21. Moil

Ariadne preferred the cuirass but donned the more flexible linothorax. 

Four months into her pregnancy, her belly had started to show but not yet in the way. She looked at her reflection in the speculum. The scales on the front of the linothorax glimmered, as did the bronze greaves. She forced a smile. 

"M'lady," said the maid behind her, cradling in her arm a tall crest calvary helmet. "Would you like me to tie up your hair?" 

Ariadne shook her head. 

"But if you're going to disguise as one of the scouts, you can't–"

Before the maid could finish, she swung her head and grabbed her long tresses in the same breath she unsheathed a leaf-shaped dagger girded to her waist. 

Slash. 

The maid gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth. 

"Relax, it's just hair," Ariadne grinned, her shrug dismissive. "Tell you the truth, I've always wanted to do this." She shook her hand, tossing away her glossy hair, and took the helmet from the maid. As she put it on, she looked again at herself in the speculum. 

Not bad. 

The wall flap flipped. Julius leaned to the side against the lattice wall. Tilting his head, he laughed. 

"Shut up!" she sulked, wheeling around at him, her lips pouting.

"What did I say?" 

"Just hush, alright?" 

He laughed when he was nervous, she knew. He laughed to find his courage, she knew. He laughed when she needed to hear it, so she could close her eyes in the dark and follow the familiar cackle. And she knew that so long as he was laughing, they would be alright. 

"Cassia," he glanced at the maid. "Can you please leave us? Thank you." As the maid left, he swaddled her in his arms. "Ready?"

She nodded, tapping her head at his chest, the helmet clanging his armor.

"You look dashing, warrior," he whispered. 

She threw a fist at his arm. "Well, maybe I should be the General." 

"Great! Finally, I get to just sit there and be pretty!" Batting his eyes, he pretended to squeal. 

It made her laugh. He always made her laugh even in the most unlikely of places. 

"Nay," she shook her head, her face scrunching, her eyes screwing up. "You'd just– sit there." 

"That's a good one," He guffawed. "Can I use it on the guys? You know, to shit about their ugly women?"

"Julius Pompeius Gaius! If you steal my joke, I'll be sure you won't even be able to sit!" 

He laughed more; his arms tightened around her. She listened to his pulses and felt his breaths, each heavier than the one before. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I know I've promised to take you home one day but I…"

"Home is where you're," she stopped him, raising her head to find his eyes. Holding his stubbled chin, she could still feel the cut she left by accident the last time she helped him shave. Which was faster, she wonder, the growth of his hair, or the passing of time? 

Yes, time flies. 

She reassured herself that before long, they would see each other, and nothing would part them again. "So, come home to me," she whispered, cranking up the volume of her smile that strained her cheeks. 

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the rim of the tall crest helmet they both thought ridiculous but did a good job shielding her face. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Of course, my empress," he said airily, releasing her from his clasp. "Once we step out of here, you know what to do?"

She smiled, nodding in reply.

The wall flaps flipped again. She followed him into the veil of moonlight. Flanking the campsite that had been her home were the two battlelines of infantry. Their laminated shields shone at the same angle, their swords cinched to their left, javelins in their right hand. The grit of the north, she lamented, these were the men who built Renania, and Marcus the Praetor, the butcher, her father, wanted them dead. Balling her fists, she lowered her head. 

Near the front of the camp facing south, she mounted a blood bay among a squad of light cavalry scouts composed of the swiftest riders. Julius gestured a nod to Decurion Pero Salvitto Servilianus at the head of the column then turned on his heel. At the sound of his whistle, Sling Silver galloped into sight, huffing white breaths through black nostrils, silver mane gleaming under the moon. Grabbing the reins while he leaped, he swung himself to mount and rode ahead. 

How she ached for him to look back at her one more time. 

Thrum and drum from the slope slanting down to the south as Lorenzo and his men approached. Decurion Pero Salvitto raised his right arm. Ariadne snapped the reins in the same beat she gripped her legs and charged ahead with the rest. 

Eyes forward. She reminded herself as they cantered across the camp in a single file. But just before she rode past Julius, he glanced over his shoulder, flashing at her his suave smile. He gestured with his eyes to the patch of snow where Sling Silver had clopped a circle with rays as the symbol of the sun. 

Sunrise in the north by the roaring sea, sunset in the south where heaven and earth shall meet, he had promised to take her to all the edges of the world one day, and he always kept his promise. 

She quivered. A mist came upon her vision. Behind the cold iron of her helmet, hot tears steamed. 

***