Fear dried Jilana’s mouth and her voice emerged as little more than a whisper. “I—I cannot go with Artair.”
“What you wish does not signify,” Boadicea replied impatiently. “My command will be carried out. You belong to Artair—”
“But Artair did not slay Catus Decianus,” Jilana interrupted desperately.
Artair turned red with anger. “To name me liar before my Queen will not better your fate, Roman!”
“I did not call you liar.” Jilana’s tone was sharper than she had intended and she lowered her voice to a softer level. “I wish only to know how you can be certain the man you slew was Catus Decianus.”
It dawned on Caddaric as Jilana spoke that Artair had not set foot inside Venta Icenorum until last night. Artair had not witnessed Boadicea’s humiliation, and therefore had not seen the Roman Procurator—but he had seen Jilana, Caddaric remembered. Only a fleeting glimpse, as Clywd carried her into the villa, but enough to know that the Roman woman was beautiful.
“I will not answer to a slave,” Artair was saying.
“Then answer to me,” Caddaric said menacingly. When Artair rounded on him, Caddaric lifted a questioning eyebrow. ‘ ‘To my knowledge you have never seen Catus Decianus. How then did you identify the man?”
Boadicea watched the two men closely. One slave—no matter how beautiful—was not worthy of such an uproar. In a few weeks’ time there would be Roman women aplenty for all the Iceni warriors, yet Boadicea doubted another woman would satisfy either of these two men. Artair was a bit of a braggart, but Caddaric was painfully honest. Caddaric would not lightly question Artair’s honesty unless he had good reason, of this Boadicea was certain. Boadicea sighed—her back smarted painfully beneath her gown and her daughters had great need of her. She wanted the business of the Roman woman settled quickly. “I would like an answer as well, Artair. How do you know you killed the Procurator?”
Artair, affronted pride evident, drew himself up to full height. “The man was at the garrison, dressed in the robes of a high-ranking civilian, and he carried the seal of office. But you need not believe me. I took the Roman’s head.”
“Show it to me,” Boadicea commanded.
As Artair hurried to comply, Caddaric glanced at Jilana. Her face was as white as her toga, her violet eyes dark, haunted. Did she know something he did not? Was that why she demanded proof of the Procurator’s death? Or had the events of last night deranged her mind? Artair returned, triumphant and gloating, and held his prize aloft on a pike, an expectant look on his face.
Artair’s proof was greeted by three different reactions: Jilana, though it hardly seemed possible, grew even paler; Boadicea allowed her vexation to show; and Caddaric barely contained a shout of joy. The head was not that of Catus Decianus, but his assistant!
“Artair,” Boadicea began angrily, then shook her head as Artair’s smile faded. “This is not the Procurator.” She turned to Jilana, her eyes burning. “Where is the Procurator, Roman? Where have you hidden him?”
Jilana raised her head, reveling in this small victory. Bitter hatred welled up in her and she threw caution to the wind. “He is gone, O Queen of the Iceni. To Londinium. You and your warriors murdered everyone save the man who wronged you. My congratulations—” Before Jilana could seal her death warrant with her harsh invective, Caddaric stepped forward and slapped her with such force that she fell to the ground. She stared up at Caddaric through tear-filled eyes and knew for the first time the taste of her own blood in her mouth.
Boadicea nodded approvingly, her sympathy for the captive gone. At least one of her warriors knew how to deal with this arrogant Roman. “Take her, Caddaric. She is yours for the services you have performed for me of fate.” She silenced Artair’s protest with a look. ‘“Tis only just, Artair. Do not argue my point.” With that the Queen swept past them and into her palace.
“I will have her back,” Artair told Caddaric bitingly. No matter what the Queen says, this Roman is mine!” “Upon my death, mayhap, but not before,” Caddaric replied
mockingly.
“She will be mine,” Artair repeated, his face rigid with determination. Artair’s gaze fell to Jilana and he added with a sneer. “I would have treated you kindly, Roman, more kindly than Caddaric will. In time, when he tires of you or dies, you will come to me and then you shall learn how I deal with those who so carelessly dishonor me.” Eyes flashing contemptuously, Jilana struggled to her
knees. “I will open my wrists rather than belong to you!” “But not before I have opened your thighs. Think on that, slave.” Artair laughed harshly and swung away, leaving Jilana shaking with fury.
****
Caddaric watched Artair depart, his blue eyes thoughtful. Even when they were children Artair had been given to thoughtless promises and rash threats, yet Caddaric sensed a new resolve in Artair this day. Had Jilana been an ordinary slave, a common prize of war, Caddaric would gladly have shared her with Artair as he had done so often in the past. Caddaric shook his head. Jilana was his destiny, the mother of his still-unconceived child. He could share her with no one, not even Artair.
A certain amount of trepidation filled Jilana as the tall Iceni turned back to her. His eyes, indeed his whole face, were unreadable. In her blind panic to be free of Artair’s ownership, Jilana had not thought to be so casually handed back to Caddaric. Surely now, after the scene she had caused, Caddaric would beat her! Or have her wagging tongue torn from her mouth! She was the enemy and Jilana knew instinctively that Caddaric was far from tolerant of those who opposed him. Her own injured cheek bore witness to that. Caddaric’s large hand swooped toward Jilana and she braced herself for another blow. Surprisingly, Caddaric’s hand stopped just at her shoulder and Jilana stared up at him in confusion.
“Come. I will take you back to the villa.” Some of Jilana’s courage returned and, ignoring Caddaric’s offer, she gained her footing under her own power. She was, however, powerless to prevent Caddaric taking her arm and leading her from the courtyard into the street. They walked silently, Caddaric thinking of ways in which to overcome Jilana’s resistance and Jilana plotting revenge upon and escape from this loathsome Iceni. Another cart of Roman dead rumbled past, diverting Jilana’s thoughts. The body of a woman possessed of dark auburn hair lolled dangerously near the rear edge of the cart and Jilana halted abruptly. A strangled cry escaped her lips as the hair fell away from the woman’s face, revealing features unfamiliar to Jilana.
“What is it?” Caddaric asked impatiently, his temper flaring at what, he was sure, was Jilana’s deliberate defiance.
“My mother—” Jilana choked out. “I… I thought I my mother.”
Caddaric glanced at the receding cart and then at Jilana. “Come.” Jilana obeyed automatically, only to bring herself and Caddaric to a stop before they had taken a dozen steps by the simple method of digging her heels the ground and refusing to move. A fierce gleam in his eye, Caddaric jerked Jilana to him. “You try my good ire overmuch, Roman. Continue in this manner and will learn how I treat disobedient slaves!”
Barely conscious of his ire, Jilana raised her eyes to Caddaric. “I must find them, Briton. My parents, Claudia, Lucius—I cannot allow them to go to their graves lout being properly prepared.”
Caddaric’s face shuttered. “Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Jilana—” Caddaric shook his head. “Mass graves have been dug. There is no way of knowing in which one family lies or if they have yet been buried. They may even be together, Jilana.”
“I do not care!” Jilana said wildly. “I must find them I will, though it means searching every grave! You have killed them, is that not enough for you? Must you deny me the comfort of seeing them purified before gods?”
“What you wish is not possible,” Caddaric replied. “I understand your sorrow, but ‘twill serve no purpose to it through the bodies.”
Jilana blanched. “Are they beheaded, then? Dismembered, so I cannot recognize them?”
/>
“Nay.” Caddaric’s voice gentled. “You do not realize enormity of what you are asking, Jilana. I watched you in the courtyard; you nearly fainted at the sight of the heads on the pikes. How will you be able to sort through the dead?”
“I am stronger now, and prepared for what I must face,” Jilana added quickly at Caddaric’s grunt of disbelief. “In my place, would you not beg exactly what I have?”
Caddaric appeared to soften, briefly, but the next moment he clamped an iron hand on Jilana’s arm and propelled her along. In a harsh tone he muttered, “You have begged naught, either from myself or Boadicea. For a slave you are too full of yourself and a life that was. If you do not lose your pride and accept your fate, I shall resort to unpleasant methods to make you tolerable.”
Jilana shivered, aware she had pushed the Iceni warrior to his limits, yet she could not abandon her family and Lucius. For their immortal souls Jilana would do what she had not done before—humble herself to the man who had killed them and enslaved her. She would do as her father had advised—oh! how long ago it now seemed—and compromise. Quickly, lest her pride overrule her heart, Jilana put her free hand over Caddaric’s and, having caught him off balance, pulled him into one of the deserted buildings they were passing. If she must be humbled, ‘twould be in private.
“By the gods, what—” Caddaric’s roar died as Jilana fell to her knees in front of him.
“Forgive me, lord, for having angered you. Henceforth I shall chain my tongue and seek only to please you and obey your every command. Only have patience with me, I pray you, should my manner lapse, for I am unaccustomed to the role of slave.”
Wary of this sudden change of heart, Caddaric placed a hand under both of Jilana’s elbows and raised her so that he could gaze into her eyes. “I am neither a child nor a fool, Roman. You speak these sweet words only so that I will allow you to search for your family.”
Jilana stared into the hard blue depths of Caddaric’s eyes, feeling her toes brush the floor. His hold upon her did not waver and while Jilana knew Caddaric could easily crush her if he so desired, she also sensed he did not mean to harm her. “Tis true, lord; I wish to find my family. Yet should you grant my boon, I swear you shall never find a slave more devoted to you nor more obedient to your wishes. I beg you, lord, for this one thing.”
You are mine, Roman, given to me by the Queen. I can do with you as I please.”
“Aye, lord,” Jilana replied softly, her mind turning—knew Caddaric’s was—to the kiss they had shared bedchamber. “But would not a willing slave be more to your liking?”
After a long moment Caddaric nodded and slowly lowered Jilana to the ground. “Very well. I will take you to the burial sites, but I will not aid you in your search.”
“That you allow me my search is more than enough,” Jilana answered. She took his hand and placed her forehead against it. “You are most generous and I give you thanks.”
“Enough!” Caddaric roughly reclaimed his hands and gestured to the door. “By the time the sun has set this night you will not think me generous, you will think me cruel.”
True to his word, Caddaric led Jilana out of the city to a small hill, the nearest burial site. Without a word Caddaric left her at the perimeter of the bodies and retired to the side of the hill to watch Jilana’s progress. She stood, unmoving, for a long moment and although her face was hidden from Caddaric’s view he could well imagine the horror and revulsion her violet eyes must be mirroring. With a slight smile Caddaric saw the resolute squaring of Jilana’s shoulders just before she bent and rolled the body nearest her onto its back. She had courage, Caddaric grudgingly admitted, a desirable trait in the mother of his child. Not for a moment did Caddaric believe her act of humility and contrition back in the town—come morning, when her search was ended, Jilana would bare her claws once more. Satisfied with the turn of events, Caddaric stretched out upon the grass and allowed weariness to overtake him.
Jilana—her heart stopping each time she turned over another of her countrymen so that she might see his face—worked at her grisly task with fearsome determination, unaware of the passage of time. She ignored the taunts of the Iceni warriors who were so efficiently and unceremoniously disposing of the dead and concentrated instead upon choking back the sobs which tightened her throat when she happened across bodies of friends or merchants she had frequented. So much death! The waste numbed Jilana’s brain as she moved mechanically through the piles of dead. She began, after a time, not to see the horrible wounds or the faces of those who were not her family. She could look and not see; and Jilana experienced the strangest sensation of standing apart from her body and watching a different Jilana sort through the dead. The girl in the bloodstained toga would not find her family, the dispassionate Jilana realized. Too many of the dead were put into the grave before she could look at them, and more carts deposited more bodies atop the ones she had previously searched.
Still, Jilana persisted. The warm spring sun beat down upon her, its promise of renewed life a terrible mockery in view of the tragedy of Venta Icenorum. Jilana’s arms ached from the unaccustomed strain and she found herself growing lightheaded as the day wore on. Cursing her weak body, Jilana paused and straightened, trying to ease the sharp cramp in her lower back. She looked over her shoulder to measure her progress and found, much to her dismay, that she had covered less than half the length of the grave. Tears of frustration fell unheeded from her violet eyes and Jilana sank to the ground, defeated. Not caring if the Iceni saw her and laughed at her weakness, Jilana drew her knees up to her chest, buried her face in the stained folds of her toga and wept.
Far from being the object of scorn, Jilana was regarded by the Iceni warriors with a mixture of sympathy and respect. Word had spread of this woman—not only had she, a Roman herself, defied Rome for the sake of their Queen, but when she had been made a slave she had refused to go submissively into captivity. The warriors might have believed her actions foolish, yet they could not help but admire her courage. Ordinarily hardened to a woman’s tears, the men now turned to the one who possessed the Roman survivor and silently implored him to put an end to her suffering.
Caddaric felt the warriors’ looks. The lengthening of the sun’s rays had wakened him in time to see Jilana crumple to the ground and now he shook his head sadly. Had Jilana heeded his words she would have been spared this ordeal. A fellow warrior offered Caddaric a pouch containing dried meat and a skin of wine, and while Caddaric ate he considered the woman who was now a part of his life. Caddaric rose and, after speaking briefly with one of the Iceni, made his way to where Jilana sat.
The first Jilana knew of Caddaric’s presence was when a gentle but insistent hand cupped her elbow and drew her to her feet. She stared silently at Caddaric through tear-filled eyes, her entire frame trembling as she fought to control her weeping.
‘“Tis enough, Jilana,” Caddaric said quietly, remorse plucking at his heart.
“N-nay!” Jilana desperately tried to shake off his hold. You did promise me that I might search—”
“And search you have, to no avail.” Caddaric peered her averted face. “The day is gone, Jilana, and the dead must now be put quickly to rest before the wild creatures can feast upon their remains.” He felt her shudder and added gently. “You will not find them, Jilana, though your heart is set upon your task.”
“Help me,” Jilana begged in a raw whisper. “Together we—”
“Nay, Jilana. I said I would not aid you and my decision has not changed. Now come, before you cause me to lose my temper.”
They entered the town through one of the gates now guarded by an Iceni warrior but when Caddaric made to turn onto a side street Jilana held back. “Ahead lies the temple of Astraea. I would go there.”
Caddaric’s lips thinned. “The goddess of justice? What need have you to pray to that one?”
“That she may intercede with the other gods and see the souls of my family fairly judged,” Jilana answered, her hopes
sinking at the mocking gleam which entered Caddaric’s eyes. “Please, lord, this one last boon I would beg of you. Tis not such a large thing.”
‘“Tis large enough,” Caddaric said roughly, but the pale oval of Jilana’s face gave him pause. Would it do so much harm to allow Jilana to mourn in her own way? If speaking to her gods would bring Jilana some portion of comfort, Caddaric would grant her that much. Without giving voice to his opinions of the gods—Roman or Celtic—Caddaric nodded his consent and accompanied Jilana to the temple. He did not set foot upon the stairs, however, and when Jilana was halfway up the steps she turned back to him with a questioning look. Caddaric inclined his head slightly. “Go, make your peace with your god. I will not intrude.”
Jilana stared at Caddaric, snared by the clear, sapphire gaze, and he permitted himself a tight smile. Haggard and disheveled as she was, Jilana presented a most alluring picture. Her unbound hair caught the rays of the setting sun, creating a halo of pale flame about her head and shoulders, and Caddaric longed to twine his hands in the silken tresses. Desire flooded Caddaric and through no conscious will of his own, he took a step forward. Jilana must have read his intent, for with a small cry she turned and fled up the steps into the temple. Caddaric sighed. He must bring all his patience to bear on Jilana. She did not know, as Caddaric believed he did, that they were destined only to bring the best of their separate worlds together in a child. ‘Til Jilana understood and accepted their fate, Caddaric would have to exercise caution—distraught women gave birth to distraught children.
Her heart pounding as she remembered the look in Caddaric’s eyes, Jilana threw herself before the altar and sobbed out her plight to the idol of the goddess Astraea. “My family is beyond all earthly care, so I can but pray that the gods have judged them fairly; but the Iceni Queen has given me to a fierce warrior. ‘Tis not enough that this Caddaric took the lives of all I held dear, now he seeks to claim my virtue as well! He will have me, Astraea, whether I fight him or not, so I beg of you a way to bring justice to the Briton. Hear me, O mighty Astraea! Let me be the instrument of your will. Give me the privilege of righting the wrongs done against my house.”
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