Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The next day, Julia met with Alaric’s chieftain Sigeric about repairing the aqueduct. She quickly realized he would be an obstacle.
“It won’t take weeks to seek out repairs in these hills,” she said for perhaps the dozenth time. “The main reservoir is only ten miles outside the city.”
“You’re not listening, my queen.” Meticulously polite, Sigeric wore a Roman toga and a clipped Roman beard and even affected an irritatingly correct version of palace Latin. “Even if we knew exactly where the break in the piping is, the dangers outside the walls mean we will need an armed escort. There are bandits and Roman patrols—” He paused. “We do know where the damage is, incidentally. I sent men to destroy the aqueduct when we invaded Noricum. It was Alaric’s orders.”
Alaric had not told her that.
“Well. Now Alaric’s orders are that the aqueduct be repaired,” Julia said briskly. “And since you know where the damage is, you can lead the engineers in repairing it.”
“That’s what I keep telling you. We don’t have engineers.” Sigeric shook his head mulishly. “Besides, perhaps you misunderstand King Alaric’s priorities. Before he left, Alaric ordered me to shore up the walls before he returned. There isn’t enough stone in this city for both.” He tapped a hand on the table. “Our orders conflict, my queen. I will simply tell Alaric when he returns that he cannot have both.”
Julia hid her irritation behind a genial smile. “Is that who you want to be? The man who tells Alaric that his orders are impossible?” Sigeric frowned. “Suit yourself if you’d rather not repair the aqueduct. But this city will descend into plague if you don’t. I’ll make certain my husband knows who to thank when it happens.”
“The stone for both is simply not here , my queen.”
Julia glanced down at the maps she’d spread out on the table. One trimmed nail tapped at a spot just under the crosshatched mountains. “Here is a quarry, fifty miles away.”
“That quarry is defended by a Roman legion. The last thing Alaric needs is a war behind as well as before him.”
Julia glanced up sharply, a sudden suspicion building. “Who did you say controlled that quarry?”
“A prominent family from Ravenna.”
A prominent family at odds with her brother, if they hadn’t already gone to war with the Goths on their doorstep. Julia smiled. “We won’t have to fight them. In fact, they’ll offer us engineers and stone as a gesture of friendship. Perhaps enough to repair the city walls, as well.”
* * *
A week later, Julia stood on the citadel wall, watching a long procession snake up the hill.
“Her guard is rather excessive,” Thorismund said, the wind from the plain whipping his blond hair around his face.
“She did have to travel fifty miles over bandit-infested terrain. Of course she would bring a small army.”
The line of soldiers marched in unison through the gate. Broad-shouldered slaves lowered the litter and a silken-gloved hand emerged, and then the rest of Lucretia, swathed in pale blue linen, her toes perfectly dustless in her silver-studded sandals.
Julia came down from the wall to greet her friend. It was surprisingly wonderful to see a friendly face from Ravenna, rare as those were. Even so, it made something constrict in her chest, how much Lucretia resembled Cornelius.
“My poor darling. Look at you.” Lucretia grasped her arms familiarly. “You look like a sunburned Spartan maiden. What on earth have you been doing in this utter pile?”
“Let us retire out of this dreadful heat, and I will tell you all about it.”
* * *
Julia watched Lucretia’s face as she led her through the mansion. The older woman’s eyes fell upon the withered garden, the green-slicked statues, the fire stains. Julia could just see her thinking about the siege, and who this manor once belonged to, and what had happened to them.
She judiciously did not mention the bodies on the wall.
Finally Julia settled her guest on silken cushions and poured her wine with her own hand. Lucretia took a careful sip. “For Boeotian red, this is quite good.”
My husband only pillages the best. It would be a tasteless joke. Julia only smiled.
“Darling, I didn’t know what to think when you disappeared. Nobody did. My spies told only the most outrageous lies.”
Lucretia’s face went perfectly smooth. “You are a queen now, as you wanted. Cornelius would be happy for you.”
For a moment the ghost of Cornelius hung between them.
Julia drew a breath. “He has not left my thoughts since the day I escaped Ravenna.” The words stuck in her throat. “Lucretia—”
“You must not blame yourself,” Lucretia said immediately. “He would be glad that you managed to escape a treason sentence. What incredible talent for survival.” She shook her head, wondering. “Do you love this Alaric?”
Julia hesitated. It would be an innocent question about her well-being, from anyone else. But from Lucretia, it had the semblance of a trap. Lucretia often laughed at married couples who seemed to dote on each other too much. Only fools fall in love with their husbands. Julia had taken those words for deepest truth, once.
But—her eyes fell to Thorismund and Horsa, each leaning casually on either side of the door, her honor guard. They had both insisted on watching her back, as they did not trust this new Roman in their midst. And the last thing she wanted was to deride her own feelings for Alaric before them.
“He would die for me,” she said simply, raising her cup to her lips. “And I for him.”
“Well. Isn’t that theatrical?” Lucretia smirked. “I cannot fault you for enjoying yourself. These barbarians are quite breathtaking.” She cast an assessing eye toward Thorismund.
Julia held a tart reply behind her teeth. Had Lucretia always been like this—all veiled insults and sly glances? Had she been like this? No wonder Alaric had found her insufferable.
She rose to her feet. “Come. Let me show you why you’re here.”
* * *
Not an hour later, Julia stood in the shadow of the aqueduct, gazing up at its high arches.
“My. What a ruin,” Lucretia remarked. Julia gritted her teeth. All the way down from the citadel, Lucretia had been ostentatiously noticing the city’s failings—shuddering in disgust at the sight of hungry children, casting a critical eye on crumbling walls.
At least Thorismund was here. He made her feel safe. He stood close by now, silent and discreet as a palace guard, having led a contingent of his men to watch their backs in the streets. Julia exchanged a muted look with him; she read in his glance that he would have plenty to say later.
“Only the higher levels are damaged,” Julia said to Lucretia. “The supporting structure remains unharmed. I believe your men could repair it within days if we had a ready supply of stone.”
Lucretia’s own men stood close, holding up a pair of parasols to shield them; but the parasols could do nothing to protect from the hot, sluggish wind. “It really is incredible, how great the destruction your husband wrought here.”
Julia felt a sudden need to defend Alaric. “He wants to make a better life for his people. That is what I hope to accomplish, with your help.”
Lucretia looked at her from beneath hooded eyes, unsmiling.
A sudden roar of pain split the sky. Thorismund was crumpling, a sword biting into his side where his wound had been.
Julia stared. For a moment she could not comprehend what was happening. The next, she stood in the middle of a battle. Lucretia’s men had tossed their parasols aside, swords gleaming in their hands; there were suddenly twice the men in the square as there had been.
Thorismund’s guards were outnumbered.
Julia could not move. Her feet were frozen to the ground. Thorismund. She thought of him rushing to her rescue at the temple, his axe held over his head as he barreled toward a battle he could not possibly survive.
“Run,” Thorismund bellowed from the center of the melee, fighting for his life. “Go.”
Lucretia seized her hand, breaking her trance. “This way. Hurry!”
* * *
The freeze of fear gave way to utter panic as she fled with Lucretia up the hill to the citadel, their feet slipping on the worn cobblestones.
Julia strode inside the citadel gates, calling for her own men. A great crash behind her as the huge citadel gate swung shut.
Lucretia stood behind her, a sharp-edged smile on her face. And there was Sigeric, coming down from the walls. “Sigeric!” Julia cried. “Thorismund is under attack. We must—”
But Sigeric passed without a glance at her, and Julia watched him stroll up to Lucretia as she took his hands firmly in her own. “Dear Sigeric. Well done. It all unfolded just as you said it would.”
Sigeric laughed. “It was easy to gain Alaric’s trust. All I had to do was stop my own assassin from killing him.”
Julia froze. Assassin? “Lucretia, what have you done?”
“Dear Julia. You’ve always been only half as clever as you thought you were, and twice as entitled.” Lucretia’s smile was vicious. “How does it feel to lose everything you have?”