The shields were wicker, though, covered in linen and painted with what for all Alphena knew really were Lusitanian tribal symbols. She sneered. The shields had to be fakes because actors wouldn't have been able to handle the real thing. The shield of a legionary of Carce was three thick layers of laminated wood and weighed forty pounds. The barbarians on the other side of the frontier generally used bull hide contraptions, less effective but even larger and equally heavy.

Alphena could use a real legionary shield and short sword: she had practiced daily for several years, determined to make herself just as good a swordsman as any man. She wasn't that good-she wasn't big enough, and she had learned from experience that men had more muscle in their arms and legs than a woman did. Alphena was better than most men, though.

She wasn't better than Publius Corylus. He had been training with weapons all his life; and though Corylus didn't talk about it to her, Alphena knew from her brother that he had crossed the river frontiers with army scouts on nighttime raids.

Corylus didn't talk much at all to his friend's little sister. He shouldn't, of course. He was merely a Knight of Carce, and Alphena was the daughter of one of the greatest houses in the empire. For Corylus to have presumed on his acquaintance with Varus would have been the grossest arrogance!

Alphena scowled fiercely again. She didn't have the interest in books that her brother showed, but she had never doubted that she was as smart as-smarter than-most of the people she dealt with in a normal day.

This wasn't always an advantage. Right now it prevented Alphena from believing that she wasn't angry because Corylus showed absolutely no interest in her: he wasn't merely avoiding her for the sake of propriety.