This was quite hard to write for some reason. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He found her on the roof of the fortress, in an old sentry post that looked as if it had been abandoned years before, superseded by the taller towers that had been built almost 50 years ago. She was sitting in it, looking out over the red-tiled roofs of the fortress and the city beyond. The sun was starting to set in the West and the horizon was painted with red. Some might say that it was a portent. Cato ignored it and looked at the figure in front of him. She looked… pensive. He studied her carefully and then sat down next to her and joined her in her study of the rooftops.
“So that’s your friend,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “The Dux.”
“That’s my friend. He’s a good man. He fights for what he believes in. He fights for Britannia.”
She looked at him for a moment and then looked back at the horizon. “My revenge?”
“Caecilius will be tried for treason. Tried for murder too – that of your father and an officer he murdered here. There can be only one penalty for those crimes.”
“Death,” she whispered. Her eyes hardened for a moment. “Part of me wishes that I’d sent that arrow into his black heart.”
“We needed him alive. He sang like a songbird.”
“He did?”
Cato smiled grimly. “We threatened to leave him to the mercies of the women of the garrison. Those who know what he did and who would mostly like be very… inventive if they got their hands on him.”
She frowned – and then her eyes widened as she shivered. “I know them,” she said with a quirk of a smile. “’Inventive’ isn’t the word I’d use. They’d strip his skin off, piece by piece, for a start and then they’d get creative.” She leant back and looked a little happier. “I think I like your Dux.”
“He’s your Dux too. The sole Dux in Britannia now.” He sighed. “Rather him than me. I just have a legion to run.”
Cottia stole a fleeting glance at him. “So,” she said in a low voice, “Are you off back to Deva?”
He stared at the horizon, at the hills in the distance and the peaks beyond them. The landscape was awash with colour, vibrant with life. The sun was setting and yet he felt more alive than he ever had before. “Yes,” he said carefully. “Soon. There’s a lot to supervise first, a lot to do here. I made Malgo a Centurion by the way. He’ll whip things into shape. The Dux will want someone reliable in charge in Eboracum. Maybe Malgo, maybe someone else. My place is back in Deva. The border will be moving North – Valentia is joining us.”
Another fleeting glance. “Valentia has been ours in all but name for a decade,” she muttered.
“And what will you do? That house of yours needs a lot of work done to it.”
She smiled sadly. “I have to see what I own. What my father left me here. When he died I fled. I need to know what I have to hold.”
He cleared his throat slightly. “I can help you with that. I know of a few people who are lawyers. That’s one profession that will never die out. We can see what you own and…” He stopped talking because all of a sudden his mouth had gone drier than a stone left out in the sun.
He could tell at once that she was staring at him intently, with a gaze that scorched like the Sun. “And?” She prompted in a rough voice.
“And… you could come back to Deva with me. The house in the hills… it could be a home for trips to Eboracum. I wish… I mean, I want...” He was making a mess of it, he could tell. He kept tripping over his own tongue, he had never been the most articulate of men when it came to matters like this and now…
She looked into his eyes and he saw his future in them. He wanted to say more, he wanted to say something more romantic, more passionate, more compelling, but right now he couldn’t have uttered a single word. Somewhere along the way, that long journey from that house in the hills to Deva and then to this place, the armour that he’d built around his heart ever since the death of Julia and their child had rusted and cracked open. And then she smiled at him. The Sun may have been going down to the West, but to him it was rising again, right here, right now, in that brilliant smile of hers. So he did the only thing that mattered. He took her face in his hands gently and kissed her lips. And she leant into that kiss and flung her arms around his neck.
She broke the kiss long enough to look into his eyes. “You need someone sensible to take care of you, Lucius Tullius Cato. And I like a challenge.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He found her on the roof of the fortress, in an old sentry post that looked as if it had been abandoned years before, superseded by the taller towers that had been built almost 50 years ago. She was sitting in it, looking out over the red-tiled roofs of the fortress and the city beyond. The sun was starting to set in the West and the horizon was painted with red. Some might say that it was a portent. Cato ignored it and looked at the figure in front of him. She looked… pensive. He studied her carefully and then sat down next to her and joined her in her study of the rooftops.
“So that’s your friend,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “The Dux.”
“That’s my friend. He’s a good man. He fights for what he believes in. He fights for Britannia.”
She looked at him for a moment and then looked back at the horizon. “My revenge?”
“Caecilius will be tried for treason. Tried for murder too – that of your father and an officer he murdered here. There can be only one penalty for those crimes.”
“Death,” she whispered. Her eyes hardened for a moment. “Part of me wishes that I’d sent that arrow into his black heart.”
“We needed him alive. He sang like a songbird.”
“He did?”
Cato smiled grimly. “We threatened to leave him to the mercies of the women of the garrison. Those who know what he did and who would mostly like be very… inventive if they got their hands on him.”
She frowned – and then her eyes widened as she shivered. “I know them,” she said with a quirk of a smile. “’Inventive’ isn’t the word I’d use. They’d strip his skin off, piece by piece, for a start and then they’d get creative.” She leant back and looked a little happier. “I think I like your Dux.”
“He’s your Dux too. The sole Dux in Britannia now.” He sighed. “Rather him than me. I just have a legion to run.”
Cottia stole a fleeting glance at him. “So,” she said in a low voice, “Are you off back to Deva?”
He stared at the horizon, at the hills in the distance and the peaks beyond them. The landscape was awash with colour, vibrant with life. The sun was setting and yet he felt more alive than he ever had before. “Yes,” he said carefully. “Soon. There’s a lot to supervise first, a lot to do here. I made Malgo a Centurion by the way. He’ll whip things into shape. The Dux will want someone reliable in charge in Eboracum. Maybe Malgo, maybe someone else. My place is back in Deva. The border will be moving North – Valentia is joining us.”
Another fleeting glance. “Valentia has been ours in all but name for a decade,” she muttered.
“And what will you do? That house of yours needs a lot of work done to it.”
She smiled sadly. “I have to see what I own. What my father left me here. When he died I fled. I need to know what I have to hold.”
He cleared his throat slightly. “I can help you with that. I know of a few people who are lawyers. That’s one profession that will never die out. We can see what you own and…” He stopped talking because all of a sudden his mouth had gone drier than a stone left out in the sun.
He could tell at once that she was staring at him intently, with a gaze that scorched like the Sun. “And?” She prompted in a rough voice.
“And… you could come back to Deva with me. The house in the hills… it could be a home for trips to Eboracum. I wish… I mean, I want...” He was making a mess of it, he could tell. He kept tripping over his own tongue, he had never been the most articulate of men when it came to matters like this and now…
She looked into his eyes and he saw his future in them. He wanted to say more, he wanted to say something more romantic, more passionate, more compelling, but right now he couldn’t have uttered a single word. Somewhere along the way, that long journey from that house in the hills to Deva and then to this place, the armour that he’d built around his heart ever since the death of Julia and their child had rusted and cracked open. And then she smiled at him. The Sun may have been going down to the West, but to him it was rising again, right here, right now, in that brilliant smile of hers. So he did the only thing that mattered. He took her face in his hands gently and kissed her lips. And she leant into that kiss and flung her arms around his neck.
She broke the kiss long enough to look into his eyes. “You need someone sensible to take care of you, Lucius Tullius Cato. And I like a challenge.”
Last edited:
