The Eagle and the Raven (55 page)

The praefectus laughed shortly. “No such luck! Cartimandua gets it, of course, as she gets everything. The governor can hardly refuse her. It’s so much easier to buy her loyalty, but all of us will breathe easier when she is dead and we can slap a praetor on Brigantia. She’s too deceitful, that one. She’d sell her own children, if she had any, to whoever would give her gold.” He was moving to the door as he spoke, and with his last words it was closed behind him and the prisoners found themselves in darkness.

Caradoc bent and felt about on the floor until his fingers touched the pouch. He picked it up, kissed the egg gently, and wrapped it away again, then sank down beside Caelte and closed his eyes. “More wisdom than any man…” What have I done to forfeit the protection of the gods? But he knew. He had not trusted his own judgment, that was all. So be it. He leaned against Caelte and they slept, their arms about each other.

Scapula motioned and the guards saluted and went out, then he rose from his desk and came around to the front, leaning back against it, his arms folded. His gaze slowly traveled the little group before him and they stared back rudely, the girls with a wide-open, frank fascination, the young man with hostility, and the woman with steady, courageous eyes. She was of average height, too thin, as were all the women of the west, the men too, for that matter. Her hair was thick and dark blonde, braided loosely in plaits that fell to her green, breech-clad knees, and wisps of escaping fronds curled on her wide forehead and about the brown cheeks. Her mouth was firmly closed, a warm, well-defined mouth, and her eyes, netted in fine laugh lines, were deep blue and composed. An intriguing woman, he thought. He barely glanced at the Druid who waited calmly, his white-sprinkled blond hair falling about his shoulders and his hands thrust into the deep sleeves of his grubby white tunic. He was a nonentity, a small fish caught by accident as the net drew tight about the giants, and Scapula unfolded his arms and hooked his thumbs into his belt. He had eaten well that morning, he was digesting his food with no pain, and the auguries had never read better.

“Now then,” he said brightly. “We will not waste time on introductions. I know who you are. I have some questions I wish to ask you, and if you are wise you will answer me quickly.” There were blood stains on the woman’s tunic. He had not noticed them before and he eyed her again, a rapid surge of disgust bringing pricks to his stomach. Animals! They lived like animals, they fought like animals, but thank the gods they did not reproduce like animals.

“Where is your husband?”

She smiled faintly. “I do not know.”

“Of course you know! Where were you going when you were captured, if not to him? Now answer, Lady. Where is he? Did he go north or south when he slipped across the river? Hmmm!”

“Don’t tell him anything, mother,” Llyn interposed smoothly. “If he is so clever, let him find out for himself.”

Scapula turned his head sharply and Llyn’s dark brown, knowing eyes grinned impudently at him. A feeling of perplexity stole over him, as if often did. The longer he stayed in this magic-ridden, wet country the less he understood it, or its inhabitants. Just when his decisions were made, his policies clear, a mood of anxious confusion would take him like a sudden fog rising in his brain, and he knew that he could remain here forever and still be as ignorant as a child unrolling its first scroll. Here was a lad no more than seventeen yet a torc glowed about his neck, his sword was notched and well-used, and Scapula felt himself in the presence of a man with more experience of life than his own second. He despised them all, the blood-crazed chiefs, their unappetizing, uncouth women, people who did not spare even their children in their suicidal wars.

“If you interrupt me again,” he said, “I will have you removed and whipped. No purpose is served by your rudeness.” He looked back at Eurgain. “Did he go to Venutius? Or is he bound for the coast?”

“I told you, I do not know,” she insisted. “He will go wherever there is sanctuary.”

“There is no sanctuary left for him anywhere,” he replied testily, “except in the west or with Venutius, but I have heard that Venutius and Cartimandua are reconciled again. So did he go back, with the other western chiefs?”

She said nothing this time. Her gaze dropped to the floor and he surveyed the bland, self-contained face with impatience.

“Lady, it can make very little difference whether you tell me now, or not. Before long he will know that I hold you and his children, and he will give himself up.”

“No, he won’t!” Llyn shouted. “Scapula, you are a fool! He is more than a man, he is arviragus, and he will let us all die, and he will fight on!”

Scapula signaled to his centurions. They moved to lay hands on Llyn but he whirled and marched from the room ahead of them, and as the door closed Scapula went behind the desk and sat, leaning back.

“If it makes no difference whether I tell you,” Eurgain said mildly, “then why do you persist in asking me? Llyn speaks the truth. Caradoc will not come running to you like a trained dog just because you hold me. I am not innocent,” she went on, her voice rising at last in anger. “I know very well that I face death, perhaps death with torture. Llyn knows it too, and the girls. But the girls really do not know where Caradoc is, and Llyn and I cannot be broken.”

“Brave words,” he remarked. “And probably true. So l will tell you where your husband is.”

Her eyes flew to his and he held them steadily, watching carefully for a sign of betrayal as he continued. “He has fled to Venutius in Brigantia, and there I will seek him.” It was a guess, intended to catch her off guard so that in her reaction he could read the truth, but her eyes did not falter or change expression and he was reminded of all the Druids he has seen die with the same blank faces. He wanted to smash that bottomless superiority, to feel bones crack under his knuckles, and to see the gentle mouth contort in agony, and as the color mounted in his neck he put his hands together and leaned over the desk.

“I will get him,” he said deliberately, “and when I do you will all go to Rome, and after a time you will all be executed. If it had not been for your mad husband the whole of this country would now be at peace, the Silures would not now be hunted down, the Ordovices would still be wandering contentedly in their precious mountains with no cares. You are criminals, all of you, as blind to responsibility and morals as the rest of your kin, and your fate will be the fate of any common thief in the city.” He swallowed hard, forcing down the gush of rage, thinking of all the months of doubt and sleepless nights behind him, all the good men lost forever, all the progress at a stand still, because of one man and this ragged, haughty family. The two girls were still gazing at him with dumb, wide eyes as though they were half-witted.

“Let me tell you something, Scapula,” Eurgain said. “I do not care where he is. All I care is that he is free, and will remain free until he can gather yet another army and open yet another campaign. Whether I live or die is meaningless to me, and to him, if the west is to go on fighting. You have never understood what it is that you fight. It is not bodies, Roman, it is souls, and that is why Caradoc must stay free, and that is why you will not be victorious.”

He opened his mouth to reply, color now blazing to the roots of his gray hair, but a knock came on the door and irritatedly he called, “Enter!”

His secretary came in, saluted, and held out a scroll. “A dispatch, sir, from Lindum.” Scapula waved it away. “I am busy, Drusus. Put it with the others and I’ll look at it after lunch.”

“I am sorry, sir, but it’s very urgent. The rider is waiting outside for your answer.”

With an exasperated grunt Scapula snatched it. The sun had left the room and was standing high in the center of the sky, and though the shutters were open it was stuffy and hot. While Scapula broke the seals and scanned the scroll, Eurgain looked out the window.

So familiar, the blue-tinged haze of the wooded hill folding down to meet the river, the road, now paved, that left the gate and meandered through spacious oak groves and on to where the barges and coracles used to rock at anchor. Her mind’s eye drifted to the estuary, a wide, reed-choked pool of ruffled water where the snipe and sandpipers picked their way on thin stick-legs, and then the sand, and the white cliffs, and the caves where Gladys would lie listening to the surf come rolling in. Nostalgia blew toward her on the flower-scented breeze and she looked determinedly back to the governor, now on his feet, his hands trembling as he clutched the stiff scroll. Suddenly he flung it onto the desk.

“Mithras!” he whispered. “It is not possible! At last, at last!” he almost ran from behind the desk and Bran took one quick step toward her as Scapula came to a halt, his face thrust close to hers, his eyes beaming.

“I have him!” he exulted, breathing heavily. “Lady, prepare to say farewell to Albion! He walked right to the door of Cartimandua’s house, can you see it? He and his bard, and she wasted no time in turning him over to the praefectus at Lindum. His gods have deserted him, and my prayers have been answered. Caradoc! In…my…hands!” He emphasized his words gleefully, one clenched fist pounding on the tough palm of his other hand, then he straightened, went back to his desk, and sat down.

“Drusus, please ask the messenger to wait a moment and then show him in here. I want the rebel conveyed to Colchester as quickly as possible, before his chiefs wake to what has happened and try to rescue him.” He rubbed his hands together meditatively, smiling. “Now for you, Druid. Drusus, bring in the guard.”

The secretary went to the door, and Scapula continued. “Under the law you must die, but of course you knew that. The emperor has ordered the extermination of all of you, on grounds of sedition. If you have any message to this lady you had better give it.”

Four soldiers entered and stood waiting impassively, their feet apart and their hands behind their backs.

Eurgain suddenly woke to the scene. She ran to the desk and fell across it. “No, you cannot do this! Not to this man! He is a good man, a gentle man, he has harmed no one in all his life! Be merciful, Scapula, on this day of your triumph! Spare him as a thanksgiving to your gods!”

“How is it,” he asked coldly, “that you beg for the Druid and yet not for your husband? What kind of a woman are you? Don’t you know that Caradoc and his chiefs and indeed all the tuaths are only gaming pieces in the hands of the Druithin? You are a lost cause to him now, in any case, and if I set him free he would disappear back to his accursed island, deserting you in favor of a more hopeful throw of the dice. If it had not been for him and his brethren you and all your kin would still be here at Colchester, going peacefully and happily about your business, and you and I would have been friends.”

“Never!” she began, a torrent of anguished invective about to pour forth, but Bran stepped to her, grasping her firmly by the shoulders and turning her about.

“Listen to me, Eurgain,” he said quietly. “It is not important. There will always be stars to gaze at, in soft nights of wonder that steal away your breath, and crystals waiting for you in the rocks. Nothing else matters, do you understand?” She shook her head and laid it upon his breast like a tired, heartbroken child, and for a moment he enveloped her. Then he moved away. “Look into my eyes, little one.” Slowly she raised her face, tears spilling down her cheeks, and he took her hands. “We will meet again, do not doubt it. Greet the arviragus for me.” As she sought the brown eyes she felt the tears dry up, and a strange lightness touched her soul.

Scapula nodded curtly at the guard and the men moved forward. Bran turned to the door.

“A safe journey, master, a peaceful journey!” she called brokenly, and he replied steadily, “Peace to you and yours, Eurgain.”

Then he was gone.

The door closed and there was a second of loud silence before Scapula rose.

“Back now to your cell. In a week your husband will be here. Is that not better than hearing that he is dead?”

She drew herself up to her full height. “No,” she said.

Six days later, on an evening when the sun had just set and light lingered golden in the tops of the trees, the cohort from Lindum arrived at Colchester with its prisoners. Scapula had taken no chances. Five hundred men marched beside the wain, fully armed and standing battle watches on the journey, but no war cries had broken the warm night silences and the days had passed without incident.

Scapula personally took charge of his rebel at the gates and strode up the hill surrounded by bristling spears. He wasted no time by examining Caradoc. That could come later, but now he must be locked away, and guards set and changed every hour. He had sent off a jubilant dispatch to Rome, and soon the ship which would relieve him of an awesome responsibility would anchor, but until then he would live on nerves already stretched too thin. He knew his luck, it had never been good, and this sudden, unlooked-for concession by the fates would not last long.

The cavalcade wound its way up from the gate, past neat homes and gardens, trees, and busy shops, and Caelte looked about him in the failing light with astonishment. Nothing of their town remained. If they had not been driven through woods that had spoken to them mutely and sweetly of things they remembered with an increasing heartache, he would not have believed that this prosperous, self-consciously Roman community had been their playground. The whole mound had been leveled, and where once the climb to the Great Hall had been steep, now they paced up a gentle slope to a white temple, glowing softly pink in the late sunset.

Caradoc had seen it before and now he averted his eyes, thinking of the red-headed Boudicca standing with mouth agape on the pristine steps, Prasutugas behind her. He had been consumed with an acrid contempt then, he remembered, but Plautius and Gladys had emerged suddenly, and his rage had turned to shame.

Caelte gazed at it until they had shuffled past it and turned to where the governor’s quarters, the headquarters, and the administrative buildings lay.

Suddenly Caradoc stopped and raised his head. Someone was calling his name, a high, urgent, tear-filled voice, and though he felt the butt of a spear strike his back he continued to listen. Eurgain. His eyes flew frantically from building to shadowed building and then he saw the white arm thrust between iron bars, and the blur of a face.