Defy the Eagle (56 page)

Jilana shrugged. "It left a bitter taste in my mouth."

"But you took it from the barrels?"

"Aye." Jilana's brows drew together when Caddaric abruptly released her hand and started out of the tent. "Caddaric, what is wrong?" He did not bother to reply and Jilana was too tired to repeat her question. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Caddaric was once more beside her. "Where did you go?"

"To talk to my father." Caddaric stroked her cheek with his forefinger. "Would you like to try some stew now?"

"Nay." Jilana frowned at him. "What is it, Caddaric? What is amiss?"

Caddaric pursed his lips together, as if considering his answer. "Did you see Lhwyd yesterday?"

"Aye," Jilana answered slowly, a prickle of unease running through her. "Before we marched. But—"

"Did you fill your skin before or after you saw him?"

"Before."

"Did he touch the skin?" Caddaric demanded.

Her unease blossomed into pure dread. "I do not think so, but—he could have, I suppose. I left the skin under the wagon seat and he was standing next to it when I put away the veil that Ede had sent him to return." A terrible thought formed in Jilana's mind and she asked softly, "I did not take ill, did I?" When Caddaric answered, she closed her eyes.

"Nay. You were poisoned; by Lhwyd."

"Juno," Jilana breathed. Swallowing, she told Caddaric, "Lhwyd came to our camp the day the rein broke. To see Clywd, he said, but Clywd was gone and Lhwyd was standing by the team the entire time." She looked at him with wide eyes, her fingers fearfully curling into his arms. "The broken rein was no accident, was it?"

"He will not bother you again," Caddaric soothed. "He has been forbidden by our chieftain to come to our camp."

That was welcome news, but Jilana sensed Caddaric had not told her everything. She started to ask what else had happened but his next words stopped her.

"I gave you my word that I would keep you safe and I did not," Caddaric stated harshly. "I would not blame you if you never trusted me again."

For a stunned moment, Jilana could do nothing more than stare at him, and then she placed her hand upon his cheek and turned his face toward her. "Twas not your fault, Caddaric. The poison was Lhwyd's doing, not yours. How could you think I would blame you?" She hesitated before adding, "Caddaric, I would trust you with my life."

The light seemed to come back into Caddaric's eyes. "Would you?" A beautiful, masculine smile curved his lips.

In reply, Jilana moved over and lifted the corner of the blanket. Caddaric needed no further invitation. Stripping out of his clothes, he slid in beside her and took her in his arms. Moments later they were both asleep.

Jilana awoke alone the next morning. The fire had gone out, and through the hole in the roof, she could see the gray fingers of light which signaled early morning. She stretched, cat-like, feeling the ache that lingered in her muscles—the ache Lhwyd had caused. Jilana shuddered. She had proof now of how deeply Lhwyd hated her, and so did Caddaric; the Druid would not catch them off guard again. Muted sounds drifted into the tent from the camp and Jilana recognized the distinctive grate of iron against whetstone. Fear darted through her. The Iceni were preparing to attack Londinium. She rose and dressed as quickly as she could, then wrapped Caddaric's cloak about her and left the tent.

The three men around the fire rose when she appeared and Heall hurried to meet her. "You should remain in bed," he chastised her.

"Nay, Heall, I am well." Jilana took his hand and they walked to the fire. The contents of Clywd's medicine chest had been emptied and were strewn about the Druid as he sorted through them. Caddaric's sword and battle-axe were propped against a log and he held the whetstone in one hand. Heall's weapons were also being readied. Her eyes came to rest on the fire and the pot suspended over it. "Is that porridge?"

Her words seemed to release the three men. Heall and Caddaric seated her on a log while Clywd filled a bowl for her. "Heall bartered for the oats," Clywd explained as he handed her the food. She smiled at him, but his eyes slid away. "I have a potion for you to drink when you have eaten." He walked back to his place, sat down, and continued sorting through his supplies.

Clywd's actions worried Jilana, but she had no chance to ponder them with Heall and Caddaric hovering over her. She raised the wooden spoon to her mouth and, looking up, found both men's eyes upon her. She ate slowly while the men watched her like a pair of hawks. When she was finished, Caddaric took her bowl and Heall poured a cup of water for her. Clywd brought his potion and the three of them watched while she drank it and took a large swallow of water. Jilana found their watchfulness amusing. "I feel much better," she announced when they showed no intention of leaving her alone. "Have the three of you nothing better to do than watch me?"

The older men went back to their tasks but Caddaric sat by Jilana and resumed honing his sword. "Clywd will remain with you," he informed her. "You are not to leave the camp."

"You cannot ask Clywd to stay here," Jilana protested. "He must see to the injured."

"He can tend them once Heall or I have returned," Caddaric said.

"But that may be too late for many of the wounded." Jilana laid a hand on his arm. "I will go with Clywd."

"You will not," Caddaric growled. "Gods, woman, have you no sense at all? I will not allow you to place yourself in danger."

A spark of anger flared inside Jilana, but she tamped it down. "Caddaric," she said reasonably, "where is the danger in accompanying your father?"

Caddaric's jaw set stubbornly. "Have you forgotten that Lhwyd tried to kill you? You need to rest."

"I am not at death's door," Jilana retorted.

"Yesterday you were!"

Struggling to keep her voice level, Jilana said, "I am stronger than I look, Caddaric." His answer to that was a snort of disbelief. "Why will you not allow me to help where I may?"

Caddaric stood. "Tis nearly time. I will see to the horses."

Jilana gaped at him as he strode away and then, with a strangled cry she was on her feet, following him. He heard her, Jilana knew, but he did not wait. Instead he lengthened his stride and she had to run to catch up with him. "Why are you acting this way?" she demanded, struggling to keep pace. "At least I am asking your permission. I could simply agree to obey your order and then do as I please when you are gone."

"Aye, you have done that often enough in the past," Caddaric agreed grimly.

Jilana opened her mouth to argue further and then gasped. "Someone has stolen your horses!" Tears flooded her eyes and she failed to see the odd look that flashed across Caddaric's face. "Caddaric, the black mare is gone. And the brown gelding. Who could have done this?"

Caddaric untied the remaining four horses in order to move them to fresh grazing. "The horses were not stolen, Jilana, I gave them away."

"Gave them—" Jilana stared at him. "Why? Were they what Heall traded for the grain?"

Caddaric turned his attention to re-tethering the horses. "'Twas the fine imposed upon me."

"Fine!" Jilana waited until the last horse was tied, then grasped the short sleeve of Caddaric's tunic and pulled with all her might until he turned to face her. "What fine?"

Caddaric cleared his throat and stirred restlessly beneath her violet stare. "The fines imposed by the Queen and my chieftain."

Jilana's eyes widened. "What have you done?"

"I tried to kill Lhwyd," Caddaric retorted with a shade of defiance. "And I would have, except that the Queen intervened!"

"Because of what Lhwyd did to me?" Jilana questioned breathlessly.

"Aye," Caddaric admitted, his chin lifting.

"Oh, you fool," Jilana screeched. "You fool!" She gave him a shove that knocked him back a step and burst into tears.

Caddaric watched silently, dumbfounded by her reaction. He could not tell whether she was angry or sad, but either way she certainly was not pleased by the action he had taken in her defense. "I did it for you, Jilana," he tentatively explained.

"For me? For me! " She was screaming through her tears. "And what would have happened to me when you were executed for killing a priest?!"

"My father and Heall would have cared for you. Jilana—" Caddaric extended his hand to her.

Jilana batted his hand away. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and cry out that she did not want him to die for her sake; that she loved him and wanted him safe. But she did not, because even slaves had some pride. "You did it for yourself, because someone had dared to hurt your slave and damaged your pride in the process. Gods! You men with your silly pride and your childish need for vengeance." She looked up at him, imagining what would have happened had he succeeded and grew even angrier. "Are all men this stupid?"

"Only me, apparently," Caddaric said coldly. He swung on his heel and walked away. She had called him stupid, a fool. No doubt he was, compared to the Roman men she knew. Something withered in his heart. He should have ignored the dream, should have known it was impossible. And above all, he should have guarded his heart more closely. In camp he paused only long enough to gather his weapons, then headed to join the vanguard, Heall close behind. When Jilana did not return to the camp, Clywd put away his medicines and went in search of her.

He found her sitting on the ground near the horses, Caddaric's cloak wrapped tightly around her. Silently, he sat beside her and watched the horses graze. When Jilana made no move to leave him, Clywd said, "They are gone."

"I know." Jilana's voice was thick with tears. "If Caddaric is wounded it will be my fault. We argued." When Clywd said nothing, only watched her calmly, she poured out the story to him.

In turn, Clywd told Jilana the details of what had happened, ending with, "Did he tell you that he asked the Queen for your freedom, and she granted it?"

"Nay. I did not give him a chance." Jilana's lower lip trembled and she felt the tears spill down her cheeks again. "Why did he do such a thing?"

"He told the Queen it was because you had proven your loyalty to him." Clywd hesitated before adding, "And that he wanted you a free woman, safe from Lhwyd, should he die."

"Oh, Juno, what have I done?" Clywd opened his arms to Jilana and she went into them without hesitation.

"Forgive me for leaving you alone," Clywd murmured. "I should have been here when you needed me."

"You were—Heall told me yesterday how you cared for me. I thank you for my life."

When her tears subsided, Clywd helped Jilana to her feet and they returned to the camp. The morning dragged by and they filled their time with packing their medicines. Cloth that they would use for bandages was boiled in water and vinegar and hung over the ropes they had suspended between the wagons to dry. Jilana noticed that Clywd's gaze often strayed to the city in the distance, as hers did. At midday they shared a meal of the last dried fruit and washed it down with water, saving the grain for the evening meal.

"Caddaric said that when we took the city he would forage for supplies," Jilana mused when Clywd noted their lack of provisions. .

Clywd nodded. "And Heall says the hunting is good in the forest." He smiled speculatively. "A good haunch of venison would not be amiss now."

Jilana chuckled, but she could feel her nerves fraying as time passed. "How do you bear the waiting, Clywd?"

The old man sighed heavily. "The fighting is a way of life for us, Jilana. Before we fought the Romans, we fought each other."

"Sorely you fear for them?"

"I fear the pain their passing will cause," Clywd admitted, "but they are both warriors. 'Tis a fact I have accepted, and you must as well, if you are to be Caddaric's woman."

Jilana nodded, but in her heart she knew she would never be able to accept such a violent life as normal. She turned to the city, blocking out the sounds that were borne back to the camp by the breeze. Within the maze of buildings was Caddaric, and she prayed to every god she knew to keep him safe.

****

By midday, Caddaric was covered with dirt and blood and sick at heart at the slaughter of unarmed civilians. The soldiers and most of the civilians had been evacuated; the only opposition to the Iceni came from poorly armed men who had rarely—if ever—-handled a sword. He shook his head as, in front of him, a Roman was cut down before he could so much as lift his weapon. All around him were the sounds of the dying and the Iceni battle cries. Caddaric saw no need to yell out his victory or scream a challenge at his poor opponents. He did what was necessary, as swiftly and as mercifully as was possible.

Disconcertingly, his mind kept turning to Jilana. His anger over her words had long since burned itself out until now he felt only the pain.-He had to force himself to concentrate on fighting, and when he turned away from the sight of yet another enemy falling beneath an Iceni battle-axe, Caddaric knew he could not continue. There were warriors enough to deal with the city's population. Some of the other warriors had dropped back in order to begin looting and he decided to do the same. They needed supplies, and if he waited until the enemy was totally annihilated he would not find them.

Bodies lay everywhere, both in the streets and sprawled across the thresholds of the houses. Caddaric turned a blind eye to them, knowing that he would find more when he entered the Roman homes. Survival was what mattered now, and none of them, Jilana included, would survive if he did not find provisions. Keeping his sword in his hand, Caddaric retraced his steps and began a methodical search of the houses in his path. From one he took a large square of material; in the next he found several clay pots of preserves and freshly baked wheat cakes. These he wrapped in a small piece of linen torn from the material he had found, placed them in the center of the square and knotted the ends together to form a handle. In another home he discovered several casks of wine. He tucked one cask under either arm and walked back to the street.

Caddaric turned onto one of the broader streets, knowing that it would eventually lead to the temples. After crossing several intersecting streets, he found what he sought. The temple was large, the columns ornately detailed. Above the doors was carved the name of the god— or goddess—to whom the temple was dedicated, but Caddaric could not read. In any case, he was less interested in the god's name than in finding the temple's storerooms and granary. Caddaric found the double doors barred from the inside so he followed the colonnade around the building until he came to the temple garden. A stone path led through the garden to a low door, which stood ajar. Stooping, Caddaric entered the temple.

The only light was from the open door. Caddaric set his burdens on the floor and edged around the perimeter of the room until his hand encountered a wall bracket and a torch. He lit the torch with his flint and advanced farther into the room. A small silver statue winked in the flickering light, and further on the torch revealed a jeweled cup lying on the floor. The room was apparently one of those used for storing the temple treasures, and the two Caddaric had seen had either been overlooked or dropped in the haste to flee the city. He did not bother to pick up either one; jewels and silver would not feed a hungry stomach. Opening the door in the far wall, Caddaric found that it opened onto the cella. Caddaric entered, the torch held high in front of him. The flickering light cast eerie shadows throughout the deserted room, as did the hole in the ceiling that allowed the smoke from the sacrifices to escape, and, in spite of himself, Caddaric felt his skin crawl. The Roman god would not be pleased with his intrusion. He slowly paced the width of the cella, past the empty altar, his footsteps echoing hollowly, until he came to a second door.

He pushed the door open, allowing it to swing all the way against the wall, and drew his sword. He entered cautiously, braced for an attack. This room, too, was deserted but a triumphant light came into his eyes when he saw that he had found the storeroom. Sacks of milled grain lined one wall; along the far wall were barrels of what Caddaric assumed were wine. To his right stood tall amphorae, and above them were shelves holding clay jars of various shapes and sizes. Other shelves held bolts of material and spindles of thread and in one corner were stacked coils of rope. Caddaric put the torch into the wall bracket, sheathed his sword, and investigated the sacks of grain. All the sacks he opened contained wheat and Caddaric grinned. Using his knife, he cut a dozen lengths of rope from one of the coils and tied each end to one of the grain bags. When all twenty-four bags were secured, he turned his attention to the jars and amphorae. The amphorae contained olive oil, but the jars yielded dried figs, dates, honey and preserves. Caddaric grinned again, thinking of Jilana's pleasure when he returned with such delicacies. Leaving the torch in the wall, he went back to the entrance to retrieve the goods he had left there, and then returned to the storeroom.

'Twas his good fortune to have found these stores intact, ahead of someone else, Caddaric thought as he filled his bundle. Tomorrow, he and Heall would hunt rather than stay with the column, and if their luck held there would be meat enough to dry and cure. Still smiling, he draped the ropes containing the wheat around his neck and stood. The grain was heavy but he could manage easily enough. However, with the additional weight of the wheat and other supplies, he could not carry both casks of wine. Regretfully, Caddaric tucked one of the casks under his left arm and lifted the bundle with his right hand. He left the torch where it was. He would return later, for one of the bolts of material had been of a color that would match Jilana's eyes.

A movement close by the altar caught his eye and Caddaric stopped. "Who is there?" he asked, his eyes narrowed against the gloom. Only later would he realize that he had spoken in Iceni. There was no answer but he took a step closer to the altar.

"Come no closer!" A frightened, feminine voice ordered him from the shadows. When he ignored the challenge, the voice came again. "Stay away. I have a weapon."

"I will not harm you. Come out where I can see you." A slender shadow detached itself from the altar and moved just far enough for Caddaric to see that he was facing a young woman about Jilana's age but without her beauty. "Are you alone?" The poor thing was terrified; he could see the sword she held tremble in her hands, and Caddaric knew that he could not kill this girl even though the hatred she held for him was plain on her face. He would take her back to Jilana, Caddaric decided suddenly. Meaning to reassure the girl as to his intentions, he turned his back on her. "Come with me—"

Caddaric felt a crushing pressure begin in his back and continue through to his chest, accompanied by a grating sound. Then came the searing pain. The wine cask and bundle dropped to the floor and Caddaric stared down stupidly at the sword point protruding just below his right collarbone. She had stabbed him. This poor, frightened child had stabbed him! While he watched, the sword point disappeared and he felt the blade grate against his ribs as it was withdrawn. Blood coursed down the front of his tunic, soaking the material, and he instinctively pressed his fingers over the wound as he pivoted to face his assailant. His head grew light and the girl seemed to dance from one place to the other.

"I would not have hurt..." Caddaric's eyes rolled up into his*head and he crashed to the tiled floor.

"Stupid barbarian!"

The epithet rang in his ears just as he was kicked in the side, and then he heard her retreating footsteps. Little fool, he thought distantly, she was running straight to her death. A welcoming void loomed in front of him and Caddaric floated into it.

How long he was unconscious, Caddaric could not say. When he woke, the torch still burned and light still came through the smoke hole in the ceiling. His wound burned like Hades and he felt weak, but Caddaric forced himself to his feet. The wheat hung like millstones around his neck and when he tried to lift his bundle of provisions with his right hand, white-hot pain seared through his chest. Stubbornly, he shifted the load to his left hand and lurched toward the barred double doors at the front of the cella. He had to set the bundle down in order to lift the bar, and when he did, he nearly fainted from the pain the action caused. He leaned his weight against the doors and it was enough to swing them open. Sunlight poured over his. face, blinding him, and Caddaric staggered backward, nearly falling over his provisions. Grabbing the bundle, he reeled through the doors and stumbled down the first flight of steps leading from the temple. Poised on the edge of the landing between the two tiers of steps, Caddaric dimly heard someone call his name. Turning, he tried to find who had called to him, but black spots leaped in front of his eyes and the ground beneath his feet tilted precariously. He felt himself falling, felt his shoulder strike the edge of the step and then he was tumbling downward.

On the street below, Heall watched in horror as Caddaric rolled down the middle flight of steps leading from the temple. With an agility that belied his age, Heall raced up the bottom tiers of stairs and reached Caddaric just as the younger man hit the second landing.

"Gods, Caddaric," Heall cried when he saw the blood soaking his tunic.

Caddaric's eyes forced themselves open. "I found... the.. .grain."

Tears brightened Heall's eyes. "Damn the grain! We have to get you to Clywd." He tried to lift the grain from Caddaric's neck, but Caddaric curled a hand around his wrist and groaned loudly in protest. Heall left the sacks where they were. Taking Caddaric's good arm, he lifted the younger man to his feet and draped his arm around his neck.

"The bundle," Caddaric gasped, fighting the weakness in his legs.

"I will come back for it," Heall said grimly.

"N-nay. I found... dates and... figs. For Jilana." Caddaric's head lolled forward and when next he opened his eyes, Heall was half carrying, half dragging him along the street. "The bundle."

"I have it," Heall snapped. "I only wish I could find a cart as well."

Caddaric laughed shortly and knew the taste of blood in his mouth. "No-no use. The Romans took their carts... with them."

"Save your strength," Heall ordered curtly. "I do not intend to carry you all the way to camp."

But, in the end, that was exactly what Heall did.