Defy the Eagle (23 page)

Jilana would have pursued the topic further but at that moment Boadicea, flanked by her two daughters and followed by warriors of the royal household, arrived in her wicker chariot. A great cry went up from the Iceni as Boadicea dismounted and walked among her people; the sound built and swelled and the Iceni stamped their feet and beat their weapons against their shields until the ground trembled. Unlike Heall, Jilana did not rise in order to salute the Queen. She remained seated, watching. Heall raised his voice with the tumult but Clywd was silent and unmoving while Caddaric merely nodded his support as Boadicea passed by.

Boadicea's fire was at the heart of the roughly formed circle of Iceni, and when she had reached it she raised her hands and gestured for silence. Slowly the shouting subsided and her strong, confident voice rang out. "My people, the time has come! Tomorrow we march against the Roman oppressors!" The Iceni shouted their approval and Boadicea waited patiently for their silence. "Already we number a thousand, and even now the rest of our nation rides to join us. The Ordovices and Trinovantes will ally with us as well. By Samh'in we will have driven the legions into the ocean and destroyed all traces of Rome in our land. No more will our precious island be known by the hated name of Britannia. As we take back our land, so shall we take back the name of our country. Albion!"

This time the roar was deafening and looking up, Jilana found that Caddaric had lifted his sword high above his head and was shouting along with the rest.

"And now, my people," Boadicea continued when she could be heard again, "let us celebrate what is to come. Lhwyd," she gestured to the Druid who stood respectfully behind her, "has blessed the herd from which this night's feast was taken. With the gods watching over us our success is assured!"

With a final, thundering salute the Iceni settled to the ground and applied themselves to their food. Uncertainly, Jilana rose and stepped closer to the fire as people swarmed around her and reached out with their knives to carve off chunks of meat from the roasting haunch of beef. Jilana stared at the meat, the bile rising in her throat, and knew that she could not force herself to eat it. There was a gentle touch on her arm and she turned to find Clywd regarding her sympathetically.

"I regret there is no fowl, but Caddaric has said that we must save them for the march since ducks and chickens are easier to transport than cattle." Clywd smiled and reached inside his robe to extract a leather bag which he handed to Jilana. "I managed to save this from the kitchen, but eventually, child, you will have to learn to eat as we do."

Nodding, Jilana took the bag. "Thank you, Clywd." Caddaric appeared at her side, a large piece of meat skewered on his knife in one hand and a wineskin hanging across his chest. In his other hand he carried part of a loaf of bread. Holding her own meal, Jilana followed Caddaric to a small group of people and reluctantly sat beside him. The only familiar face was Heall's and Jilana braced herself against the expected abuse from the others. When it was not forthcoming, she dared a quick glance around and was surprised when two of the women greeted her with shy smiles. She responded with a tremulous smile of her own and then turned her attention to her meal.

The drawstring bag yielded two rounds of cheese, dried figs, a generous handful of almonds and a small pot of preserves—more than enough for one meal. Jilana crumbled a bit of cheese between her fingers and dropped it onto the ground as an offering to whatever gods inhabited and protected the plain before breaking off a portion ; of cheese for herself and returning the rest to the bag. Beside her, Caddaric was tearing into his portion of beef with obvious relish, the loaf of bread balanced on his breek-clad thigh, ignoring the conversation which flowed around them except to nod or shake his head when a question was directed to him. When the meat was gone, he wiped his knife clean and returned it to its sheath, then tore a piece of bread from the loaf. He was as methodical in his eating habits as he was in everything else, Jilana thought as she nibbled the cheese.

Jilana found it impossible to remain aloof from her eating companions for long. Gradually the women drew her into conversation by asking questions about her life before the revolt. At first Jilana answered hesitantly, uncertain of their motives and more than a little discomfited by the fact that the men would pause to listen to her replies. The women, however, were genuinely interested and their questions were without malice. They were simply satisfying their curiosity. Jilana could not help comparing this conversation with those she had had with Claudia, and immediately felt guilty because Claudia suffered by the comparison. Her appetite disappeared and Jilana returned the cheese to her bag.

"You could be Iceni," one of the women was saying, and Jilana looked up at her. Her name was Guendolen and she was a true warrior maid. A sword lay by her side in its sheath and her hair was obviously bleached and hung stiffly about her shoulders. She was also tall and the muscles in her arms and legs bespoke the rigors of her training and life. Jilana murmured her thanks for the compliment and the warrior maid continued. "I have often seen you ride outside the town; you ride well."

Jilana smiled weakly, embarrassed that this women recognized her while she could not remember ever having seen the woman. Until a week ago, Jilana realized, she had paid little attention to the Iceni. "Your hair is most unusual," Jilana offered in return.

Guendolen smiled with pleasure and Jilana found it hard to believe that she could be fierce in battle. "I wash it with lime, according to the old ways."

Jilana listened as Guendolen explained that once men and women alike had treated their hair with the bleach obtained from heating shells or limestone. It was as Jilana was reaching for the wineskin Caddaric held out to her that an unnaturally high scream rent the air. The sound froze her hand in mid-air and Jilana felt the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand up. The scream came again, followed by a wail of Latin words that was soon drowned out by Celtic voices. Slowly, carefully, Jilana withdrew her hand and placed it on her lap. There was no need to ask what had happened or stand, as the others were now doing, to see the event with her own eves. She knew. Lhwyd had begun the sacrifice.

"Look at me, Jilana." Jilana obeyed the unmistakable note of command in Caddaric's voice. Her eyes flashed briefly, and in that instant Caddaric saw her fear and panic. And then it was gone, concealed, and while he admired her strength of will he wished it had not been necessary. "Do not be afraid; Lhwyd cannot hurt you. I am here. Trust me."

Caddaric had moved closer so that he could be heard over the din, and Jilana longed to throw herself against his broad chest and into the haven his arms offered. Pandemonium had broken out among the Iceni. They left the fires and dashed to the oak grove, eager to witness the homage being paid the Morrigan, and their excited shouts echoed inside Jilana's head. Their eyes locked, Caddaric drew Jilana to her feet and in that instant she knew what he intended.

"Nay, you cannot ask this of me," Jilana entreated. His gaze flickered uncertainly and suddenly Jilana knew that her prayers had been answered. She hurled herself against his chest with what she hoped was a pathetic sob, and was rewarded for her performance when Caddaric's arms came around her. "Let me go home, Caddaric. Please, I beg you—do not force me to watch Lhwyd put my people to death."

Jilana was trembling in his arms and Caddaric tightened his embrace in a gesture of sympathy and comfort. The victims' screams were becoming more audible now as the ceremony progressed and the Iceni watched in respectful silence. He wanted to tell Jilana that the screams were not caused by pain—that the sacrifice, the actual loss of life, was quick and merciful—that it was fear that caused those pathetic sounds. But he could not. She had endured so much already, and maintained her pride in the process, that he could not bear to have her witness the humiliating attempts the other Romans would make to save their lives. "Very well," Caddaric said at last. "Go back, but keep to our chamber." Jilana's head nodded against his chest and Caddaric tenderly kissed her hair. "I will return as soon as I can." Jilana slipped from his arms and ran toward Venta Icenorum. Sighing; Caddaric watched until she was swallowed by the darkness before turning to the oak grove.

Jilana ran as fast as she could, slowing only when she reached the east gate of the town. With only the moon for light, the paving stones were treacherous and Jilana stumbled several times as she raced through the streets to her home. Finally she was there, bursting through the garden gate and flying through the once beautiful garden. A small statute of Priapus, the god of gardens and fertility, tumbled from its plinth when she bumped into it, but Jilana paid it no heed. The only sounds were her own ragged breathing and the fall of her leather shoes against the stones of the courtyard. The stable loomed just ahead of her and then she was inside, leaning heavily against the door while she caught her breath and her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building. Her heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of her chest, not from the physical exertion but from nervousness. She waited tensely to be challenged by a guard, but when several minutes passed and the only noises made were by the horses, Jilana relaxed. The stable was unguarded.

At last her breathing steadied and Jilana groped along the ledge by the door until she encountered a lantern and flint. It took several attempts to light the tallow candle within the brass lantern cage because her fingers trembled so badly, but the spark caught and the lantern spread a welcoming pool of light around her. The stable was unchanged; pitchforks and shovels were propped against one wall and in the back she could see a mound of fresh hay. The horses, at least, had been well cared for. Picking up the lantern, Jilana made her way past the stalls until she came to her bay mare. The horse whickered inquisitively when Jilana hung the lantern on a beam and opened the stall and slipped inside. She patted the mare's flank lovingly and reached for the bridle which, thank the gods, still hung from its peg beside the stall. Speed was of the essence, for she remembered Caddaric's promise to return as soon as he could.

It was when Jilana led the mare from the stall that she discovered the saddle was missing. "Nay," Jilana whispered. She could ride bareback, of course, but it would be far easier with a saddle. Lifting the lantern from its peg, Jilana walked the length of the stalls and found to her dismay that all the saddles were gone. Why? The answer came clearly out of her rising panic: the Iceni intended to exchange the Roman saddles for their own. They were the best horsemen in all of Britannia, of course they would use saddles of their own making. Undoubtedly the Roman saddles had been taken as booty or destroyed. The mare whickered again but Jilana ignored her. Perhaps she should take the time to inspect the small storeroom in the hope that a saddle could be found there.

"What are you doing, Jilana?"

The soft question spun Jilana around with a gasp. The light from the lantern did not extend to where the intruder stood, but he was silhouetted against the open door and even if she had not recognized his voice she would have recognized those massive shoulders. While she watched, the mare walked forward and nuzzled Caddaric in a friendly manner. The blood pounded in Jilana's ears and without realizing it she started toward Caddaric. "You must let me go, Caddaric. You must!"

"Nay." The word was flat, clipped, and when the light hit his face the anger sparkling in the depths of his blue eyes was obvious.

Jilana lashed out bitterly. "Why? Why did you let me go when you knew what I planned? Do you enjoy seeing me humiliated, defeated?"

"Nay," Caddaric said again, answering her second question first. "I came after you because I thought you were frightened. And I was worried that one of the warriors might have followed you." One large hand came up to gently stroke the mare's neck. "Until I saw the light from the stable I did not consider the possibility that you might be running away from me."

"Do you blame me?" Jilana demanded. She was trembling so violently that the lantern shook. "Let me go to my own people, Caddaric."

"To what end?" Caddaric regarded her curiously, as if her request made no sense. "The countryside is alive, wicca; Boadicea's people are moving to join their Queen. Even if I let you go you would only be caught again. This is a war and all of Albion is caught up in it. There is no safety to be found on this island."

"Except with you," Jilana retorted scathingly.

Caddaric's head came up at that and his gaze pinned her to the dirt floor. "Aye, little wicca, save with me." He caught up the mare's reins and turned her back toward her stall.

As Jilana followed him, her eyes fell on the tools leaning against the wall. She could not let Caddaric stop her! Her life depended upon getting away from the Iceni.

Carefully Jilana set the lantern on the floor and reached for the closest implement. Her hands closed around a shovel and she tightened her grip until her knuckles turned white.

Caddaric's eyes were focused on the mare, but he was aware of Jilana coming quietly up behind him. "I suppose I should be grateful that you no longer have a dagger," he said. A slight smile curved his lips as he turned his head to look at his spirited little witch. "Otherwise—"

Jilana brought the shovel down upon Caddaric's head with such force that the handle cracked. A groan escaped him and then he toppled forward to the floor like a felled oak. The mare whinnied in fear, rearing, and Jilana quickly dropped her weapon and snatched the trailing reins. Only when the mare had quieted did Jilana dare a look at Caddaric. He lay so pale and still that Jilana was filled with the certainty that she had killed him. She knelt beside him and touched his head. There was a large lump beneath the thick, curly hair that swelled beneath her fingers and she hastily removed her hand, then placed it against his mouth. He was breathing and there was no evidence of blood, and Jilana uttered a short prayer of thanks to whatever gods protected Caddaric. She was about to rise when she caught sight of the pouch containing the food Clywd had given her tied to Caddaric's belt. After a moment's hesitation she rolled Caddaric onto his back and untied the bag. She needed the food, Jilana told herself as tears stung her eyes, for she had no idea how long she would be traveling. And she would not feel sorry for hitting Caddaric, nor would she succumb to this insidious feeling of guilt that told her she had betrayed his trust. But the sight of him lying there, defenseless, made a mockery of her resolution to take the mare and leave without a backward glance. Instead, Jilana bent and pressed the gentlest of kisses upon his lips. Caddaric stirred beneath the pressure and groaned, and Jilana hurriedly rose to her feet.