Page 31 of Taming the Eagle
Breathing in the scent of wood smoke, mingled with the aroma of cooking meat, she drank in the sight of the pink-streaked sky and the purple-etched mountains to the northwest. Dusk was settling, and the air held a sting to it. The sky was clear, promising a crisp frost the following morning.
Fenella let out a long breath, a sudden lightness filtering over her. She hadn’t lied earlier—day after day cooped up inside the praetorium was slowly grinding her down. It was a relief to see the world again.
Nonetheless, there was another reason she wanted to get out of that house.
How could she start planning her escape, if she didn’t explore the fort?
Stepping up onto the walls, Fenella was careful to shutter her expression when the general turned to her. Aquila had just unwittingly handed her an opportunity. She wouldn’t squander it.
“Take my arm,” he ordered, holding his out to her. “I wouldn’t want you to fall off the ramparts.”
Fenella stiffened. She didn’t want to touch him, and yet the Eagle could drag her down off the wall and back to the praetorium whenever he wished. She needed to do as she was told.
Inhaling sharply, Fenella moved closer to the general and linked her arm through his. They’d both donned cloaks to ward off the chill, yet he wore a short-sleeved tunic underneath that left his arms bare. The feel of his naked flesh against hers was a discomforting sensation. His muscles were sculpted, rock-hard, his skin warm.
Side-by-side, they began a stroll down the eastern wall. Fenella noted this was where the main entrance to the fort was located, with a high wooden guard tower looming above it. She’d been dragged into the fort through this gate. Glancing down, she counted five spike-filled ditches.
Fenella’s mouth flattened. No, she wouldn’t be escaping that way.
Reaching the end of the wall, they turned down the long side, which faced south over a small settlement and fields of crops. Here, she counted only two sets of ditches to traverse. Even so, she’d have to leap like a spring buck to avoid being impaled.
Curse it, why do the Caesars build such well-defended forts?
To keep her people out, of course.
Moving down the wall, they passed men on the watch. The sentries snapped to attention as the general walked by.
“Is it usually this quiet?” Fenella asked, her gaze shifting from the settlement to the roofs of the buildings within the fort itself. From this height, she spied two wide streets bisecting the fort, with the principia—the headquarters—and the praetorium at the heart of it.
Aquila glanced her way, clearly surprised by the question. Indeed, it was rare she spoke without snarling at him. “At this time of day, it is,” he replied. “Although, after dark, my men grow nervous.”
Fenella arched an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
Her belly tensed then. She hated speaking to this man, but she had to keep her dislike leashed for now. She wouldn’t learn anything useful otherwise.
“We’ve been here a few years now,” he answered, “but ever since Pinnata Castra fell in the north, Ardoch stands alone.”
“Pinnata Castra,” Fenella murmured before realization dawned. “You mean Inchtuthill?”
Aquila nodded.
“Toutorix told me there was a battle there … three winters ago.” Indeed, she recalled the gleam in her husband’s eyes as he recounted the tale. The most powerful of the Cruthini chieftains had banded together with the local tribesmen, and together they’d drawn a net around the Roman army as it marched north. By the time the Caesars made their final stand at Inchtuthill, there were few of them left.
None had survived that battle.
The Eagle’s expression turned grim then. “The Ninth legion passed this way … on their journey north.” His gaze shifted, looking to where the mountains reared against the darkening sky. “Five thousand men … lost.”
Fenella studied his profile, and despite that she’d wished every last Roman dead many a time, her skin prickled.
“Five thousand,” she whispered. “That many?”
Aquila’s attention swept back to her. “I worry sometimes … that Valeria Victrix will suffer the same fate. The men fear it too … and that is why the fort slumbers uneasily.”
Fenella took this in, her brow furrowing.
So the Eagle wasn’t made of stone, after all? The discovery should have pleased her, yet disquiet settled in the pit of her belly. She didn’t want to see him as anything other than a beast.
They were halfway along the southern wall now, and she noted that there were, indeed, two more gates: one that led south into the settlement, and one that faced north. As they skirted the guard tower, a deep rumbling sound punctured the silence.