10 Chapter 10

Immediately, her bindings were cut, and she was carried into a tent—the tent of Vulpes Inculta. Siri came to tend to her injuries, but it was an agonizing process of healing that lasted for days. Her ravaged back had been mercilessly shredded. It would surely leave nasty vestiges of this event, always reminding her of this humiliating beating. She was barely aware of her surroundings.

When she was strong enough to sit up on her own, Vulpes approached her the night before their scheduled wedding.

"I have a condition," he clarified. "Perhaps I should have informed you of this earlier."

"What is it?" she asked apprehensively.

"As my wife, you shall remain faithful to me. I don't expect our marriage to be the picture of romance, but I won't tolerate infidelity. It is a very serious commitment to me, something we uphold in the Legion. This protects you from potential rapists; I expect not to be disrespected."

She blinked, already expecting no less. "Then I expect the same from you."

He gave a small laugh at that, suggesting he was more pleased than amused. "Then it is agreed that no one shall share our marriage bed."

The wedding was a short handfasting ceremony that occurred the following day. She was bathed in the river with rosemary oil and then dressed in fine, ceremonial robes. At the altar, Vulpes took her trembling fingers with his long, pale ones. He maintained her gaze with the same intensity she had always seen from him. They shared slices of barrel cactus fruit and small libations of wine, one of the rare times alcohol was allowed in the Legion.

And then she was married to Vulpes Inculta.

Her slave rags were replaced with a tunic made of red wool that reached to her knees. She wasn't a slave anymore; she was wife of the head of the Frumentarii, and he led her back to his tent for the eve of their marriage.

She was shaking terribly, and his warm, strong grip did little to help it. Her stomach churned at the thought of consummating their new union, and she uneasily sat herself on the bed, watching her new husband with nervous anticipation.

He had been watching her closely throughout the day and he continued to do so now. "You can stop worrying. I'm not going to touch you."

She wasn't sure if she believed him. "You're not?" Her voice was curt, disbelieving.

"Not unless you desire it. We will have to sleep in the same bed. It would look strange if we didn't; and the last thing you need is someone claiming to Caesar that our marriage is invalid. I hope that is suitable for you."

She spent the next several weeks sharing his bed. His mattress allowed little room away from him, so she always felt his warm body pressed against her back. She came to think of it as a comforting presence, and he always spoke to her with a respect the other legionnaires seemed incapable of. It was an odd marriage, but maybe one she could get used to. Sometimes the scars from her punishment sent flares of pain down her spine.

It was an odd routine they fell into. As Vulpes Inculta's wife, she was no longer expected to perform slave work, but she did anyways to pass the time. But her time with Siri only made her miss Carla that much more.

Then she would retire for the evening. Vulpes was usually busy and didn't go to bed until long after she did. He required nothing of her; it was easier than any marriage she had imagined.

One night, Vulpes rolled over in bed. "You should have never shared your food with the other slave girl."

She stiffened. He had never really addressed her directly in bed. She answered with her back still to him. "Her name was Carla."

"Maria," he hummed in a sigh. It was an endearing sound and she closed her eyes to absorb it. She didn't understand why he occasionally said that, as if calling her by name. The word meant nothing to her.

"Why?" she asked, keeping her eyes closed.

She suddenly felt his hand against her side. She flinched but did not shy from his touch. "Because you're not eating enough." He pressed gently to feel her ribs for emphasis.

"Carla wasn't given enough. She had a baby to take care of."

Vulpes sighed, and it was a calculated sound rather than a defeated one. "She isn't here anymore. You shouldn't be this starved on any account." Then severely, almost threateningly, "You will not share your food with anyone." The command was undeniable in his voice.

She had difficulty masking her sarcasm. "If it would please you, husband."

She would have fought for a new escape, but her exhaustion had reached endless limits. The sentries were doubled, the fence refortified. And as she washed bloodstained clothes in the river, she wondered if Silus hadn't broken her of some of her spirit in that dark room.

And if nothing else, she was safe with Vulpes. He had done a favor for her, expecting nothing in return, it would seem.

But she hated conceding to that thought. It felt like giving up on her freedom, on her life. Her existence was worth more than enslavement.

And to what extent did Vulpes keep her safe? He was not called the most evil man in the Mojave for nothing.

Her life started on the day Doc Mitchell brought her back from the dead; anything before that was unimportant. Irrelevant. Her whole purpose had been revenge against Checked Jacket. And now, with enslavement—

But was she technically a slave now? Wife of the Head of the Frumentarii? Did the technicality really even matter? Wife of Frumentarius, slave. There was little difference. She was still a woman. Still a slave.

Where did her path lead? Freeborn set on revenge. Or reborn to serve as a docile slave. What was more comfortable. What was more meaningful.

Normal people, docile slaves don't get to live again. Only the heroes do.

So the question was—where was her calling, who demanded a champion?