The Eagle and the Raven (94 page)

“Brigid,” he said hesitantly, his voice falling dull and flat in the close stillness. “Would you consider coming to Rome with me when I go?”

Her head snapped around. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that instead of waiting years to marry we would do it right away, in secret, and take ship together.”

“But we can’t marry without permission, you know that. And even if we could, how would I get all the way to Colchester without being missed?” Excitement shook her voice, belying the doubt in her words.

“We could think of a way. Ethelind would help, I know she would. As for the wedding, we could manage it once we got to Rome.” He flung another log on the fire and turned to her, speaking rapidly and with fear. “If we wait we’ll never be married. I feel it, Brigid. Something tells me that if I go away without you I’ll never see you again. Call it a fancy if you like, but I can’t shake it off. There’s a doom coming.”

She had never heard him speak so seriously and she edged closer to him. He put an arm around her and pulled her against him. “I trust you, Marcus,” she said in a small voice, “but it is an unforgivable thing, to run from my tuath and my kin. If I go, Mother will not take me back.”

“There will be no turning back for either of us,” he spoke into her wet hair. “I’ve done all I can, and if we are to stay together it’s the only way.”

“I’m afraid.”

“You’ll be safe with me, I swear,” he promised with more confidence than he felt. “And once Father is over the shock he’ll support us.”

She extricated her hands from the folds of her cloak and rose, then drawing one of the bronze bracelets from her wrist she ran to the water’s edge and hurled it far. It sank immediately and she folded her arms and began to shiver. “Why did you do that?” he called and she turned slowly, trying to smile at him over the dying flames of the fire, her eyes filling with hot tears.

“For Andrasta,” she said. “The Queen of Victory must not become the Raven of Nightmares.”

For a month the tuath hung in a strange limbo. Two days after Prasutugas’s burial a Council was called and his will discussed, and though the chiefs were not happy at its directives they accepted it. Brigid and Ethelind now ruled the Iceni, but all knew it was in name only. Favonius had sat with the freemen during the proceedings. He had not spoken, but the people were aware of him and all that he represented, and they did not forget that half the wealth of Icenia now belonged to Nero, his master. The officials from the procuratorial office hung about the town with the traders and Seneca’s employees. They seemed not to know what to do, or they were waiting for something, and as winter deepened and the nights drew in, no chief ran to Boudicca with tales of abuse. She herself was quiet and subdued, riding alone over the hard, wind-raked turf, sitting for long hours by the Council fire, drinking thoughtfully by herself in the hut she was reluctant to leave for the past-haunted house. The snow had become rain but when the skies had cleared once more the temperature had dropped and remained sullenly low, and icicles hung from the eaves of the huts and houses. She was despondent and tense, caught in a mood that was more than the slow grieving for her husband, but she blamed the weather. Winter was hard on man and beast, and this winter could prove to be the hardest of all. The dense forest was locked in cold, and the trees stood with a brittle stiffness and glittered with frost. The river began to ice over. Men and beasts huddled together in the same mood of irrational, glum expectancy, and even the heatless glisten of the noon sun on the crystal whiteness of the marshes failed to raise their spirits. They felt that spring would never come, and if it did it would come too late—for what, they could not say. They knew only that something irreplaceable had passed with the dying of Prasutugas and as yet there was nothing to fill the chasm, and perhaps there never would be. The tuath was like a boat without oars, rocking just out of reach of a busy current.

Priscilla was unaware of weather or mood, and moved fussily about her little house in the garrison, packing and unpacking, for Marcus was to leave soon for Colchester and Rome. But Favonius found himself straying to the high gate in the palisade wall and looking out beyond the copse, to where Boudicca’s town lay. He was uneasy. He had never taken the peoples’ muddled religion seriously before, but now his mind dwelt on the war goddess Andrasta and her fierce Druids, long gone, and he could not drag his thoughts away from the sense of malevolent, brooding magic spreading toward him from the vast forests. Winter was a time of slackness for soldier as well as chief.

Marcus and Brigid no longer raced together. They paced among the somnolent trees, putting the last touches on their plan for Brigid’s escape, and the silent weight of suspense around them became so heavy that even they spoke unconsciously in whispers.

Then, on the day before Marcus was due to bid farewell to Icenia, doom fell. Boudicca had dressed and was cloaking herself for the walk to food in the Council hall when Lovernius pushed aside her doorskins and walked in unannounced, stuffing his dice into his belt pouch, his face suffused with wrath, and a half dozen chiefs tumbled behind him, breathless with panic. “Lady, Favonius is here with a guest, and several hundred other men, most of them soldiers,” he shouted at her. “I think it is the procurator.”

“Decianus?”

“The same. Favonius sent me to…” But he did not finish. The chiefs shouldered past him and pressed about her.

“I woke this morning to find them driving off all my breeding cattle!” Iain yelled. “All of them! My freeman herder is dead!”

“They dragged my daughter out of her bed, Lady. I cannot find her anywhere!”

“My granary has been broken into, and all my winter store is gone!”

She listened impassively though her heart had begun to beat erratically and her throat went dry. She picked up her amber-studded coronet and set it carefully on her brow, then raised both hands and the furor died abruptly.

“Peace, all of you! The procurator is here, and all misunderstand ings will be righted. Go to the hall and wait for me. Lovernius, Iain, you come.” She pushed past them and they made way for her as she bent her head, passing under her lintel and out into the winter morning. The sun was free of the horizon and its light had already gone from pink to golden. A keen wind lifted her hair and flung it back in her face and she clawed at it, her heart still thumping painfully under her ribs. She strode through the hut circles to the gate where Favonius had already started up the path, with a loose, portly man beside him and a stream of jostling, laughing legionaries behind. Favonius looked alarmed. And well he might, Boudicca thought in sudden fear. His escort looks half drunk. Surely they are not serving soldiers! No officer would allow such behavior. She stood and waited, turned into the wind so that cloak and hair blew out behind her, and Favonius came up and halted.

“Boudicca, this is the procurator, Catus Decianus. He brings an edict from the emperor.”

She met his eyes swiftly, and they were veiled, troubled, then she moved to scan his companion. Thick, bushing eyebrows almost met over large, watery eyes. His nose was thin at the bridge but swelled to wide nostrils, giving him a deceptively fastidious look. His mouth was red and wet, held permanently in a smile of polite insincerity, and he was breathing loudly, his belly heaving with his chest. She felt the welcoming smile on her lips stiffen into disgust, and she quickly stilled her face.

“I am glad you are here, sir,” she said, striving to keep the distaste out of her voice. “Perhaps now my tuath can procure justice. We have been sorely used by your servants for some months now, and I am sure you are unaware of our plight. The emperor must know how loyally we have paid our taxes.”

He went on smiling. “Of course the emperor knows, Lady,” he replied, in a voice that was a painful wheeze. “He has instructed me to claim and catalogue the inheritance your late husband so generously awarded him, and with your cooperation it should not take long. Some of my men have begun already. Never let it be said that the members of the procuratorial staff are dilatory in carrying out their duty!” He chuckled at Favonius, and Favonius laughed politely.

“But your men are stripping my chiefs of all they have!” she exclaimed. “Their personal possessions as well! They are even taking freemen away! Surely this has nothing to do with the inheritance!”

Suddenly his eyes went as hard as agates. For years he had watched the Icenian tribute pile up on the docks at Colchester, a profusion of wealth outstripping the contributions of the other tribes and hinting at a far greater hoard to be picked over. Now his appetite would be assuaged. The Iceni had been growing in riches, therefore the Iceni had been dishonest in their dealings with their masters. The arrears must be set to rights. He hated the poor natives, but he hated the rich natives more. They had too much pride, they were invariably contemptuous and high-handed, but he knew how to cut them down. Paulinus did it with swords. He did it with figures. Either way, Rome benefited. And himself, too, of course. That was understood. He answered this raw-boned, red-headed queen with a careful disdain.

“You have not been honest with us, and the time of reckoning is here.” He snapped his fingers and a secretary hurried to his side and handed him a slate. “Fifteen years ago the Divine Claudius loaned the Iceni a certain sum of money. You have not made one payment, any of you, on the sum itself or on the interest.”

“That money was a gift to us in exchange for our cooperation! Only the money from Seneca was a loan, and that is being repaid faithfully!”

“Not according to the records. The imperium is tired of waiting.” He licked his lips. “By order of the emperor I am here to assess the whole kingdom. All horses, cattle, and herds to be impounded. All jewels, personal possessions, anything of value to be brought forth for evaluation and taxing. Two thousand slaves are to be levied. It was two thousand, wasn’t it, Sulla?”

The secretary nodded. “It was, sir.”

“Good. Henceforth, all this land is under the imperial seal, to be disposed of as the emperor, and I, see fit. Have you any mines?”

She was shaking all over, her arms clutched tight to her bosom, and her face drained of all color under the sprinkling of freckles. “Does the governor know about this, this monstrous lie?” she whispered, and he handed back the slate and wheezed at her sharply.

“He knows that I am here. Do you object?”

“Of course I object! I object most strongly! How dare you bring this rabble here and terrorize the people!”

“Remain calm, Lady, and do as you are told,” he said. “Then no one will be hurt and my business can be promptly concluded.”

He dismissed her from his mind. “To work!” he huffed at the men shuffling impatiently behind him, their eyes already on the huts of the defenceless freemen. “Empty the buildings! Pile it all in front! If any of the natives try to interfere, chain them.” He hitched up his belt and trundled on up the path, and Boudicca swung around on Favonius, grasping his sleeve.

“Who are these men?” she demanded.

He answered diffidently. “Some of them are regulars of the Ninth, from Lindum. Most are veterans that Decianus had brought with him from Colchester.”

“Favonius, do something! Look at them! They are here for booty, not tax, and you know it! Call out the garrison and have them driven away!”

He firmly picked her fingers from around his arm. “I’ve told you before, I can do nothing. Decianus would have me removed from my post. Besides, I didn’t know about the debt to Claudius. I must say it was stupid of Prasutugas to ignore such a large obligation.”

“You pig!” she shouted. “He was your friend for years, and yet you can believe this of him.”

“Control yourself,” he snapped, and he turned on his heel and left her, following the procurator and his eager, greedy men.

She stood for a moment, struggling for breath and forcing down the waves of violent anger, her bard and shield-bearer silent beside her. Then she jerked her head and they went after the men. An alarmed hubbub had already broken out as the people found themselves herded roughly from their warm huts, and as Boudicca rounded the last bend she saw Brigid and Marcus come out of the hall together and stand bewildered before the door. “Brigid!” she called. “Come here! Stay close to me.” The girl murmured something to Marcus and ran to her mother, and Marcus set off in search of his father.

“What is happening?” Brigid asked, and Boudicca answered impatiently.

“Not now. I will tell you later. Where is Ethelind?”

“I don’t know. She ate in the hall, but I haven’t seen her since.”

Boudicca swung to her shield-bearer. “Iain, go and find her. Bring her to me.” Iain sped away, and the other three moved slowly to Prasutugas’s gay Roman house, beside the hall. They halted there and Lovernius squatted loosely on the frozen earth. Brigid leaned against the wall, her eyes wide. Boudicca stood stiffly, with her arms folded, listening to the irritated protests that had now turned to wails as the people stood helplessly by, watching their possessions flung out at their feet. From where she waited she could see only a part of the first circle. Bright cloaks and pearled belts, trinkets sparkling in the sunlight, bronze mirrors studded with coral, silver-rimmed bowls and cups, old pink-and blue-enameled shields lay in glaring confusion on the white frost. Children stood with their fingers in their round mouths, and the women sobbed, their hands moving lovingly among their tangled possessions. But the men cursed and muttered, following the soldiers in and out of the dim huts, and Boudicca could feel the tension around her mount like a great, seething thunderhead. Already, one or two legionaries were picking over the tumbled heaps, tucking this and that into their packs, and all at once there was a shout. One of her chiefs had leaped at a soldier, his hands going for the throat, and the two men were locked in a vicious struggle, but two other soldiers were running, and in a moment the chief lay stunned among his precious goods, his blood staining the green and yellow tunics. A group of procuratorial servants and centurions came swaggering up the gentle rise. They did not look at her. They made straight for the Council hall and went inside. An excited burst of chatter was heard from within. They had found the wine barrels. Lovernius rose slowly to his feet and glanced at Boudicca, and she at him, and together they saw with sinking hearts the barrels being rolled into the open and the lids torn off. The grassy lawn before hall and house was beginning to fill with freemen who wandered aimlessly, and dazed women who clutched bleeding, trampled children. Then Iain came striding up, Ethelind with him.