The Lion and the Lark

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I find it difficult to remember myself sometimes,” Maeve said.

  Maeve looked at the old woman. “Do you?” she asked.

  “Yes, and not just because I healed him and I don’t want to see a life lost that I saved,” Maeve said. “I’ve forgotten what he stands for because of the way he treats me.”

  “Yes, I know,” Bronwen said softly.

  “‘The gods look graciously upon a kind master,’” Maeve observed, obviously quoting something.

  Bronwen nodded, smiling slightly to hear those words pass Maeve’s lips. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Claudius said it to me one day when I asked him why he dealt so fairly with all of his servants. Romans are not known for that, he is unusual. He told me that when he was a boy he had a Greek tutor who said that the character of a man could be determined by the way he managed his dependents. Needless cruelty, or even indifference, was the mark of a brute. And then he repeated that line to me. It’s from one of the Greek writers, I forget the name.”

  “That sounds like Claudius,” Bronwen said, wiping her suddenly wet eyes. “He’s always quoting the Greeks, and he could slay ten of them with a short knife and his eyes closed.” She began to laugh, and the laughter segued into a flood of tears as she sank back into her chair. “He admires the Greeks, but he can’t help being a Roman from tip to toe. He talks about the philosophers and Aristotle and his boyhood tutor, but if you touch him in the night and take him by surprise he’ll have you on the floor with his fingers around your throat before you can blink an eye.” She sobbed aloud and Maeve knelt before her, taking both of the younger woman’s hands in her brown, gnarled ones.

  “How can I help you?” Maeve asked quietly.

  “No one can help me,” Bronwen moaned. “Every moment that Claudius is gone I brood on what might happen to him, and as you see I can’t seem to stop crying.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand like a child.

  “There could be another reason for that,” Maeve said flatly.

  Bronwen raised her eyes to meet Maeve’s.

  “I do the laundry,” Maeve said bluntly. “You are past time for your monthly issue of blood.”

  Bronwen looked away from her. “I didn’t realize you were keeping such a close watch on me,” she said.

  “Your needs are my concern,” Maeve said simply. “I noticed that the linens I had prepared for you have gone unused and...”

  Bronwen raised her hand to forestall the rest of the statement. “I know,” she said. “I could be pregnant.”

  “You probably are. You were always very regular before...”

  “Before Claudius and I began making love at every available moment,” Bronwen finished, sighing.

  “You can’t be surprised.”

  Bronwen lifted her shoulders slightly.

  “Did you think a Roman’s seed would not sprout in a British belly?” Maeve asked dryly.

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “But now you are.”

  Bronwen nodded. “Too much.” She closed her eyes. “The worst of it is, I can’t tell him. He lost a child already, a son, and he wants children so much. But how can I say anything to him about this when I know what’s going to happen and he doesn’t?” She opened her eyes again and saw that the shaft of sunlight coming through the window had moved further across the bedroom floor. She stood again and swallowed hard, wiping her eyes with the corner of her shawl and pushing her hair back from her face.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I want to talk to Lucia Scipio before Claudius comes home. I won’t be able to get away from him after that.”

  Maeve rose also and put her hand on Bronwen’s shoulder.

  “If there is anything I can do, let me know,” Maeve said gently.

  Bronwen patted the hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what I would have done without you through all of this,” she said to Maeve. “If you want to leave the fort now I’ll cover for your absence and say that I sent you to see my father.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m staying. I have to try to get Claudius away from here.”

  “Then I’ll stay too.”

  “You understand the danger?” Bronwen said.

  Maeve nodded. “I’m an old woman, and have lived through many sieges. Before the Romans came it was the tribes fighting each other. If this is my time to die, so be it. I’m ready.”

  Bronwen bit her lip. “I bitterly regret the way I treated you when you first tried to tell me about Claudius. I didn’t want to hear what you were saying; I didn’t want to believe he was my destiny.” She sighed. “I was too afraid, I knew what it would mean. And I’m still afraid, more than ever. I don’t think we can all live through this.”

  “You’ll survive. In your own way you’re just as tough as that canny brother of yours.” Maeve smiled and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Bronwen glanced into the mirror and straightened her hair, then exchanged her shawl for the full length, hooded sagum she wore outdoors. She pulled on her boots, waited a short time until the servants had disappeared to prepare dinner and then slipped out of the house.

  It was not snowing, but the wind blew fallen snow from the drifts across her path in such abundance that it was difficult to tell the difference. She walked quickly down the cleared lane between the officers’ houses and stopped before the Scipio home, where the entrance was lit by flaring torches and the hulking Helvetiian guard stood next to the door, bundled up for the weather.

  Bronwen threw back her hood so that he could see her face and he stepped aside, opening the door.

  Inside the house Ariovistus appeared as soon as the door closed behind her.

  “Lady Leonatus,” he said, inclining his head.

  “Good evening, Ariovistus. Is your mistress at home?” Bronwen asked him, as he took her cloak.

  “She’s in the kitchen, directing the staff. Shall I summon her for you, Madam?”

  “No, no, don’t disturb her,” Bronwen said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. Her few encounters with Scipio’s wife had been uncomfortable, with the senior Scipiana barely able to conceal her contempt for Tribune Leonatus’ barbarian wife. “It is really Lucia I have come to see.”

  Ariovistus raised one arched brow.

  “She is fond of my servant Maeve, once attached to this house, and the old woman is feeling poorly. I wish merely to ask Lucia to visit her some time soon.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that Maeve has fallen ill,” Ariovistus said smoothly. “The young mistress is in the tablinum. Shall I show you in there, Lady Leonatus?”

  “Please,” Bronwen replied. She followed the servant into the Scipio parlor, where the girl was seated before a rack of playing tiles. When she saw Bronwen her eyes widened and she rose to her feet.

  “Lady Leonata to see you, miss,” Ariovistus said. “Shall I bring some refreshment?”

  “I don’t care for anything, thank you,” Bronwen said.

  “Leave us, Ariovistus. I don’t wish to be disturbed,” Lucia said to the servant.

  Ariovistus bowed and left the room. Once they were alone Bronwen hurried to the girl’s side and whispered rapidly, “I have a message from my brother.”

  “Yes, yes, what is it?” Lucia answered, clutching Bronwen’s arm tightly.

  “You are to meet him tonight at the first change of the watch, outside the walls at the abandoned well facing the entry guardpost.”

  Lucia nodded, her dark eyes fixed on Bronwen’s face.

  “Be ready to go with him for good,” Bronwen added.

  Lucia sighed and her hand fell away.

  “Lucia, what is going on here? I received only that message to convey to you, I don’t know anything else,” Bronwen said.

  Lucia glanced over Bronwen’s shoulder and then walked to the entrance of the room, which was open to the atrium on either side. When she was satisfied that no one was lingering to overhear their conversation Lucia returned to Bron
wen and said in an undertone, “I didn’t know Brettix was your brother until just the last time I saw him. I knew only that he was a native tutor with whom I had fallen in love.”

  “And now you’re going away with him?”

  “He’s going to take me with him, to his people.” She paused. “To your people.”

  Bronwen closed her eyes. She could imagine the reception that dark haired, dark eyed Lucia, the daughter of a Roman general, would get from the Iceni, but Brettix seemed capable of anything.

  Perhaps he could work the miracle of this girl’s assimilation too.

  Both young women looked up as they heard another female voice at the back of the house.

  “That’s my mother,” Lucia said rapidly, taking Bronwen’s arm. “I’ll take you out the front door. I won’t have to explain your visit here if she doesn’t see you.”

  “What about Ariovistus?”

  “He’ll keep his mouth shut if I tell him to be quiet about it.” Lucia ushered Bronwen back into the atrium, grabbing her cloak from the rack near the door. She opened it to admit a blast of cold air and saw the guard a short distance away.

  “I can send Larsendt home with you if you like,” she said. “He doesn’t have much to do now that I’m not going out to the stables any more, so my father has him posted out there like a Praetorian.”

  “No, thank you, I’ll be fine,” Bronwen said. She gripped the younger girl’s hand in farewell and said softly, “Good luck tonight.”

  Lucia nodded, returning the pressure of Bronwen’s fingers, and then closed the door.

  Bronwen hurried home, her arms wrapped around her torso to cheat the wind, anxious to see her husband.

  Brettix crouched behind a boulder, freezing, glancing backward at the horses. Stella and one of his father’s mares were tethered to the tree behind him. The watch was changing inside the fort; he could see the men moving along the ramparts and hear the distant drumbeat of marching feet. He rubbed his hands together briskly, blowing on them, and reviewed in his mind everything that could go wrong with his plan.

  Lucia might be caught by her father as she tried to leave the house, she might be caught by a sentry as she went through the fence, she might, in fact, make any small mistake that would prevent her from joining him. But he couldn’t risk going back into the garrison himself again; the two of them trying to leave together would be folly. This was the only way, he told himself as he waited for her, searching the darkness frantically for a small, fleet figure with flying hair.

  When he felt the touch on his shoulder he jumped and cried out; Lucia reached up to put her hand over his mouth and then embraced him.

  Brettix held her to him, closing his eyes, burying his face in her fragrant hair.

  “Did you get away clean? Did anyone see you?” he finally said anxiously.

  She stepped back to look up at him; he could barely discern her features in the enclosing darkness.

  “No one saw me. I went to visit my mother before I left, wearing my nightgown as if I were going to bed. I kissed her good night and then put on these clothes and crept out of the house through the kitchen door.”

  “The guard?”

  “He was at the front entrance.” She hesitated. “It was a mistake to talk to my mother,” she went on sadly. “I found it hard to leave her. I know how difficult she is, but she’s still...she does care about me.”

  “You’ll see her again,” Brettix said soothingly, pulling her into his arms once more.

  “No, I won’t, Brettix. Don’t lie to me. Our people will always be at each other’s throats. Even if you get what you want and Octavian withdraws the legions from Britain my mother will go home with my father and I’ll never see either one of them again.” He could hear the threat of tears in her voice.

  “Do want to go back?” he said quietly into her ear.

  Her grip on him tightened. “No, no, but I wish I didn’t have to pick you over them. I wish I could have you and my parents too.”

  Brettix didn’t reply. He knew her wish was impossible and so there was nothing to say.

  Lucia hung on to him for a few moments more, then released him and said, “Let’s go. We can’t stay here, it’s too close to the fort.”

  Brettix took her hand and led her to Stella, helping her to mount the horse, then mounted his own. When they were cantering side by side she looked over at him and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To the home of my friend Parex. He and his sister are staying elsewhere for the night so we can be alone.”

  “Not to your father’s house?” Lucia asked.

  Brettix glanced away from her. “No, not there. I haven’t told him about you yet.”

  “So you’re just going to present him with me, like an unwanted gift?” she asked archly.

  “It was the only way to deal with him, Lucia. He’d argue with me about the color of the sky, and my recent return from the dead has not changed his attitude one bit. If I’d told him about you he would have worked against me, and this was hard enough to do without his interference. Now stay close behind me when I go, the moon is only half full and you’re not familiar with the route.”

  He trotted off, leaving Lucia no choice but to follow him.

  Stella picked her way over the frozen ground, following the path of Brettix’ horse, and Lucia felt the cold air press upon her face, much colder than any wind she’d experienced in her native Italy. But unlike her mother, who refused to step out of doors once the leaves began to fall, Lucia found the British winter bracing and the change of seasons marvelous. She was looking forward to living through year after year with Brettix.

  By the time they entered the Iceni village Lucia’s curiosity about where Brettix had lived before she met him reached its peak. She threw back the cowl of her cloak to look around at the closely grouped huts, their thatched roofs gleaming silver in the moonlight, dark except for the light of a candle visible through the slats of one of two shuttered windows. Brettix slowed his horse as two men armed with spears emerged from the darkness and confronted him. When he pulled back his hood and they saw who it was they stepped back abruptly, gazing at Lucia curiously as she and Brettix rode past them.

  Lucia followed Brettix to one of the last huts in the elongated circle and dismounted when he did, tethering her horse alongside his to a post at the back of the house. When they entered it they found a fire burning, candles lit upon the table and food set out next to them.

  Brettix smiled. “Cartia did this. My friend’s sister.”

  “Where did they go? She and your friend?”

  “Their uncle lives just across the way,” Brettix replied, pulling off Lucia’s cloak and leading her to the fire. “They went to spend the night with him.”

  “Brettix, what are we going to do about your father? When will you tell him about us?”

  “I won’t have to tell him. News travels fast in this village. He’ll know by morning.” He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to give us this night alone, without having to bother with explanations, but he’ll adjust to us. He’s not a monster.”

  “He’s the king! If he hates me everyone else will too.”

  “He will not hate you once he sees how much you mean to me. Now let’s forget all of that and get warm.” He pulled her more fully into his arms and she stiffened.

  He released her abruptly. “Tell me,” he said flatly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You wanted to get me out of the fort tonight for a reason. There was no full moon to travel by and I have waited several weeks to hear from you. Why tonight, Brettix?”

  “What’s the matter? You’re suspicious because I’ve kept you a secret from my father?”

  “I need to know why you chose tonight for my departure,” she insisted quietly.

  “I wanted you to be safe.”

  “From what?”

  Brettix sighed. “We’re attacking the garrison at dawn day after tomorrow,” he s
aid.

  Lucia stared at him for a long, breathless moment, then nodded slowly. “And you weren’t going to tell me this? ”she whispered.

  “You would have to know.”

  “But not until after I’d slept with you tonight, is that it?”

  Brettix didn’t answer, stung.

  “Who is ‘we’?” she asked. “Who are your allies?”

  “The Trinovantes, the Regni, some other southeastern tribes.”

  “You got them all to work in concert?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have done some convincing.”

  “The occupying force is not popular with anyone.”

  “Even the Trinovantes?”

  “Even them. They’re making money off your people but that doesn’t mean they like them.”

  “So they’re willing to cut off the profits to drive us out?” Lucia demanded.

  “Yes,” Brettix said, slightly taken aback by her use of the word “us” to describe the Romans. “Apparently they’d rather be in charge of their own destinies than line their pockets in concert with an invader.”

  “That’s a new attitude for them, isn’t it?” Lucia said dryly.

  “Some people take longer than others to see the light.”

  “Or they require persuading by a master of the art,” Lucia said. “What did you promise them?”

  “Freedom.”

  “I see. And why did you choose this particular date for the attack?” Lucia asked. “You could have come at any time.”

  “The garrison at Londinium has been depleted to half strength, the Romans won’t be able to send reinforcements when we strike,” Brettix said, deciding that he might as well tell her everything.

  Lucia’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

  “Bronwen has been reading her husband’s dispatches and passing the information along to me. But even if the Romans in Londinium were at full strength the southern pass is blocked with snow so they wouldn’t be able to get through anyway.”

  Lucia considered that and then said softly, “You’ll do anything to be rid of my countrymen, won’t you?”

  “You told me that in my place you would have done as I have! You told me that you understood,” Brettix said carefully, alarmed by the mutinous expression on her face.