Defy the Eagle (57 page)

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The wounded had started returning to the Iceni camp shortly after midday, and after much arguing, Jilana had persuaded Clywd to tend to the wounded while she remained in camp. In the end, he had agreed only because so many were asking for him and Jilana swore that she would not leave their camp. Before he left, however, Clywd gave Jilana a dagger for protection and she had kept it at her side throughout the afternoon. Jilana was adding wood to the fire and wondering whether or not to prepare oat cakes for the evening meal when she saw Heall and Caddaric.

A scream caught in her throat and she raced toward them. When she was close enough to see the blood covering Caddaric's right side, her face paled in horror. "What happened?" she gasped as she reached them.

"Can you not see he has been stabbed," Heall snapped at the girl, But Jilana was too shaken to be offended. He shoved the bundle at her. "Take this while I get him into the tent."

Jilana ran back to camp, threw the bundle into the wagon, and followed Heall into the tent. Together they took the grain from around Caddaric's neck and then Heall cut his bloodied tunic up the middle while Jilana took the weapons from his belt and removed it.

"Juno," Jilana whispered once the tunic had been stripped away. When Heall rolled Caddaric to his side in order to expose both wounds, she covered her mouth with her hand in order to stop the cry which sprang to her lips.

Heall glared at her. "Can you help him or should I find Clywd?"

A strange calm seemed to come over her and Jilana forced herself to examine the wounds. Blood bubbled from his mouth, a bad sign, and the wounds themselves showed no sign of clotting. "Stay with him," Jilana ordered in a soft voice and left the tent to get her medicine box. She returned with her case, a bowl, a jar of vinegar, and set about cleaning the wounds.

Since the injury went through from front to back, Jilana could neither sew it closed nor sear it. Instead, she made a thick pad out of one of the cloths to place over the wound, and, with Heall's help, bound it tightly in place with a long strip of linen. Caddaric remained blessedly unconscious throughout the entire ordeal. When Jilana left the tent to wash, Heall followed her.

"Will he live?" Heall demanded as Jilana poured water into a basin and washed her hands.

"I have done all that I can," Jilana answered, trying to still the quaver in her voice. "The blood in his mouth means the lung has been punctured, but I do not know how badly. The wound itself is clean, but there is always the danger of infection."

Heall watched Jilana for a long time, wanting to offer her comfort but uncertain how to go about it or how such an offer would be received. If Jilana and Caddaric were each other's destiny, the gods were certainly taking a perverse delight in keeping them apart, Heall thought. Feeling helpless, he at last busied himself with carrying the sacks of wheat from the tent to the wagon.

Jilana stared at the red-tinted water and forced back a scream. This was her fault, she knew. The gods were punishing her for the way she had treated Caddaric this morning. See what your pride has wrought, she bitterly chastised herself. Once his anger over Hadrian had passed, Caddaric had taken such care with her, shown her many small kindnesses which, as a slave, she had no right to expect. She had worked, to be sure, but so did every other woman in camp. And when her fears regarding Lhwyd had been realized, Caddaric had retaliated in the only way he knew how; as if, as he had often said, she was truly his woman, deserving of his protection. A foolish act, one that jeopardized the life she held more dearly than her own, but in Caddaric's eyes, he had had no choice.

Jilana emptied the basin, filled it with clean water and carried it into the tent. Caddaric lay on his left side, unconscious. Carefully, Jilana bathed the dirt from his face and body and covered him with a blanket. She laid a fresh fire inside the tent to ward off any evening chill and then sat quietly beside him, watching, occasionally touching his cheek and wiping away the blood that gathered in the corner of his mouth.

That was the scene that greeted Clywd when he hurried into his son's tent late in the afternoon. For a moment, Clywd felt his heart stop, and when it started again its rhythm was painfully erratic.

"The bandage needs changing," Jilana said when Clywd knelt beside her, "but I was afraid to move him."

Clywd nodded and examined his son. Together, they removed the soiled dressing and replaced it with another. Clywd fashioned a pillow from blankets and pelts and, with Jilana's help, placed it on the pallet and moved Caddaric so that he lay on his back upon it. "'Twill help him breathe," Clywd explained when she directed a questioning look at him. From his medicine case he took a small vial oC opium and handed it to Jilana. "He will need it when he wakes."

Trembling, Jilana took the vial, placed it in her own case and asked the question she was terrified to ask. "Will he live?"

"His lung is punctured and the bleeding must stop." Clywd touched his son's hair and Jilana saw that his hand was shaking also.

There was no more to be said, and the two of them sat in silence as evening fell. Heall entered quietly. "Forgive me, Clywd, but there is a lad outside who says you are needed. Shall I send him away?"

Clywd hesitated, clearly torn between his duty as a healer and his duty to his son, until Jilana told him, "If he worsens I will send Heall for you."

Clywd nodded and rose. "Change the bandage often. If—when he wakes, give him a dose of opium." He picked up his medicine case and cast one last look at his son. "If he needs me—"

"I will send Heall for you," Jilana repeated. "I swear it."

It was hours later that Caddaric swam slowly back to consciousness. He lay with his eyes closed, feeling the pallet beneath him and the tearing pain in his chest that made every breath an exercise in torture. Someone groaned and he forced his eyes open, wondering if Heall had been wounded as well. To his surprise, once he was able to bring his eyes into focus, he saw Jilana and his father bending over him and he was able to make out the leather ceiling of the tent. So he had made it back to camp after all. Clywd nodded to Jilana and she moved out of Caddaric's sight, and in her absence he could dimly make out Heall seated beside the small fire. Caddaric smiled weakly, trying to convey his relief at finding his friend safe, but his lips barely moved.

"Drink this."

Jilana was beside him, holding a cup to his lips. Caddaric obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the sweet liquid, his eyes clinging to Jilana's face. When he tried to speak, she laid a finger over his lips and shook her head warningly.

"Do not talk; save your strength." She placed a hand on his right shoulder and even her gentle touch sent waves of agony through him. "Your bandage needs changing but it means rolling you onto your good side. We will wait until the opium has taken hold." She smiled at him and reached for something on the ground. A moment later she was blotting his face and neck with a warm, wet cloth.

"Hate... changing my... bandage," Caddaric managed to say and Jilana felt her throat tighten.

It must be the effect of the opium, Caddaric thought, that made her eyes seem to fill with tears. He felt her fingers tremble when she laid them against his mouth again.

"Oh, Caddaric," Jilana whispered, "you are such a foolish man."

And then, miraculously, he felt her lips first upon his brow and then lightly upon his mouth. Her action stunned him, but the opium was spreading a warm glow through him and he gave himself up to the sensation. He was floating on the soft pallet and his eyes closed as he felt himself turning. The pain of the movement seemed far away, an insignificant thing, and he wondered why someone was groaning again.

It was all she could do not to cry out when Caddaric moaned as they turned him. Clywd was as shaken as she, but neither could give in to their emotions. They removed the old bandage and replaced it with a fresh one as quickly and efficiently as possible and eased Caddaric back onto the pallet. Clywd pulled the blanket away from him and shook him gently. Caddaric's eyes flickered open in response.

"Breathe for me, son," Clywd ordered. "As deeply as you can." He put his ear against the right wall of Caddaric's chest and listened.

Pain which not even the opium could master mushroomed through him when he obeyed his father's command, and this time Caddaric realized it was he who groaned so loudly. Sweat broke out on his forehead and was immediately replaced by a warm cloth against his skin. He pried his eyes open and looked directly up into Jilana's pale face. Ridiculous to think she could be worried about him, but just for a moment he allowed himself the fantasy. He lifted a hand toward her and she smiled and took it in hers.

"You must rest now," Jilana said, appalled at the way his muscles trembled. She dropped the cloth back into the basin, took his hand in both of hers and stroked it.

His eyelids were growing heavy and Caddaric fought


against the blackness which threatened to engulf him


again. He felt his lips moving and tried to force the words


out of his throat. "... go... do n... go "

Jilana's heart lurched painfully and she bent closer. "Do you want me to go, Caddaric?" She held her breath until Caddaric slowly turned his head to one side.

"N-no."

Jilana gripped his hand fiercely. "I will never leave you, Caddaric. Never."

She stayed with him throughout the long night, as did Clywd and Heall, refusing to leave his side. Together she and Clywd changed his bandages and when he awoke, hers was the hand which held the cup containing the admixture of opium and water to his lips. When the pain caused the sweat to pop out on his face and chest, she bathed it away. Near dawn the bleeding stopped and they all breathed a little easier.

"You must rest," Heall admonished her as they ate the wheat cakes he had prepared. "Clywd and I managed to sleep during the night, but you did not."

"I will sleep later, when Caddaric is well," Jilana replied steadily.

"Heall is right," Clywd put in. "'Twill serve no purpose to have you fall ill as well."

Jilana's eyes traveled to the man sleeping a scant foot away. "Later." Her voice was filled with such resolve that neither man tried again to dissuade her.

Later that morning Heall joined the other men from his village to hunt while Clywd went to those who had need of him. Jilana took advantage of their absence to wash and change into a clean tunic. The one stained with Caddaric's blood she burned. She understood now why Caddaric had burned the clothes which had carried Artair's blood—Caddaric still lived, but even so she could not bear the sight of her stained tunic. She prepared a thin oaten gruel, and when Caddaric awoke for a few minutes, she managed to feed him a little before dosing him with the opium. Blood no longer trickled from his mouth and Jilana knew that was another good sign. Some of her worry faded.

Heall returned bearing a side of venison, several hares and, best of all, the news that they had found some cattle wandering in the forest that had escaped their fate when the Romans withdrew from Londinium. Each of the hunting party would receive a quarter of a side. While Heall and Clywd moved about the camp, dressing the game and making the necessary preparations for smoking the venison and beef, Jilana washed Caddaric with warm water and gently dried him. Clywd held that clean surroundings aided healing, though why he could not say, and Jilana had taken his words to heart. The cloths she used on Caddaric were used only once and then tossed aside. Clywd would launder them in water and vinegar this afternoon.

It was as she drew a fresh blanket over Caddaric—the one from the night before, drenched with Caddaric's sweat and spotted with blood would be washed along with the cloths—that Jilana noticed his skin felt unnaturally warm. Frowning, she touched her lips to his forehead and then, as her mother had taught her, held one of his hands between hers. His hands were warm and, worse, dry. Her heart in her throat, Jilana rose and called Clywd.

"He seems warm," Clywd agreed when he touched Caddaric's brow. "Help me remove the bandage."

When Jilana saw what lay beneath the dressing, her stomach revolted. The skin around both wounds was red and swollen, and a foul odor emanated from it. "The wounds were not like this when I changed the bandage last," Jilana cried softly. "What did I do wrong?"

"Naught, naught, child," Clywd soothed. "It happens like this sometimes." His face turned grim. "Now we must fight—and so must he."

The rest of the afternoon was a nightmare. The wound had to be thoroughly cleaned and, even in his drugged state, Caddaric would surely thrash about. Clywd and Heall would hold him down. To Jilana fell the task of spreading the edges of the wounds apart and probing as deeply as she could with a vinegar-soaked cloth. First, however, the dead skin from the wounds had to be cut away and Jilana did this under Clywd's instruction while the two men held Caddaric still.

"You are not strong enough to hold him motionless," Clywd had said when Jilana had begged him to trade places. "If he should move when the knife is against him..."

Clywd had not had to argue further. Jilana knew well enough that even in his weakened state Caddaric could easily throw her aside. Throughout the ordeal, Jilana's throat ached with unshed tears while Caddaric groaned and then screamed under her hands. When it was over and the men had left the tent, Jilana laid her head upon the pallet and let the tears come. At least the nightmare was over.