A Greater Duty

 

 

Desiree woke up with a start.  Where was she?  Vague flashes of remembrance came back to her slowly… A bloody battle had been waged – but no, that was wrong.  They had been ambushed, perhaps?  No, neither had that happened; something else had been behind that violent engagement.  Her army had been the ambushers, the executors of an unbelievably perfect attack, but then where was she?  Pain flared briefly in her side as it all became clear; ah, yes, she had been injured by a Roman short sword to the ribs...  Was she a patient, or a prisoner? 

She tried to focus on the day’s events, but everything seemed to blur together in a haze.  It was hard to tell if they had even won or lost… But Desiree felt that the battle had gone badly.  Within a few more seconds, she was sure that it had.  The “battle”?  No, not a battle, nor even an ambush – it had been a rout.  And they, most assuredly, had lost.  Had they escaped, or were her people dead and she in enemy hands?  All was quiet now, with none of the mummers she would have expected from a medical tent… had she been left on the field to die?  No, her army would not have left her.  The enemy, however, might have – but that was wrong, too.  She was in a bed, a soft bed in comparison to the ground where she usually slept.  That meant she was in a Roman bed.

Voices from beyond the blackness caught her attention and solidified her suspicions.  They were Latin voices, Roman voices.

“Will she live?” one asked quietly.  Desiree quickly characterized the person she could not see.  Young, strong, and confident was his voice, probably that of an officer interested in a pretty female to sell as a slave.  That sounded just like the way her luck had been running of late anyway.

“She is very fit and very strong, so I would say yes, sir,” the second replied.  “However, she was badly injured, so I cannot make any promises.”  He, she characterized as obviously the medic, though probably a pessimistic medic, as most were.  The second voice was less controlled and less confident, not at all like the first; it was even slightly higher in pitch, and probably older, too.

“I will take your pessimism with the usual dose of salt, Servis,” the officer replied easily.  “She’ll live.  She seems not to be the type to die, not from the way she fought, anyway.  How long do you think before she wakes?”

So the officer had seen her fight.  That was interesting, and contrary to the usual Roman lead-from-behind-because-I’m-an-important-senator’s-son officer’s style.  Then again, maybe the man had just watched from atop his high horse.  Seeing her didn’t mean he’d fought in the ambush, though it wasn’t impossible.  Desiree Hamilton had long ago learned not to term anything as “impossible.”  After all, that’s what had been said about a woman successfully leading an army and ruling a country.

Servis – at least she now had a name – chuckled slightly.  “You’ll have to wait, General.  It’ll be hours at least.”

“Again, I’m glad I don’t always believe your estimates, my friend,” the general replied.  Perhaps she’d have to rethink her estimate of the man after all.  “Because she’s awake now.”

Desiree froze.  Dammit to all Hades; they weren’t supposed to realize that she was listening.  Oh, well.  She was clearly a prisoner anyway, and not much could make her status worse, especially now with her opposite number in the tent staring at her.  He probably though she was pretty.  Damn.

“Awake?” Servis demanded. 

“Yes.  Though she’s quite a good faker.”  The general said evenly.  Her earlier estimate of his age might have been off, but Desiree hadn’t been wrong about the confidence level.  The man was an egomaniac.  “She’s probably been listening since I walked in.”

Not quite, she corrected him silently.  Though that might have been interesting.  Oh, to hell with it.  What did she have to lose, anyway?  Desiree opened her eyes.

The face looking down at her curiously was young and strong featured – even handsome, in a rugged, soldierly, sort of way.  Clear hazel eyes focused on her unblinkingly, studying her every movement.  She looked back impassively, doing some studying of her own, and came to her own conclusions.  That man – attractive though he might have been (and he was; even with a close-cropped beard and black hair, both of which she hated) was dangerous.  Immediately, she scanned her mind for names of Roman generals who might have stood a chance against her, but she stopped in surprise as he spoke in her native language.

“Good morning.”

Morning?  Have I been out that long?  Desiree glared at the man who dared to predict her and then speak to her in Austrian.  He was smiling confidently – chauvinist! – with a grin that would have made most women swoon and didn’t affect Desiree one bit.  To his credit, he didn’t seem surprised that she didn’t react, which meant he was smart enough to know that not all women could be won through charming smiles.  Either that, or he was just an idiot.

“What do you want?” she finally demanded, having decided to stick with Austrian and keep her language skills a secret for the time being.

“How do you feel?” he asked easily, making her frown deepen.  Dammit if his Austrian had no Roman accent at all.  Come to think of it, there was no accent whatsoever in his voice.  They’d sent an intelligent and educated man against her.  Screwy, and odd, for the normally inefficient and politically dominated Roman army.  Competence, as of late in the North, had seemed to be in short supply; however, that seemed to be changing rapidly.  Desiree frowned and shot back:

“Why would you care?”

Unaffected, the general replied in the same easy, accentless, tone.  “It’s generally considered polite to ask how one’s guests are doing when they wake up.”

“Guest?” she echoed dubiously.  Even Desiree wasn’t that idealistic.  Of course, there always existed the distant possibility that the Romans had no idea who she was, but that was about as likely as Desiree’s sex changing of its own free will.

He half smiled.  “For the moment, yes, General.”

Shiest.  Of all the people to realize who I am, it had to be their commander.  I am so screwed.  “And after ‘the moment’?”

“That depends upon you,” the general replied.  “And your intentions toward Rome.”

Abruptly, her eyes narrowed at the mention of her sorest conversation topic.  There was a blood debt between her and Rome, one that could only be settled through death.  Nothing else would be enough.  And, of course, Desiree had no intentions of going out the easy way.  Her targets were the greatest prizes of all – Rome, and her emperor.  Both would die; one would burn, and the other she cared not how, but both would die.  That, she had long ago vowed while standing over James’ grave.

“My intentions toward Rome are just that – mine,” Desiree retorted tightly.  There was no need to tell him what she would accomplish.  Surprises, after all, were part of the game.

The easy, open, face closed off emotionlessly.  “Then let me be as blunt with you as you are with me,” the general said coldly.  “Your life depends upon your reply.”

How typical, Desiree scoffed to herself.  Romans and their threats.  “You would kill me and then not know what I intend,” she pointed out.

“Thus stopping you the easy way,” he responded. 

Cold son of a bitch, ain’t you?  But Desiree was far from finished.  “And here I was hoping you had honor,” she snapped, digging her verbal claws into the traditional Roman soft spot.  “Oh, I forgot, you’re Roman.”

His face tightened ever so slightly in anger; other than that there was no response.  “Yes, I am Roman,” the general agreed.  “And I do have honor.”

“And killing a woman in cold blood is part of that, right?” she laughed ironically.

“Executing an enemy will be if it must, yes.”  The tightness was gone again; now he was ice cold and unreadable.

“Then kill away,” Desiree dared him.  “I don’t fear you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” the general responded levelly, whatever pride he had obviously having no part in this conversation.

Inwardly, the Austrian railed against his control.  Whatever would force this man’s hand?  She wasn’t afraid of dying, but she really didn’t feel like doing so when she was only twenty-six years old.  There was still far too much to do.  “Nice to know we have that straight.  Now you’re going to execute me on what charges?  Treason against Rome?  I’m not even a Roman citizen – how are you going to manage that?”

“As the Emperor’s general, I can execute any enemy of the empire that I see fit,” the Roman said flatly, making her do a double take.  Her earlier estimation hadn’t been that far off – the bastard looked younger than she did!  How the hell was the highest ranking officer in the entire Roman army?  However, her surprise got nowhere close to showing on her face.

“Am I supposed to fear you now?” she demanded.

“Look, Desiree, I don’t want to kill you,” he said suddenly, slight emotional urgency entering his voice.  “But I will do what I must to protect Rome.”

The Austrian looked up at him incredulously.  “So now we are on a first name basis?” she asked sarcastically.  “Oh, my, I seem to have forgotten who you are, Mister Important General.”

To her surprise, the Roman laughed.  “No, it has been a long time,” he said.  “And I’d have not recognized you either, Desiree Hamilton, did your reputation not proceed you.”

Curiosity bit back the sharp retort she had ready.  “Have I met you?” Desiree finally asked.

“You did, once… long ago,” the general replied, and then suddenly switching into Latin, continued, “in Spain.  Just outside Trujillo, to be exact.”

Desiree squinted up at him, wondering if he did indeed look familiar.  Eighteen years ago, yes, she had been a fugitive in Spain, and had met many people there; however, there was no way of telling if this general were one of them or not.  And even if he was, how would he remember her so well after almost two decades?  What in the world was going on?  Who the heck was this man, and how did he know that she spoke Latin?  She was about to wonder if he was just a lucky guesser, but all hope of that was dispelled as he said:

“I taught you Latin, remember?  With your horse… what was her name – Fay? – looking on.”

Her jaw dropped in amazement.  She did remember that, and the little boy she’d known… Was it possible?  Did the fates have that much of a sense of humor?  If so, and impossibly so, this man had changed much from the quiet child two years her junior.  Cocky and controlled… where had either come from?  And still, was it really him?  Or was she just going nuts?

Only one way to find out, sweetheart.

“Maximus?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Desiree,” came the laughing reply.  Perhaps he’d not changed so much after all.  Still the joker at times, maybe.

The warrior woman blinked hard.  However logical it had seemed, it just hadn’t seemed possible.  What in the world was the little boy she knew doing here?  What in the world was he doing as the Emperor’s General?  The world seemed just a little screwed up to the Austrian at the moment.  Eventually, she had to ask.  “You’re serious?”