We three have our ears pressed against the door of our parent's room - little Michel, Roberte and I huddle against a crack in the door straining for a hint to what has happened. Father is raging against the Romans - which is not new - but Mother is resolute. Neither is making much sense to 'Bere or I. Mich is too young to know that today something has changed.
"Thrice damned cursed Roman bastards!" Father shouts again. "I'll send the boy," meaning Bere, I think, "I've no choice in that and he'll need the others when he's Lord."
"If." My Mother's voice is nearly a whisper.
"When, damn you woman, when. He'll stand firm when I die. I'll send him and he'll have allies when he needs them. But not her, ye hear me? I'll not send her to those rutting bastard dogs! You hear?"
"They did not request her." Mother says simply.
"You will not speak so of her, My Lord. I--we--owe her much." Bere and I exchange glances; things are dire indeed, when mother calls him 'My Lord'.
There is a dull thud as if something heavy has fallen to the floor, "Not this much. I won't send her, Helena. I can't. She's my heart. Send Adele in her place. She's as wanton as any; she'll please her cursed desires more than my sweet child."
I feel Bere tense beside me as a cold wave creeps through me. I don't want to imagine what they are discussing.
"She does not want Adele. She wants his daughter."
"Don't say that," Father moans.
"Shhh. Hush my love." Mother comforts him. I have never heard my Father cry before. I am shaking as Mother's voice weaves around us all, "We knew this day would come. Her face shows him plainly."
"In all ways that matter save this." Mother's tone is final, "I'll not be forsworn, Owen. Nadine is called to her father's home. I dare not refuse."
A moment later the door opens, my parents alerted to our presence by my shocked outcry. In this way I learn that I was not my father's child. In this was I learn I was going to Rome.
It was my 16th birthday.
Roberte watched the soldiers mill about the Keep with mixed feeling - equal parts excitement at the thought of real cavalry who had fought real combat and irritation at the Roman's who blatantly disrespected his father's home. Soon, however that would change - he would leave with the Turmae of men and ride to Rome for fosterage with the Senator Aurelius Nero. He tried to focus on the adventure of that rather than the disturbing news of 'Dene paternity. He had always believed his Mother to be an honorable woman. This was not the way to learn she was not; that the rumors some of his Father's men spoke of were true.
He had known some of them. That his Father, the Lord of the Keep, had slept with the Lady Adele was well known - even by her husband. Father and Sir Colin had both divulged that one night, when they were both too drunk to keep wise council. But that his Mother had had other lovers before she wed - that he had not known.
Still, done was done, 'Bere tried to remind himself, and he was his Father's heir and rightfully so. As such, he smiled to himself and quickened his pace, he had a few small perks and one awaited him just outside the southern gate.
"You've kept me waiting." Katrina admonished him when he arrived.
"I could not slip away." He took the hand she offered him and they walked to the river's edge. They sat together in a shy silence. It was risky for them to be together; Katrina was betrothed but Roberte far outranked the farm boy. If he wanted to wed her, 'Bere could but what purpose would it serve? He didn't love her. They had been friends and she taught him much about the ways of women. But he had no desire to take her as wife and Lucas did. They stole a few pleasant moments, kissing in the river grass and left it at that. 'Bere knew that there were other pleasures to be had in a woman's arms but the only other woman whose arms interested him were not open to him.
Later that night, he spoke with his Father, in private. "Son," he said then faltered. "There are things I wish I had time to tell you. This Sulla; he's a good soldier. Learn from him as you would from me." He paused again and drank from his stein. "What do you know of women, boy?"
Roberte felt flush. "Not much, Father."
"Katrina left you un-schooled, did she boy?" his Father laughed. "It may be just as well. Questions about her would just rouse Delamont and I've trouble enough to the west as is. The Roman's will push for your betrothal - to a Roman woman, I'll grant. Just as they'll push me to wed your sister to one of their dogs. Remember, the woman is nothing; chose one that suits your fancy if you like. But better to chose the family. Her Father and brothers become your allies and you'll need strong ones. Chose from the sisters of your comrades in arms." He sat back and sighed. "I know not what I'll do with your sister. Helena's right; past time she's wed."
"I could see if there's a man among my fosters…" I began thinking of the relationship my Father has with his brother-at-arms.
"Who will like as not be sired by her own blood. No, boy, we may keep the secret but I'll not make an immoral marriage of her. I'll see to her." He drank again. "Or more like, your mother will." His mood seemed to go dark. "Now, my son. What do you know of men?"
"There are good men to have at your side and bad ones to push from it." Roberte had always strived to be an honorable man.
"True." His Father looked thoughtful. "What think you of Sir Gant?"
Gant was the Captain of the Keep's forces, second only to the Lord himself. He had been responsible for much of Roberte's training. "Most honored, Father."
"Aye. Quick with both sword and saddle. Strong. Smart. Loyal. What else do you note about him? About his ways."
There were rumors about Gant as well. Immoral, dark rumors about him and what things can happen to men who serve long hard campaigns away from home. His Father nodded. "You've heard. Aye, it's true what they say and more I'll wager. Gant will bugger a man sooner than face him in battle. But I'd trust no one more in the watchtower. Mark me son, how a man takes his pleasure is not the sole way to test his metal. You've faced Gant in the sparing ring; would you call him less of a man?"
Given the number of time Gant had beaten every man in the Keep, Roberte could hardly think it. "No, Sir."
"The Roman's have odd beliefs about them and they hold such against one. So guard yourself - I'll not tell you to not take a man or indeed, be taken by one, but if you do, hold such as secret. They'll take it against the honor of the Keep and you'll inherit the trouble it sows."
"Father, I've yet to even…"
"Say no more. Take what pleasures you wish where you will. Lord knows I have and someday when you've a son of your own, we'll talk of such things. But for now, know that I hold your honor by your word, your strength and your loyalty. No Father could ask for a finer son."
"I measure myself by you, Father."
They embraced. Roberte knew that from this day fore, such moments with his Father would be rare.
After, I take one last tour of our stables. My father was stable master before he became Lord of the Keep and I spent many days here with him and many more since with Sir Colin who is stable master now and whom I have called 'Uncle' for as long as I can remember. I know as much about our horses as any one and more than most. We breed Camargues and Comtois, sturdy mountain creatures. Surefooted and hardy, they will take you anywhere without fail but they are not they delicate graceful Arabians the Romans have brought with them. Our animals are more valued for their strength as draft horses than for their speed. My stallion is different. My father named him Abraham and he is the largest stud we have ever had - standing more than 15 hands and twice the average width at his chest - and the fastest. He was my father's mount because he was unusually ill tempered and bucked or kicked every other handler - even Uncle Colin. Once, when father was not looking, I climbed the fence and pulled myself on to Abe's back. He ran like the wind but he did not throw me. From then on, Abe was mine, both to ride and to tend.
The Arabians are stunning, though, and I wonder if I shall have a chance to ride one. One mare is lovely; reddish-brown with a mane and tail that are solid black. She is larger than the rest and is restless in her stall. We have a few larger stalls and one is empty. She is skittish but I sooth her. I take her bit and whisper to her as I guide her out of the stall.
Behind me, someone shouts in Latin. It is not my first language and it takes me a moment to understand. I look at the angry man before me and carefully ask, "Who let you into my father's stable?"
He frowns then clears his throat, "Lady. Forgive the intrusion. I meant no disrespect. I am Centurion Gaius Cassius Sulla. That is one of my mounts. Please, allow me. She's much too difficult for someone so-"
He pauses long enough for me to find my full voice, "This is my stable and I will handle any mount I please! I'll thank you to stand aside; she skittish enough without some thrice cursed damned Roman hanging about." I turn quickly pulling the mare with me. I had not intended to speak so but the mare comes quietly and the Roman says nothing more so I pray he's not offended.
As I settle her in more comfortably, his name dawns on me. Centurion. He said he was Centurion Sulla - the commander of the turmea. I nearly swoon; of all the people to make a fool of! I pray there were no witnesses.
I go straight to the Great Hall for dinner when I finish my stable chores. Uncle Colin is waiting for me at the door. He smiles, shakes his head and ruffles my hair as if I were a boy. The gesture and his escort to the Hall itself tell me that my words to the Centurion did not go un-remarked.
The Centurion looks hard at my father as I enter but father looks rather pleased. "Nadine! Have a care. Speak with a civil tongue, you hear me?" is all he says.
"Yes, Sir." I curtsy to father and then Sulla, "Pardon me, Sir." I take my seat at the table.
Dinner is jovial until Sulla announces that he wishes to leave the next day. I excuse myself as soon as I may but find my room lonely and empty; most of my belongings have been packed for the two long years I will spend in Rome. I don't want to sleep for when I wake it will be time to go. I drift off anyway and dream of horses running free.
Lady Adele - my mother's friend and handmaid - wakes me before dawn.
"I had hoped we would have this conversation one day but not this way." she says. "Tell me truly, have you and those stable boys been at it?"
I am shocked by the question; I hope I'm not entirely sure what she means, "Been at what? You don't mean..."
She nods and I recoil, "No, Lady. My honor..."
"Oh, hang your honor," she dismisses, "better you should know what to expect than fear it. Come, let's to your mother." She pauses, "You know about your mother and I, surely?"
"You have ever been friends." I look at her and wonder, what else could there be to know?
"Friends. Aye. But more than friends." she shakes her head, "We waited to long."
She takes my hand and leads me to my mother's rooms. There I am shocked to see Uncle Colin kissing her passionately as we enter.
"Tell her." he says. Then he ruffles my hair, kisses Lady Adele with no less passion and leaves. I am speechless.
"Nadine!" Mother gives me a shake and I realize dully that she has been speaking, "We don't have much time."
"But..." I look to the door that Uncle Colin just closed. He went into father's room.
Mother strokes my face gently, "Your father and Colin have no more secrets between them than Adele and I have between us. And I think your father will need Colin's strength today." Lady Adele murmurs in agreement. "You, my child, go to see an old friend. One who I owe my every happiness. Had it not been for her..." mother falters and Adele takes her hand.
"Helena, it's too later to tell her. It's too much to bear as she's leaving." Adele looks me in the eyes, "Do you trust your mother?"
"In all things." Again, I am shocked by the question.
"Then trust Lady Nandi. If she is as I hope, she'll do right by you."
Mother nods and takes my hands, "Nandi's husband was - was your father. Owen knew and wed me anyway" she smiled, "for his own purposes. But Nandi knows all about it and wishes to see you and I can deny her nothing."
Suddenly, father's door opens and he enters, eyes red. He folds me protectively into his arms as Lady Adele yells at Uncle Colin and mother looks stricken.
"I won't send her." Father says again. More than anything, I want to stay here safe in his arms.
It is Lady Adele that moves to him. She strokes his brow more tender than I have ever seen her, "Owen, it does you honor to guard her so. But think. Like as not she'll not know love when she weds." he begins to protest but she cuts him off, "And she must one day. She can't stay hidden beneath those horses forever. She 16 and long past age. Let her at least know passion before she bound to some noble born cabbage head." Gently she pulls his arms from about me and softly kisses him, "come let us remind you why we send her." She leads him, the lord of the keep, away like a child. Uncle Colin follows and closed the door.
Mother takes me in her arms and holds me close, "This is hard for him. When you were born, he held you - still bloody - in his arms. I think he still sees that new born. Not the young woman you are." She pulls back and looks at me, "Adele is right, I waited too long. Forgive me."
I fall to my knees, "Mother I don't understand. Why must I go? Who is this Lady Nandi?"
She starts to answer then stops, "What do you know of men and women?" she asks.
"Little." I say honestly, "Lady Adele told me, when I first bled, that men and women are much like studs and mares but that foals are often more trouble than they're worth."
Mother laughs somewhat, "Yes, I think Adele would say such a thing. Let's see. Nandi was a mare I once knew, her husband a stud"
"And my father a cuckold." The words slipped out before I thought.
"Oh no." her tone was deep with affection, "Sir Bogud was first. But were it not for him, your father and I would never have known the passion we share."
There was a knock at the door and the steward calling for mother.
"We will speak again before you leave. Now, you have your chores and I have mine."
I kiss her cheek and leave to dress and see to Abraham. This meeting has left me confused for I dare not believe what I thought they revealed.
My family are strangers to me.
We do not speak again privately, mother and I. At breakfast, Cassius Sulla announces that we are ready to depart. My Father says nothing but I have noticed that either Uncle Colin or Lady Adele is at his hand as if they are tied to him.
The formal farewell in our courtyard is awkward. Michel is crying inconsolably and I want to cry just as loudly but I must remain calm. Roberte and I ride out of the gate with the two moors at my shoulders.
I cannot stop looking back as we ride. For many miles, I can see our watchtower. For the first time I realize why the Romans question my father's loyalty.
Sir Moreland. Not my father. I cannot bear the thought and begin to weep. We ride for many miles and I am still weeping when we stop to rest the horses. One of the moors helps me dismount - I am still inconsolable. 'Bere sits with me until I can cry no more.
"He's dead." He says softly.
"Who?" I feel too exhausted even to ride and yet I know we have many miles to go.
"This Bogud. Father said he did before I was were born."
I look at him, "Sir Moreland told you."
"Our father told me, 'Dene. And whomever sired you, do not forget who raised you, who feed you, who sheltered you." his voice turned bitter, "Who favored you above all others." He sighed, "Come. You cannot be weak already."
He is right, though I am loathe to know it. I mount Abraham - grateful to have him for comfort - and we ride with the rest of the escort. I am also both comforted and disturbed by Roberte's words. Knowing that I was another's child Sir Moreland - my father, for I know not what else to call him - loves me. But does Roberte resent that love?
After some time, I consider the moors traveling at my side. The guard me like a princess, though I could not say why. One has a scar that runs the length of his face. He seems to be the higher of them, so I address him first, "What is you name, soldier?"
"Tybolt, Lady."
"Tybolt, my mother asked you to watch over me?" he nods, "Why?"
He hesitates.
"I don't know why she spoke to you directly at all." I comment.
"Perhaps she remembered us. We served with Bogud when he passed this way sixteen years ago.
If I had not been in the saddle, I should have stopped cold, "You knew him? You know what happened?"
He hesitates again, "We served under him on that campaign, yes."
"What was he like?" I ask.
Tybolt and the other exchange looks. It is the other who speaks, "He is no longer favored in Rome, Lady,. He served with Marcus Antonius at Actium."
Against the Emperor.
I realize that I have not spoken to the other man and ask his name.
"Tiberius, Lady." He smiles easily.
"My mother spoke of Sir Bogud's wife, that she too visited our keep. Do you know her?"
He frowned thoughtfully, "None of Bogud's wives traveled with us."
"The Lady Nandi." Tybolt said.
"Yes, that was the name."
Tiberius laughed. It was open and warm, "Nandi was never Bogud's wife."
"My Father said she was a whore."
Tybolt did not laugh, "No man may call Nandi a whore."
"Then who is this woman I am sent all the way to Rome to see?"
They exchange glances. Tybolt says something in a language I have never heard before and Tiberius suddenly rides ahead.
Being passed by another mount riles Abraham a little. I know he is responding more to my own tensions - I too would like to run. These men are cavalry; keeping up with Abraham should be not trouble for them. Without any preamble or warning for Tybolt, I tap Abraham with my heel; that is all he needs. He gallops forward. I briefly see the surprised faces of the cohort as we pass them. They have never seen a draft horse as fast as Abraham.
Soon we are ahead of the column with only the Signifier - the company's standard-bearer - before us. Tybolt and Tiberius catch up with us moments later and we slow to a trot. We ride together in silence until we reach the Signifier making camp for the night.
While Tybolt sets up a tent, Tiberius and I tend our horses. I hope to ease my own worries with the labor and tend to Tybolt's mount as well.
Soon the sunlight fades and the turmea is settled for the night. Roberte and I share rations packed carefully by Lady Adele. Neither of us speak; Roberte is still angry with me, and I am still miserable. When Tybolt tells me that the tent is ready for my use, I follow him and collapse into the bedroll, not caring if I ever wake again.
In my dreams, I can hear the thunder of hooves and feel the wind caress me. I wake suddenly and can hear the camp coming to life around me. I rise, dress, and find Tiberius standing guard at my door.
I start to ask if such a presence is necessary. Then it occurs to me; I am the only woman traveling with a cavalry turmea and I am unwed. His presence may be the only reason my honor remains this morning. I thank him, knowing suddenly how much a debt I owe him.
"Good morning, Lady. Tybolt will bring you breakfast presently."
I am embarrassed to be treated like some noble, "Please don't trouble him. I should tend to Abraham. I'll break my fast after he breaks his."
"Do not trouble, Lady. We have livery that will see to him for you."
My eyes widen, "Oh no!" I run to where Abraham is tied and Tiberius saves a poor soldier from being kicked. After a few of them try, the livery is content to let me tend to Abraham.
The terrain is harsh as we pass through the mountain heights and although there is a road, it is slow going for the Roman horses. Abraham and Fleur - Roberte's mount - are ours and have no trouble with the sharp slopes and rocky terrain. We stop for the night at the Roman stronghold near Gap.
I have never seen so many people in one place. Our small keep, which always seemed so crowded, seems empty by comparison. I am grateful that Abraham is so well trained and that Tybolt and Tiberius are never more than an arms length away.
Roberte has not spoken to me all day. I eat a cold supper in my room alone and cry myself to sleep.
Abraham's call wakes me in the morning.
The air is still and I am not sure if it was a dream or not. Then I hear him again and I race clad only in my shift to the stables. Tybolt is at my heels. As we near them, we can hear the commotion growing louder. Shouting, kicking, animals in distress.
Inside is chaos. Three men try to hold Abraham and another stallion apart. The bay mare is kicking in the stall between them. I wish Uncle Colin was here to whip the man responsible for this.
"Take that mare out of here!" I yell repeatedly before Tybolt pushes his way to her and opens her stall. She rears and only his quick reflexes save him from a horrifying kick. With the door open, she whinnies and speeds out. I shove the man nearest me, "Get her! Hold her in the courtyard." He does not question but goes.
With her gone, the men have an easier time fighting the other stallion into another stall. Abraham continues to bite and kick until I grab hold of his harness. Slowly he begins to calm. I am shaking and desperately searching him for any sign of injury. Tybolt returns to my side.
"I spoke to the stable master, Lady. It was as you surmised. They fought over Artemis."
"The Goddess?"
"The Arabian bay - Cassius Sulla's mount."
I should have realized that stunning beauty belonged to him. I scold Abraham softly reminding him that he has plenty of mares in our stables at home. He nickers and tosses his head. Sometimes I think he understands me. I brush him slowly and be sure he's calm and unhurt before I saddle him for the day. Tybolt reminds me that I am dressed only in my shift and, embarrassed, I rush to my room to dress.
In the courtyard, I virtually collide with Roberte.
"Dene!" He hugs me hard, "Are you unhurt?"
"I was never in danger. Poor Abraham was the one attacked and 'twas brave Tybolt that risked his life for him."
Roberte formally bows to him, "I am in your debt, sir." He turns back to me, "What happened?"
I can no longer hold my anger, "That thrice cursed Roman half wit! His mare's in heat and he stabled her between two stallions! That damned fool!"
"That damned fool is a centurion in Emperor Augustus cavalry." Sulla's voice was knife sharp behind me, "Think you that I would not know if the animal I bred and trained was in heat?"
I clinch my lips tight, knowing that if I call him a fool to his face in this courtyard, I will be whipped or worse. Roberte before me looks stricken; Tybolt's expression is dark. As much as I despise the idea, I know I must apologies. "My pardon, Centurion," I do not look at him for I know my face to say what my words will not, Abraham was my father mount before he was mine. I was concerned for his safety and spoke without thinking."
"Of course you did." His tone was insulting "Such is the way of spoiled little girls."
I whirl around, intent on telling him exactly what I think of arrogant Romans but he is already moving away to give orders to start the day's journey.
I am so angry, the rest of the morning passes in a blur. When we rest at mid-day, Roberte is frustrated with me. "You can't be sour all day, Nadine." But he knows full well that I can and have spent weeks in a foul mood. I glare at him and he stops speaking to me again.
When we resume the ride, I let Abraham's reigns slack and let him set his own pace. He quickly opens to a full gallop. I am please to see Tybolt and Tiberius's sleeker mounts must work to keep pace. As we pass Sulla and his officers, Abraham slows. He whinnies at Artemis and she replies. Sulla glares at me as harshly as I glare at him.
Then Abraham and Artemis take off racing. I make no attempt to stop him; I doubt I could if I wanted to. There is no way a Comtois can beat an Arabian in a race - Abraham, for all his strength and size, is built for stamina not speed. But he is keeping pace with this sleek beauty and though we can not over take her, neither can she out run us.
I hear laughter and realize that it is Sulla. The wind, the speed, the exhilaration, this is my dreams these last few nights. I see Sulla's face; he is grinning. He looks much younger, almost handsome. I look away and encourage Abraham to run faster, when I look back, Sulla is still beside me.
Then alarm transforms his features. He shouts a warning that I cannot understand just as Abraham jumps.
I have never jumped Abraham. Comtois are not the prancing dainties for public games. They are solid as the Alps that spawned them. They do not jump. I grab a hand full of his mane and prey to every god I know that I do not fall at this speed. That Abraham does not break a leg.
When he lands, Abraham slows to a canter and turns of his own accord to rejoin Sulla, Tybolt and Tiberius who are waiting - dumbfounded - by the rock outcropping over which Abraham avoided tripping. When we reach them, my heart has almost stopped leaping from my chest.
"I think perhaps," I say trying to mimic my mother's calm self-possession, "We should let them walk a ways."
Sulla's face has returned to the stony harsh visage I am growing accustomed to, "Yes. That would be most wise."
No one speaks for a time.
We stop for the day at dusk. At our evening meal, Bere informs me that the race is becoming something of a legend among the men.
"The Lady Hela rides well." Tiberius says casually.
"The Lady Nadine rides well." Tybolt corrects him sternly. He chastised Tiberius in their native tongue and Tiberius, shame faced, bows and leaves.
Roberte and I exchange looks. I ask Tybolt, "What was that about? Who is Hela?"
Tybolt hesitates, "My brother made an error, Lady." Again, I know he is lying to me. I resolve to know why.
I go to bed with no answers but when I wake, I peer cautiously out of the tent and see Tiberius. I move back to my bedroll before he sees me and squeal like a kitchen maid seeing a rat. He is beside me before the sound fades from my own ears. He scowls when he sees I have tricked him. He turns to leave.
"I called you for a reason, Tiberius."
He faces me and inclines his head, "Yes, Lady."
"Please sit."
He crosses his arms and continues standing.
"Tiberius," I start when I realize that I'll get nothing more, "Your brother has lied to me. He's lied and I want to know why."
He frowns. When he speaks again, his voice is low, "Centurian Sulla wishes to depart shortly. Dress quickly, Lady." He leaves.
Neither he nor Tybolt speak to me all day. Like shadows they follow me. Frustrated, I sulk all day.
In the middle of the night, someone shakes me awake. It is Tiberius.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lady." He whispers.
"What's wrong?" I cannot imagine why he would wake me at this hour.
"I wish to tell you a story."
A story Tybolt does not want me to hear, I think.
"When the Romans conquer a tribe all of the males who can hold arms are conscripted into the army. The women and children are made slaves to serve in Roman households. Some women - the beautiful ones - are often sold for prostitution. One such woman killed the first two men who tried to touch her. Then she killed the men who came to punish her. She was brought before a general who learned that there was an omen at her birth. He was intrigued and so called and astrologer who confirmed, indeed, there was an omen above her. She could not be harmed - could not be touched by man - unless destruction befall that man responsible. The general agreed then to free her and make a place for her in his household. But there was a price for her freedom; she agreed to dance for him - in the old ways - at his command. So she danced bare flesh for him but remained untouched by any man. Several years passed in this way. Then, the general was to travel the empire and decided to take the dancer with him. At each garrison, he ordered her to dance. No one knows exactly what happened or why for neither the dancer or the general would discuss it but when we left Tula Keep, Lady Nandi was carrying Bogud's child. Before the child was born, however, Bogud was dead at Actium."
He left and I lie awake more confused by this tale than by the whole of this journey. I dare not ask for more details. Eventually I fall into a fitful slumber. My dreams are a distressing mixture of thundering hooves and my mother dancing.
I can see her, smiling at Father. Stroking his cheek but pulling out of his reach before he can kiss her. Men and women, stallions and mares. Mother and Father, Abraham and Artemis. Mother and Father and Nandi and Bogud.
I wake fully, gasping, shaking. I desperately wishing Lady Adele were here. She often made sense of distorted visions. Then another image strikes me: Lady Adele stroking Father's brow. Uncle Colin kissing both Mother and Adele.
Mother, Father, Nandi, Bogud, Adele and Colin. They knew each other. They know each other.
I cry out. Then cover my mouth, afraid to be heard.
Tybolt calls me to see if I am well. When I do not reply, he enters the tent and sees my distress. He frowns and leaves. I struggle to calm myself. When he returns, he brings Roberte with him and leaves us.
Roberte's eyes show his concern, "Are you hurt? What's wrong, Dene?"
I open my mouth to tell him our parents are adulterous and in a flash realize that I dare not. Roberte is Father's heir; his faith in his birthright must be unquestioned - regardless of my own status.
"A-a-a nightmare." I stammer eventually, "I was overcome by it. I'll be fine."
He frowns; he always seems to know when I am lying. "Suit yourself then." He turns to leave, "We'll reach the port at Massalia today if we can get an early start."
I wonder when my younger brother became so cold.
I rise and dress because anything physical is far better than my unfinished thoughts. Tybolt says nothing as we groom and saddle the horses. By day break we are astride, and before the sun is fully risen, I can see the city wall in the distance.
I have heard of cities; great bustling places with thousands of people living and working in one he space. But I've never seen one and my imagination never dreamed of Massalia. Only Tybolt and Tiberius, so close behind me, keep me moving toward that mass of chaos. As we pass, I see everything I have ever seen - cooks, weavers, blacksmiths, drunks, and priests - mixed together with things I have never known. It is all too confusing and I keep my eyes on Abraham's forelock to keep from being overwhelmed. I could see our goal in the distance - a standard bearing the same sign as Century Sulla's shield. As we draw closer, more details become clear. Water. A dock. A ship. Some of the cadre are already boarding; walking their horses up the log narrow plank then disappearing on to the deck.
I had not realized that Abraham had stopped moving until Tiberius calls my name.
Until this moment, I had not believed that Father would not come charging in - saying that it was all a lie. That I wasn't being sent away. That I would never be apart from him. That he was my only father. I cannot board that ship.
Someone slips Abraham's reins from me to no avail; he will not budge either.
"It's not a fast ship, but she's a proper hold aboard her."
I ignore the voice; it's not my father.
"Abraham will have his own stall. And I'll see you have the run of the stable, if you like."
It won't matter, I'm not going aboard.
"Nadina," A hand touches my shoulder but I shrug it off, "Nadina, your father loves you but he's not coming."
I turn to the speaker - the liar. It is Centurian Sulla and he looks as wretched as I feel.
Take up the reins, Nadina" I shake my head, "Come, come. This is no time to be a spoiled child." I don't care. "Nadina, he would be here if he could."
I look at Sulla. He must be close to father's age. To judge by the look on his face, he has a daughter as well.
"Give me your hand, Nadina." He takes hold of it and I do not pull away. I know in my heart that father loves me. That all the hounds in Hades could not stop him if he meant to be here. Mother; only mother could dissuade him. This journey is at her bidding and I know not why.
I realize that we are about the ship when I hear the hollow wood beneath Abraham's feet. I look back again, but try as I might I cannot see our watchtower.
Sulla bid her to dismount – needing to pull her off the horse nearly. She walked, insensible where she was lead, to the mid deck and the stable where Abraham and most of the other mounts were housed. Tybolt wanted to take her immediately to a cabin but Sulla insisted on giving her a currycomb and she groomed her horse almost instinctively. He left Artemis to the livery and watched Nadina work. Even in her own turmoil, she saw carefully to the details, brushing a tangle from his forelock, pulling a small rock from his hoof. Seeing her like this added and earthiness to her young charms ‘My youngest child is older than she’ he reminded himself again. Any thoughts of her “charms” was unbefitting a married man of his station. Were unlikely to be reciprocated by a girl who could surely at best see him as a father figure.
Her presence in the stable had surprised him, as much because it was a rare place for a woman as because Artemis had tolerated her. Tall, wavy brown hair, slender – she had an elegant form that had stirred him unexpectedly. He thought he was well past lust but when she actually spoke her mind directly, it had reignited senses he had stopped using years ago. Now, divorced of her characteristic impudence, she seemed like the frightened child she must be. He had thought that it was her rebellion and outspokenness – so different from the well breed women he had wed – that suborned his common sense and inflamed his libido. But seeing her so profoundly shaken had only awakened a desire to protect her that showed no signs of abating.
Sulla’s heart had nearly broken watching her earlier distress. Standing there now, quietly grooming Abraham, her tall form so graceful, it was impossible to ignore her budding beauty. Her bodice and hips had already taken womanly curves. Her face had a strength that belied her age.
“Sulla?”
Her voice, even soft, sent terrible thought through his mind; he set his face so as not to betray them, “Yes?”
“I’m sorry for my behavior today.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he fought the desire to take her into his arms, “No need to apologize.”
“I think,” she took a deep breath and he tried to take no notice of her bodice heaving, “I think I should like to see the ship now.”
Neither Tybolt or Tiberius was present – both feeling confident that leaving her in Sulla’s care was safe. “Very well.” He opened the stall gate for her but did not dare offer her him arm. She moved past him with the warm scent of hay. Not a feminine scent, to be sure, but he found it distinctly appealing. He took her up to the main deck first, doing his best to avoid the sailors who worked the rigging at the bow of the ship.
As they neared the aft deck, much noise could be heard. In the most open part of the deck, the men had already set up a ring to spar in and most of the company were already wrestling or dueling in pairs.
Among them, Sulla noted Nadina’s brother. The boy was impossible to miss – standing taller than most of the men and wider than any of them. He was a veritable tree of a boy and would easily be a mountain of a man. The boy and Sulla’s Decurion, Decius Marcellus, were striped to the waist and wrestling. Nadine moved toward them and Sulla followed. He was not surprised to see the boy win against the third officer and two other matches as well. Sulla nodded in approval; he had expected the boy to be a strong fighter. The boy smiled triumphantly at his sister, then took on and defeated another challenger.
“You brother fights well.” Sulla commented, “He’ll do well in Rome if he’s as good with arms.”
Nadina nodded. She stepped closer to the ring, grabbing a pitcher and ladle as she did. When he brother finished his next bout, he took the drink she offered him.
“Sir Edwin and Sir Gant would be pleased.” She said.
He smiled, “Edwin, yes. Gant would prod my sore ribs and throw me again.” He looked at her more seriously, “Are you well?”
Her face struggled for a moment and Sulla again wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight. She nodded but did not look her brother in the eye or speak.
“Dutulianus?” Marcellus called out as he approached them.
The boy faced him with a smug smile, “What? Again?” Then he noticed Nadina’s questioning look, “Our name, Romanized. Most of the men have taken to calling me that.”
She nodded again. Sulla would have given the Empire to relieve the pain in her eyes. Then he took note of Marcellus, who had taken note of Nadina.
“Is there water only for a brother?” Marcellus asked, his eyes never leaving hers.”
As the boy introduced Marcellus and Nadina, Sulla’s eyes narrowed. His third officer was a by any standard a handsome young man – dark hair, dark eyed, olive skinned and muscular. He looked every inch the honorable roman. Sulla knew, however, that Marcellus had a reputation for Bacchanal pursuits. He had shown no preference for men or women and was known to frequent more than one brothel. Neither of these children could rest easy so long as Marcellus was free about the ship; Sulla doubted the man would trouble about the ‘honor’ of a pair of children from Gaul.
Nadina seemed to hold her breath as Marcellus held her hand; his gaze became more intense and Sulla’s glower deepened. When Nadina licked her lips, Marcellus dipped the ladle and offered her a drink.
“Marcellus!” Sulla’s voice was harsher than usual, “When was the last equipment check?”
“Before we left, Sir.” The Decurion dropped the ladle with a splash and turned his full attention to his Centurion.
“I want a complete inventory. Tonight.”
Marcellus’ eyes narrowed but his voice remained respectful, “Yes, Sir.” With barely a nod in the siblings’ direction, he hurried off calling orders to others under his command.
“I had best return to my duties.” Sulla marshaled his emotions and forcefully returned his thoughts to the journey ahead. “I’m sure your brother can keep you safe here.” He stalked off hoping to find the ship’s captain quickly. While aboard, much of Sulla’s duties were relieved but the company and their mounts always needed some attending and so he was never without some task.
Sulla had sailed with Atellus Creticus before and found the man to be a competent sailor and an intelligent companion. They often shared the captain’s quarters as much to ease conditions for the men as for the camaraderie. He found Creticus and was met with the disagreeable news of stormy weather on the horizon. Sulla went down to give orders to his Optio – Potitus – then went himself to check the mounts and stable conditions.
After assigning others to see to most tasks, he personally attended the provisions and harness for Artemis and Abraham. Despite himself, he had to admit the stallion was finely bred. Broad and sure-footed even above normal for the breed, the mount had proven far faster and far more agile than any mere heavy draft horse. There had not been many who bested Artemis in a race. And he’d never seen a draft horse jump before – not that height or speed, at least. Artemis had clearly taken a liking to the stallion and Sulla hoped that she would not become too unruly when the two horses parted.
He stroked her nose, “Now, now, my spitfire, you’ve your choice of studs. I’ll see you breed to the strongest, fastest warhorse in the Empire.” He triple checked her harness; even his wife knew: heaven and hell both defend anything that injured Artemis. Had Sulla only one shield, it would be strapped around her breast rather than his own.
He gave her a parting pat and made the same checks for Abraham. Much to his own surprise, the horse made no complaint to Sulla’s touch. On one hand, that pleased the horseman in him. On the other, the man in him, found the idea of tending Artemis and Abraham together, lead him to thinking of them breeding and he found that thought uncomfortably symbolic. He would rather Abraham kicked out the stall gate than suffer his presence but there the great beast stood, nickering softly.
Sulla left the stables, dismayed at his inability to control his thoughts of the girl who so consumed his mind. Perhaps he would no be so unnerved by her presence if he was not wed or if she were not so young. Perhaps if he could simply court her openly – hang her father, the Emperor would not oppose it – perhaps his obsession with her could be justified. But this, this was undignified. Unmanly. Dishonorable.
He vowed restraint. Again. It had become increasingly more difficult after the race, seeing her hair flowing, her eyes flashing, her cool defiant grace after a jump that might have broken the leg of many a good horse or rider. At that moment, he wanted her more ardently than he had wanted any other woman he had known. He feared his actions had Tybolt and Tiberius not been beside him.
He vowed restraint. He vowed to avoid her. The journey to Sardinia was short; three days hence, she would be in the care of Antonia Nandia Boguda and he would return with the boy to Rome. To his wife and daughters. ‘Surely,’ he thought, ‘that will end this absurd – this foolish – lust.’
A man called his name and brought his attention to a matter of little interest. He saw to it and to the next, so past the rest of the day with much occupation and little thought of Nadina. At one point, Sulla spied a pre-occupied Marcellus below deck, frowning at a parchment. ‘He’s a good officer.’ Sulla thought. The inventory was fatigue duty, somewhat beneath his station but Marcellus had taken the task without complaint, and obeyed orders. Sulla knew in truth, he only assigned it because of the way the man had looked at Nadina, the way he touched her hand. It was unfair to take his personal frustrations out on a good soldier.
“Decius Marcellus,” he called out. The Decurion snapped to attention. “You’re a good officer,” Sulla said, “These children are guests of Aurelius Nero’s. Take care that your reputation does not precede them to the Senate.”
Marcellus stiffened at the offence then lifted him chin. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” The words had a clipped formality to them.
Sulla nodded then relented fully, “That inventory can wait until tomorrow, I think.”
“Thank you, Sir.” He rolled the parchment in his hand and tied it, “It is already complete, Sir.”
Sulla accepted the scroll, “Very good.” It was impressive speed, he was curious how complete the data would be, “Carry on, Decurion.”
The cavalry officers dined with the ship’s officers in the captain’s cabin. As guests, Dutulanius and Nadina joined them – Tybolt and Tiberius ever at her side. The conversation turned as always to speculation about fighting in the north against the Celts and Franks and to the south in Constantinople. Legio III was garrisoned in northern Africa and was a quiet post; many of the younger officers longed for the honors and excitements of more war-like duties. Sulla listened and watched the bravado of those who thought Augustus moved too slowly against the tribes and to the elder officers – long tired of warfare – who counseled patience. He saw with growing curiosity the rapt attention Dutulanius paid to the details of troop movement and strength in the Gaulish provinces. Moreland, the boy’s father, was a citizen and loyal to Rome. So far. Would the son follow the father, Sulla wondered.
That, he knew was the purpose of this exchange. To bring the bastard sons of Bogudius Antonius under patronage of a major house of Rome and insure their loyalty to the Empire. Most had been born of older landholders and like Dutulanius, raised by men who had realized that if Marcus Antonius had won the emporium, Bogudius’ son would be of value. It would be interesting to see what value these boys held now that both men were dead and out of favor with the Senate.
Especially this one who was so clearly Moreland’s blood. If he were not the elder child by two years, Sulla would have sworn that Nadina was….
He looked between the two siblings; they were both tall and shared their mother’s profile but there all similarities ended. Nadina’s hair was long, wavy and dark brown – unlike either of her parents. Her skin, too, was darker; Sulla had originally attributed that to her clear love of the sun but if she were the Moor’s daughter, it would fit. He poured another glass of wine. Boguda Nandia had only one child – a daughter named Hela who was the only acknowledged child of Bogudius; she was conceived – rumors said – while Bogudius and Nandia were traveling in Gaul. They stayed at Tula for three days. Daughters named ‘Hela’ and ‘Nadina’ born of mothers named ‘Nandi’ and ‘Helena’? It was too much to be coincidence. This explained why the girl went to Sardinia and not to Rome. But why such an elaborate deception to send the son as well? The girl could form a useful allegiance by marriage; the son was already a citizen and would inherit an impressive amount of land. Sulla nearly laughed aloud when the answer struck him.
The invitation. “Send me your son of ten and six and so I will send mine” it read. It was worded so as not to call the true parentage of the boys into question. Aurelius Nero had no small network in Morocco, and finding the places where Bogudius had sought support against Augustus was not difficult. Discovering which landholder’s wives had born children nine months after his visit was harder but not impossible. In this case, the son was a daughter, but who was to know the truth in Rome? It served the Empire better to take the boy and keep the girl home. Nadina, however, was not going to Rome at the behest of the Senator; a second request sent her to the court of Nandia Boguda. Why risk someone seeing them both and guessing the truth? Too many questions. The whole family would bear watching.
He was jarred from his thoughts when everyone at the table rose. Nadina left the room, Tybolt and Tiberius at her shoulder. He knew now that the girl was gone the conversation would turn coarse. Much to Sulla’s surprise, Dutulainus not only listened to the foul language of soldiers without the shock of youth but also gave as good as he got when the carousing turned to him. Moreover, much like his father, the boy seemed to hold his spirits well – a good trait in Rome.
Not feeling the urge to one-up his officers, Sulla left and went on deck for a breath of night air. He wandered around to the prow of the ship and nearly walked into Nadina.
She was leaning against the railing, arm outstretched. It seemed that at any moment, her foot would slip and she would fall into the sea. In the darkness, there would be no chance of finding anyone. Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her wrist. She turned her head and looked at him; she seemed distant and unfocused.
He should have worried about her state of mind. He should have wondered where Tybolt and Tiberius were when she about to fall overboard. Instead, he traced the graceful lines of her face with his eyes. They were both now leaning over the rail, he realized so he stepped back, pulling her away from the rail and into his arms. She pressed against him, warm and soft and he was ashamed of how much he desired her. ‘She’s frightened’ he told himself, ‘Comfort, she just wants to feel safe.’ He held her and tried to convince himself that holding her was enough.
She pulled away from him and he saw for a moment in her eyes a passion too mature for her age. He thought he was mistaken when she kissed his cheek. He knew he was lost when she kissed his lips.
When her tongue slipped between his lips as well, he struggled to command himself and break off the kiss. He caressed her soft cheeks.
“Dutulia Nadina,” he whispered trying to speak with some authority, “We cannot do this.” He found himself tracing the line of her slender neck with his fingertips and she groaned as she responded to the touch, “I cannot allow this. It cannot be.”
“A kiss, Gaius.” She cooed. Her use of his intimate praenomen prompted a groan from him and passion again threatened his common sense, “What danger is a kiss?”
“Hera preserve me.” He gasped as his lips glided over her jaw line. Helen’s smile launched a thousand ships of Troy; her kiss would have launched ten thousand more. Moments later, his lips slid upward to recapture hers. This time when their tongues met, he let desire consumed him. Lifting her lithe form to hold her closer felt as natural as her slender arm slipping around his neck did, her fingers tangling in his hair. She nuzzled his neck, kissed his ears and behind them. Her supple body rubbed against his. He groaned again, tilted her head back and kissed her again. He could feel her pulling his shirt as he slid one hand down her body, intent on lifting her into his arms and carrying her down to his quarters.
Abruptly she was pulled from him. It took a moment for him to see Tiberius and the knife he held.
For one mad moment, he wanted to kill Tiberius with his bare hands. But the moment past and they all stood in silence listening to the waves against the ship and their own heavy breathing.
Sulla could not look Tiberius in the eye. He straightened his shirt and shut his passions away. “Lock her in her cabin until we land.” He said quietly and went to his own to pass a fitful night. He woke to hear the rage of a storm that mirrored his own. Creticus was absent, no doubt at the helm. Sulla nearly went to join him but knew the Creticus was well able to handle the ship and at best would find his presence a distraction.
He thought again of her weight pressed against him. He tried to remember his wife’s and could not. In truth, he could scarcely remember her face – it was a marriage of convenience not love. His second wife, Drusa died in childbed after delivering his youngest – Sulla Minor – around the same time that Pavo’s husband – a centurion in Legio III’s infantry – was killed. It seemed natural that they could help each other. But, though he was grateful for the care she had shown in raising his daughters, he had no illusions that she had any passions for him. Their wedding night had been a disappointment for them both and he could not remember the last time he had shared her bed – though he doubted she slept alone often. He should by all rights divorce her but so long as he could say that he had no proof of her affairs, he could honestly claim to know of none. He always made a point of sending a messenger to his wife affording her ample time to dismiss any other guests she may have.
Eventually the storm clouds broke and clear bright skies appeared in the captain’s porthole. Sulla dressed and went on deck to attend the day. Few chores needed his attention but it was after high noon when he went below to spend some time grooming Artemis. The sudden hushed silence of the men as he walked by signaled a problem and he carefully reviewed each mount as he passed. The stalls were clean, the tack was hung, all seemed as it should. He could hear Artemis nickering but until was not until he saw her and Abraham nuzzling that he went cold.
He had not planned to bred her until after he retired next year. Even so, she was months out of season for her heat cycle. And yet, her behavior for the last few days could be explained by such – the racing, the stud fight in Gap, now nuzzling. No question, she was in heat early.
He yelled over his shoulder as he opened her stall gate, “Find me an open stall. Between two mares.” He patted her cheek lovingly and pulled her away from the stallion. She did not resist, which was odd if she was in heat and this was her chosen stud. He saw why in one glance at the stable wall she had been blocking.
The barrier between the two horses was destroyed; kicked out by one or both of them in an effort to reach each other. With the ceiling barely 6 feet high, Artemis must have had to all but crawl for the beast to have mounted her.
Varus, his third officer quietly walked over. The Tesserarius stood beside Sulla looking down.
“When?” Sulla asked not trusting himself to say anything else.
“During the storm. And again this morning. Ceasiaren found them and called me.”
Sulla nodded then walk away toward the upper decks.
Varus, startled, ran after him, “Sir, what do you…”
“Move her. Groom her. Fix that.” He snarled then turned and left the stable leaving his third officer stuttering. He went to the captain’s quarters locked door. He ignored the first knock at the door. And the second some hours later. When Creticus finally forced the lock later, the sky outside the porthole was dark and Sulla was well into his second jug of wine. He swore at his friend before allowing him to cork the bottle and haul Sulla to bed.
The ship shook causing Roberte to wake in the darkness with the sound of water filling his ears. For a moment, he panicked and relived the worse night of his young life.
It was Spring and he was eight. Much of the Keep was busy with cleaning or building or other seasonal chores. It had been easy to escape both Nadine and Aunt Adele. He wandered around the Keep finding quiet crawl spaces and new paths to explore that had been shut up for the winter. In the grain cellar, he found a new chink in the wall leading to an unknown room. It had turned out to be drainage for the kitchen. It also proved harder to exit than to enter. When the water began to seep in, he was displeased. When it began to pool and then rise, he feared for his life. In the darkness, in the suddenly rushing water, he had screamed in holy terror for his young life. It had seemed hours spent waiting to drown.
Then, he heard Nadine's voice calling him. She found him and roused the Keep and stayed where he could hear her until the kitchen was torn through and they could pull him out. Severe rainstorms always reminded him of that and the nightmare was made stronger being surrounded on all sides by water.
He sat in his cabin alone and afraid; and ashamed of his own fear. Finally, he could bare it no longer. He slipped from his cabin and knocked on the door of Nadine. After a moment, the door was opened by the Decurion - the third officer - Decius Marcellus. Roberte stood stunned until he realized that he must have chosen the wrong cabin door. A bolt of lightening crashed and the boy flung himself at the man, too wrapped with his own fears to stop himself.
"DuTullainus!" The man was shocked by the sudden act. He stepped into the hall and closed the cabin door so not to wake the other officers. "Stand firm, boy! Marshall yourself."
But, in truth, the day had taken it's toll on 'Bere and he found himself just able to hold himself from tears. Marcellus flung an arm around the overwrought boy and led him back to his own cabin. There, he sat with him, as with a young child and rocked him. "For all his size," Marcellus thought, "he is but a child and this his first journey into manhood."
As the storm subsided, Roberte found it easier to calm himself and burned with shame at his weakness. And, he found, with more. His Father's words about Sir Gant came to him and he found himself wondering how one discovers that sort of man. He shook himself free of such thoughts. The Romans would not act so; he cannot in their presence.
He pulled himself free of Marcellus and remembered the honor of his house rested on his shoulders. He looked at the Officer, intent upon apologizing for such unmanly behavior.
And saw something. The truth of his heart reflected in his eyes perhaps. Perhaps not. But in an instant he knew how Gant discovered such men. And Marcellus seemed to read the same of him."You have never traveled to Rome, have you?"
"No." Roberte answered simply.
"I will be staying in the city upon our arrival. I could show you its ways."
"I would be most grateful."
Marcellus stood and stepped away from him. "You should try to rest now. We will have time to speak more." He reached the door and paused. "And, we should spar tomorrow. You are strong but undisciplined."
"I shall be guided by your wisdom."
"I would be most honored to guide you."
They spend the next three days together, either sparing in the ring or discussing Rome and her customs.
Nadine, Roberte learned was locked in her cabin for her own good - her honor not safe among both soldiers and sailors. He missed her company but could not fault the Captain his judgment.
Sometime later the next morning, Sulla woke to a splitting headache and an empty stomach. He waited until he could walk without stumbling then dressed and found Potitus. His first officer was at the wheel with Creticus. They both nodded and if either had further comment, they kept it to themselves.
"Anything?" Sulla asked as if he had only been gone for a moment.
"Germinicus, the damned fool, bruised a rib sparing with Drusis."
"Badly?"
"He'll ache for a week or so." He shrugged, "No fatigues. He'll live."
Sulla nodded, "Anything else?"
"No, Sir. We should make land fall before night."
"Good. I want her off. Tonight." The Optio looked at him oddly, "That damned beast of hers is more trouble than it's worth."
"Ah." The man said, "Yes, Sir. Will you be accompanying them sir?"
"Have you meet Nandia Boguda?"
"No Sir."
"Good. Then you can go and meet the great lady. I've had the honor."
"Yes, Sir." He seemed excited, "Thank you, sir."
"Potitus, I've messages to attend to. Have Varus resolve anything you cannot."
"Yes, Sir!"
Potitus and Varus would both be promoted soon. One would almost assuredly take Sulla's position next year when he retired.
When he retired. Land in Gaul and money enough for a senate seat should he want it. But the politics of the Empire had never appealed to Sulla. The land and a dozen horses. Let Geminia Pavo keep the house in Rome, do as she liked with whom ever she cared to. Sulla would rather a far-flung villa to the noise of Rome.
He took the time to write a scroll describing their journey to Gaul and to Sardinia; he'd have it sent by messenger back to the Legia III command. No one cared; most of Sulla's turmea were men who'd served past ten years - more than half were past sixteen and had been assigned to the task as 'light duty'. No fear of combat, but hard riding - as if Sulla or any of the other 'short timers' hadn't spent most of their lives in the saddle.
He heard the landing call and bound his messages to the unnecessary inventory Marcellus completed. He waited while the ship docked and he heard the escort's hooves on the gangplank.
He was therefore unprepared to find Tybolt waiting for him on deck.
"Nandi will wish to see you." He said. It was a voice that allowed no disagreement. Sulla could have declared one or both brothers insubordinate; have them censured or even fully disciplined. He would have, perhaps, if he could have meet Tybolt's eyes. Instead, he nodded and gave his scrolls to Varus and joined the rest of the escort.
Thank you for reading. This is a work in progress so I REALLY NEED feedback, please and thank you! (The box is bigger than it looks, really.) The next chapters are in re-write but could be posted as is (if anyone cares to read them, let me know.) If you prefer to rate, send me a 1 (hated it) to 5 (loved it) and thanks!