Defy the Eagle (33 page)

The blood drained from Jilana's face. She had not thought beyond the treatment of the wounds. Such calculated cruelty as Lhwyd displayed was beyond her comprehension.

"Let us see to them, Lhwyd." Clywd's gentle voice came from behind Jilana. A moment later he was at her side. "Twill do no harm."

"You too, old priest?" Lhwyd sneered. "You have grown soft over the years, forgotten the teachings of the old ones. Tend to the Iceni wounded and leave the Romans to me!"

Clywd shook his head. "That I cannot do. A sacrifice to honor a god is acceptable, but you, Lhwyd, you enjoy the agony too much." He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and grasped Jilana's elbow. "We will see the Romans now."

"You will not," Lhwyd shrieked. "They are mine!" He turned to the warriors. "Seize this old man and this slave and take them back to their camp."

Jilana the guards would have taken without a second thought, but Clywd was another matter. All knew of his power, and it was whispered that he could slay a man with his thoughts. To lay hands on this Druid was to gamble with one's life. Of the two priests, it was less dangerous to offend Lhwyd, and accordingly the warriors backed away from Clywd and Jilana.

"Cowards," Lhwyd spat after the retreating guards. He looked back at Clywd and his eyes narrowed. "See to the Romans, then, but remember they are mine. As for you," Lhwyd drew the back of his hand across Jilana's cheek, "I promise that you will be mine one day as well."

Jilana's heart thudded painfully when Lhwyd touched her, but she forced herself to remain still. Lhwyd turned and walked away and Jilana drew a ragged breath. "You did not have to take my part," she told Clywd, "but I am thankful you did."

"Do not thank me. What Lhwyd said is true; we will heal these people only to have them die as sacrifices. I am not sure what we are about to do is right." Clywd's face was drawn as they started toward the prisoners.

There were perhaps a hundred Romans, all of them bound in some manner so that they could not escape. Knowing that the Romans would refuse to allow Clywd to treat them, she accompanied the Druid so that she might reassure her countrymen that he meant them no harm. Few of the injuries were serious; Jilana learned that the rebels had shown no mercy for the severely injured—their lives had been taken with quick dispatch. Jilana was not sure the Iceni actions lacked mercy; at least the dead had died quickly. As they moved among the people, Jilana found it harder and harder to meet their eyes when they asked about their fate. That she and Clywd were binding their wounds gave them the false hope that they might live, a hope Jilana could not bring herself to kill. Most of the survivors were women; the few guards standing watch over the prisoners were men, and the women feared rape at their hands. After asking Clywd if the women did indeed need to fear their guards—out of consideration for the captives' feelings, Clywd was using Jilana as an interpreter—Jilana assured them that they were in no danger. The women were relieved at the news, and Jilana bit back the rest of the explanation. The sacrifices must not be used in a sexual way or they would be unfit as presents to the goddess. Lhwyd had threatened to kill any warrior who took one of the Roman women.

They worked steadily through the captives, and when the sun finally set they worked by the light of torches brought by the guards. Amazingly, when the Iceni saw Clywd working on the prisoners, they brought water, vinegar and cloth for bandages without being asked. Jilana was astounded by their aid and too grateful to question their motives. For the few seriously wounded prisoners, Clywd dipped into his precious reserve of opium, measuring out the dose and administering it himself; as they worked their way among the prisoners, the groans diminished one by one and Jilana hated herself for accusing Clywd of having left these people to suffer.

The gratitude and renewed hope the Romans displayed made Jilana want to weep. Lhwyd might be cruel, but at least he had not lied to these people, which was what she, Jilana, was doing. Despising herself, Jilana at first did not hear her name called in a harsh rasping voice. Only when Clywd touched her sleeve and raised one finger in a gesture for silence did she leave her dark thoughts and listen. Her name came again and at Clywd's nod she rose to her feet, torch in hand, and walked through the dozen or so prisoners they had not yet seen.

"Jilana." The raspy voice was weak, barely more than an exhalation of breath, but it was enough to raise the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Surely she was mistaken, Jilana told herself, but there was a flicker of hope in her heart that would not die.

He was here, the last figure she bent over, his arms forced behind his back and bound around a tree. "Hadrian," Jilana breathed and fell to her knees beside him. Even in the torchlight he was pale, and when she brushed a hand across his forehead it came away damp with sweat. "Oh, Hadrian, what have they done to you?"

"Taken me prisoner," Hadrian said in a voice so rich in self-disgust that Jilana gave a choked sob. He trembled as a chill took him, but his eyes never left her face. "You did not use the dagger. Oh, Jilana, I meant to keep you safe, to spare you this final indignity."

Jilana bent her head so that Hadrian would not see her tears. "Lie quietly Hadrian. I will bring someone to help you." She stood and ran to fetch Clywd.

The urgent, pleading note in her voice drew a sharp look from Clywd but Jilana did not notice. She dragged the strap of his case over her shoulder and led him back to Hadrian. Wedging their torches into the tree above the legionary, Jilana knelt beside Hadrian and opened the case. Hadrian's armor had been removed, and in the light of the torches Clywd could see that the right side of his scarlet tunic was rent and stiff with dried blood.

Jilana saw it, too. "We must cut him loose." Before she had finished speaking, she was opening the case and lifting out the trays in search of the knives.

"Jilana," Clywd warned, reaching a hand across Hadrian to stay her movements, "we cannot."

Violet eyes held a wild gleam as Jilana looked at the Druid. "He is hurt, and we cannot help him—cannot stop the bleeding—with his arms bound behind him like this." She found a knife, scrambled about on her knees and cut through the ropes holding Hadrian. A groan escaped Hadrian when his arms came free. Jilana tossed the knife aside and took his right hand in both of hers. "Hadrian, this is Clywd, a physician. He will help you." While Clywd cut the tunic and examined Hadrian's wound, Jilana clung to Hadrian's hand with one hand and stroked his forehead with the other.

"Tis bad," Clywd announced at the end of his examination. He spoke in Iceni to Jilana. 'The wound is infected and deep."

Jilana forced a reassuring smile for Hadrian, but there was nothing gentle in the eyes she turned to Clywd. "Then we will clean the wound, place a dressing in it that will draw out the infection, and bandage it. I will come back tomorrow and change the dressing myself."

Even though this legionary had given no indication that he spoke the Briton's tongue, Clywd instinctively lowered his voice. "Jilana, he is in pain; already the fever has taken him. Let me give him the opium."

"Of course you should give him opium," Jilana replied, not understanding Clywd's intent. "Then we will care for his wound. The fever will pass."

"Not in the time he has left."

"If he were Iceni, or Trinovante you would help him," Jilana accused wildly. This was Hadrian! Did Clywd not understand that she simply could not leave this man to die?

"Not if his destiny lay in Lhwyd's hands," Clywd responded. "Jilana, you know what Lhwyd intends." He glanced down at Hadrian and found the legionary's gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him. For a long moment the two men stared at one another, exchanging some silent message that Jilana did not understand, and finally Hadrian nodded.

"Let him give me the poppy juice, Jilana," Hadrian said in a weak voice that was a travesty of his usual growl. "He is offering what help he can. 'Twill be a kindness."

All the breath seemed to leave Jilana as she realized first, that Hadrian understood the Celtic language and second, what Clywd was suggesting. What Hadrian was agreeing to. She remembered the Druid measuring the opium for the badly wounded, how their moans had stopped shortly thereafter, and she held a hand to her mouth in order to hold back a cry of despair. No matter that she had been raised to believe that suicide was an honorable end, or that Clywd's deed had been a blessing; these deaths were still a tragic waste.

"Let me do it, then," Jilana said at last. "Let me stay with him."

Silently, efficiently, Clywd measured out the medicine into a bowl of water and withdrew. When the Druid was out of sight, Jilana reached into the case he had left behind and began making a dressing for Hadrian's wound. She did not spare the bowl of medicine so much as a glance. A woman brought Jilana a basin filled with water and vinegar and Jilana thanked her absently. Dipping a cloth into the basin, Jilana looked up and smiled at Hadrian.

"I will find a way to free you, Hadrian," Jilana vowed. "Your life will not be wasted here, like so many others."

"There is no escape for me, Jilana, only death. At least give me the dignity of choosing my own way." Jilana applied the cloth to his wound and Hadrian pressed his back into the tree trunk, the breath hissing between his teeth at the pain.

"You will not die," Jilana repeated fervently. "Not by opium, and most certainly not by Lhwyd's hand."

In spite of his pain, Hadrian laughed shortly at her vehemence. "And how will you accomplish this, little one? They have untied you only to assist that Druid; once you are finished you will be bound once again. You cannot help yourself, let alone me."

Jilana concentrated on cleaning the wound while she formed her reply. "I am not kept with the other prisoners, Hadrian, and have some measure of freedom." She was finished and about to draw away when Hadrian's left hand grasped her wrist.

"Explain yourself." When Jilana did not look at him, Hadrian raised the hand which held her wrist and used his knuckles to force her face upward. "Tell me, Jilana."

"The warrior who claimed me in Venta Icenorum found me here." Jilana swallowed nervously at the look of pure fury that swept across Hadrian's face. "The Druid is his father."

"And you are of such value to this warrior that he will help me because you ask," Hadrian asked with a sneer. "By the gods, Jilana, leave me my honor, at least."

"Honor," Jilana echoed incredulously. "Honor! Of what use is your honor if you are dead?" She packed his wound and and began winding a strip of linen around his chest to hold the packing in place. "Nay, Hadrian, I have lost everyone I held dear; I will not allow you to die as well." She knotted the linen and gathered her things. When her hand fell upon the bowl of water and opium she hesitated and then held it to Hadrian's lips. "A swallow Only, to ease the pain." He shot her an angry look, but obeyed, and Jilana threw the rest of the medicine away. "Have you been fed?"

Hadrian sighed and tipped his head back against the tree trunk. "A thin gruel, sometime during the afternoon."

"When I return tomorrow I will bring food." Jilana called to one of the guards that hovered about. "Tie him if you must, but carefully, with his arms in front." While the Iceni carried out her instructions, Jilana built a small fire near Hadrian and fired it with her torch. "This should keep you warm tonight," she told Hadrian when the guard had gone. "I will have a blanket for you tomorrow." She knelt and stroked Hadrian's forehead. "Do not be angry with me, Hadrian. I only want you to retire to your villa in the country."

The opium had begun its trek through his veins and Hadrian smiled. "You are a fool," he told Jilana gently, his words slurring. "I know what that Druid has planned for us." The thought of being tortured and sacrificed had terrified Hadrian, but now he was too tired to care. The poppy's work, he knew, but he could not resist the creeping lethargy. "How can you keep me from that, little Jilana?"

Hadrian's eyes closed and he passed quietly into sleep. Jilana remained with him, tenderly caressing his blunt features, until Clywd came for her. As they walked to their camp, Jilana wondered at her own audacity. How could she, as much a prisoner as the others, have dared to say she would find a way to keep Hadrian alive? The depth of her stupidity astounded Jilana, yet she was determined that Lhwyd not claim Hadrian for his bloody rites. The bond that had been forged between herself and Hadrian during her few days at Camulodunum was a strong one; she would do whatever was necessary to see that Hadrian lived to a ripe old age, enjoying his country villa and raising horses for the cavalry. Caddaric was her first recourse. She would beg, offer him anything, if he would free Hadrian.

Heall, Artair and Ede were sharing the fire when they returned to the camp, but Jilana barely noticed them. All her attention was focused on Caddaric. He, too, sat before he fire, but when he saw Clywd and Jilana approach, he rose swiftly to his feet. There was a certain stiffness in his movement that spoke of emotion held tightly in check and Jilana approached him warily.

"Where have you been?" Caddaric's voice was strained and his blue eyes glittered dangerously. The muscles in his arms rippled as he fought the urge to grab Jilana and shake an explanation from her.

"Jilana was with me," Clywd answered before Jilana could speak. "I had need of her."

A tic started in Caddaric's jaw. "You had better remember, Druid, that she is not free to come and go as she pleases."