FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 2

Herewith the second part of my Authors Without Borders story. Enjoy.

FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 2

Valerius drew back his blanket and pushed himself to his feet, grunting with the acheof half a dozen old wounds. His back felt as if he’d lain on a bed of knives and his twisted leftleg shook when he put his weight on it.A stiff cowhidestockover his forearm held in positionthe oak fist that replaced the right hand he’dlost so long ago in Britannia. In normal times he would have removed it to sleep,but these were not normal times. He untied the laces with the practised fingers of his left hand and pulled the stock free of the arm.From a leather sack at his side he retrieved a clay bottle and uncorked it with his teeth to pour a little of the oil inside on the chafed flesh of his stump. After replacing cork and bottle he massaged the oil into his flesh, resisting the impulse to groan with the pleasure of it. When it was done he slipped the socket back in place and redid the laces.

Another,less bulky figure appeared from the darkness and he didn’t require the gift of sight to be aware of the presence of his wife.

‘You should have woken me earlier,’ he said as Tabithathrust a crust of bread into his hand and bent to buckle a long cavalry sword to his belt. ‘And Shabolz thinks it’s not fitting that a princess of Emesa should have to work like a common serving girl.’

‘Shabolz stayed awake on guard all night.’ It wasn’t news. The Pannonian had kept watch every night since they’d been forced to flee Viminacium, sleeping in the saddle during the day to maintain his strength. ‘There,’ she completed her task. ‘You old men need your sleep,’ she continued. ‘Or you become irritable.’

‘Old?’ His mock outrage made her smile, as it always did. ‘If you’d still been under the blanket when I woke I’d have showed you ...’

‘Hush,’ she put afinger to his lips. ‘The children are close.’

They stood together, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence, passing the crust between them and taking alternate sips of icy river water from a brass cup. In the pre-dawnsilenceValeriuscould hear Lucius preparing the horses for the day and showing his sister how to secure the various straps and buckles. The boy was at the stage where he seemed to grow a few inches every week. At the age of twelvehis head already reached to his father’s shoulder. A good boy, gentle and kind, perhaps too gentle for his own good, but with a keen intelligence and quick mind that undoubtedlycame from his mother. Olivia, five years younger, and with Tabitha’s golden skin and raven hair, had a mercurial quality that kept her constantly on the move, and an insatiable curiosity about her surroundings that Shabolz cheerfully satisfied.He heard her yelp of delight as the Pannonian went to help them with the saddles. Six horses, four saddled and two spares that also carried their provisions, what little they hadleft.

The sun rose in the trees behind Valerius and the dappledlight fell on Tabitha’s face. Her slim figure hidden beneath a baggy peasant’s tunic and green braccae, she was as beautiful as she had been on the day he had saved her life on the road to Apamea. True,tiny lines etched the skin at the corners of her eyes and her dark hair was shot with silver. But old? They didn’t feel old or, when the opportunity arose, act it either, but they were certainly getting older. Valerius was close to fifty now, and his once dark hair was almost white. Yet,his wounds apart, he was still vigorous and his mind remained as sharp as it had ever been. It needed to be.

Their eyes met and he knew Tabitha’s thoughts precisely mirrored his own.

How could everyone act so normally when they could all be dead by the time the sun went down?