Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
They rode down from the high mountain pools at a gallop and arrived at the farmhouse just as Ataulf and his men came barreling into the yard.
Through the dust, Alaric saw the horses’ heaving flanks. Black and red and gleaming bay, old horned cavalry saddles from the Gothic Wars, and the flash of snaffle bits and scraps of bright cloth in flying manes of red and black and white.
He pulled Hannibal to a halt and helped Julia down, just as Ataulf came striding out of the swirling dust. “Fucking hell . What took you so long?”
“Negotiating with the tribes. Dodging Stilicho’s assassins. Trying not to die.” Ataulf wiped at the dust on his brow. “ You look happy.”
Happy. That was an understatement. Ataulf was alive, Julia was his, and all would be right. As always his gaze landed on Julia, standing apart from the crowd. At a glance, he could have mistaken her for a Tervingii girl. Crimson braid emerging from a Phrygian cap, holding the reins of her man’s warhorse as he ripped up the grass, roots and all.
“So that is the little Roman princess. You could almost mistake her for one of us, if you didn’t look too close.” Ataulf grinned. “You’d best clean her up before we send her back, or the Romans may not believe it’s her.”
Alaric did not take his eyes from Julia. “She is my wife. She is not going back.”
* * *
Julia tried to keep sight of Alaric amidst the crush of horses and men. She caught a glimpse of his brilliant grin, and an acute sense of loss shot through her.
He had been hers these past days. Now he belonged to everyone.
“Julia! Is that you?” A tall Gothic warrior stood before her, his bronze-brown hair brushing his shoulders. “What on earth are you wearing? By all the gods—are those freckles ?”
Recognition came with a jolt. “Bromios! You’re alive !”
“Of course I’m alive.” Bromios swung her up in his arms. “You’ve landed on your feet, I see. Seducing the barbarian warlord into marrying you!” He laughed. “Perhaps you should introduce us. The two of us could work him to our advantage, I think.”
Jealousy swept through her like a hot wind. “I’d rather not share.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your head over him.” Bromios glanced over his shoulder. “You realize that man has a whole army of lovers in Noricum. Look at him.”
“What?” Julia seized Bromios’s arm and pulled him to the side of the crowd, where they would not be heard. “Alaric has told me nothing of what to expect in Noricum. Clearly you know far more than I do,” she hissed. “Including that my husband has lovers . Talk. ”
“It’s only common sense, Julia. A man like that always has lovers. You must be slipping.” He shrugged. “Ataulf says there were several attempts on Alaric’s life before he left. His chieftains are always halfway to revolting. And you should be on your guard,” he added. “Have you given any thought to how his people will react when he arrives in Noricum with a Roman wife in tow?”
“I have. But he won’t tell me anything—”
They had drawn Alaric’s attention. He was coming toward them, the crowd parting. Julia tensed.
“He doesn’t like me. I think he might put a knife in my back,” Bromios said quietly. “We must stick together, Julia. Ride into that city as his queen, with your head held high. How you begin is how you’ll continue. And don’t lose your head any more than you already have.”
And then he was gone, slipping back into the crowd.
* * *
That night, Alaric presided at the head of the scarred table, Julia at his side, regaling his men with stories of her deeds—the way she’d stood straight and strong before his axes, her bravery in Brisca’s village. The men devoured these stories, toasting her name. Golden mead flowed—sparkling honey in her cup. Julia had one large tankard full, and was pleasantly loose and happy—but the second hit her hard.
Suddenly, a few hours after the meal, she could barely keep her eyes open.
It was, generally speaking, strategic to retire at the height of one’s good impression. So when Julia rose to her feet, Alaric only smiled and promised to wake her later.
She was almost to the stairs when a man came toward her.
“I know what you are.” It was Ataulf, Alaric’s right hand. A scar ran down his face, giving him a rakish handsomeness.
Julia laughed. Light and airy, from her days in Ravenna. “What am I, then? Is this a riddle?”
“You may have enspelled Alaric, but it doesn’t work on me. I am immune.”
Julia raised a brow. “I notice you’ve been feeding my friend Bromios off your plate all night. Did you enspell him? Does that make you a sorcerer?”
“Bromios is not your friend. He is your erstwhile slave . I have freed him from that life.”
“Rubbish.” Her temper rose. The nerve of this man. “ I freed him before he met you. And how free is he, exactly , if he is not free to choose where he sleeps? At least I never made him share my bed for protection.”
Ataulf reddened furiously. “I will be watching you very closely. If you do anything to harm Alaric, I will make your life a hell.”
“I cannot imagine how stupid you think I am,” Julia said evenly. “My fortunes are tied to his, same as yours.”
His lack of an answer was answer enough. She felt him staring holes in her back as she went up the stairs to bed.