“Perhaps. Your chieftains will begin arriving in the forest with our force by afternoon.” Caddaric paused, considering. “What is your plan?”
“Surprise—total surprise. Tonight the Romans will be celebrating. They will be drunk on wine and the shedding of Iceni blood; they will not expect us to attack.” Boadicea took Caddaric’s hand. “Go to my chieftains, Caddaric, tell them what I desire.”
“And if the Queen’s wish is impossible?”
“Then I will go north. But I would rather die fighting the Romans than running from them.” Boadicea released him. “Go now, Caddaric. I know you will find your way back with my answer.”
“If it please you, Majesty, I will send Heall in my stead and I will remain here to guard you.”
Boadicea shook her head. “You must both go. The Romans can do no more to me than what has already transpired. My women will tend me while you and Heall learn the enemy’s weakness and rally my warriors.” Caddaric started to protest but Boadicea silenced him with an imperious look. “Go, my brave warrior, and return to me with glad tidings.”
Caddaric bowed and left his Queen. The palace was alive with Roman soldiers and Caddaric surreptitiously lade his way past the growing piles of confiscated royal belongings to the courtyard where Heall waited. Wordlessly Caddaric gripped Heall’s upper arm and steered him toward the palace gates.
“I thought you had been taken,” Heall growled; then, noting the direction they took, he questioned, “Why are we leaving? Should we not stay with the Queen?”
“She bids us leave,” Caddaric answered, and he quietly explained Boadicea’s orders to the older man. “We must locate the barracks and armory and determine the strength of the Roman garrison. Then we will wait with Clywd for the Queen’s chieftains and tell them what we have learned.”
****
While Caddaric and Heall set about learning the enemy’s defenses, Jilana stepped inside her parents’ walled garden and, with a slight squaring of her shoulders, walked to the villa. The servants looked at her askance and Jilana sighed inwardly—the news of her indiscretion had spread quickly. Over the tiled floors Jilana glided, the soft click of her sandals echoing hollowly as she passed through the hall. Claudia’s enraged voice carried from the far side of the villa’s lower floor and Jilana increased her pace. Character assassination was Claudia’s first love and Jilana did not intend to allow her sister a clear field on which to hone her skills.
“How could Jilana behave as she did,” Claudia was shrieking as Jilana entered the room. “How could she? as bad enough she went to that.. .that barbarian’s aid, but to be recognized by the Procurator as well! I do not know how I shall bear the humiliation.”
”Why should you be humiliated,” Jilana asked, her quiet tone a vivid contrast to her sister’s. “‘Twas not your hand which raised Boadicea from the ground, Claudia. The responsibility is mine to bear.”
“As well you should,” Claudia snapped. “But we will suffer as well. Catus Decianus will surely mention you in his report to Rome—Father’s business will be hurt and my chances for a perfect marriage will be ruined.”
Jilana wrinkled her nose. “We are a long way from Rome, Claudia. I doubt anyone there, including the Emperor, will take too much notice of what happens on this island.” She glanced around the room. “Where is Mother?”
“In her bedchamber, where you have driven her,” Claudia jeered.
“The morning was too much for your mother, I fear,” Marcus put in, a warning eyebrow lifted at Claudia. “The Procurator’s guards escorted us home but would not allow us to wait for you. Your mother was sick with fear that the Procurator had taken you.”
“I am sorry, Father.” Jilana’s cheeks pinkened beneath her father’s gaze. “Not for helping the Iceni Queen, that I do not repent, but for causing you and Mother needless fear.”
“She is not a queen,” Claudia screeched. “She is a slave! Caesar’s slave. You risked our name and good prospects over one who is less than a piece of offal. I shall never live down the humiliation, and if my friends in Rome learn of this I shall die of embarrassment!”
With an exclamation of disgust, Jilana rounded on her sister. “A nation died today, Claudia. An entire people were stripped of their land and made slaves. Surely that is of far more import than the vaulted opinions of people at the other end of the Empire!”
“You will see how important those opinions are when Lucius takes you to Rome,” Claudia spat. “People in Britannia may tolerate your uncivilized ways, but those in Rome will not. Your comeuppance is long overdue, dear sister, and I pray that I may see it delivered.”
“We know well your opinions, Claudia; you have voiced them often enough,” Marcus sighed. “Leave us now; I have matters to discuss with Jilana in private.”
Claudia was not to be denied a parting shot. “Lucius will not be pleased with you, Jilana. He will reprimand you even if Father does not.”
When Claudia was gone, Jilana walked slowly to a place in front of Marcus.
“Will you beat me, Father?”
“Do you feel you deserve a beating,” Marcus countered.
“Claudia thinks so, and so does Catus Decianus, and probably most of your friends,” Jilana replied thoughtfully, but her violet eyes showed no trace of remorse. “For myself, I followed the dictates of my conscience, but I am willing to abide by your decision.”
A smile flirted with the corners of Marcus’ mouth. He had taught his children that inner peace would be achieved only through being true to themselves, but he had also counseled compromise when their conscience ran opposite to the rules of the Empire. Claudia had taken only the advice on compromise to heart whereas Jilana, more often than not, was so true to her conscience that Marcus feared she would die a martyr to it. “When was the last time I struck you, Jilana?”
“The day I released your prize falcon,” Jilana answered promptly. “I thought it cruel he was allowed to fly only when you so willed….but I was only six at the time,” she added, remembering quite well her abused posterior when Marcus had learned of the act.
“So now instead of my falcons you offer yourself as shield to Nero’s scourged slave. Caesar would do more than redden your buttocks if you earned his wrath. Remember that, Jilana, and take my warning to heart.”
Jilana bowed her head meekly, obediently. “Aye, Father.”
Frowning at this sudden change in heart, Marcus lifted Jilana’s chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I regret what happened to the Iceni people and their Queen, Jilana, but nothing you or I do or say can change Caesar’s will. For good or bad we are Romans, daughter. We must make concessions to our citizenship. One day, perhaps when Lucius gains the power he desires, you and he will be able to change our government and curb its excesses, but the time is not yet ripe. Do not sacrifice your life without purpose.”
Jilana stared at her father with new understanding. “Was Claudia right, Father? Have my actions endangered you?”
“Claudia exaggerates,” Marcus said gently. “Eyebrows will be raised and a few tongues may wag but that is all. In time, all will be forgotten.” “Will Lucius forget?”
Marcus smiled. “Aye, if you do not remind him.” He sobered. “The first step toward erasing people’s memories will be taken tomorrow evening. The Procurator is to dine with us.” Jilana recoiled in horror but Marcus held her fast. “Claudia is delighted; your mother and I are less enthusiastic. You need not fawn over him—that will be happily done by your sister—but you must at least be civil. Keep Lucius at your side throughout the evening; he will deal with any devious questions the Procurator puts to you. Follow Lucius’ lead in conversation and you will be safe. As soon as you decently may, contract a blinding headache, beg the Procurator’s forgiveness, and go to your bedchamber.”
“Aye, Father,” Jilana whispered. Marcus released her and she walked to the door. She paused and turned searching eyes upon her father. “I did not expect the compromise to begin so soon.”
“
Go and see your mother,” Marcus ordered. “Discuss the evening with her. There is no one better at avoiding compromising situations than Augusta. And, Jilana,” he called when she took a step forward, “I was proud this day to call you daughter.”
****
Night came gently to Venta Icenorum, as if denying the violent forces Catus Decianus had that morning set in motion. In the Roman portion of the town, homes were well lit and the sound of laughter and animated conversation filled the night air. In the Iceni quarters, however, homes as well as the mood were dark, forbidding. Not even the sounds of mourning were heard and a sentry at Iceni palace tried vainly to overcome his uneasiness at unaccustomed silence. The sentry pivoted and began retracing his steps along the outside wall of the palace. At the same moment the Roman back was turned, a figure detached itself from the sharpening stone and dashed noiselessly across the shadowed courtyard and into the palace.
Boadicea heard him first, and signaling one of her women to open her chamber door, she drew herself stiffly upright on the Roman couch, the only piece of furniture the soldier had allowed her to keep. “Enter, Caddaric,” said in a hushed voice, “and tell me what news you bear.”
Caddaric obeyed, his tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway before he strode into the room and went down on one knee in front of his queen. “Forgive me, Majesty, but our number is too small to accomplish your wishes this night. We require one more day in which to grow strong enough to bring the Romans low.”
Boadicea sighed. “So little time, Caddaric, and yet the morrow seems an eternity away. My heart screams for vengeance and you say I must wait.” The royal features contorted with thwarted need as Boadicea came “to a decision. “Then tell my chieftains to fill the streets with Roman blood. Tell them also to bring to me the Roman Procurator and his personal guards. I will see their deaths with my own eyes.”
“‘Twill be as you command, Majesty.”
For a moment the Queen was silent, contemplating the shadows cast by the room’s solitary lamp. In a harsh tone Boadicea said, “They outraged my daughters, Caddaric. Stripping my daughters of their inheritance was not enough, the Romans had to take their virginity as well. Tell that to my people.”
Caddaric closed his eyes, rage heating his blood. “All will be avenged, O Queen. None shall escape our vengeance.” He touched her hand to his forehead and went to the door.
“Caddaric.” Boadicea’s voice swung the warrior about. “The young woman who helped me today—do you remember her?”
“Aye, Majesty.” Caddaric’s hand tightened around his sword hilt. How could he forget Jilana when she had been in his thoughts throughout the day? She and the man who claimed to be her betrothed.
“She is to be spared along with her family, if such a thing is possible. You will see to it, Caddaric.” Before Caddaric could think her lenient Boadicea continued, “They will be made slaves—the girl will be given to the warrior who brings Catus Decianus to me.”
“As you command, Majesty.” A wave of the royal hand dismissed him and minutes later Caddaric had left the town behind and melted into the forest beyond.
He felt the presence of warriors and warrior maids all about him, but not even Caddaric’s practiced eye could discern their positions. The forest was alive with his fellow tribesmen and though Caddaric was loathe to consider what the following day would bring, his pride in the Iceni nation swelled his heart. Clywd—once again swathed from head to foot in black—stepped from the trees directly into his son’s path.
“Rebellion?” At Caddaric’s short nod, Clywd appeared to shrink under the voluminous folds of his robe.
“There is no other choice, wise one. You better than anyone should know that we are powerless to fight what the gods decree.”
Clywd turned. “The chieftains wait. I will take you to
Caddaric delivered the Queen’s orders to her chieftains and then detached himself from the waiting Iceni force and made his way to the clearing where he had discovered Jilana. Jilana. Caddaric’s heart hammered painfully as he remembered his first glimpse of the woman who had haunted him for so long. His dreams had not done justice to Jilana’s beauty—she was more incredibly delicate than Caddaric had imagined, her eyes such a remarkable shade of violet that to gaze into them was akin to drowning. He had not expected the unbearable yearning of his soul to possess Jilana, nor had he anticipated Jilana’s bravery in the face of Roman justice. A faint smile curved Caddaric’s lips and he stretched out full length on the ground and contemplated the moon. By the gods, but Jilana’s courage had stirred him! Iceni women—the warrior maids—were as fearless as their male counterparts, more than willing to die a glorious death on the battlefield. But to encounter that same quality in Jilana, a Roman, kindled a flame in his soldier’s heart. When Caddaric had beheld the fierce, uncompromising gleam in those violet eyes he had known that Jilana was his intended mate.
Blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Caddaric allowed his mind to consider the morrow. Since Jilana would be given to the warrior who captured Catus Decianus, Caddaric would have to make certain he was that warrior; but first he would see Jilana safely out of reach of the fighting which would take place. As for Jilana’s family and betrothed … Caddaric’s jaw set in a hard line as he remembered the man who had laid claim to Jilana’s hand. In spite of the Queen’s command, Caddaric could not allow Jilana’s betrothed to come with her into slavery. To accept as her mate an Iceni warrior, she must forget her Roman heritage—she must begin life anew, at Caddaric’s side, with no lingering traces of the Empire to mar their time together. Jilana’s family must be eliminated from her life.
Abruptly Caddaric sat upright and stared at the surrounding forest. He knew that in all probability he would not live out this revolt against Rome. Caddaric was a soldier and a soldier’s lot was to die in battle; it was a fact which, until now, had neither worried nor elated him. He would die one day and he preferred a clean death on a battlefield to that of a lingering death of illness. For that reason Caddaric was the perfect fighting machine, and because his utter contempt for death was tempered with an excellent grasp of timing and strategy, Caddaric had risen to the rank of centurion in the auxiliary. Yet now a feeling of desperation touched Caddaric’s heart as he realized why he had not fallen in some earlier battle. The gods had spared him and tormented him with dreams of Jilana so that he might recognize the woman who would bear his son. Hopefully, Caddaric thought with his usual touch of mockery, the gods were foresighted enough to allow him a leisurely space of time in which to plant his seed within Jilana.
CHAPTER TWO
The morning following Boadicea’s dispossession dawned chill and overcast, fitting Jilana’s mood perfectly. She slipped from her bed before the other members of her family awoke and donned her short riding tunic. As she belted the wide leather girdle around her waist, Jilana’s conscience twinged painfully. She was, again, in direct disobedience of her parents’ wishes, as well as Lucius’. After the scene she had created at the Iceni palace, Lucius had given strict instructions that she not set foot outside the villa until Catus Decianus left Venta Icenorum and her parents had reluctantly agreed. Jilana’ sighed, silenced her guilt, and wrapped a long, warm cloak about her shoulders. She would be trapped in the villa for the better part of the day, preparing herself for the Procurator’s visit, and Jilana needed some time alone to forget the horror of yesterday.
Only a few of the servants were stirring at this hour and Jilana neatly evaded them as she made her way from the villa. The separate kitchen was the place Jilana ran the greatest risk of discovery, but since her grumbling stomach loudly protested the idea of by-passing the source of the delicious smells wafting toward her, Jilana veered toward the kitchen and positioned herself by an open window. Despite the early hour the cooks were busy preparing for tonight’s feast and Jilana’s mouth watered at the sight of cheeses, wheat cakes, fruit and the earthenware jars filled with assorted preserves Marcus had imported from Rome. Jilana’s stomach how
led indignantly at such temptation and she waited impatiently until the two cooks disappeared into the storeroom of the kitchen. The instant her path was clear Jilana left the window and dashed through the door. With a minimum of wasted motion, Jilana snatched up a cold leg of mutton which had caught her eye, a half dozen wheat cakes, and two loaves of freshly baked bread and placed them in a small, woven market basket. Before the two women could return, Jilana fled, darting across the courtyard to the stable.
Jilana’s mount, a gentle bay mare, snorted eagerly at her mistress’s arrival and Jilana lovingly stroked the soft nose before turning her attention to the saddle and bridle. Jilana readied the mare with a careless efficiency which would have disgusted Claudia, and led the animal through the stable and the arched gateway which was hidden from the villa. Once in the street, Jilana sprang into the saddle and sedately walked the mare to the east gate of Venta Icenorum. The sentry knew Jilana well, but this morning his usual smile was missing. Instead of a hearty greeting the sentry briskly motioned her through the gate with a look of studied contempt that cut into her heart. Sighing, Jilana tapped her heels against the mare’s sides and galloped across the plain which stood between the town and the forest.
Without consciously planning to do so, Jilana headed straight to the glade and dismounted at the precise spot where she had been standing the day before when the mysterious centurion had come upon her. For some reason she did not comprehend, Jilana found herself hoping the centurion would appear, even while her sensible self chided her heart for its foolishness. She continued to hope, nonetheless, as she set her confiscated meal on the ground and then slowly surveyed the towering oaks.
Jilana pivoted gracefully, violet eyes searching the undergrowth. “Centurion,” she called softly, willing him to materialize. Eerie silence met her call and when the wind freshened, lifting Jilana’s cloak in billowing folds, an unexpected chill touched her spine. He is here, an inner voice whispered; yet Jilana sensed another presence as well, and this second presence left her mouth dry with fear. Today hatred emanated from the forest, destroying the serenity of her secret place with devastating thoroughness. I dare not stay here, Jilana thought wildly, but it seemed an eternity before her legs regained enough strength to allow Jilana to return to her horse. The wind sighed through the trees, but to Jilana the familiar noise had an ominous ring: the breeze sounded to Jilana’s ears like the screams of a host of dying, tortured souls. With a choked cry, Jilana mounted and sent her mare crashing through the trees.
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