Defy the Eagle (62 page)

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Shortly after midday, the Iceni column drew to a staggering halt and Jilana climbed down from the wagon seat. They had passed through the narrow defile and onto the broad plain Caddaric had described to the Queen. The excitement and tension of the rebels hung in the air like heavy perfume and the women laughed and chattered as if they were about to visit an exotic bazaar. In truth, the Iceni were so certain of victory that their wagons, three and four deep, now ringed the far borders of the plain. The warriors were making their way back to their wagons in order to gird themselves for the coming battle, and the Iceni end of the plain was a scene of chaos compared to the neatly arrayed Roman field. She could see the precise rows of leather tents in the distance, along with the larger tent with its aquila and standards. That, Jilana assumed, was Paulinus' headquarters. Looking back the way they had come, Jilana could see the narrow pass was now clogged with abandoned wagons; the wives and children in the rear of the column had left their vehicles in order to gain an unrestricted view of the battleground. Worry and fear had assailed her all morning until now, Jilana felt almost numb as she went about the business of unhitching the horses as Caddaric had instructed her earlier.

By the time Heall and Caddaric returned to the wagon, Jilana had filled their skins with water and laid out a cold meal of dried meat. A full belly, Caddaric had told her, was a hindrance during battle. Jilana could not understand how they could eat at all, for her own stomach rebelled at the thought of food.

"Where is my father?" Caddaric wanted to know as they ate the light meal.

"Boadicea summoned him," Jilana answered, unable to drag her eyes away from her husband. She stared at him, memorizing every line, angle and curve of his face and form.

Caddaric swore under his breath. "I wanted him here, not offering up prayers to his gods so close to the Roman lines." He rose and began saddling two of the horses that had been tied to the wagon during the march.

Jilana's spirits rose a bit. Her vision had not seen Caddaric fighting on horseback. "I thought you intended to fight on foot."

"I do." Caddaric's back was to her and he did not see the color drain from her face. "These are for you and my father. I want you to pack these two and the two Heall and I rode this morning with blankets, food and water." He tightened the cinch under the second horse's belly and drew Jilana around to the opposite side of the wagon. Pointing to a spot high on the hill he ordered, "Take the horses there, just below the rise. Tie them to the trees so they cannot bolt and wait."

"Wait?" Jilana stared at him dumbly. "For what?"

"For Boadicea to lose the battle," Caddaric told her grimly. "If that happens, we surely cannot retreat through the defile." He looked back to the narrow pass, saw the wagons massed there and gave an imperceptible shake of his^head before turning back to Jilana. "I will try to find my father and tell him where you will be."

"You think we will lose?"

Caddaric draped an arm around her shoulders and her head came to rest against his chest. "I know not whether we will win or lose, but a wise man plans for the worst. If we are forced to retreat, I do not want you trapped here, with no means of escape."

"But the others—"

"Let the others do as they wish. You will do as I say." Caddaric smiled to take the bite from his words. "If the Queen's plan is successful, then all these preparations will have been unnecessary, and we can laugh at them this night. But now, 'twill be easier for me to fight if I know you are safe, out of harm's reach."

That convinced Jilana as none of his other arguments could have. Above all else, she wanted his concentration solely upon the battle and emerging from it alive. She nodded and dredged up a smile.

Caddaric's face hardened and he spoke quickly and quietly. "If the worst happens, we will come to you as quickly as we can, but under no circumstances must you stay if the legionaries begin to search the trees. The moment you see the Romans heading for the treeline, take one of the horses and leave. Do not hesitate, do not delay, not for anything or anyone. Do I make myself clear? Go west, for there are Roman settlements there that will take you in. We will follow you when we can." He frowned at her until she nodded to show him she understood. "There is a sword in the other wagon; take it with you as well and use it if you must."

"There will be no need," Jilana managed to say. "You will ride with me."

Looking down into the wide, violet eyes, Caddaric felt the love he held for this woman pour through him, just as felt her love reach out for his heart. "Aye, I will ride with you."

No purpose would be served by further delay; there would be no comfort for either of them until the battle had been won—or lost. Releasing her, he slipped a battle-axe onto his belt and readjusted his sword and baldric. He checked the dagger in his belt and strapped a knife in its sheath around the calf of his leg. When he straightened, his eyes locked with Jilana's and Caddaric wished could give voice to assurances, no matter how false, that would erase the worry lines between her brows.

Jilana summoned up the dregs of her courage and went up on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss upon Caddaric's lips. There was no passion in the kiss, only love and concern, and when he pulled her into his arms for a quick, hard embrace, she whispered, "I love you, my husband. The gods go with you."

"And with you." Gently, Caddaric set her away from him. After a slight hesitation, he added, "Put on a stola, my heart."

Jilana was about to ask why when the reason blazed into her mind. Dressed as she was, in a short tunic with her hair unbound, she was certain to be mistaken for a Celt. A stola would not identify her as a Roman, but it might give a legionary pause if her escape was unsuccessful. "I will wait for you." Heall was standing beside Caddaric now and she wrapped the older man in a tender embrace. "For both of you," she promised when Heall released her.

They had run out of words and time. Caddaric swung away and Heall followed an instant later. Although her eyes followed the two until they were swallowed up in the hosting, neither man looked back. Jilana's breath escaped in a shudder and she set about following Caddaric's final orders. In her blanket, she wrapped a stola; there would be time enough later to change if it proved necessary. She waited as long as she dared for Clywd to return, and when he did not, she swung into the saddle and rode into the trees.

Jilana had just reached the rise in the hill when the first blast of the carnyx echoed through the trees. The horses snorted and tossed their heads in alarm. Jilana quieted her own mount and then slid from the saddle and tied the four steeds securely. It was chill within the forest, and Jilana took Caddaric's cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders while she listened to the oddly muted sounds of battle rising from the plain. She could see next to nothing from where she stood, but farther down the hill, she spotted a small clearing. After an agonizing deliberation, she checked the horses' tethers and began a careful descent until the battlefield came into view. The baldric cut into her shoulder and the sword swung painfully against her hip, but Jilana barely felt it. Her breath caught involuntarily in her throat at the spectacle below.

Paulinus had ranged his troops so that the infantry formed a center wedge with archers and cavalry on the wings. Contrary to Boadicea's battle plan, the Iceni infantry broke ranks and charged across the field separating the two armies, rendering their chariots useless. The gods alone knew how much courage it had taken for the legionaries to watch the Celts—some naked, their bodies painted blue with woad, their battle cries reverberating across the plain—roll toward them like some demonic wave. When the two armies collided, the clash of sword against shield was enough to cause the governor-general— mounted, at the rear of his army and surrounded by the standard's guard—to wince. For good or ill, the battle was joined. Messengers ran from the lines to their commander and Paulinus weighed the reports his officers were sending. The trap he planned had to be sprung at exactly the right moment or all would be lost.

A cold horror seeped through Jilana as she watched the engagement. At first glance, it looked as though the Iceni should trample the legion beneath their feet, but it soon became evident that such a thing would not happen. Even to her untrained eye, it was obvious that the Iceni were crowded, too crowded. Those in the rear lines were howling madly at being denied this chance at the hated Roman legion and pushed forward while those in front were literally thrown against the sword points which bristled from the wall of Roman shields. Numerical superiority, in this case, was not an advantage.

The wicker chariots chased wildly behind the Iceni lines, useless. They needed room to maneuver, and none existed. Now there came the sound of a Roman battle horn and suddenly a torrent of arrows poured from the sky to fall upon the Iceni force. The screams that reached Jilana were mercifully dampened, but she understood what had happened. A second volley of arrows followed the first and those in the rear of the Iceni lines lost all patience. They surged forward in an unstoppable wave and at the same moment the Roman wedge moved. The wedge sliced neatly into the center of the Iceni, splitting them apart. There came a second blare of the legion's horn and the cavalry, held in reserve at the base of the hills, pranced forward. In place of arrows, lances now menaced the unprotected flanks of the Iceni. There was no protection; the lances kept both horse and rider well out of sword's reach while retaining the ability to pierce through Celtic shields. Those caught on the flanks fought valiantly and died calling upon their gods; those who tried to flee never saw the instruments of their death. The Iceni collapsed back on themselves, the wedge moved forward yet again, and the chaos began.

Instinctively, forgetting the danger she was in, Jilana had edged ever closer to the battlefield until she stood only a few feet behind the place where the cavalry had so recently waited. Now she could smell the battle as well as see it, and her stomach lurched sickeningly at the mixed odors of blood and sweat and fear. Dust clouded the plain now; the earth was churned into clods by horses' hooves and vibrated beneath her feet. The Romans were advancing steadily and the first Iceni bodies were becoming visible. Hopelessness swept through Jilana and she began to pray to every god and goddess she could remember, Roman as well as Celtic.

"So this is where Caddaric has hidden you."

Somehow the voice, and the hand that came to rest upon her shoulder, did not surprise Jilana. She turned beneath the pressure of the hand and met the green stare of Lhwyd. Hopelessness was replaced by a savage fury that glittered in Jilana's violet eyes. Juno, but she hated this Druid! The emotion burst into her breast and swept aside all her fear. Caddaric was out there, trapped, perhaps dying, and this imitation of a man could think only of one last sacrifice for his goddess, of his need for vengeance.

"If you want to kill," Jilana said in a voice that shook with disgust, "go out there and help your countrymen!"

Lhwyd smiled. "Afraid, Roman?"

"Not of you," Jilana spat, and it was true.

"You should be." Lhwyd glanced at the battle and then looked back at Jilana. "Tis forbidden for a Druid to kill."

"You do so readily enough when your enemy is bound," Jilana goaded, soaring in a tempest of emotion. "What a coward you are, priest. You slay helpless prisoners and then incite those braver than you to face the enemy while you cower behind your vows."

Lhwyd's face blanched and then flooded with color. "Roman bitch," he hissed. "When I offer your heart to the Morrigan, she will see us victorious."

There was laughter and Jilana, staring at Lhwyd's thin mouth, realized that the sound came from her. Lhwyd's hand moved inside his robe and reappeared an instant later with a dagger. Jilana glanced contemptuously at the long, thin blade and took a step backward. Before Lhwyd could follow her, she flipped back the left side of her tunic and pulled the sword from its baldric. Lhwyd was incredulous at first and then, when he saw the effort it took for her to raise the weapon, he grinned evilly.

"Too late, Roman. You have not the skill, or the courage."

In one sense Lhwyd was correct, she had no skill with a blade; but as Caddaric could have told him, she did not lack for courage. The Druid's mistake was in underestimating his opponent and overestimating the power of his spells. Just as her fear had hidden her thoughts from Clywd, so now did Jilana's rage protect her mind from Lhwyd. He began a soft, hypnotic chant and, while Jilana watched in disbelief, advanced upon her.

"Stay away, priest," Jilana warned him quietly, backing away. The sword was too heavy for her wrists, and the tip dragged on the ground as she retreated. Hate Lhwyd she did, but she had no desire to kill him.

Lhwyd's answer was to chant louder. His pace never faltered, nor did his eyes leave hers. The carpet of leaves muffled the sound of their steps and Jilana felt the gentle rise beneath her feet give way to flat ground. A heartbeat later, her back came up against a tree trunk and Jilana knew she could retreat no further.

"You are mine, Roman." Lhwyd smiled, seeing her trapped. "Just as the Morrigan promised."

Jilana never remembered raising the sword. One minute Lhwyd was several feet away, the dagger held high in his hand and a mad gleam lighting his eyes, and the next he gave a breathless, almost feminine gasp and looked down at the space between them. Jilana followed his gaze and saw the sword held at an upward angle in front of her. Lhwyd was impaled upon its blade.