of the bathhouse. The two guards rushed to him, and he held up his arms to them. They shackled him and led him out to the chill of the night.
Chapter VII
Phaedra had stopped breathing when Thane almost discovered her, but the shadows and steam in the echoing bath had hidden her well. She watched them lead Thane out of the house and counted to one hundred before she dared to move.
Once outside, the cool air sent shivers over her exposed arms, but she did not care. Phaedra rushed towards her father’s compound, glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the two Roman soldiers or the mysterious Briton woman who had kissed him.
A kiss I will give to my cousin.
Phaedra knew the woman must be Delia, Queen of the Corieltauvi , but it was impossible. Everyone knew she stayed on her land where she was safe from threats to her life, surrounded by her warriors and a Roman century ordered there by Afranius himself.
Phaedra knew the story well; the Briton Queen had dared to marry a Roman Centurion after the Boudiga revolts. The Romans hated her for turning the legendary Marius against them, though no one could prove that she ever did. Phaedra’s father told her that many of the Briton tribes hated Delia for marrying a Roman, though stories of Marius’ courage in helping to liberate the scattered tribes were sung around every Briton fire. They were only stories in Phaedra’s sheltered eyes. How could that oaf Thane know them? Yet she had heard it herself.
To make matters worse, Thane had daughters. No one knew that. He had sworn to Nero himself that he had no offspring. They would crucify him for that lie.
The knowledge of that was overwhelming, and Phaedra’s head began to spin.
The streets were largely deserted, but singing and merriment came out of many doors as she flew pass. The muddy ground slopped up her legs, making them ice cold, and her tunic was little protection when it began to rain.
With this information, she could easily exact her revenge against the man who had humiliated her. It should have thrilled her to the bone and set her dancing in the streets. But it did not.
Golden torchlight flickered through the sparse bushes that outlined her father’s house as she approached. When she spotted them, she slowed down then stopped. What was she going to tell him?
Phaedra made herself move in the darkness toward the lights, taking time to catch her breath and her desires.
She wanted Thane punished, right? Yes, yes she did, her inner voice told her but with little conviction. Why was she not excited at the prospect?
Stopping again,
He grabbed both her arms and squeezed her. “My girls, Delia! Where are they? Who has them?”
When she grimaced in pain, Thane let her go. “I do not know, Thane. I have sent letters to Seneca and Afranius, but I do not think they are still in Rome. It is said Nero is mad; many have fled. Seneca fears for his own life. It may be months before I can reach them.” Spattered tears fell from her lashes. “Once there, only the gods can help you, I am afraid. I can do nothing more for you, save this.” She swayed over to the pile of clothes and pulled out a leather bag. “It is gold, all that I have,” she said pressing the bag into his hand. “Will you be on the road?”
He stood back from her. “Tell this Greek I will meet him tomorrow night outside of Londinium on the Iter III .”
Delia leaned in to kiss him again and was out of the water in a flash. She donned her clothes, imparted one last look and disappeared into the steam and out into the night, the soldiers following close behind her.
Thane pulled himself out of the water, numb from the news and called for his guards. Tying the bag inside his loincloth, he strapped the material over his hips. A small sound, like the coo of a bird echoed against the tiles from behind one of the pillars. Now on alert, he sprinted to the pillar and looked behind it. It was as vacant as the rest of the bathhouse. The two guards rushed to him, and he held up his arms to them. They shackled him and led him out to the chill of the night.
Chapter VII
Phaedra had stopped breathing when Thane almost discovered her, but the shadows and steam in the echoing bath had hidden her well. She watched them lead Thane out of the house and counted to one hundred before she dared to move.
Once outside, the cool air sent shivers over her exposed arms, but she did not care. Phaedra rushed towards her father’s compound, glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the two Roman soldiers or the mysterious Briton woman who had kissed him.
A kiss I will give to my cousin.
Phaedra knew the woman must be Delia, Queen of the Corieltauvi , but it was impossible. Everyone knew she stayed on her land where she was safe from threats to her life, surrounded by her warriors and a Roman century ordered there by Afranius himself.
Phaedra knew the story well; the Briton Queen had dared to marry a Roman Centurion after the Boudiga revolts. The Romans hated her for turning the legendary Marius against them, though no one could prove that she ever did. Phaedra’s father told her that many of the Briton tribes hated Delia for marrying a Roman, though stories of Marius’ courage in helping to liberate the scattered tribes were sung around every Briton fire. They were only stories in Phaedra’s sheltered eyes. How could that oaf Thane know them? Yet she had heard it herself.
To make matters worse, Thane had daughters. No one knew that. He had sworn to Nero himself that he had no offspring. They would crucify him for that lie.
The knowledge of that was overwhelming, and Phaedra’s head began to spin.
The streets were largely deserted, but singing and merriment came out of many doors as she flew pass. The muddy ground slopped up her legs, making them ice cold, and her tunic was little protection when it began to rain.
With this information, she could easily exact her revenge against the man who had humiliated her. It should have thrilled her to the bone and set her dancing in the streets. But it did not.
Golden torchlight flickered through the sparse bushes that outlined her father’s house as she approached. When she spotted them, she slowed down then stopped. What was she going to tell him?
Phaedra made herself move in the darkness toward the lights, taking time to catch her breath and her desires.
She wanted Thane punished, right? Yes, yes she did, her inner voice told her but with little conviction. Why was she not excited at the prospect?
Stopping again,
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