Defy the Eagle (45 page)

Caddaric ate in silence for a while longer before responding. '"Twas not my intention to dress you in rags."

Jilana said nothing. She wanted to believe him, but the memory of his anger was too recent and too strong. Setting her plate aside, she sipped at the sweet mead.

Caddaric did the same, but studied her face while he drank. "Why did you hide your injuries from me?"

Jilana hesitated before answering, her hands tightening around her cup. "I did not want you to laugh at me, to mock my weakness." Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "And I was afraid you would think I had held Heall back and be even more angry with me."

"I see." Caddaric looked to where his sword and whetstone lay, undisturbed. Jilana had not touched them during his absence. It seemed a good omen. Perhaps this was the time to clear the air between them. "Your actions with Hadrian put us all in great danger.''

She had to speak quickly, before the courage to do so deserted her. "I realize that now, but at the time," Jilana sighed softly, "at the time, I thought only of getting Hadrian safely away from Lhwyd."

"And Heall and Artair helped cover your trail," Caddaric added. When Jilana looked at him in surprise, he nodded. "Artair told me."

"Do not be angry with Heall," Jilana pleaded. "He did what he did in order to protect me, not to betray you. I never meant to involve either of them in Hadrian's escape."

Caddaric finished his mead and poured another measure from the small jar beside him. "You said that you did not escape with Hadrian because you feared I would follow. Was that the truth?"

Only part of the truth, but Jilana would not admit that, in spite of everything, she felt bound to Caddaric. Instead, she answered, "Aye. And when you found us, you and Hadrian would have fought—his pride and honor would have demanded no less—and Hadrian would have died. I wanted him to have a fair chance at life, not a postponement of death." Her voice dropped. "I did not mean to betray you, only to save my friend. Can you understand?"

Caddaric's heart twisted. She had stayed behind to save Hadrian, to offer herself up like a sacrifice so that he would not pursue the legionary. A grim thought indeed and his voice was harsh with it when he spoke. "Aye, but that does not change the fact that I cannot trust you."

Violet eyes met blue. "Nor I, you," Jilana replied. "Twice you saved me from death, and what have your actions wrought? Misery for us both."

Caddaric rose. His face settled into grim lines while his gaze turned toward the sky, as if searching the heavens for an answer. "I did not intend for it to be thus," he said finally. "I dreamt of you so often..." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "No doubt 'tis the gods' revenge for my mockery of them, to put my dream within reach and then watch it sift through my fingers."

"I do not understand." And Jilana discovered that she wanted very much to understand this man who was her captor.

"Neither do I," Caddaric muttered. He shook his head to clear it and picked up his sword and whetstone. "A hunting party from my village is going out this afternoon. We need fresh meat in order to conserve our other supplies." From the wagon he took his bow and a quiver of arrows and a throwing spear. "If my father or Heall return, tell them I will be back at nightfall."

Jilana nodded and got to her feet. Knowing that the change in conversation meant that Caddaric would share no more of himself with her, she said, "We could use fresh water as well."

Caddaric paused long enough to check the barrels. "There must be farms, and thus wells, nearby. I will check the countryside this afternoon. With luck, at least one well will not be poisoned."

"P-poisoned," Jilana stammered.

"Aye." Caddaric looked surprised at her reaction. "'Tis a common enough practice to poison the wells so the enemy is denied their use."

"Oh."

"You did not know this?"

Jilana shook her head. How could she know such things? "But you drew water from the wells at Camulodunum."

"They were not poisoned; the primipilus had to supply the city's civilian population," Caddaric explained. "These farms—whether Roman or Trinovante—will be deserted. The owners will have taken as much water as they could carry and then poisoned the well when they left."

"I see." Suppressing a shudder at such actions, Jilana gathered the plates and worried about Hadrian making his way through the hostile countryside.

As if reading her thoughts, Caddaric snapped out, "Your primipilus is safe. He did not reach his age or rank without knowing the most basic of tactics."

They parted on that note. Caddaric rode out on his golden stallion and Jilana was left to pass the afternoon in the camp. She was not to spend the day alone, however. Clywd stopped at the camp shortly after Caddaric left, and soon thereafter Ede came by, with Guendolen in tow. If possible, Guendolen's hair was even blonder than it had been when Jilana had met her at Venta Icenorum, and while Jilana wondered why Ede had brought her to the camp, the reason became clear. Guendolen, it seemed, had a knife wound which was infected and needed treating.

Using the preparations for Beltane as a reason, Clywd excused himself and Jilana had no choice but to treat Guendolen's wound herself. When the warrior maid's arm was cleansed and dressed, the three women sat around the fire and Guendolen and Ede began a lively discourse on everything from the rebellion to the best way to prepare a haunch of venison. Jilana found herself drawn into the

conversation when Guendolen announced that the tunic she hoped to wear to the Beltane fire was too long but that she was incompetent with a needle and thread. Before Jilana could think better of it, she had offered her services and Guendolen had accepted with a glad cry.

"Guendolen likes you," Ede said when the other woman left to get the tunic.

Jilana shrugged off the compliment. "She needed me to tend her wound and hem her gown."

"She wanted to see you again," Ede snapped, and immediately apologized for her tone. "I am sorry. Guendolen has asked about you repeatedly since Caddaric found you at Camulodunum. She would have come before, but we were afraid Caddaric would not like it."

Jilana was forced to agree with Ede's conclusion. "Then why did she come today?"

"Is it not obvious?" Ede grinned. "Caddaric is gone."

In spite of her wariness, Jilana smiled in return. "So it is safe to visit his slave."

Ede's grin faded instantly. "I do not like to hear you call yourself that."

"I am what the rebellion has decreed," Jilana answered quietly. "'Tis not your doing."

"Nay," Ede replied sharply, "'tis Caddaric's."

Jilana laughed at the other's fierceness. "He saved my life; in his eyes, I should be grateful."

Ede snorted. "Aye, he would expect your gratitude." She shook her head. "He is a fine warrior, the strongest I have seen, but in his dealings with women he is exceedingly clumsy."

"I am hardly a woman in his eyes," Jilana said thoughtfully. "His slave and his property, aye, but not a woman."

Ede gaped at Jilana, recalling the night Caddaric had drunk himself into a stupor over the Roman woman and the following morning when her memory had kept him from easing his body's hunger with a willing Ede. Ede picked up a twig and trailed it aimlessly through the dirt.

"I think," she said slowly, "that Caddaric sees you too much as a woman."

Jilana laughed aloud in disbelief, but her laughter died when Ede fixed her with an intent glare. "You cannot be serious."

"But I am. Caddaric runs from you," Ede pointed out. "Have you not noticed?"

"Only because he will strangle me if he remains," Jilana tried to jest, "and if I am dead, who will fix his meals?"

"You frighten him," Ede argued. "I wonder why?"

Guendolen returned and the matter was set aside by tacit agreement. The afternoon passed with Jilana hemming the gown and the two Iceni women telling stories of their youth and battle prowess, some of them so blatantly embroidered that Jilana laughed until tears welled in her eyes and blinded her. Their laughter drew attention from the rest of the camp, and little by little, other Iceni joined them. By dusk, a dozen people were ranged about the fire, entertaining themselves with stories. Jilana was, by turns, entranced, horrified, and amused by the tales. The sewing lay forgotten in her lap while she listened as a young man, not much older than herself, recounted his daring in a raid against one of the neighboring villages near his home.

'Twas a new world these people opened for Jilana and she hung on every word, trying to imagine herself in their place. Would she have been like Ede, Jilana wondered, had she been raised an Iceni? The thought of holding a sword—aye, even using it!—was not as abhorrent as it would have been a month ago. Oh, the freedom with which Ede had been raised, Jilana thought enviously, remembering her own furtive, cherished, morning rides alone. Ede did not have to bow to her father's wishes, no matter how well-intentioned they might be. She could choose her fate, rather than accept a decision that was made for her. Jilana thought of Lucius and her attempts to please him, attempts that required forfeiting her own wishes and desires.

With a start, Jilana realized that, had the rebellion not come to pass, she would have married Lucius and spent the remainder of her life bowing to his will. She would have been, virtually, his slave, a possession for him to arrange and order about. She would have lacked the chains, Jilana admitted, glancing at the hateful iron around her ankles, and she would have been called Lucius' wife, but she would have been a slave nonetheless. At least with Caddaric, her position was honest—if painfully so.

Jilana's attention returned to the storyteller just in time to hear him say, "'Twas different at Venta Icenorum, of course, for great stealth was required to enter the houses..." His voice trailed off and when he looked at Jilana, his gaze was filled abject apology.

Jilana smiled her forgiveness, and her thanks for his regard for her feelings. She was still too raw to hear this particular tale. "You must have another tale to tell," she gently encouraged when the young man made to leave. His reply was stilled when another voice intruded.

"I think there have been enough stories for today."

Caddaric's voice came from behind Jilana and she scurried to her feet to the accompanying rattle of chains. "Lord," she acknowledged breathlessly, her arms crushing the red gown into a bright splash of color against her chest. "I did not hear you return."

Caddaric grunted and paced toward the group, a blanket-wrapped object slung over his shoulder. "The hunt was successful."

As if the statement were a command, the visitors rose as one, said their goodbyes, and drifted away. As Caddaric approached the fire, Jilana nervously wet her lips and clutched the gown more tightly. "I did not shirk my duties, lord," she hurried to explain the lack of an evening meal. "Ede said you would undoubtedly want the fresh meat tonight." The strange look Caddaric gave her sent Jilana back a step. "Truly, lord, had I known—"

"Jilana," Caddaric interrupted gently, "I am not angry with you."

Jilana swallowed convulsively. "Oh." It was all she could think of to say and Jilana felt extremely foolish for her outburst.

Caddaric's face centered on the red tunic. "Where did you get the gown?''

Blinking, Jilana looked at the tunic, as if surprised to find it in her hands. "Tis not mine. I am hemming it for Guendolen." She looked at him inquiringly. "I did not think you would mind."

Her explanation sent relief through Caddaric and he shook his head. "Nay, I do not." He set down his burden and gestured to Jilana. "Come, see what the hunt yielded."

Jilana had no desire to view the kill, but she dared not refuse, so she edged closer.

"You see?" Caddaric opened the blanket with a flourish and viewed its contents with pride. "A fine stag. We will carve part of it for tonight and roast the rest tomorrow for Clywd's celebration."

Averting her eyes from the sight, Jilana struggled to subdue her protesting stomach. She had adjusted to the dried and cured beef, but the raw venison in front of her was a different matter.

Caddaric saw the look on her face and understood immediately. "I will cut the meat and teach you how to season it."

Jilana nodded weakly and backed toward the tent. "I will just put Guendolen's tunic away." Inside the safety of the tent, she drew several deep breaths as she folded the tunic and placed it atop her chest. She would manage this next trial, she told herself fiercely. She would show Caddaric that her strength was equal to any Iceni maid's.

"You dropped the thread."

Jilana gasped and spun around to find Caddaric standing just inside the tent, the twist of matching red thread lying across his open palm. He closed the distance between them and extended his arm. Jilana snatched the thread from his hand and turned back to place it on the tunic. Caddaric sighed inwardly. The set of her shoulders bespoke her nervousness, a nervousness that had been absent when she sat with the others around the fire.

"Did you enjoy the afternoon?"

Smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the tunic, Jilana nodded. "Ede's friends were most kind. I liked their stories—they reminded me of the ones Artair used to tell."

"Artair would have made a good bard," Caddaric agreed. "Come now, help me prepare the meal."