Defy the Eagle (53 page)

"Aye," Heall put in. "Whenever you are ready, Ede."

"I am ready now." Ede smiled and raised the veil in order to place a kiss on Caddaric's cheek. "Farewell, Caddaric."

Caddaric's eyes glowed with remembered affection. "Farewell, Ede." Both knew their camaraderie of the past would be forever changed by her marriage, but neither had any regrets.

Jilana, Ede took in her strong arms and hugged warmly. "Who would have thought we could be friends?" she murmured. "I will return your veil to you—I think you may find a use for it." With that she left them and stepped into the chariot.

"What did Ede say?" Caddaric wanted to know when the chariot was nearly out of sight.

"She thanked me." Jilana brushed at the betraying wetness in her eyes.

"Are you crying?"

Jilana chuckled weakly. "I am afraid so."

Caddaric took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up to his. "Why did you give Ede your bridal veil?"

"Because she admired it so," Jilana replied softly. His hands framed her face now, and his thumbs were brushing away her tears. "Tis not proper for a Celtic wedding, I know, but mayhap my gods will bless the union as well."

"Mayhap." Before he could think about the consequence of his actions, Caddaric lowered his head.

Jilana's eyes fluttered closed as Caddaric's lips touched hers. The kiss was a soft, questioning thing and she responded in kind. When his tongue at last followed the seam of her lips, she opened willingly and took him inside. Her hands went to his chest and the kiss lengthened into a gentle, erotic exploration that left her aching when Caddaric finally lifted his head.

"Come." Caddaric offered Jilana his hand and after only a slight hesitation, she took it. He twined his fingers with hers and they walked to the site of the wedding.

The ceremony was unlike any Jilana had witnessed, but she found it beautiful nonetheless. Or perhaps it was the fact that Caddaric kept a firm grip on her hand throughout the ritual that colored her perception. To Jilana, it mattered not. Along with the rest of their village, as well as Queen Boadicea and her retinue, Jilana watched as Ewan stepped into the chariot beside Ede and took the reins from Heall. Clywd blessed the couple and recited their lineage, and the filid listed the property that they brought into the marriage. Clywd invoked the blessing of Be'al and the lesser gods upon the couple, calling for their health and prosperity in the coming years. Garlands of mistletoe were set upon the heads of the bride and groom and Heall sacrificed to the gods the wine and handful of wheat the couple had offered.

The men had erected a bower for the couple—far enough away from the main camp to allow privacy, but close enough for safety—and when the ceremony was finished, the village surrounded the chariot and escorted the bride and groom to it. Ribald jokes mingled with good wishes as the couple ducked into the shelter made from branches. The blanket which constituted the door was flipped into place amid loud cheers, and after drinking a toast to the couple with the mead the bride and groom had left outside the bower, the wedding guests withdrew, leaving the newly weds alone.

That night, when they were settled into their pallet, Caddaric drew Jilana into his arms and kissed her again. In spite of all the warnings that flashed through her mind, Jilana melted in his arms, returning his passion. Reality spun away. She did not even think to protest when his hands cupped her buttocks and drew her into the hard evidence of his desire. When the kiss ended, she knew a longing so intense that she forgot to be embarrassed, but Caddaric tucked her against his side with the soft admonition, "Sleep now," and, to her surprise, she did.

****

Paulinus and his cavalry escort reached Londinium. Like Camulodunum the city was unwalled, indefensible. From the two centuriae based in the city, Paulinus sent out mounted scouts to find the Iceni war band. Then he turned his attention to provisioning his exhausted troops and making plans for the defense of the city. Two days later, Paulinus' infantry staggered into Londinium. By the time his infantry arrived, Paulinus had come to the hardest decision of his long and distinguished career. Londinium could not be defended, at least not with the troops available to him; if he tried and was defeated, he would lose his troops, his life, and the entire province. Once he was dead, Boadicea would turn her war band to the west, join with the unruly tribes there, and the legions he had left in the west would be overwhelmed. Rome would be forced to mount a major offensive in order to retake Britannia, if it could. Londinium must be sacrificed in order to save the island. Still, knowing all that he did, Paulinus hesitated to announce his decision to the city.

When the scouts returned and reported that the rebel force was encamped some twenty miles to the east of the city, Paulinus could delay no longer. He summoned the civil leaders and priests and announced his decision to evacuate the city—in effect, turning it over to the rebels. But first the soldiers would strip it of as much food as they could carry; what could not be transported would be burned. The civilians were invited to join his column the following day when it withdrew from Londinium.

Word of Paulinus' decision spread through the city like wildfire. Men and women alike wept at the news, and they gathered at the temples to offer sacrifices to their gods and learn what their friends and neighbors intended to do. The staunchest and wisest of the citizenry opted to pack what household goods they could and join the legion. The price of wagons quadrupled in half a day; the cost of those few horses the legion had not confiscated for its own use increased tenfold. The strongest and greediest fed upon the stricken city. By midday, a horse, mule, wagon or cart could not be purchased by coin, only blood. People died fighting for possession of a lame pony that would die during the forced march the following day.

The legionaries opened the granaries—both those belonging to the city and those belonging to the temples. While guards, their weapons drawn in order to keep at bay the citizens who gathered there as well, stood watch over the doors, other legionaries filled their carts with the

much-needed grain. Once the military needs had been met, the civilians were allowed to draw as much as they wished. The guards stayed. When Paulinus and the rest of the legion were safely out of the city, those left behind would fire the granaries and then take to their horses to join the Roman column.

That night, the altar fires in the temples burned continuously as the citizens flocked there in search of favorable omens and comfort. What they found only added to their panic: the temples had been stripped of all their trappings; all the sacred valuables, right down to the gold-covered cult statues, had already been packed into wagons for transport. Before daybreak, the faithful were unceremoniously shoved through the cella and out onto the steps. The wide temple doors were barred from the inside while the priests and attendants made ready to flee with Paulinus.

By dawn, the city streets were choked with traffic; movement was all but impossible. Paulinus had camped the night before with his men beside the road to Verulamium, and as the sun spread its golden fingers over the city, he swung into his saddle and gave the order to move out. The legion, already in formation, moved forward. It was noon before the last of the citizenry passed out of Londinium's gates. Shortly thereafter, dark plumes of smoke spiraled into the sky, mute evidence that the granaries had been torched.

The city was not entirely deserted. More than half of the populace had stayed behind, either because they were physically unable to make the march or because they foolishly believed, in spite of all Paulinus had told them, that Boadicea would not make war upon non-combatants. Few of the Romanized natives had remained in the city; they held no such illusions concerning their brethren. The Romans rushed to the granaries to battle the flames. Perhaps if they offered the rebel queen what remained inside the granaries, she would be even more willing to overlook their once-vaunted Roman citizenship. All day and long into the night they fought the flames. By the dark, cold hours of early morning, the fires were out but there was little grain left. Discouraged, the people trudged to their homes and barred their doors. A few brought out swords and daggers, long unused, and sharpened them, but most simply sat and waited for the rebellion to touch their lives.

****

Jilana did not see the smoke, but when they camped for the night she smelled it. 'Twas a strange, bitter odor carried on the night breeze, and she sniffed it curiously. It flavored their meager meal, and when she finished washing their plates, she walked some distance from their campfire and turned her face into the breeze.

"You smell it, too." Caddaric had followed and now he stood behind her in the dark.

"Aye." Jilana turned her head slightly so that she could see his face. "What is it?"

Caddaric drew a deep breath and considered. "I would guess it is wheat. The Romans have fired the granaries."

Jilana was aghast at the waste. "Why?!"

Caddaric smiled mirthlessly, his teeth flashing whitely in the starlight. "In order to deny us supplies."

"Oh." Jilana nodded. The action made perfect sense. "That will not stop us, of course."

"Nay, it will not stop us."

It dawned on Jilana then exactly what she had said and she took several steps away from Caddaric. What was happening to her? Where were her loyalties?

"You said 'us,' wicca."

"I know what I said," Jilana snapped, her mind in torment. "I meant..." Her voice trailed off. What exactly had she meant? She nervously smoothed the skirt of the short tunic she had put on that morning. She had told herself she wore the garment only because the weather was growing warm and her longer stolae were uncomfortably hot—not because she liked the way Caddaric's eyes followed her or the myriad freedoms of movement the short tunic allowed her. And most certainly not because wearing the garment made her look and feel like the rest of the women around her.

Caddaric had stopped wearing his breeks now that the warmer weather was upon them and Jilana found it nearly impossible to drag her eyes away from the sight of his long, heavily-muscled legs. Juno help her, but she found him the most attractive man she had ever seen! He rarely raised his voice to her now, and it seemed he was always underfoot, ready to help her with a heavy pail of water or some other chore that she was perfectly capable of handling. They were constantly together, constantly brushing each other. His presence filled her days and nights and Jilana felt the weakening within herself. When he had ridden with the vanguard, she had had time to harden herself against him, but now--- ahh, gods, now she was on the brink of throwing herself into his arms and giving him anything he wanted—including a child!—if only he would promise not to cast her aside afterward.

Caddaric's hands settled on her shoulders and Jilana started. She tried to move away, put he held her fast. "What did you mean, wicca?"

Jilana swallowed, fighting the traitorous softening of her foolish heart. When he shook her gently, mutely demanding an answer, she sighed. "In truth, I do not know what I meant." She turned so that she could face him and summoned a glare. "Are you satisfied now, lord? I am confused; I no longer know to which world I belong. In two days the Queen will attack Londinium. I should be worried for the Roman citizens! I should be praying to my gods to bring defeat and ruin down upon the rebels' heads! I should be hoping that Paulinus is there, that his forces will slay every rebel that attacks the city. I should—" A sob tore from her throat and Jilana buried her face in her hands. "Instead, I pray that my gods will keep you safe! Damn you, Caddaric, what have you done to me!?"

Caddaric's hand wrapped around her braid and tugged her head upward, while his free hand circled her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. Scarcely daring to believe what she had just admitted, he answered softly, "Made you Iceni."

Jilana reacted violently to his statement. She jerked away from him and he let her go. She faced him an arm's length away—angry, defiant, tormented, and, to Caddaric, incredibly beautiful. "I do not want to be Iceni," she spat at him. '"Twas not my wish."

"But you are, nonetheless," Caddaric said gently. "Do not fight so hard against the truth. You cannot escape it, wicca."

"Stop calling me that!" Jilana cried. "I am not a witch and I am most certainly not Iceni! "

"Look at yourself, Jilana," Caddaric urged, sweeping his hand from her head to her toes. "You speak my tongue, you dress like an Iceni woman, you even act like one. You help Clywd care for the sick and injured—Iceni sick and injured. You can drive a wagon, light a fire, and cook a meal over it. You eat the food I provide and you share my bed. If you are not an Iceni woman, if you are not my woman, then what are you?"

Jilana stared at him, horrified, hearing his words and knowing they were the truth. How had she changed so radically in three short months? "Nay," she denied. She shook her head vehemently and held up a hand as if to ward him off, though he had not moved. "Nay!" She whirled and fled back to camp.

She ran past Heall and Caddaric and straight into the tent, her heart hammering in her breast. Oh, gods, what had happened to her? What was to become of her? What would happen to her if the Iceni won and Caddaric took her back to his village? Worse, what would happen if the Iceni lost and Caddaric was killed? Juno, it would be beyond bearing! How could she go on, knowing he was dead? How could she not? What kind of a loyal Roman was she if she prayed for a life with Caddaric? Jilana threw herself onto the pallet and indulged in the fit of crying she had denied herself since Venta Icenorum.

Outside, Heall and Clywd heard the heart-rending sobs and exchanged a puzzled look. Heall would have gone to her, but Clywd shook his head and Heall subsided once again by the fire. When Caddaric returned to camp, both men eyed him with a large measure of hostility.

"What did you do to her?" Heall growled when Caddaric glanced at the tent and then settled himself by the fire.

"Naught," Caddaric replied. He poured himself a cup of mead and tasted it.

"If you have hurt her—" Heall began.

"I have not," Caddaric interrupted his friend. "Rest easy."

The three men sat quietly, listening as the sobs slowly subsided. When several minutes had passed without a fresh outburst of tears, Caddaric drained his cup and rose. "Will you smoor the fire for me?" Without waiting to see if either man responded, he stepped into the tent.

Jilana heard him enter and every muscle in her body tensed. The lamp had not been lit and the only illumination inside the tent came from the starlight falling through the smokehole in the roof. Jilana was grateful Caddaric could not see the ravages her crying had had upon her face.

"Jilana?"

"Please, Caddaric, no more." Jilana drew a shuddering breath. "I can bear no more truths this night."

Caddaric knelt on the pallet and reached for her. When she stiffened at his touch he murmured, "As you wish." With quick, gentle fingers, he undressed her and tucked her under the blanket. He shed his own clothes and joined her, drawing her protesting body into his arms. "Sleep now, wicca, just sleep."

Jilana held herself rigid in his embrace, trying not to give in to the comfort he was offering. She was his slave, she reminded herself, only his slave. She told him as much in a trembling voice.

Caddaric chuckled warmly and pulled her hard against his chest. "You are my woman, Jilana, my own little red-haired, Roman witch. How can you believe differently?"

Gently but firmly, he pushed her head into the hollow of his shoulder. "Now go to sleep, wicca."

Their meal the next morning used the last of their grain. Jilana served the men the thin oatmeal porridge along with a piece of dried beef and then began to pack the wagon for the day.

"Are you not eating?" Caddaric followed her and watched as she scrubbed out the pan and dried it. He held his steaming bowl in one hand but made no move to eat.

"I ate earlier." Jilana sidled around him to place the pan in the wagon.

"Do not lie to me, Jilana."

Caddaric's voice was hard but when her eyes flew to his, there was a softness in their blue depths she had not seen before. "I—I am not lying."

"Jilana," Caddaric said warningly.

Jilana folded the bag which had contained the oats and placed it with the others. "I have no appetite this morn."

"You seem to have lost your appetite for several days now." Caddaric eyed her sharply. "We are short on rations, yet to see the portions Heall, Clywd and myself receive, one would not know it." He stepped up into the wagon and went down on one knee beside her. "The rations are for all of us, Jilana."

Irritated that her little ruse had been discovered, and even more irritated that Caddaric did not understand why she had felt it necessary, Jilana snapped, "I am only a slave. Certainly I am not entitled to eat like the rest of you."

Caddaric's face turned fierce and he leaned forward until he could feel the touch of her breath across his mouth. "I have never known a woman so infuriating. I swear, Jilana, there are times when I could—" He choked off the words and drew a deep breath. "You are the one who labels yourself a slave. No one from my village thinks of you thus."

"Do not deceive yourself," Jilana retorted. "All remember the day Boadicea stood before them and gave me to you. 'Tis forever burned into their minds—and mine."

In reply, Caddaric took her hand and wrapped it around the bowl. "Eat this, or by all the gods, I will—"

When he could not find the words to continue, Jilana supplied helpfully, "Strangle me? Beat me? A fitting punishment for a slave."

Something flamed in Caddaric's eyes and he speared his hands through her hair, drawing her closer until his lips brushed hers. "I will take you back inside the tent and make love to you until you are too weak to stand." He watched her eyes widen in shock, then darken to deepest purple with remembered passion.

"Y-you would not."

"Aye, I would," Caddaric contradicted her breathless statement. He covered her free hand with his and placed it on his chest. Under his guidance, her hand drew circles over his chest and trailed down his stomach. When she tried to resist, he forced her hand still lower, until it covered the hard evidence of his desire. "I want you, Jilana, as a man wants a woman, not a slave. I want you willing in my bed, soft and warm and welcoming. The ache I feel for you is enough to drive a man mad, so do not tempt me with your wild defiance."

He released her hand and Jilana snatched it away, her face bright scarlet. "Now eat." Jilana obeyed, not daring to look at him.

Today Caddaric and Heall would ride in the vanguard and Jilana and Clywd would be left alone with the wagons. Jilana told herself she was glad Caddaric would be gone all day, but the truth was, she missed him the moment he rode out of camp. Clywd pulled out of camp just as Jilana finished packing her wagon. She filled her wineskin with water from one of the barrels and placed it under the seat, then went to the back of the wagon for a small pouch of dried meat for her midday meal. As she came around the wagon, she came face to face with Lhwyd.

"Greetings, Roman," the Druid said, and smiled.

Jilana straightened her shoulders and nodded briskly. ''Good morrow. As you can see, you have missed both Caddaric and his father.''

Lhwyd inclined his head slightly. "Today, however, 'tis you I wish to see."

Fear swept through Jilana and she edged away from him. There was some comfort to be taken from the fact that other people were not too far away, but she had no intention of getting too close to Lhwyd. "What is it you want?"

"Only to return this." Lhwyd reached inside his cloak and drew out Jilana's saffron veil. "From my sister, with her thanks."

Hesitantly, Jilana reached out and took the veil. "How is Ede?"

Lhwyd shrugged. "Well enough, though I see little of her or Ewan these days. Ewan, I fear, has fallen from favor with the Morrigan."

Which means he has displeased you in some manner, Jilana thought, but she said nothing. She waited impatiently for Lhwyd to leave, but he seemed in no hurry.

"Today will be a short march," Lhwyd was saying when Jilana turned her attention back to him. "And then we will reach the city."

The wild glint in his eyes made Jilana shiver. She knew well enough what intrigued him about Londinium. The citizens. His last sacrifices had been made at Camulodunum; after that, the Iceni had looked to Clywd as their priest.

"You know what will happen then." Lhwyd's voice was soft, caressing, and filled with such greed that she was certain he was mad.

Jilana gave him a cold look and climbed back into the wagon bed. With shaking fingers she opened her kist and folded the veil into it. She lingered over the task as long as she dared, her head bent, and when at last she looked up, Lhwyd was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she crawled onto the seat and clucked softly to the horses.

The column moved more swiftly than it had in the past and they reached Londinium by midday. Jilana found Clywd and pulled her wagon off the road to join him and prepare the camp in the city's shadow. Heall and Caddaric would be gone most of the day, checking on the defenses of the city. As they unloaded the wagons, tethered the horses and set up the camps, Jilana studiously avoided looking south toward the city. Once the camps were prepared and the tent erected, Clywd wandered off to visit other camps and pick the wild herbs he would need after the coming battle. Jilana built a fire and sat beside it to eat her meal. She was hungry enough to eat two of the pieces of dried beef and she smiled at herself when she thought of her initial reaction to the meat. It left her thirsty, however, and she drained the skin, though the water left a bitter aftertaste. She carried their belongings into the tent and sorted through their meager supplies to see what she could prepare for the evening meal. There was mead, and some dried fruit, but that was all. Her frown lifted, however, when she recalled that Heall and Caddaric had mentioned going hunting before returning to camp. You eat the food I provide. Caddaric's words brought back the frown and with an exclamation of disgust, Jilana jumped off the wagonbed. It seemed to take forever before she hit the ground, and when she did her legs folded beneath her.