Augusta regarded her golden-haired daughter with well-disguised distaste before looking to her husband. “Marcus?”
Sighing inwardly, Marcus nodded. “Go. Jilana and I will follow shortly.” When the two women had passed through the battered-down gate, evidence that the Iceni had tried to keep the palace inviolate, Marcus lifted Jilana’s head from his shoulder and gazed into the clouded violet eyes. “I would have spared you the sight of the Procurator’s vengeance.”
“Is it Caesar’s will to rape and murder,” Jilana asked tearfully. “The Iceni are—were—our allies. Is this how Romans treat their friends?”
Jilana was fast losing her innocence, a loss Marcus deeply regretted but was helpless to prevent. “We shall speak of this later, Jilana, in the privacy of our home; but for now we must obey the order to see Boadicea dispossessed.”
“Father, I cannot,” Jilana implored, her voice breaking. “I beg you, allow me to return to the villa.”
Marcus shook his head. “For good or bad, you are Roman. I will not have any say my daughter is disloyal.” He gripped Jilana’s shoulders tightly. “Look, but do not see. Hear, but do not feel. And remember always that I love you. Now come.”
Jilana walked numbly beside her father into the courtyard of the Iceni palace, barely noticing the press of people. Augusta’s dark auburn hair was like a signal beacon from the forefront of the crowd and Jilana smiled wanly as her mother slipped a comforting arm about Jilana’s waist. “‘Twill not be so terrible, Jilana. The Procurator will read Caesar’s command and Boadicea and her daughters will leave the palace, that is all.”
“Oh, nay! Surely there will be more,” Claudia exclaimed breathlessly, her dark eyes glittering. “Defiance such as Boadicea displayed yesterday, and today by ordering the palace gate barred, is not tolerated; I learned that much in Rome. Catus Decianus will undoubtedly make an example of this upstart barbarian. Look! The soldiers come!”
Jilana swallowed the bile which kept rising in her throat and turned with the rest of the spectators as a squad of soldiers detached itself from the main body and marched to the doors of the palace. Words were exchanged between the Roman centurion and the Iceni guards—harsh words, for a moment later the unarmed guards were ruthlessly slain by the soldiers. A gasp went up from the crowd, then a cheer as Catus Decianus stepped forward from his personal guards.
“Romans!” The Procurator’s words rang clearly through the courtyard and Jilana felt herself grow lightheaded with fear and self-loathing. “Behind these walls is a woman who has defied Roman law and mocked our Divine Emperor Nero! She has named me liar when I told her of Caesar’s will concerning the Iceni people. While we mourn the death of our friend and ally, King Prasutagus, we also realize that he left no male issue to succeed him. We reject the harlot queen’s argument that Iceni royalty flows also through her veins and that she should, therefore, enjoy the same rights the Empire so generously bestowed upon her husband. There is no male heir! The ruling line of Prasutagus is ended!” Catus Decianus paused and fixed the waiting crowd with a feverish stare. “Britannia was subdued and brought into the empire eighteen years past. We were generous; we did not behead or crucify those who had fought against us. The Empire did, in all good faith, conclude treaties with the barbarian kings, and see how our generosity is repaid! We are mocked, ridiculed. The temple dedicated to the Divine Emperor Claudius, he who dealt so faithfully with the Britons, falls into disrepair at Camulodunum because the barbarians will not part with a single coin to do honor to his memory!” Outraged murmurs went up from the Romans at this, and Catus allowed them time to whip up their indignation.
“He lies!” From their place at the courtyard wall, well behind the true Roman legionaries, Heall made the accusation through clenched teeth.
Caddaric nodded imperceptibly, filled with the longing to bury his sword into the back of the Roman Procurator, the only target available from their position. “Men have been beggared for that temple,” he replied in an equally hushed voice. “This we know, but the Romans do not care for truth. Catus does but justify his actions.”
“We are not helpless,” Heall ground out. “We have seen royal guards slain and we do naught. Are we cowards?”
“Nay, but we are only two!’ Caddaric subdued his terrible wrath with an effort. “Our deaths now would serve no purpose, but our time will come to repay tenfold what we have seen. Be silent now, draw no attention to us.”
The grumbles of the Roman citizens had grown to a low roar and now Catus Decianus raised his hands for silence. “My countrymen, hear now Caesar’s will and see how the Empire deals with traitors. The land of the Iceni is no longer an ally but shall henceforth be only a province of the Empire. The chieftains of the Iceni are hereby stripped of all lands and possessions. All relatives of King Prasutagus will be gathered up and sold into slavery, including the woman Boadicea and her two daughters, and their ancestral holdings will revert to our Divine Emperor Nero. But first, the Empire will show all of Britannia how it deals with miscreants and troublemakers. The woman who calls herself queen will be scourged so that she may carry Caesar’s mark with her into slavery!” At Catus’ signal, the squad of Roman soldiers shouldered a battering ram and attacked the wood of the palace door.
The thunderous sound of wood hitting wood flayed Jilana’s nerves and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. About her people were laughing, cheering the efforts of the legionaries, and a feeling of deep shame coursed through Jilana. She had believed, in her ignorance, that Roman soldiers fought only other soldiers, that an unarmed populace had nothing to fear. So this is how slaves are made, Jilana thought dully. While their friends owned slaves, her father employed only freemen, but until this moment Jilana had never spared a thought toward the source of those slaves.
“Father?” Claudia’s voice drew Jilana’s attention and she watched as Claudia went to Marcus and laid an imploring hand on his arm. “Father, will you purchase an Iceni for me so that I might have a maid to attend only myself?”
Marcus shook his head. “You and your sister have an attendant, Claudia.”
“One that we must share,” Claudia replied emphatically. “Father I am fully grown, far past the age when I should be allowed my own maid. In Rome, Aunt Cyrilla insisted I have a woman of my own.”
“This is not Rome,” Marcus said, exchanging a look with Augusta. “Your mother’s sister lives differently than we.”
“But how shall I face my friends when I return to Rome,” Claudia wailed. “They will have heard of the upstart Iceni and will want to know why the house of Basilius would not buy so much as a maid!”
Marcus started to answer, but the crack of the palace door giving way stopped his words. Claudia gleefully clapped her hands and started forward, taking up the cry of: “Bring forth the harlot queen! Let the Iceni taste Roman justice.”
The massed citizenry surged forward and Jilana found herself separated from her parents and unwillingly pushed to the very fore of the spectators. Her heart pounding, Jilana forced her eyes away from the splintered palace door and gazed at the sky. She would not watch this spectacle—not even if Nero himself so ordered!
“Jilana? Jilana?” Claudia’s high voice forced Jilana to survey the crowd and she discovered her sister some distance to her right. Smiling proudly, Claudia pointed to the wood-framed palace and screamed, “‘Tis Lucius! He has the honor of dragging the harlot forth.”
Pale, Jilana turned violet eyes to the door and beheld the sight of her betrothed escorting a tall, red-haired woman from the building. Once he reached out and placed a hand on her upper arm, but she shook him off with haughty disdain. Boadicea! Looking every inch a queen, Boadicea walked past the assemblage to the place where Catus stood and stared at him coldly. ‘Twas obvious Boadicea had no intention of humbling herself before the Roman Procurator, and a hush descended as the people strained to hear what was said.
“You have come early, Roman,” Boadicea stated in a rich, clear voice. She tossed
her head, sending the long, red hair flying like a defiant pennant, and glanced at the silent crowd. “Are your lives so empty that you take pleasure in seeing a defenseless woman beaten?”
“Silence,” Catus roared. “You are here to be punished, woman, not to mock these loyal Romans.”
Boadicea’s hands clenched into fists, her only outward show of emotion. “You have slain my guards and battered your way into my palace. What has happened to my people outside these walls I can only guess. I am powerless to resist what you have planned for me, but I will not hold my tongue because you so order, maggot. No Roman commands me!”
An angry hiss went up from the crowd and Catus stiffened. “You would have done better to beg mercy, harlot.”
“Mercy? From you?” Boadicea threw back her head and laughed.
Enraged, Catus turned to Lucius. “Bind her, Tribune. Take her to the scourging post.” The post in the courtyard was actually the weapon-stone, a tall column of sharpening stone. Its presence was traditional in every Celtic chief’s forecourt: anyone wanting to sharpen a weapon was free to use the weapon-stone. For Boadicea, being bound to the stone must have been doubly painful, for the Iceni had long ago surrendered most of their weapons to the Romans. And, unknown to the conquerors, what few arms the Iceni had retained were buried in the earth, of no use to their Queen.
Lucius saluted and obeyed, no flicker of emotion touching his face as he and his men marched the bound Iceni Queen to the scourging post. Nor did he glance at Jilana, though he passed directly in front of her.
Try as she might, Jilana found she could not obey her father’s instructions to neither see nor feel. When Boadicea’s dress gave way beneath a soldier’s rough hands so that her back might be bared for the whip, Jilana barely suppressed a dismayed gasp; and when the whip sang through the air to crack sickeningly against the Queen’s bare skin Jilana sank her nails into the palms of her hands. Boadicea bore the scourging silently, her head cradled against the cushion formed by her upraised arms. From the sound of the first lash until the whip at last fell silent, Jilana did not look away from the tall, proud woman.
“Cut her down,” Catus ordered finally. When the command was mercilessly carried out, a cry escaped Boadicea’s lips as she sank to the ground and the Procurator smiled. Ignoring the fallen woman, he commanded, “Tribune, take your men into the palace and remove from it any object of value.”
The soldiers departed, as did some of the citizens, but the majority of the Romans hurried forward to laugh and jeer at Boadicea as she struggled to her feet. Jilana was buffeted from one side to the other by her impatient countrymen but she felt it not. Glancing toward the palace, Jilana saw a dozen weeping women being held against the palace wall by the drawn swords of a squad of legionaries. They had to be Boadicea’s ladies in waiting, Jilana realized, for they were gesturing toward the Queen and talking rapidly. Jilana looked to Catus Decianus and was revolted to find him laughing, obviously relishing Boadicea’s futile attempts to rise.
Of their own volition, Jilana’s legs carried her forward and she rudely shouldered people aside until she stood in front of Boadicea. The Iceni Queen slowly raised her head until her brilliant, blue eyes locked with Jilana’s violet ones. For a long moment they stared at each other, Boadicea awaiting the fall of yet another Roman insult and Jilana searching vainly for words to express the sorrow which filled her heart.
“Jilana, nay,” Marcus whispered, somehow knowing what his daughter would do.
Augusta had seen her, too, and she lunged forward. “Marcus, we must stop her!”
Marcus caught his wife before she had taken two steps and held her firmly in his arms. In a horrified voice he told her, ‘“Tis too late, Augusta. The gods must protect her now.”
Caddaric, unable to see what was taking place because of his position, had had his fill of Roman abuse. “No matter what befalls me, Heall, return to the others before the gates of the town are closed. The Queen’s chieftains must be told what has transpired here today.”
“Caddaric!” Heall lurched forward but the young warrior was far out of his reach.
Unaware of the tumult, Jilana extended a slender hand to the fallen Queen. “Come, let me help you.” Boadicea eyed her warily and, in spite of the insults her fellow Romans were shouting, Jilana bent and drew one of Boadicea’s arms around her shoulders.
Boadicea came to her feet with a small cry and Jilana struggled under the woman’s weight. The crowd refused to yield and Jilana, a grim set to her jaw, pushed at the human wall with her free hand. Vile epithets followed Jilana’s every step but she ignored them as she doggedly cleared a path for herself and her awkward burden. Though she was tall by Roman standards, Jilana was far smaller than the Iceni Queen and Boadicea was forced to bend in order to accept Jilana’s aid, an action which caused even greater pain to her raw back.
“Let me go, child,” Boadicea groaned softly. “When he has humiliated me to his satisfaction, the Procurator will have me carried inside.”
“Nay,” Jilana panted, shuddering when a glob of spittle splattered against her toga. “I would have you know at least one Roman here today is not lacking in courage.”
They had advanced only another few inches when the crowd abruptly quieted and parted, and Jilana stared straight into the narrowed eyes of Catus Decianus. “You flaunt Nero’s will, woman,” the Procurator said in a menacing voice. “This Iceni is bound for Rome, to serve the Emperor himself. Nero will not take it kindly when he learns of your interference.”
“Will he take kindly the fact that you allowed his newest slave to wallow in the dirt so that her wounds became infected?” Jilana retorted, although her heart thumped wildly in her breast. Lucius stood at the Procurator’s side and Jilana avoided his censorious stare. “Only a fool would allow Caesar’s prize to court destruction, Catus Decianus.”
The Procurator’s face turned an ugly shade of red and Lucius hastily stepped forward. “Jilana, your concern for this woman is misplaced. Her wounds—”
“You know this woman, Tribune,” Catus inquired angrily.
White brackets appeared at the sides of Lucius’ mouth, but he answered steadily, “Aye, Excellency. She is my betrothed.”
“Ah, I know her now. You are the daughter of Marcus Basilius, are you not?” Without waiting for Jilana’s reply, Catus added, “You are young and therefore allowed a mistake in judgment. Leave the barbarian and return to your home. We will see to her care.”
Jilana’s violet gaze did not waver. “Will you give the order now, Excellency, within my hearing?”
For a moment it seemed Catus would strike her, and Jilana braced herself for the blow. Catus raised his hand but then, apparently, changed his mind. Glancing about the crowd he spied a grim-faced legionary and motioned to him. “You, Centurion! Come here.” When the centurion halted behind the woman and saluted, Catus ordered, “Take the Iceni into the palace, and be quick.”
Catus turned and stalked off, Lucius following him, and the crowd, sensing that there was no further sport to be found here, dispersed.
“I will take the Queen now.”
The familiar, deep voice sent Jilana’s heart racing and as Boadicea’s weight was taken from her, she gazed wordlessly into the centurion’s blue eyes.
Caddaric gently pulled his Queen’s arm across his broad shoulders. “Queen Boadicea will be cared for, lady.”
Jilana nodded and wrenched her eyes back to Boadicea’ s strained features. “I will have a salve made for your wounds, Majesty, and my father’s own physician will tend you.”
Sadness filled Boadicea’s eyes and she shook her head. “Nay, child. There is no need for you to do more. For your kindness I give you thanks.”
Jilana watched until they were inside the palace before she turned and left the courtyard. It struck her, as Jilana wound her way through the streets to the villa, that barely two hours had passed since sunrise.
Boadicea did not speak until the centurion had carried her through the ransa
cked Iceni palace to her chambers. The Queen’s chambers were untouched—at least for the moment—and Caddaric tenderly lowered Boadicea to her couch and then touched her hand to his forehead in a gesture of servitude.
“The Roman uniform suits you well, Caddaric,” Boadicea commented in a strained voice. “I nearly mistook you for a true centurion.”
“Forgive me, my Queen.” Caddaric went down on one knee before her. “I would have served you best by impaling the Procurator on my sword.”
“Nay, Caddaric. Such action would have brought your death, and my back would still have been laid open. You chose the wisest course.”
Boadicea had winced at the mention of her wounds and Caddaric hurriedly rose. “I shall bring your women, Highness, so they may tend your wounds.”
“Hold, Caddaric.” Boadicea forced her pain away and motioned Caddaric back to her. From outside her chamber came the sound of Roman feet tramping over the wooden floors as the soldiers carried out the Procurator’s order to sack the palace. Tears started to Boadicea’s eyes as pain, humiliation and visions of the scene outside her chamber threatened to overwhelm her. “Am I so much a threat to Rome that they could not leave me what was rightfully mine?”
Caddaric strode to the door and, after assuring himself that no one was within hearing distance, closed the portal and returned to the couch. “Our people have answered your call. By nightfall our force will be large enough to take you and your daughters from Venta Icenorum and protect you until the rest of the warriors are roused. In a month we will be strong enough to meet the Romans, defeat them, and spirit you safely to the northern part of the island.”
“Nay, Caddaric, I will not run!” Boadicea leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Have I enough warriors to avenge myself here, this night?”
Caddaric hesitated. “Tonight, Majesty?”
“In two days they will take me to Londinium and from there to Rome. Ihave no time, Caddaric!” Boadicea lowered her voice. “Have I warriors enough?”
Defy the Eagle Page 3
