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“Me too. Me too.”

The next few weeks passed,and news began to slowly flood north of Verica’s and Rome’s wins, and of the Cantiaci’s and Catuvellauni’s losses. As the Romans relentlessly attacked the Catuvellauni, they began building in the east. It soon became apparent that Rome would settle in Camulodunum, the seat of the Trinovantes. Walls and buildings were being quickly erected in the ancient town.

Notes came in daily as the Romans began to weave through the south, visiting those southern tribes who had made promises to Caesar.

I stood listening as one of my spies reported all he had learned of Aulus Plautius, the Roman general in charge of the campaign. By all accounts, he was intelligent, well-educated, well-connected, and charming, which I had not expected. “General Vespasian is pressing across the southwest while General Plautius remains east,” the man finished.

Sitting in my chair in my workroom, I tapped the last note I had received against the arm of my chair as I considered.

“My queen?” Corva said.

Shaking my head, I turned back. “Apologies. Thank you.”

Corva walked the messenger to the door, the pair speaking in low tones as he departed. When he was gone, she came and stood before me.

Raising an eyebrow, she gave me a knowing look. “What is on your mind?” she asked.

I smirked.

“Cartimandua?”

I pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to her. “Take a note, please.”

“And who are we writing to?”

“General Aulus Plautius.”

“And why would we do that?”

“To invite him to Rigodonum, of course.”

Corva laughed. “Sure. Why not. And why are we doing that?”

“Because, in battle, sometimes it matters who strikes first,” I told her then turned to Fabius who was admiring some new fabric Hilda had bought for me for a new gown.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Do you think there will be enough here to make me a new robe?”

I studied him briefly, then said, “Grow out your beard and don’t cut your hair again. You must dress as we do when visitors come or when outside of these walls.”

Fabius gasped. “Cartimandua…”

“How much is the price on your head?”

Fabius paused.

“How much? Enough for a messenger who, let’s say, recognizes you from a play you performed in Rome, to report that you’re here? I would be harboring a Roman criminal. And what would Rome do if they learned that?”

“Any excuse,” Corva said.

I nodded. “Any excuse. So, no more fashion for you, my friend.”

“I will not stop taking baths. You cannot make me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but as attached as I’ve grown to you, I’d rather not go to war on your account.”

“My queen,” he said, bowing with a flourish, then gave the fabric one last, mournful look.