Defy the Eagle (27 page)

Caddaric joined an uncomfortable-looking Heall and together they rode toward the place where the vanguard was forming up. Approximately ten miles remained between the rebels and the city of Camulodunum and the warriors were anxious to reach their first battleground. With luck, the civilians in the column would be able to keep pace with the main body of the force and they would make camp within sight of the city long before evening. The sight of the opposing army would demoralize the civilians within; a small advantage, but important nonetheless. As Caddaric moved ahead with the vanguard his thoughts turned once again to Jilana, and where on the island of Albion she would have fled. Pray the gods Jilana had been wise enough to seek the protection of the legion garrisoned at Lindum, for if she had run south... That possibility did not bear close examination.

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Jilana hurried along the paved streets of Camulodunum, Faline close behind. A pall hung in the air that had naught to do with the stench of blood and burning carcass of the sacrifice which had just taken place at the Temple of Claudius—a pall some of the citizens sought to dispel with a forced air of optimism. Boadicea had come, as Jilana had known she would, and only now did the residents of the city realize that while Hadrian's defense allowed only one entrance to the city, it made them virtual prisoners as well.

Word of the Iceni arrival had spread like wildfire and, like the others, Jilana had been seized by a morbid curiosity to see the force Hadrian and his men would oppose. The vallation was complete now, and the raised platform which ran along the inside of the wall was crowded with soldiers and citizens alike who fell silent as they gazed at the rebels. One by one the civilians turned from the sight in front of them and left the platform. As others took their places and the process was repeated, their optimistic veneer cracked and was replaced by desperation. When her turn came to peer over the earth wall, Jilana understood the change. The cleared fields which should have held the seeds of new crops now bristled with wicker chariots, mounted warriors and well-armed infantry. Behind them, wagons were being drawn up and women and children hurried about to make camp. And in the distance Jilana could see a tremendous cloud of dust rising above the treetops, heralding the arrival of still more Iceni. The scene was duplicated as far to the right and left as she could see, as the city was encircled by an Iceni force that now numbered in the thousands.

Because her dreams and visions had prepared her, Jilana was spared the overwhelming fear that swept through her countrymen; she simply accepted the inevitable with a sense of fatalism. About to turn away, Jilana was suddenly shaken by a thought she had successfully kept at bay since her arrival. Caddaric was here! She stared at the distant warriors, knowing it was futile to think—hope?— she could distinguish him from the others, but she tried nevertheless. Behind her, impatient voices told her to move aside but Jilana ignored them. She laced her suddenly trembling hands together and willed the mind that had shown her so much in the past four days to show her Caddaric now. She needed to know that he suffered no ill effects from the blow she had dealt him. The force which tortured her with scenes of destruction, however, refused her attempts to control the nature of those visions. Nothing appeared save the prolonged arrival of the Iceni force and, defeated, Jilana turned to relinquish her place on the platform. Something touched Jilana; it was the lightest of pressures, as if an arm had been draped around her shoulders and then slowly drawn away. Startled, Jilana glanced about to see who had taken such liberties and found no one near her who would have been so gentle. And in that instant she knew who had touched her, although she did not know how. Clywd.

As Jilana made to step from the platform, a very human hand reached up to assist her and she looked down into Hadrian's stern countenance. "You should not have come," Hadrian admonished as he forged a path for them through the crowd.

Jilana remained silent, wincing inwardly when Hadrian misstepped and came down hard on his injured leg. As unobtrusively as possible she steadied Hadrian until he regained his balance and they could continue. "You should be using your crutch," Jilana told him softly.

"The citizens are skittish enough; the sight of me limping along on crutches would send them into a blind panic," Hadrian gritted.

And how will you manage in battle when your leg is not totally mended? Jilana wondered, but she kept the question to herself. Hadrian had become her protector, benefactor and friend during the course of the evening meals they had shared and she knew how heavily the responsibilities of his office weighed upon him. She would do or say nothing to upset him. They paused before one of the houses that marked the beginning of the city and Jilana gazed once more at the dust clouds that rose in the distance. "Will you dine with me this evening, Centurion?" Her invitation was formal and gracious, as if destruction did not wait beyond the vallation.

Hadrian glanced at her profile, admiring the set of her jaw and proud carriage. If Jilana was frightened, she hid it well. "If my duties permit, mistress, I would be honored."

Jilana looked at him then and offered a brave smile. He was care-worn, the lines of responsibility deeply etched in his face. She had tried to hate him for keeping her here, for confiscating her horse, but she had not been able to. Like Caddaric, Hadrian was trying to protect her, but unlike the warrior, Hadrian had ruthlessly blocked all her avenues of escape and sealed her within his protection. How could she hate a man who, though misguided, had only her welfare at heart? She could not. She accepted the situation as it was and, because Hadrian treated her kindly, she created a haven out of his quarters so that he light escape his grinding responsibilities for a time. Now touched his arm lightly. "Whatever the hour, Centurion."

Hadrian nodded curtly and walked away, and Jilana knew he had been embarrassed by her touch. In spite of the desperate situation, Hadrian had been concerned with her reputation; when they dined together, the door to her quarters remained open and a tribune stood guard outside; and if they met in public, Hadrian addressed her as "mistress" or "lady." As she watched Hadrian melt into crowd, Jilana knew a tremor of fear for him—and, if she would but admit it, for another.

Instead of returning directly to her quarters, Jilana ted the garrison and walked toward the center of the until she encountered the building she sought. It was a small temple—not on the same scale as the one of Claudius—but its workmanship was flawless. The temple of Minerva, the goddess who patronized defensive war and useful and ornamental arts. The temple was empty, although oil lamps flickered in their wall holders. The sound of her footsteps was unaccountably loud against the silence and the muted street sounds. Jilana passed through the anteroom into the cella, and as she walked she drew the belt from her waist. At the foot of the steps leading to the altar Jilana prostrated herself, then rose and ascended to the altar to place the belt with its bronze decorations upon it. Behind the altar stood the statue of Minerva, the daughter who had sprung from Jupiter's brain in full battle armor. She hoped the goddess would deem the belt an exchange worthy of the favor she was about to beg. Descending the steps, Jilana stretched out full length upon the floor and shivered when the cool marble chilled her skin.

"O merciful Minerva," Jilana prayed, her eyes fixed on the altar steps. "I ask your intercession with Mars for the lives of two warriors, the Iceni Caddaric and the Roman Hadrian. In return, I offer my belt and—" she drew a tremulous breath "—my own life." There was a hint of desperation in her voice when she added, "I have nothing else of value to offer, O goddess, yet I would have these two men live through Mars' most savage love of bloodshed and violence. I beg you to accept my unworthy offering and find favor with my plea."

Rising, Jilana retraced her steps through the cella and paused when she found Faline waiting at the door to the anteroom. The two women exchanged a long look. "You heard," Jilana questioned at last.

Faline nodded. "Why do you pray for the enemy?"

Jilana gave a choked, confused laugh. "Because he, in his way, also sought to protect me; because in a night of death he gave me back my life." Jilana shook her head as the memories descended. "Because in another time, another place, he would not have been my enemy." She looked through the anteroom to the street beyond where frightened people moved aimlessly or clustered in small knots, arguing. The panic Hadrian feared had not set in, not yet.

"Do you think they will attack today?"

Jilana turned her attention back to Faline. "I do not know. Mayhap."

"What should we do?" Faline's voice held a rough edge of fear.

"Do?" Jilana smiled wearily. "There is naught to be done, Faline. Later we can be of help to those who are injured but now..." Her voice caught and she was silent for a moment. "We can but wait, and pray. Go home, Faline."

The girl hesitated. "'Tis said Centurion Tarpeius sent to Lindum for reinforcements. Will they arrive in time?"

Jilana forced a confident smile. "I am certain they will. The centurion's defenses will doubtless hold the city for several days, more than enough time for the relief column to arrive." She touched the younger woman's shoulder reassuringly. "Go home now, Faline."

The two women went their separate ways. Jilana stopped at the stable on the way to her quarters to visit her mare and feed her a handful of oats. The mare would at least be spared, Jilana thought numbly. The rebels had need of horses. Once inside her quarters, Jilana swept the two small rooms and straightened the covers on the bed— all unnecessary tasks since Faline had cleaned the rooms that morning, but the work kept her thoughts from the inevitable. When that was finished, she returned to the front antechamber and sat watching the shadows lengthen against the floor. She wished that she could cook, and that the small house afforded a kitchen, so that she might occupy the time, but the garrison kitchen saw to her needs. She knew that her calm was unnatural, that she would shatter against the fear the way the glass vial had shattered against the floor, and she waited for her control to break.

When more shadows than light filled the room, Jilana struck a spark against a taper and lit the oil lamps with steady hands. The Iceni had not attacked; Camulodunum had been given one last night of life. Her meal arrived and Jilana gratefully turned to arranging the food on the low table in front of the couch. She sat back, admiring her handiwork, and at last allowed her thoughts to turn to Caddaric. What was he doing? she wondered, and immediately there arose a strong image of Caddaric sitting before a fire, partaking of the evening meal. The firelight played over his set features and burnished his heavily-muscled flesh so that he resembled a statue of a god. A whirlwind of emotion swept through Jilana and she closed her eyes against its force.

He would never be called handsome; his features were too harshly angular to fit that word. But there was about him a strength that was far more compelling than the superficial arrangement of flesh over bone. She had felt that strength upon their first meeting, had been drawn to it in spite of herself. That power could overwhelm, frighten, and it concealed his astonishing capacity for gentleness. Had she stayed, Jilana was certain she would never have feared Caddaric again. Had he understood why she ran? She shook her head miserably, knowing he had not. He had promised her his protection, and to his mind that promise should have been enough to allay her fears.

"Mistress?"

Jilana snapped out of her reverie to find Hadrian regarding her curiously from the doorway. Oh, Juno, if only things had been different! "Welcome, Centurion; come in." As he stepped into the room, Jilana glanced beyond the door. "Where is your tribune this evening?"

"In charge of the vallation." Hadrian pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair. "He will send for me if I am needed."

Jilana smiled and rose to take the helmet from him and set it aside on a low chest. "Sit down, Hadrian; the pain in your leg must be fierce."

"'Tis not so bad," Hadrian replied, but the sigh that escaped him as he settled upon the couch said otherwise.

Looking at the night sky, Jilana's heart quickened. The sky was unnaturally bright with the Iceni campfires. Behind her, she could hear Hadrian pouring wine. "Will they come tomorrow, then?"

There was a pause before he answered. "Aye, tomorrow. Probably just after first light."

His voice was laced with weariness and Jilana firmly closed the door against the sight that had sent a brief pang of terror through her. The sight of Hadrian sitting stiffly erect on one side of the couch brought an indulgent smile to Jilana's lips. "You will be more comfortable without your armor," she said quietly, moving to his side. "Come, I will help you."

For a moment it looked as if he would protest, but then Hadrian simply nodded and allowed Jilana to undo the shoulder buckles that held the front and back pieces of the cuirass together. When she set the heavy armor on the floor and propped his leg on a small stool, Hadrian nearly groaned in relief. "Thank you, Jilana." She smiled, handed him a cup of wine, then filled one of the garrisons' tin plates from the food on the table and handed him that as well before taking her seat at the opposite end of the couch and preparing a plate for herself.

"How are your men faring?" Jilana asked when they had eaten in silence for several minutes.

"Well enough," Hadrian replied. "Most of my men have been blooded, so the sight of the enemy has not unnerved them." He reached for another piece of fowl and ate it thoughtfully while watching Jilana nibble at the food on her plate. "And you, Jilana, how are you faring?"

"I thought I would be afraid, but I am not," she answered quietly.

"I should have let you go when you asked," Hadrian said, and then cursed eloquently when she stared at him. "Forgive me, Jilana, for both my profanity and stupidity."

"Your language does not offend me, Hadrian, nor do I think you stupid. You have done your best for all concerned." Jilana set her plate aside and refilled their wine cups.

"But you would now be safe—"

"Safe!" Jilana laughed despairingly. "There is no safety here on Britannia. I know that as well as you. Nay, Boadicea will have her revenge."

"When Paulinus hears of the uprising, he will waste no time in returning and putting an end to the rebellion." Hadrian savored the rich Egyptian wine, unaware that Caddaric had voiced the same opinion.