Page 37 of Taming the Eagle

Fenella ground her teeth.Bastards.

They could dog her heels if they wished, but they wouldn’t catch her when she ran.

Marcus stepped back, flashing Kahina another smile. “Enjoy the market.”

The women passed through the gate and made their way down a slippery slope, flanked by two sets of ditches and ramparts. At this angle, they were even wider than she’d thought. Fenella was athletic, but even she couldn’t have jumped them.

Glancing across at her companion, she noted Kahina’s pretty mouth was curved into a secret smile; she appeared lost in thought.

Fenella frowned. “Don’t trust him.”

Kahina’s peat-dark gaze snapped up, her smile vanishing. “Excuse me?”

“The centurion … if you let him, he’ll take advantage of you.”

Kahina’s lips parted, her features tightening. “Marcus is a good man,” she replied, her voice catching. “We’ve been friends for years now.”

Fenella cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a ‘friendly’ look he was giving you back there,” she pointed out. “Make sure he never gets you alone.”

Irritation spiked through her then. What did she care if Marcus ended up using and mistreating Kahina? After today, she’d never see her again.

Ready yourself, Fen,she counseled herself as they reached the bottom of the slope.You’ll only get one chance.

Ahead, she surveyed the neat rows of dwellings, the dark smoke from their cook fires staining the morning sky. The civilian settlement lay outside the walls of the fort, in the bend of the river. On the fringes of the vicus, the colorful awnings of market stalls stood out against the white snow. The cries of hawkers, both in Latin and in the Cruthini tongue, carried in the stillness of the icy morning.

Behind the village, Fenella spied the snow-frosted high wooden walls of another structure. It was shaped like a large roundhouse, but without a roof.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing.

“That’s the arena,” Kahina replied stiffly. Glancing back at her, Fenella saw that the woman’s face was tense, her gaze unhappy. She’d clearly offended her. “It’s where they hold games … and fights. Sometimes they use slaves … especially for death matches.”

Fenella scowled at this revelation. “Of course they do,” she muttered.

They reached the market, and Kahina made her way toward where a man was selling freshly butchered fowl. The hapless birds hung by their feet, dripping scarlet blood onto the pristine snow.

Fenella followed her. Yet, all the while, her gaze swept over the busy stalls and the shoppers. As she’d hoped, there was a decent crowd, which would make escaping easier. She noted a few Roman women among them. Most of them dressed like servants—clothed in plain tunics, heavy cloaks, and boots—like Kahina and Fenella. However, there were one or two of them who wore jewels upon their earlobes, their hair swept up in elaborate styles.

Fenella watched, fascinated as one such woman walked by, followed by two servants carrying baskets laden with food. Elegant and haughty, she wore a long tunic, with a fine woolen shawl draped over the top. This garment fell from her left shoulder and draped over her right arm. Amber gleamed from her earlobes.

“Who’s that?” Fenella asked, leaning close to her companion.

“I don’t know,” Kahina replied, not looking Fenella’s way. “Likely one of the magistrates’ wives.”

Fenella waited behind her companion, watching as Kahina haggled over the price of the fowl. Eventually satisfied, the slave paid for the food with small bronze coins she carried in a pouch at her waist. They ventured farther into the market then, buying the pig’s liver, before heading toward the array of vegetable stalls.

Fenella’s pulse quickened, and despite the cold day, she started to sweat.

She’d spied a break in the line of stalls to her right and a gap between two houses behind. This was her chance—and she’d take it.

Kahina stopped before a stall selling cabbages and greeted the vendor. Meanwhile, Fenella surreptitiously edged right. She didn’t dare glance back at her escort, although she knew the men stood just a yard or two behind her. It was risky to try and distance herself, yet she wanted as big a gap as she could manage between them when she made her break.

Muscles tensing, she readied herself to throw her basket at them—a distraction that would gain her precious moments—when the resonant call of a horn shook the cold air.

Breath catching, Fenella turned toward the sound.

“The Mother,” she murmured. “What’s that?”

“A patrol is returning,” Kahina replied, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. “They’re coming our way … look.”