by Henry Treece
He nodded. ‘I am the same, sister,’ he said. ‘I feel that I shall always be sick now.’
There was no one to hinder them below. The legions were spread far and wide, gathering what they had been promised.
[27]
Old Friend and Enemy
And when they were on the ground again Marcus said, ‘Before we leave this terrible place, there is someone I must look for.’
Hand in hand they went over the moorland, past the piled slain and the dead horses and mutilated oxen. And at last they came to the black wagon that had been the queen’s. It lay keeled over, its wheels broken on one side. She still lay in it among her women.
Marcus looked down at the painted face and the ash-covered hair that had once been as tawny as a fox. And while he was looking at her, Boudicca’s dark-lidded eyes opened wide and fixed on him. Then quite clearly she said, ‘You have come to see me at the last, old friend and enemy. If you have brought my brooch back, then you can save yourself the trouble. I do not need it now, and the pillagers would steal it in any case. It is yours. Keep it for ever and remember me.’
He fell on his knees before her and bowed his head as though she were his mother. She smiled once before her eyes closed. ‘I shall not forget you, Lady,’ he said. He could not find the words to say any more.
Gerd touched him on the shoulder and said, ‘She will not wake again. See the froth at her lips. She is poisoned. Come away, the soldiers are sweeping round this way.’
Marcus let her lead him until they came to an overturned chariot behind the wagon. And there he halted.
‘That is the banner of the Coritani,’ he said. ‘Cynwas should be here.’
The prince lay on the floor of the broken war-cart, three arrows in him, his arms still clasped about Aranrhod, whose hair had been brushed till it looked like silk. Her mouth was open as though she had been chattering to her brother when all the breath went from her.
Gerd said, ‘She is wearing a gold medallion, Marcus. They must have robbed a Roman before they died.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘A Roman would be proud to give his medallion to such a child,’ he said, and turned away into the dusk.
In all the movements to and fro of the plunderers, the two were not noticed, and so they came from the battlefield and down into a misty hollow by nightfall.
Marcus said wearily, ‘Now I have seen enough of war. There is no place in the Ninth for such as I am now. I have lost all heart for killing. If I can find sheepskin to write on, I shall send in my resignation to Petillius in Lindum. I will do it correctly, giving my reasons, and will not just skulk away like a common deserter.
Gerd nodded. Then she smiled and said, ‘The Romans have no further need of you, I think. From what I saw today, they will be here to the end of the world without your help. But I shall not stay in this land, for I can see that the Roman vengeance will be terrible. It will show no mercy to anyone. I shall make my own way down to Vectis and go aboard Brand’s ship. If you are wise, you will come with me and sail to see your sister in Alexandria.’
Marcus passed his hand over his face. ‘Brand would not want a weakling like me,’ he said. ‘Besides, I have no passage-money for him.’
Then Gerd held out something that glistened in the moonlight. ‘That is arranged,’ she said smiling. ‘I have that golden medallion we saw. It is of Roman craftsmanship and should be worth something.’
At first Marcus almost struck her in his grief. But then he calmed down again. She had helped him so much. Besides, if she had not taken it, someone else would have done. Someone less worthy.
He nodded slowly and said, ‘Yes, Saxon, we will go to Vectis. Where else is there to go?’
