Boadicea's Legacy (30 page)

Her lover nodded, staring with fear and determination at the spear at Boadicea's side. “I heard.”

“I will do it, Mother.” Ana dared Antonias to challenge her
.

“So long as a Briton leads with Andraste's spear, the cause is not lost to us.”

Ana scrubbed the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Yea, Mother. I will do it.”

“I don't want to hide like a coward in the marshlands,” Diyani said, her mouth pinched. “Given a necklet and told to play nice.”

“Coward? I raised my daughters to be queens. High priestesses! You will keep our line alive and that is more important than your pride. Pride. Our heritage can never be stolen or beaten from us.” Boadicea let out a great exhale, meeting Ana's eyes with a hardness Ana didn't understand. “You must survive this battle. And if you don't, you've got to find a way to get the spear to your sister before your last breath. The spear will be needed to unite Britons once again, though I know not when.”

Ana nodded while Diyani slammed her hand down again. “I can fight with one arm. I can fight with my teeth!”

“Be still!” Boadicea slowly sat up and stared at the sky. “Dusk is coming. By nightfall, I will be gone. By my own hand. Burn me with all possible ceremony and know that I see your father. Now Ana, go win the war for me and your sister
. Go!”

Ana accepted the spear thrust into her hand, and she struggled beneath the weight. Heavy, made of iron and filled with a goddess's power, it took a moment for the power to transfer from Boadicea to Ana. Once it did, she lifted the spear with ease and purpose
.

“Andraste accepts you.” Boadicea let out a battle cry that echoed around them, gathering stray fighters to their broken chariot. Almost all were wounded, but all had heart and the desire to see Britain free from Rome's yoke
.

“To arms! To battle!” Ana turned, found a horse, and leapt upon it with supernatural strength. Antonias did the same and followed her as she made her way—untouchable—through the sea of bodies. Dead, fighting, screaming. She would have Paulinus's head on the tip of her spear before night fell. For her mother. Her sister. Her tribe
.

Focused, driven—Ana was infused with the powers of Andraste, Goddess of War, Healer of Broken Hearts, Sacred Spirit of the Earth. A part of her realized that Antonias was calling her back, but she didn't heed his warnings
.

Attacked, her horse stumbled and fell beneath her. Shocked, Ana kept to her feet and used her spear and sword on any Roman who would come near her
.

She faltered, feeling the slice of a sword cleave into her rib cage. Worry for her unborn child took her focus from the battle, and she dropped Andraste's spear
.

“Ana!” Antonias cried out, catching the spear before it hit the ground
.

She held her hand out as she struggled to stay upright. The excruciating pain was nothing compared to the hesitation she saw in Antonias's gaze
.

“I can save you,” he said, his cloudy blue eyes filled with rain
.

“No—give me the spear—a true Briton must carry it to ensure victory.” He winced, then straightened his shoulders
…
he opened his mind to her, and she saw sorrow and determination to protect her at all costs. “No,” she said, pleading
.

“I love you,” he shouted the words, holding the spear high. He turned and raced up the hill toward Paulinus. At first it seemed as if Andraste's magic would protect him too
.

But then Ana felt the thrust of the axe blade as it sank into Antonias's breastbone. Roman born and male, there would be no magic, no herbs, that could bring him back from a death wound. Her sister's arm would heal—just as her wounds would heal—if they lived. It was the power of the blood of an Iceni priestess that provided the magic, just as the blood of the queen had blessed them with strength. Tears blurred her vision, and she couldn't breathe
.

Antonias was lost to her, and though he'd thought to save her, his last act was a betrayal of all that the Iceni believed
.

Ela woke with tears on her cheeks and Henry patting them dry with his petite paws.

Sadness overwhelmed her, and she reached for Osbert. He was gone.

“Kailyn? Where is he?” She felt his death all over again, and she sat up, patting at her throbbing heart.

“He'll be back.” Kailyn's dark eyes held a speculative shine.

“From where? And how can you be so sure?” Ela buried her face in Henry's soft fur.

“Because he knows if he makes another mistake in this life, he will lose you forever.”

I
can't wait for him to come back to me.”
I can't take the chance that he won't
. “Did you learn anything about the spear? Or why Boadicea haunts our dreams?”

“Aye.” Kailyn folded her fingers together in front of her, staring at the teapot as if the answers were hidden in the swirls of painted clay. “I believe so. There were two of you—two sisters. Both of you pregnant. Raped by Roman soldiers. We know that Ana survived—you and your family trace your roots to her. After the battle, you didn't go to the Fenlands with your sister. But did she get the spear, and is she the one who lost it?” Kailyn pressed her thumbs into her temples. “I don't know.”

Ela heard the anguish in Kailyn's voice. “Is there anything else you learned?”

“Do you remember that Osbert and Antonias are one? And that you must love in this life or be separated for eternity.” “Yea. I remember.” His kisses. His betrayal. “To forgive is divine …” Kailyn's eyes fluttered.

“Will you be all right, Kailyn?”

“I must sleep and dream my own dreams. But promise me that you will not leave Norwich without seeing me first.” Her eyes narrowed, as if searching inward.

“I promise,” Ela said with a shiver.

Kailyn's gaze drooped and Ela stood, Henry draped over her neck like a shawl. “You sleep. I will find Osbert. This experience must have shaken his logical being to the core. He doesn't believe in magic.”

“I hope that changes, for your sake.” Kailyn sent Ela a tired grin. “You will be a very happy woman if things go according to destiny.”

“What if our destiny is to never be happy?” Ela's fear of that very thing stuck in her throat and she coughed.

“Why would you be given another chance and a warning that this is your last chance, if you weren't meant to be happy?”

“But am I wrong—or is he wrong? Who is supposed to change?” If she could, she would, to save him angst. The idea took hold and blossomed like a summer rose. She would offer to use her gifts but rarely, and nobody would ever have to know that she was … different.

Kailyn lifted one shoulder, her energy obviously depleted. “Parting the veils of time can ofttimes be more confusing than enlightening.”

Ela kissed the seeress on the cheek and left, noticing that Bartholomew still waited outside. “Wherever he went, he can't have gone far.”

Henry chittered in agreement, and the trio set off in
search of the man she loved.

Osbert walked along the cobbled road, Boadicea's curse hanging over his neck like an axe waiting to drop.

He and Ela had been lovers before. A thousand years ago? And possibly in between. Kailyn said that this was their last time to try for eternal love.

He didn't even believe in eternal love! Hog's slop, that's what Sir Percy had called the weakness of love. Women were treacherous and deceitful—a man's only chance at passing through heaven's gate was to be chaste, devout, and honorable, a knight faithful to his liege, strong of arm, and mighty of faith. That was Sir Percy.

Osbert had never quite measured up to the man, although he tried every day since Sir Percy had rescued him.

A visit to St. George's, Os decided, was what was needed. A stop at the place he'd had Sir Percy buried. The tombstone inside the peaceful churchyard was the biggest he could afford.

It was much more peaceful during the day.

Not that Os feared ghosts—none but his family's. And since God only knew where their bones rested, he had nothing to fear.

Shame and guilt echoed loudly with each boot step he took. Like a scene in a minstrel's play he went over his cowardly actions in his mind.

If he'd gone straight to the village woman instead of the farce of a physician down by the docks, then mayhap his family would still be alive. Enter in the white-faced minstrel with a sad expression. Then would come the jester, with his red mouth and pointed finger. Pointing the righteous finger of blame.

At him.

No more plays. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. Logic confirmed that he was wrong. Sir Percy helped him, teaching him the commandments.
Honor thy mother and father
. He never should have disobeyed his father. But Os had known, even at nine, that his old man was fucking the village woman Lisbeth on the side. Os didn't want to see her, knowing what he did, even though it was common knowledge she could cure everything from warts to pregnancy.

He'd followed his boyhood emotions and gone to the docks—and for his trouble he'd been robbed, stabbed, and left for dead. Making his penitent way home, he'd found his family swollen with disease and rotting in their beds.

His fault.

Shame, guilt. Shame, guilt.

He'd deserved every lash from Sir Percy's willow branch.

Gritting his teeth, he kept walking—turning left at the giant oak tree before coming to a sloping hill. He followed the dirt path up to the right until he reached the top, where the white-fenced cemetery was locked with a gate. The fence was only five feet high, and Osbert had no problem climbing over it.

If only Sir Percy had been able to absolve me from this guilt
. The trip to the Holy Land had but lessened the guilt, and not by much.

It was dark and only the moon lit the way. Osbert found the tall tombstone and knelt before it, his head bowed.

“I have sinned. I've fallen in love.”

“That hardly seems like a sin for a man of your station,” a deep voice said from the shadows behind the giant stone.

Os jumped up, reaching for his sword as he narrowed his eyes and searched for the one who dared to sneak past his defenses. “Who is there? Show yourself, I demand it.”

A short, stocky man with the fringed hair and bald pate of a monk held his hands up and walked around the stone. “‘Tis just me, Brother William.”

Suspicion raised its ugly head. “What are you doing here?”

The monk laughed, the sound odd in the dark night—a night meant for secrets. “Come, and I'll show you.”

Os kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Even Sir Percy had warned him that not all religious servants were pure. “I am not in the mood for games.”

“What? Oh … I am chaste. Though it is difficult, I do keep my … lustful desires … to the deep recesses of my brain, lest I go insane thinking about it. The sainted Augustine knew what he was speaking out—pleasures of the flesh. But never mind—I see that you are not in the mood to jest.”

Was he ever in the mood for jokes? The last person to make him laugh was Ela, the woman he'd come here to ask
Sir Percy about. “Why are you behind the stone? If not for a secret tryst, are you hiding from someone?”

“No. This is the best place to watch the stars. I watch them as they flit across the sky, and I lament that my faith requires poverty—else I would go to university and study the sky. Astronomy is an ancient art—some say that earlier peoples could read the future by the alignment of the planets and stars.”

“Huh.”

The monk sighed and returned to his seat against the tombstone. “This is my favorite place.” Then he covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh dear. Is this a relative of yours? I meant no offense …” He started to rise, but Os gestured for him to stay seated. Then he sat next to him.

“You say you watch the sky all of the time?”

“It relaxes me. I feel very close to God.”

“I envy you that.” Os scooted so that the tombstone was supporting his back, and with the slope of the hill, it was like sitting in a comfortable chair. “I see what you mean. This is a nice spot.”

He looked up at the stars glittering in the evening sky. They were mesmerizing. Like Ela's eyes.

“So tell me why a handsome, strong knight such as yourself should regret falling in love. Are you already married?”

Os found it easy to talk to the monk, since they were both staring at the stars. “Nay, not married, nor pledged. Just not worthy.”

Brother William rubbed his hands together. “Do tell.”

Chuckling low, Os admitted that his story wasn't that savory. “I'm a dull fellow. I believe in God, the church, the Bible. Black and white. My mentor, whose tombstone we are sitting against, showed me the path to truth lay in the ways of God.”