Defy the Eagle (17 page)

Clywd nodded. "And when word spreads among the other tribes, Boadicea will have more allies flocking to her war band. Fate has given our Queen the only weapon which has a chance of uniting the tribes; let us pray she has the wisdom to use it properly."

Caddaric lifted his face to the sunlight as they left the palace courtyard and stepped into the street. "It is possible," he murmured.

"What is, my son?"

"That Boadicea may succeed after all." Caddaric looked down at his father and gave him a wild, reckless grin.

****

Jilana sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting Caddaric's return to the villa. In his absence she had tidied the room and carried the pieces of the ruined chair to the kitchen to be used as fuel for the ovens. The hostility of the other Romans she encountered had been expected, and Jilana had forced herself to ignore the lewd comments and openly resentful looks. 'Twas bad enough to fear the Iceni, she would not hide out of fear of her own countrymen. She was as much a victim of the revolt as they, even if they did not believe it. Back in her chamber, Jilana had taken up her brush and begun the task of restoring order to her hair while her mind pondered the drastic changes in her life. The hate which had bolstered her resolve to be avenged upon the Iceni had slowly dissipated as she came know Clywd and Heall. They told her of their life before the Roman conquest, of their village, their ways. The invasion had taken much away from them, and not just in tangible things. Iceni pride had been dealt a hard blow when King Prasutagus had sued for peace with the Emperor Claudius rather than lift a sword against the invasion. But the Iceni would be free, the King had assured the Chieftains; allies of Rome instead of conquered territories. Still, as a safeguard, Boadicea had ordered her people to bury their weapons in case the Romans went back their word.

And, as the years had progressed and the Iceni saw what befell the Catuvellauni, the only tribe on Britannia truly resist the Roman legions, the people began to accept Prasutagus' judgment. The people traded with Rome; the chieftains brought Roman furnishings into their homes. Some of the young people even went so far as to adopt Roman dress, speech, and ways, to become what the remnants of the once great Catuvellauni tribe had been forced to become in order to survive, Romanophiles: part Roman, part Celt, belonging totally to neither world. At first the Iceni had been grateful to be spared the destruction visited upon the Catuvellauni, but gradually, as their taxes rose, as their young men were impressed for service into the auxiliary Roman legions, as Prasutagus' wishes were more frequently overridden by those of the governor-general, as they endured the snickers and jibes of the tired Roman legionaries who settled on farms given to them as a reward for their twenty years of military service—farms whose land was rightfully Iceni property but whose true owners had no say in its confiscation—the Iceni people began to chafe beneath the Roman yoke. Their freedom was in name only; in truth they were little better than slaves. The first mutterings of revolt had begun more than a decade earlier, but while Prasutagus lived there was peace. When the King had died and Boadicea had subsequently been humiliated, the battered Iceni pride had risen to the fore and, as Heall had said, Jilana had lived through the aftermath.

Which brought Jilana full circle back to Caddaric. He was a hard man, frighteningly so to Jilana, and he lacked the spontaneity that was so much a part of the other Iceni she had observed. As Artair had said, Caddaric was grim, and even on those rare occasions when he relaxed with Heall and Clywd there was a bitter edge to his laughter.

Jilana drew the long fall of her hair over her shoulder and began braiding it. Yet for all his harshness Caddaric had treated her well. She was not physically abused and he protected her from the warriors and the women by bringing their meals to her chamber and making use of Artair's slaves so that she might bathe in relative privacy. Even his temper was rigidly controlled except on those occasions when he was provoked beyond endurance— and, Jilana admitted now, she took a perverse satisfaction in goading him. Forcing Caddaric to lose that iron control, even momentarily, made her feel less like the slave Boadicea had named her and made Caddaric more human. And in spite of their harsh words, he protected her; Jilana never felt as safe with an armed Heall guarding the door as she did with an unarmed Caddaric present in the chamber. Aye, he protected her, but the memory of his burning kisses reminded Jilana that Caddaric did not need to beat her in order to have his way. He need only caress her and a delicious languor would seep through her, leaving her as helpless as if she were bound with heavy chains. She blushed at the liberties he had taken and tried to whip up some measure of righteous indignation, but her traitorous mind insisted upon remembering the fact that she had enjoyed that time in his arms.

The chamber door opened to admit Caddaric and Jilana braced herself mentally. Until she settled the turmoil within herself and discovered whether his previous anger had been spent, the wisest course would be to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She studiously watched the progress of her fingers through her hair as she heard Caddaric cross the room and seat himself on the couch. She thought she heard him groan, and the sound was so reminiscent of the soft noises he had made when they had lain together on the bed that Jilana blushed. She risked a glance at him from the corner of her eye and found him stretched out upon the couch. His left leg exceeded the length of the couch so that three-quarters of his calf was unsupported and his right leg was bent at the knee and angled, his booted foot resting on the floor in front of the couch. The single, curved arm of the couch supported his head and shoulders, and his eyes were closed. He looked exceedingly weary.

Jilana cleared her throat. "If your leg pains you, mayhap you should take your rest upon the bed." He opened one eye, subjecting her to such intense scrutiny that Jilana shifted her gaze back to her hair. An uneasy silence filled the room as she resumed her task.

"'Tis not my leg." Jilana started at his words and Caddaric winced at the sight. He deliberately softened his voice before speaking again. "Where is the healing pouch Clywd gave me?"

"In my chest." Jilana did not look at him as she spoke, concentrating instead upon winding a bit of leather about the end of the braid and tying it in place. Movement flickered in her peripheral vision and she heard a chest being opened, then closed a moment later. Caution gave way to curiosity and Jilana turned to see what Caddaric was about. The sight of the new bandage on his right arm shocked her. "You are hurt!"

"Aye." Caddaric dropped the pouch on the floor beside the couch and went to the washstand to pour water from the ewer into the basin. "'Tis slight."

"Let me see." Jilana was on her feet and at his side before he could object.

"Are you so bloodthirsty?" Caddaric eyed her curiously as she picked up the basin and brought it back to the couch. "Or is it just that you enjoy my pain?" As soon as the words were out he damned them, but it was too late. He had meant to be kinder to Jilana, to make up for the way he had spoken to her after Artair's appearance, but his good intentions seemed to be as substantial as air.

Jilana looked at him in surprise. "I enjoy no other's pain." It was the truth. Once—a mere week ago—she would have enjoyed seeing Caddaric and any other Iceni writhe in agony, but no longer. The Iceni had reacted against Roman injustice and the Roman citizens of Venta Icenorum had borne the Iceni vengeance. 'Twas an anguished truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"Not even mine?" Caddaric asked when Jilana seemed to mentally withdraw from him.

Blinking away tears that welled in her eyes, Jilana answered his question with one of her own. "You said you did not kill my family. Is that the truth?"

Caddaric nodded, surprised by her tears. If she had wept for her family before, she had done so in his absence and concealed any telltale signs from him. A flicker of hope sparked in his chest. "I had no hand in their deaths, Jilana. I swear it." He would not swear by any of the gods, for he was no hypocrite. "I swear by my honor and my sword."

And with those words Jilana knew he spoke the truth, for Caddaric valued his sword and his honor as a man above all else. "I believe you.'' A part of her cried out that this was treachery, but Jilana did not listen. Whatever future she may have was with Caddaric; her family was dead but she was still alive and must start anew. With Caddaric. "Sit down." She gestured to the space next to her on the couch. "Let me tend your arm.. .lord," she added hesitantly.

Caddaric sat carefully, hardly daring to believe this unexpected change. "You need not address me as such, little wicca. My name will suffice." Jilana had accepted her fate, Caddaric thought triumphantly; she had tacitly agreed that she was his. And since she accepted it, there was no further need to bludgeon her spirit with the fact. Now he could afford to be magnanimous, to return to her a portion of her pride. He knew well how important an illusion could be to one's soul.

"I thought the Queen held council, not battle," Jilana softly commented as she unwound the soiled bandage and cleaned the wound. From the healing pouch she withdrew the salve she used on Caddaric's leg and applied it to his arm. Caddaric's breath hissed between his teeth at the unavoidable pain.

"One of the chieftains was offended by my strategy," Caddaric answered when he had unclenched his jaw. "We argued."

"With swords?"

"Within our tribe this is the typical way to settle a dispute." In an undertone, Caddaric added, "I wish it were not so."

"But the Iceni are peaceful," Jilana argued. "I cannot remember when..." Her voice trailed off. She had been about to say ' 'when differences among the Iceni were settled with combat," but then had realized that during her lifetime the tribe had been forbidden weapons. Because they might rise against the Empire.

"None of the tribes of this island were peaceful," Caddaric explained, unperturbed by Jilana's slip, "until Claudius landed and put them under Roman rule. We would raid for cattle to increase our wealth, or in retaliation during a feud. We did not contentedly tend our herds or till the land."

Jilana shook her head, unable to comprehend a way of life in which raiding was commonplace. She took a strip of cloth from the pouch and carefully wound it about Caddaric's arm. "You find that uncivilized," Caddaric hazarded, guessing the path her thoughts had taken.

Jilana glanced at the hard, blue eyes and quickly looked away. "I find it strange. Why risk your life and place your home and cattle in danger when there is no need? Tis childish." ,

"Mayhap," Caddaric conceded a bit too readily. "As childish, would you say, as a nation which insists upon conquering other nations so that it has a continual supply of slaves, gladiators and soldiers to serve, entertain and protect its spoiled citizens and greedy ruler?"

There was no answer to that. The truth stung and raised the color along Jilana's cheekbones. She tied the bandage in place and rose. "'Tis finished." Jilana turned, only to be brought up short by a firm hand closing around her wrist.

"You are angry." Caddaric looked up at her set features, enjoying the feel of the delicate bones beneath his fingers.

"What does it matter?" Jilana stood quiescently, not fighting the pressure. 'Twould serve no purpose; Caddaric's strength was far superior to her own; there was no need to demonstrate that fact yet again.

Caddaric smoothed the silken flesh over her pulse with his thumb. "Mayhap our ways are childish, even uncivilized to a Roman. But for all our raiding and feuding we do not hold life cheaply; it took the Roman legion to teach me how little the treasure of life truly meant—and how carelessly it could be taken away."

There was pain buried deep in his words, a torment Jilana could barely sense, but was there nonetheless. Caddaric was not, she realized with a start, as invulnerable as he pretended to be, and she found a part of herself wanting to reach out and soothe whatever ache still haunted him. His words the night of the uprising came back to her: do not be so willing to court your own destruction. How was it that a man who spent his life in such a violent profession came to regard life so highly? Jilana wanted to ask, but the truce between them was too fragile to bear such questioning. Instead she pulled away from Caddaric and replaced the medicines in her chest.

Caddaric watched her walk away, enjoying the way the material of the long, straight stola clung to her slender hips. A belt cinched the material at her narrow waist and the memory of the way Jilana looked rising naked from her bath sent a shaft of desire through his groin. She had donned the belt during his absence, and Caddaric wondered, with a mixture of amusement and irritation, if she thought the flimsy length of leather would prove a deterrent against his advances. Smiling inwardly he reclined once again upon the couch and followed Jilana's nervous pacing of the room. "There is to be a feast tonight, a welcome to our allies and the Druids who have joined us," Caddaric said when Jilana perched upon the edge of the bed. "You will accompany me."

Jilana swung toward him, her eyes suddenly dark and troubled. The thought of being put rudely on display again destroyed her new-found security. "May I not remain here?" As soon as the words were out Jilana winced at their pleading tone.

"Nay. There will be no one to guard you and I dare not leave you to your own devices." Their eyes met and Caddaric knew she understood. If Jilana remained behind she would be left alone for the first time, without a guard outside her door or other Iceni warriors milling through the villa and courtyard. She could not be trusted not to try to escape.

The troubled look on Jilana's face nagged at Caddaric's conscience, but he had no choice. "I am sorry, little one." The weak smile she gave him only made Caddaric feel worse. He had broken their fledgling peace, reminded her of her slavery. Now he must find a way to set things aright. An apology was unthinkable, of course, but as Caddaric cast about for a way to extend his own olive branch he hit upon an idea that would surely bring Jilana as much pleasure as it would himself. "Would you like to bathe?" The look Jilana gave him clearly asked if he had taken leave of his senses and his anticipation gave way to embarrassment. In a stiff voice he explained, "Artair's men are busy preparing for the feast; they will have no time to prepare your bath tonight. I thought that if you wished..." She regarded him in such an odd manner that Caddaric's voice trailed off.