The Lion and the Lark (16 page)

     She gasped and bit her lip, grasping the edge of the bed with one hand.  The dressing on Claudius’ abdomen was already soaked with blood, and she peeled it back carefully as the door opened a crack and Maeve slipped into the room.

     “How is he?” the old woman asked, squatting next to Bronwen on the cold tiled floor.

     Bronwen gestured helplessly at the wounded man, unable to answer the question.

     Maeve bent over the patient and wiped the blood away with the edge of Claudius’ torn tunic.

     “Not so bad,” she said in a clinical tone.  “It’s two clean cuts, not very deep.  Fenugreek to draw the wound, a green yew poultice to keep it clean, foxglove for the pain.”

     “The Roman general said not to touch him until the physician gets here,” Bronwen told her quietly, meeting her eyes with a sidelong, searching glance.

     “By then it may be too late.  Do you want him to live?”

     “Don’t ask such stupid questions.  Can you help him?”

     “I brought you and your brother and a hundred others into this world, a far more difficult task than nursing this one back to health.  He’s young and strong and has you to live for, he will survive this.”

     “He doesn’t know that he has me to live for, Maeve,” Bronwen said wretchedly.  “I had a terrible fight with him night before last and he didn’t come back here until he was brought in this morning on a stretcher.”

     “Then you must let him know how you feel.  But for the moment get me a basin and heat some water over the fire.  I’ll need soap and bandages too, I want to change this dressing.”

     Bronwen rose to obey, their roles reversed in light of Maeve’s superior knowledge.

     “How will you get the medicines that you will need?” Bronwen asked Maeve.

     “I’ll tell Scipio’s wife I have to go back to the camp for some herbs that she wants me to use in a special chicken dish.  My medicines are stored there too.  If she sends me in the Scipio carriage I can get what I need and be back by this evening.”

     Bronwen nodded. “While you’re there find Parex and tell him to get a message to my brother out at that stable where he stays.  I want to see him tonight.  Tell him it’s very important.”

     “I will.  Now go and get the bandages,” Maeve said.  She took a square of linen from her sleeve and mopped Claudius’ brow.

     Bronwen turned in the doorway and looked back at the injured man in the bed.

       Live, she said to him fiercely in her mind.  Live and I will make it all up to you.

     She rushed from the room to get the supplies the midwife had requested.

     Claudius was lying in a lake of fire.  Every fiber of his being ached and he was so hot that he dreamed of a pool in Etruria where the waters were cool and clear as crystal, where birds perched in the trees and the shade was plentiful.  But then a face swam into view and he was confused.  It was Bronwen.  What was she doing in the Etruscan countryside?  She didn’t want him, she had made that plain.  She would never have come so far with a man she despised, but he saw the bronze hair, the heart shaped face, the cat’s eyes.  He groaned and tossed on the sheet, mumbling unintelligibly.

     Bronwen stepped back from the bed, turning to Maeve in alarm.

     “What’s wrong?” she said.  “Why is he babbling like that?”

     “He’s delirious with fever,” Maeve said, wiping the injured man’s forehead with a wet cloth.

     “His skin is like burning coals,” Bronwen said worriedly, touching his hand.

     Maeve nodded.  “It’s to be expected.  If this liquid works on him he will cool down in a few hours.”

     “What is it?” Bronwen asked anxiously.

     “A serum made from tree bark,” Maeve replied, stirring the mixture in a wooden cup.

     “Tree bark!”

     “I know what I’m doing,” Maeve said.  “You asked me to tend to him, now stop interfering and questioning everything I do.”  Maeve lifted Claudius’ head and put the cup to his lips.  He swallowed a small amount and then coughed as Maeve let his head slip back to the bed.

     “Where is that physician?” Bronwen muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

     “The earliest he can be here is sometime tomorrow,” Maeve observed, pulling back the sheet to check the poultice she had applied to Claudius’ abdomen.

     “How do you know that?” Bronwen demanded.

     “The general was here while you were gone.  He sent his own carriage with four guards to get the Greek, but even Scipio cannot put wings on the wheels.”

     “I hope he will arrive in time,” Bronwen whispered.

     “I’ll keep this one alive until then,” Maeve said confidently.

     “How can you be sure?”

     “I know my business,” Maeve replied simply.  “I understand that you and all the other young people here think that I am nothing but a foolish old woman, but I was learning cures from the Caledonians before any of you were born.”  She refilled the cup from a jug and added, “You’d better go out and find your brother.  He said he would come at moonrise and it’s nearly that time.”

     Bronwen pulled on her lambskin boots and wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders.

     “I won’t be gone very long,” she said to the midwife.  “Take good care of him.”

     Maeve nodded, and Bronwen slipped from the room.  She made rapid progress through the house, nodding at the two servants she encountered, and

was relieved to see that the kitchen was unoccupied.  She went out the back door and peered up and down the alley, which appeared to be empty.

     “Brettix!” she called softly.

     She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped.

     “I’m here,” her brother said.

     Bronwen turned to face him.  “How could you betray me?” she hissed at him.

     “What are you talking about?”  Her brother was a hulking shadow with his back to the moon, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

     “My husband was assaulted and almost killed.  Can you tell me how that could have happened?”

      “I heard he was wounded,” Brettix said mildly.

     “You heard he was wounded, that’s all you have to say?  We’ve met how many times in the last month, and each time we talked you promised me that he would be spared!  You said that nothing would happen to him!”

     Brettix shrugged.  “This is a war, everyone takes his own chance.  The men Parex sent must have confused him with somebody else, or else they just saw the uniform and knew he was an officer.  The Romans are trained to take orders from a superior, and if you interrupt the chain of command they flounder.  They can’t act independently.  You can’t fault Parex for pursuing a good target.”

     “I can fault you for ignoring my request.”

     “What does it matter, Bronwen, a Roman officer is a Roman officer,” he said dismissively.

     She winced to hear him echo her own words.  “It matters because the man is my husband.  He’s been good and kind to me, and I specifically asked you to leave him alone.”

     Brettix stared at her.  “I thought you wanted him spared because you didn’t want suspicion to fall on you, but now I’m not so sure.  What’s going on, Bronwen?”

     “You lied to me!”

     “I didn’t lie to you, it was a mistake.  And exactly why do you care so much?”

     “I’ll tell you why I care.  Last night when he didn’t come home I seized the opportunity to search his study again.  Do you know what I found there, on a little wax tablet he uses to keep notes for himself?  A reminder to send a directive to the prison camps telling the wardens to look for you, and if they located you, not to harm you.  That’s right, Brettix, he’s been searching for you, my supposedly lost brother, for my sake, unaware that you are alive and well and busily plotting his destruction!”

     Brettix folded his arms and regarded her coldly.  “Whose side are you on all of a sudden?  Have you let his manly muscles and pretty black hair blind you to who he is?”

     “You’re the one who’s blind.  You’re so obsessed with blood lust that you’re threatening the peace, staging these little surprise raids of yours.  Have you forgotten that the plan was for us to lay low and seem to accept the treaty, then let me use that time to get inside information about when to strike?”

     “And what information have you gotten?  Nothing!  You’re too busy playing snuggle up and squeeze with your prize Roman bull!”

     Bronwen slapped him.  He stared at her, his eyes going wide with surprise as the corner of his mouth began to bleed; he felt the moisture on his tongue.

     “I am not sleeping with him,” she said quietly.  “I’ve told you that before, Brettix, and I expect you to believe it.”

     “But you want to, little sister, don’t you?  Very badly.”

     “That’s none of your business.”

     “It is my business when your behavior threatens all of us.”

     “Keep up the raids and you’ll see who’s threatening our safety.”  

    “Borrus has sent word to stop the raids,” Brettix replied stonily.  “He’s afraid the Romans will think it’s not the work of random hotheads but a concerted effort with his blessing.  If Scipio sees the raids as a violation of the treaty it may put you in danger.”

     Bronwen sighed with relief.  “I’m glad Father is at least showing some sense.”

     “So you can go back to your romance, and if you can find time between trysts you see what information you can pick up,” Brettix said to her, sneering.

     “Nobody can tryst with a bedridden man.”

     “He’ll be on his feet soon, with you hovering over him and holding his hand,” Brettix said insinuatingly.  “Just you remember who your family is and who your friends are.”

     “Don’t question my loyalty, Brettix.  I’ll do what I have promised to do.  You haven’t kept your part of our bargain but I’ll keep mine.”

     Brettix turned on his heel and walked away.  Bronwen watched him go, her angry expression indicative of her inner turmoil.

     Then she went back into the house, entering the bedroom to find Maeve asleep in the chair next to the bed.

     Bronwen ran to the old woman and shook her.

     “What are you doing?” she demanded.

     “I’m sleeping,” Maeve muttered irritably, pushing Bronwen away from her.

     “You have to stay awake, what if something happens to him?” Bronwen said.

     “Nothing is going to happen to him, he’s asleep.  And so should you be, you can’t take care of him if you’re so tired you can’t think straight.  Feel his forehead, the heat in his skin is down and that’s a good sign.  Now leave me alone.  The time to be concerned for Claudius was before this happened, and as I recall you did everything to bring him to this pass except stab him yourself.”

     Bronwen stared at Maeve, her skin flushing hot, then cold as the harsh words carved themselves into her brain.

     “You never said that to me before,” she whispered, stunned.

     “Why should I have said it?  You never listen to me anyway.  You think I’m an old fool and you think you know everything.  I told you this man was your destiny, and when the goddess speaks through me I am never wrong.  Anybody with one eye open could see that he was in love with you, and if you weren’t so stubborn and headstrong you would have admitted to yourself long ago that you love him too.”

     “But he’s a Roman,” Bronwen said, aghast.  “He’s our enemy!”

     Maeve threw up her hands.  “Now you sound like your brother!   All he sees about people is the label he puts on them.”

     “Are you telling me I should forget who he is?”

     “I’m telling you that you have no choice in the matter.  Destiny cannot be thwarted.  You can run from each other for the rest of your lives and all you will get for it is misery and pain.”

     “It’s hard to believe I could be more miserable than I am right now,”

Bronwen said quietly.

     “Continue to ignore the wishes of the goddess and you will learn the true meaning of unhappiness,” Maeve replied.

     Claudius groaned and both women looked at him.  Maeve stood up and touched his cheek with the back of her hand.

     “He’s shivering,” she said to Bronwen.  “Give me his cloak, it’s warmer than this blanket.”

     Bronwen picked up the cloak where it had been discarded when Claudius was brought in, and a leather pouch fell to the floor.  Bronwen quickly glanced at Maeve and saw that the old woman had not noticed it.  She retrieved it and concealed it under her shawl, then handed the heavily stained cloak to Maeve.

     “Is the shivering a bad sign?” she asked anxiously, watching Claudius toss in the bed.

     Maeve shook her head.  “It’s his body’s reaction to the loss of
febris
, fever.  He shakes to raise it again.  It’s normal.”

     Bronwen watched Maeve drape the cloak over the prone man and said, “Can you sit with him just a short while?  I want to take care of something and then I’ll come back.  When I do you can go to bed.”