Page 95 of Taming the Eagle
“And with any luck, you will be wed soon, too.” Fenella continued. “Marcus and Justin have gone to pay the magistrates a visit.”
Kahina’s chin jerked up, her dark eyes flying wide. “What … now?”
Aedan laughed. “Those two don’t waste time.” He rose to his feet and stepped forward then, before reaching out a hand. Wordlessly, Fenella moved closer and took it. “It’s good to have you back, Fen.”
“We’ve missed you,” Kahina blurted out, her eyes sparkling with tears. She leaped up and rushed forward then, knocking Aedan aside and flinging herself into Fenella’s arms.
Justin stormed out of the magistrates’ office, Marcus at his side.
“Bull-headed bastards,” Justin snarled. “Curse them and their petty rules.”
Face grim, Marcus stopped in the street, turning to Justin. “I agree, but that doesn’t change things. What are we going to do?”
The two men stood in the midst of the vicus, the bustling village that sprawled beyond the western wall of Vindolanda. The settlement was a sizeable and prosperous one. It housed a tavern, a popular bathhouse, and a temple to Jupiter. However, the four magistrates who presided here were pedants.
Initially, they’d fawned when the garrison commander and one of his officers had paid them a visit. However, their obsequious behavior ceased when the pair asked for marriage licenses to wed former slaves. The magistrates had flatly refused them.
“I’d feared they might oppose us,” Marcus muttered, stepping aside as a turnip-filled cart, pulled by an ox, rumbled by. “On the northern frontier, things were lax … but things will be different here.”
“Thisisthe northern frontier,” Justin reminded him with a scowl.
“Yes, but two of those magistrates have just moved up from Londinium. I’ve never met more pompous asses.” Marcus’s expression was bleak as it met Justin’s. “What now?”
Justin held his friend’s gaze, fury churning in his gut.
It couldn’t end here. He and Marcus could take their women as servants in their households, but both Fenella and Kahina deserved better than that. They would be wedded; he’d make sure of it.
However, in order to see it done, he’d have to swallow what little pride he had left. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he was left with no choice.
Heaving in a deep breath, Justin pulled a face. “It looks like I’m going before the emperor … again.”
XXXV. AN AUDIENCE WITH HADRIAN
“THE EMPEROR WILL see you now.”
Stepping forward, from where he’d been waiting outside the vast peaked tent in which the emperor of Rome currently resided, Justin nodded to the toga-wearing attendant.
He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Hadrian again—not after his last encounter with the man.
But it couldn’t be helped.
The emperor wasn’t expected back at Vindolanda for a few days at least, but Justin couldn’t wait for his return. Instead, he’d ridden west along the Wall to Carvoran—a small wooden fort nestled against gently rolling, lush green hills. Building work was a little behind Vindolanda, hence why the emperor had stopped here a few days.
Justin entered the imperial tent through a wide opening, where heavy damask curtains had been drawn apart and tied with tasseled cords. Wooden flooring decorated with Persian rugs covered the ground, and intricately wrought lanterns dangled from the poles holding up the roof, sending delicate shadows across the tapestries that hung on the walls of the tent.
The faint scent of jasmine incense wafted through the air, and slaves—beautiful youths in fine tunics edged in gold—moved around the space. It wasn’t yet noon, but the slaves were already placing platters of dried fruit upon a long table before a raised dais, and bringing in ewers of wine.
And upon the dais perched a high wooden chair—painstakingly carved, the ‘curule seat’ was foldable, transportable, and had the appearance of a chariot. However, Justin’s gaze wasn’t drawn to the imperial chair but to the man seated upon it.
Flanked by two of the Praetorian Guard, Hadrian reclined against the back of the seat. A purple toga swathed his muscular form, and his long legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle. The emperor was around ten years Justin’s elder—a tall man with curly brown hair and dark eyes. He had a long, straight nose and a strong bearded jaw. His gaze narrowed as it settled upon Justin.
Likewise, Hadrian’s two guards—big men dressed in red tunics, scorpions engraved upon the breastplates of their black armor—eyed him coldly.
“CommanderAquila,” Hadrian greeted Justin, emphasizing his new title. It was a reminder of what he’d done the last time they’d met—and that he was capable of much worse if angered. And during their last meeting, Justin had noted that the emperor was a complicated man, capable of generosity, but also of spite.
Justin took the warning, bowing his head, and lowered himself onto one knee. “Ave, Imperator.”
Hadrian made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “And what brings you back to see me so soon?”