Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
This time, when Julia held the little flute to her lips and blew, it made a low, anemic whistle. She was rather proud she’d made any sound at all. “How was that?”
Alaric’s flute was fiendishly hard to play. She sat on a bench near the sparring ring, Horsa on one side and Hengist on the other. She had spent the night tossing and turning, but now it was a glorious morning and Alaric had ridden out to hunt with Brisca and the elder warriors. Meanwhile, the younger were holding a tournament. The twins desperately wanted to go, and Julia promised to return to her prison before Alaric returned. He’d never know.
She would not waste time thinking of the gauntlet he’d thrown at her feet.
Horsa laughed at her efforts with the flute. “That is very bad.” He took the flute, blew an agile little trill. “You purse your lips like this,” he said, puckering.
“No one can do that with their lips. You are a freak.” Julia snatched the flute back, examining the delicate carvings. “What kind of bone is this?”
“Human.” Horsa said it just as she put it to her lips again. “It’s a finger bone.”
Julia nearly spit the flute into her lap. “In future, when something is part of a human corpse, you will tell me before it goes in my mouth,” she said in a strained voice.
“It belonged to Brisca’s husband. When Alaric killed him, she had this flute made in thanks, so he could find her in these hills if he ever had need of her.”
“How touching.” Gifts made of human body parts. They were made for each other.
Up on the dais, Ehre was sparring with a man. Both were breathtaking. Excellently muscled: the man stripped to the waist and Ehre wearing only a cloth wound about her breasts and long, loose trousers. Her narrow braids lashed at the air as she spun. Then Ehre surged forward with a series of aggressive slashes that made the man stumble, just the smallest misstep and her sword was at his throat. For a moment they were still, both breathing hard as the drums fell silent. Then the silence broke and the two of them clasped hands and grinned.
Horsa leaned in and spoke to Hengist. “I’ll fight you for her.”
Julia laughed. “No fighting over me, please.”
“Not you . Ehre. I won last time we fought over her, remember? Three years ago when I broke your arm and Alaric had to set it.”
“We were boys then. Ehre wants a man.” Hengist laughed.
“Then, I will give her one.” Horsa rose to his feet. “I challenge you, brother. Winner takes the girl.”
“ Sit down , the both of you. No one is taking anyone.” Neither listened to her.
Horsa slid his seax out of its sheath with a slow hiss. “Last chance to save yourself before I shame the life out of you.”
A feral grin spread across Hengist’s face. “I’ll make you weep like I did when we were twelve.”
And then the boys were off, swaggering toward the platform, swapping insults through bared teeth, just as Ehre slid onto the bench they’d just vacated.
“Did you hear that?” Julia fumed. “Fighting over you as if—”
“If those boys really wanted me, they would have to fight me for me. They would both lose.” Ehre passed her a wineskin. Ealu. Julia sucked it down.
The twins climbed onto the platform, peeling off their shirts. They began a slow circle, taunting each other in Gothic. Then the drums picked up and they began to fight in earnest. Twisting and lunging, their weapons screaming through the air; Julia found herself holding her breath. She had known these boys first as pitiless child warriors, then as formidable latrones opponents, and finally as something akin to little brothers. But these terrifying warriors, sharp as spear points—this was what they were .
The fight ended at an impasse. Horsa’s knife at Hengist’s throat, Hengist’s at his brother’s heart. The boys embraced amidst the cheers of their friends, young and alive and so terribly beautiful. Julia found herself on her feet with the rest of them, laughing and shouting.
When she sat down, Alaric was standing behind her.
She knew from the way the skin on her back prickled as everyone fell silent, even the drums. Fuck. She had not expected him back this soon.
He stood a few paces behind her, leaning casually on his spear, his tunic a dark blue that lit up the sun-warmed gold of his skin. He said something in Gothic to the twins. Hengist responded with tight-strung deference, but Horsa was all bravado, teeth bared in challenge. Alaric gave a laughing response in Gothic. Then he reached up and pulled off his shirt.
A silence fell just as Julia drew in a sharp breath. He should warn people before he does that , she fumed; now everyone had heard her gasping like a landed fish.
Without glancing at her, he dropped his tunic in her lap. “Hold this.”
Julia stared as he sauntered to the platform, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his tunic. That was on purpose. Well. If he thought she’d go to him— beg —he would be severely disappointed. She had dignity! She was not a barbarian. She was Roman. Intellectual. In control of her desires.
The drums picked up an arrhythmic beat that put Julia’s nerves on edge. For the barest instant, everything went still and sharp as glass. Then the three leaped into motion, spear points dissolving in a blur of flashing light. Julia forgot her temper, eyes fixed on the ripple and flow of Alaric’s muscles beneath his skin, the heavy spear weightless as wind in his hands.
It wasn’t a free-for-all. The twins were working together against him, and they’d been playing in their previous fight. In this one they were faster, almost terrifying in their focus. Alaric stayed a step ahead of them, but it was a scant step; Julia’s stomach clenched as a spear point went whistling by his face. A breath closer and it would’ve laid his cheekbone open like a book. He didn’t bat an eye.
Ehre glanced pointedly at her hands. “You’ll rip that if you grip it any tighter.” Julia winced as a blade slashed murderously close to an exposed abdomen. If Horsa hadn’t sucked in just then, he’d be dead. “You needn’t fuss yourself. He’s only teaching them.”
The ealu , Julia noticed, made Ehre distinctly friendlier. “I rather think they’ll murder each other.”
“They can’t touch him. He’s slowing down for them.” She leaned forward, intent on the flashing spears. “There. That was proving a point. I’m surprised Hengist kept his grip on that spear,” Ehre said. “That thrust would have glanced off the hip bone. Alaric wants him to aim for the kidney. A killing blow.”
“Yes, a killing blow. I hardly see how that could go wrong.” Julia eyed the platform anxiously, looking for bloodstains. “Has anyone ever died doing this?”
“Calm yourself.” Ehre took a pull from the wineskin. “You’ll embarrass him.”
“Nonsense. Nothing could embarrass that man.” Julia eyed the wineskin. “If I’m going to watch this, I will require more to drink.”
The ealu helped. Julia found herself absorbed as Ehre narrated the lesson. There was a fierce elation in Alaric’s violence, his blue eyes flashing as he blocked and feinted and drew the twins on. By the time it ended—Alaric laughing, an arm slung around each of the boys’ necks, pride lighting him up from within—Julia was on her feet again, some nameless ache building in her chest. He loves them , she realized. Loves them like sons.
What if he loved her ?
Suppose he beamed with pride like that at her , watching her play latrones . You should have been a general , he’d said. Why did he have to say that? Now she couldn’t stop thinking of it, enamored of the warmth in his voice and the fierce honesty in his eyes.
Ehre spoke low in her ear. “Is he yours?”
“What? No! ” Her face flamed. Was her infatuation tattooed on her forehead? Did everyone see it?
Ehre grinned fiercely. “Good.”
Julia could only stare as she stood and strutted toward the platform, eyes locked to Alaric’s, a long battle-knife in each hand and a challenge on her lips.
* * *
“He loves the attention, doesn’t he,” Julia muttered acidly.
Hengist slouched next to her on the bench. “It’s always like that. Chieftain’s daughters and warriors and tradesmen’s wives. Even Roman aristocrats.” He glanced at her beneath ghost-pale lashes. “No offense.”
“None taken. I don’t care a fig for that man.” Why did her voice rise to a screech when she said that?
Horsa had gone back to dicing while she and Hengist shared a wineskin and Ehre sparred with Alaric. The sunlight glinted off the sweat that gilded Alaric’s muscles and Ehre’s lean, fierce limbs. The rhythm set by the drums was almost sexual .
This time, Julia wouldn’t mind seeing a little blood.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Hengist glanced at her. “I don’t want to be a warlord. I want to be a farmer. Or a horse breeder. Maybe both.”
“Who says you must be a warlord ? It sounds grim.”
“Alaric does. He says we’ll inherit his kingdom, and I can’t go against him. He’s Alaric .”
“Really? I don’t find it difficult at all.” Up on the platform, Alaric blocked a vicious slash to his chest; Ehre barely avoided his lightning response. The air fairly crackled between them. If she isn’t in his bed by nightfall , Julia thought darkly, I’ll eat my own hair .
“Hengist, I am going to go and feed this shirt to a goat.” She announced, taking a last long, blistering suck of the ealu .
* * *
Alaric knew the minute Julia left. Half-gone with drink, as if she’d seen something shiny she wanted to look at more than him half-naked for her benefit. His pride seethed.
When the fight ended, he was immediately mobbed. He needed these people; and so he stayed to smile and laugh and posture, let himself be flattered and fawned over. All the while his impatience grew. Julia couldn’t be allowed to wander about the village unguarded. Brisca had assured him a close escort for Julia wasn’t necessary; still, he thought her too trusting. And the boys had failed him in keeping a careful watch on her, again .
Hengist and Horsa were sitting on the rough-hewn bench, looking up at him with identical expressions of guilt and fear.
“It wasn’t our fault.”
“It was Julia’s idea. She said—”
“There is no doubt in my mind it was Julia’s fault. I’m still blaming you.” He glanced between them. “Horsa, your reach is off. You overbalanced twice just now, as you did in battle the other night. You’d be dead three times over if I wasn’t there to watch your back.”
Horsa’s face reddened. Hengist spoke up. “He’s slow with his feet too.”
“And you should’ve been keeping your brother out of trouble,” Alaric said to Hengist. “No more children’s sparring games. The two of you are well out of swaddling clothes. Every day at dawn from tomorrow until we leave, we practice.”
The boys turned pale. And with good reason. The real training he put them through was far more difficult than these sparring matches. But he himself had suffered much worse under Stilicho, and keeping Gaufrid’s twins alive meant never tolerating mistakes.
He nodded toward Julia, who seemed to be trying to feed his tunic to the livestock. “See that she gets back to the guesthouse. If you feel the urge to wench and drink, remember what awaits you in the morning.” He paused. “What are you waiting for? Go. ”
The twins went. He’d goaded her into her fit of temper, he knew. He had no excuse for provoking her, other than that he liked the way her eyes lit up when she was angry. Almost as much as he liked how she looked at him without his shirt. It had been—very distracting. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten himself skewered, showing off for her like that.
If you want my advice, you’ll keep her where you can see her.
Brisca’s words. Alaric considered it. If he kept her where he could see her, he could make her want to come to him.
He was petty enough to want her to beg him to take her. And he would then. Oh yes, he would.
She’d crack first. He would be sure of it.