‘I will.’ He kissed her fiercely before picking up his helmet and charging out of the room. ‘Just wait here!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Livia sat on the edge of the bed, straining her ears to listen to the sound of muffled shouts and fighting outside, as if sound itself could tell her what was happening. The tension was agonising. Marius had told her to stay and wait, but for what? For him to return or for a horde of warriors to break down the door and burst in?
She turned his gladius over in her lap, hating the weight of cold steel in her hands. Would she be able to use it if she had to? The very idea was terrifying. Then she peered closer, noticing the pair of initials carved into the hilt. His and his father’s. It was their weapon, the symbol of their family honour. It had meant a hundred times more to him than she’d realised and he’d risked it for her.
The thought brought her resolutely to her feet. How could she just sit there and do nothing when Marius had already risked so much for her? If he were injured, then she’d never forgive herself. He might need her and, even if he didn’t, others might. The very least she could do was help the wounded.
She dressed quickly, tucking the gladius inside her belt and then moving away the chest she’d barricaded against the door, peering nervously around the edge before making her way outside. The Via Principalis was deserted as she approached the west gate. Then she stopped, gripping the edge of a pillar for support as she stared, horrified, at the scene of chaos before her. Most of the fighting was along the top of the palisade, but a handful of rebels had already breached the defences and were battling auxiliaries inside the camp. Meanwhile, more warriors kept appearing over the top of the ramparts, so many that the Roman soldiers looked in danger of being overwhelmed. There was no sign of Marius.
A nearby groan drew her attention to a soldier lying on the ground a few metres away and she broke into a run as she recognised him. It was Trenus, the quartermaster who’d been so generous when she’d arrived, clutching his leg as blood spurted from his calf.
‘I’m here.’ She dropped to the ground beside him, trying to sound reassuring. ‘It’s going to be all right.’
‘My leg.’ His lips were already turning white.
‘Hold on.’ Quickly she unfastened her belt and tied it around the top of his thigh, pulling it tight with a heave.
‘Good.’ He gritted his teeth at the pain. ‘As hard as you can.’
She heaved again, tying the ends in a knot before tearing a strip of cloth from the hem of her stola and folding it into a pad to press against the wound.
‘Better.’ His head fell back to the ground with a thud. ‘Now get back inside. Marius will finish me off if he sees you out here.’
‘It’s not his decision. It’s mine.’ She tore a fresh strip of cloth from her stola, tying it around the pad to hold it in place. ‘Where’s the surgeon?’
‘No surgeon, just a medic, but he’s fighting.’
‘Then you definitely need me out here. There must be others who need help.’
‘All right, but don’t tell Marius I agreed with you.’
‘Will you be all right?’ She put a hand on his shoulder, looking around anxiously. He was vulnerable out in the open, but she couldn’t lift him by herself and there was no one around to help.
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not done for yet.’ He held up a wicked-looking dagger. ‘Do you have a weapon?’
‘I have this.’ She picked up Marius’s gladius. It had fallen to the ground when she’d removed her belt, though lying next to a puddle of blood it looked even more terrifying.
‘Do you know how to use it?’
‘No.’ She rose up on her haunches, spying another injured soldier close to the gate. ‘But hopefully I won’t have to. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Trenus gave a twisted smile. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
She clasped the gladius in her hand, darting a quick look around before crossing the space at a run. There was fighting on both sides of her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the injured man for courage, finally sliding to the ground beside him.
There was an arrow embedded in his shoulder, she discovered, so deep that there was no evidence of the head, just a shaft of wood poking out of the flesh. She swallowed a wave of nausea, wishing that she had some kind of anaesthetic as the soldier cried out in pain. There was a bubble of blood around the wound and she tore another strip off her stola to staunch the flow, shaking her head as she did so. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have no dress left.
‘Hold this tight against the wound,’ she instructed the soldier, yelping in shock as he suddenly reached up and shoved her to one side.
‘What?’ An arrow thudded heavily into the ground where she’d just been crouching and she scrambled around, heart pounding at the sight of a Caledonian warrior charging at breakneck speed towards them.
‘My shield!’ the injured soldier screamed at her. ‘Pick it up!’
She reached for the shield and gladius, trying to hold them steady in trembling hands as she clambered back to her feet and braced herself. The warrior wasn’t wearing any armour, she noticed, but she wished she was. He was almost twice her size and the look in his eyes was battle-crazed and terrifying.
Then he stopped, his wild gaze taking in first her hair and then her torn, bloodstained stola. She swallowed, uncomfortably aware that her legs were bare from the knees down, though she felt a faint glimmer of hope, too. Had he recognised who she was? Did he feel some sort of kinship with her as she had with the prisoner? Would he leave her alone if he did?