He would never be called handsome; his features were too harshly angular to fit that word. But there was about him a strength that was far more compelling than the superficial arrangement of flesh over bone. She had felt that strength upon their first meeting, had been drawn to it in spite of herself. That power could overwhelm, frighten, and it concealed his astonishing capacity for gentleness. Had she stayed, Jilana was certain she would never have feared Caddaric again. Had he understood why she ran? She shook her head miserably, knowing he had not. He had promised her his protection, and to his mind that promise should have been enough to allay her fears.
“Mistress?”
Jilana snapped out of her reverie to find Hadrian regarding her curiously from the doorway. Oh, Juno, if only things had been different! “Welcome, Centurion; come in.” As he stepped into the room, Jilana glanced beyond the door. “Where is your tribune this evening?”
“In charge of the vallation.” Hadrian pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair. “He will send for me if I am needed.”
Jilana smiled and rose to take the helmet from him and set it aside on a low chest. “Sit down, Hadrian; the pain in your leg must be fierce.”
“‘Tis not so bad,” Hadrian replied, but the sigh that escaped him as he settled upon the couch said otherwise.
Looking at the night sky, Jilana’s heart quickened. The sky was unnaturally bright with the Iceni campfires. Behind her, she could hear Hadrian pouring wine. “Will they come tomorrow, then?”
There was a pause before he answered. “Aye, tomorrow. Probably just after first light.”
His voice was laced with weariness and Jilana firmly closed the door against the sight that had sent a brief pang of terror through her. The sight of Hadrian sitting stiffly erect on one side of the couch brought an indulgent smile to Jilana’s lips. “You will be more comfortable without your armor,” she said quietly, moving to his side. “Come, I will help you.”
For a moment it looked as if he would protest, but then Hadrian simply nodded and allowed Jilana to undo the shoulder buckles that held the front and back pieces of the cuirass together. When she set the heavy armor on the floor and propped his leg on a small stool, Hadrian nearly groaned in relief. “Thank you, Jilana.” She smiled, handed him a cup of wine, then filled one of the garrisons’ tin plates from the food on the table and handed him that as well before taking her seat at the opposite end of the couch and preparing a plate for herself.
“How are your men faring?” Jilana asked when they had eaten in silence for several minutes.
“Well enough,” Hadrian replied. “Most of my men have been blooded, so the sight of the enemy has not unnerved them.” He reached for another piece of fowl and ate it thoughtfully while watching Jilana nibble at the food on her plate. “And you, Jilana, how are you faring?”
“I thought I would be afraid, but I am not,” she answered quietly.
“I should have let you go when you asked,” Hadrian said, and then cursed eloquently when she stared at him. “Forgive me, Jilana, for both my profanity and stupidity.”
“Your language does not offend me, Hadrian, nor do I think you stupid. You have done your best for all concerned.” Jilana set her plate aside and refilled their wine cups.
“But you would now be safe—”
“Safe!” Jilana laughed despairingly. “There is no safety here on Britannia. I know that as well as you. Nay, Boadicea will have her revenge.”
“When Paulinus hears of the uprising, he will waste no time in returning and putting an end to the rebellion.” Hadrian savored the rich Egyptian wine, unaware that Caddaric had voiced the same opinion.
“But he will not be in time to save Camulodunum, will he, Hadrian?” Jilana queried softly. “Neither will the Ninth Hispana.”
“If we can hold them long enough …. ” The words he had recited so easily to the terrified citizens who had approached him throughout the long afternoon lodged in his throat. Jilana deserved better from him than a desperate lie. Hadrian studied the depths of his cup before continuing. “I believe that Suetonius will come, but too late. In all truth, I believe the messenger I sent to him has yet to arrive at Mona. And as for the Ninth—Petilius Cerealis is a noble commander, but I fear the messengers I sent to Lindum were killed before they could reach him.”
Jilana expelled her pent-up breath as Hadrian drained his wine. “Thank you, Hadrian.”
“For what,” Hadrian laughed bitterly. “Condemning you and this city to death?”
“Nay.” Jilana shook her head. “For the truth.”
“You accept your end too easily,” Hadrian said angrily, “and far too calmly. I will fight to my last breath.”
Sipping her wine, Jilana considered the man opposite. “I think the gods planned for me to die at Venta Icenorumrum; and I would have, save for the intervention of a warrior. For nearly a fortnight I have fought against and delayed my fate. This time, when the Iceni come, I will not be spared; nor do I wish to be. I am tired of the struggle, Hadrian, so tired. I feel as if I have never known peace.”
Hadrian nodded in understanding and filled his empty cup in brooding silence. “Over half my life has been spent
ring Rome’s avowed enemies and putting down rebel-ions. At the end of the year, my twenty years of enlistment would have been up. With my separation pay and the money I saved over the years, I planned to buy a farm and retire from the legion.”
“A farm?” In spite of their hopeless circumstances, or perhaps because of it, Jilana found the thought intrigue-. “Where?”
“At home, a hundred miles or so outside of Rome.” Hadrian smiled at the thought. “My cousin found it for and the last time I was home on leave, I met with the present owner. We signed a contract for the sale.”
“What would you have raised?”
“Wheat and barley. And horses.” Hadrian laughed when Jilana glanced at his broken leg. “Aye, horses. The cavalry are constantly in need of good horseflesh and they pay very well. For the profit, I could have grown to like the animals.”
Jilana laughed as well. “Is there a wife waiting for you also?”
Hadrian shook his head and gave Jilana a wry smile. “A smart woman does not marry a man to whom she must constantly bid farewell. I would have liked to marry, though, when I retired.” He paused, his brown eyes shimmering as he glimpsed a future now beyond his reach.
“Perhaps even had a child or two to brighten the rest of my years.” He shook off the thought and looked at Jilana. “And you, Jilana; what plans did you have for your fife?”
“I would have been married by now,” Jilana replied, then teasingly added, “to one of those tribunes you constantly reproach. When his tour here was finished, we would have gone to Rome.”
“You did not like that idea?” Hadrian asked, alerted by the subtle change in her tone.
“I have lived on Britannia all of my life,” Jilana said, her hands raised in a helpless gesture. “‘Tis all I know. My sister, Claudia, visited Rome and told me of it. I suppose in time I would have adjusted to the city, but I think I would have missed my home.”
“Did you love him?” Hadrian asked impulsively, and then was embarrassed when Jilana stared at his boldness. “Forgive me, Jilana, I did not mean—”
Jilana waved aside his apology. “Nay, Hadrian, I did not love Lucius, but I found him considerate.” Hard on the thought of Lucius came disturbing memories of Caddaric and Jilana rose to pace the room. Opening the shutters, Jilana gazed at the star-filled sky. “Do you sleep before a battle, Hadrian?”
“Aye.”
Sighing, Jilana rested her head against the window frame. “I do not think I shall sleep.”
“I will send the surgeon to you,” Hadrian offered. “He can give you a draught that will bring you rest.”
At her soft refusal, he got to his feet and went to stand behind her. In a low, halting voice he said, “Or I will stay with you.”
When Jilana did not reply, Hadrian wiped hi
s damp palms against the skirt of his tunic before placing his hands lightly upon her shoulders. “Let me give you what comfort I can.”
Jilana turned, a small smile playing across her lips as she looked up at him. “I will not be intimate with you.”
Hadrian swallowed. “I understand; physical release is not what I seek.” He hesitated. “I would like, for the remainder of the night, to pretend that I am home on my farm. That you are my wife and our children sleep in the next room. I would have, if only for a few hours, that which now will never be mine. In truth, I fear you will bring me far more comfort than I will you.”
His request was so much like Caddaric’s had been, revealing the softer side of their natures that both concealed, that Jilana nearly wept at Hadrian’s simple wish. Caddaric had asked for a little peace, and Jilana fully understood, at last, what he had meant. Such a good man, she thought sadly; too good to have his life ended before his dream was realized. At that moment, not even Jilana could have said whether she meant Hadrian or Caddaric. She took one of Hadrian’s rough hands in both own and walked beside him into the small bedchamber.
The chamber was lit by a single oil lamp, and in its flickering glow Jilana slipped out of the green stola and laid the garment across the chair. By the time she unbraided and brushed out her hair, Hadrian had stripped his loincloth and eased himself beneath the covers. Jilana blew out the lamp, but when she joined Hadrian on narrow bed and her flesh brushed his, she stiffened. Hadrian’s arm curved around her shoulders and drew her to him so that her head rested on his shoulder. Hesitantly, Jilana placed her hand upon his chest but Hadrian did nothing more than draw the linen and blanket around her shoulders.
When some of the stiffness had left Jilana, Hadrian spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Now, wife, tell me of your day.”
It was a game of pretend and Jilana spun a tale of household duties and the antics of two children who would have brightened their father’s life. When she fell silent, Hadrian took up the story, telling her of crops ready planted and foals newly born. Jilana expanded on his stories, thought up new ones of her own for which Hadrian returned the favor, and for a time it was to believe the imagined was real. Incredibly, Jilana drowsy, her eyelids drooped and she snuggled into a comfortable position against Hadrian. Weariness took her and she fell asleep. Hadrian smiled when her breathing took on a deep, rhythm and he pressed a kiss upon her forehead. “It such a beautiful dream.” He closed his eyes and sleep claimed him instantly.
****
In the dark gray of early morning, that time of day ended between moonset and sunrise, Jilana awoke to sounds of someone moving about the antechamber. Stretching out a hand, she found herself alone in the bed knew that Hadrian had risen and was preparing to leave. Tears burned her eyes as she thought of the night past but she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to drive them away. Recovering a measure of composure, Jilana rose and went to the antechamber. Hadrian sat where he had during the evening meal, partaking of the fresh meal which had been laid upon the table.
Sensing her presence, Hadrian turned and met Jilana’s gaze with his own calm regard. He stood and managed a slight smile as he invited her to join him. “Tis only a cold meal,” Hadrian explained when Jilana sat beside him. “I ordered the cooks to forsake their kitchen for the comfort of the vallation.”
“You need not apologize, Hadrian.” Jilana carved a wedge of cheese from its wheel and ate it slowly. Hadrian was ready for dawn; his plated cuirass gleamed in the light of the oil lamps, as did the apron of iron strips which hung from his waist. At the door sat his helmet with its tuft of colored horsehair and his baldric which sheathed his gladius. A dagger was suspended on the right side of his belt. “Did you sleep?”
“Aye, soundly.” Hadrian finished a wheat cake and washed it down with a cup of water. “You gave me more than comfort last night, Jilana, you brought me peace and renewed my courage. Even my leg does not ache this morning.” He took her free hand and held it gently within his rough one. “I can almost believe that we can save the city.”
Looking deeply into his eyes, Jilana saw the truth there. “I am not afraid, Hadrian; do not seek to bolster my spirit with false hopes.”
Hadrian nodded. “We can hold them for a time, with luck, until nightfall and they will break off the attack. We will have bought another day.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Nay,” Hadrian answered. “At best we can keep them from the city until midday, after that…”
“I understand.”
“Mithras, I wish I did,” Hadrian exclaimed fiercely, his facade shattering. He strode to the door and picked up his helmet and baldric. “These tribes have been civilized for two decades. Except for an occasional troublemaker like Caratacus, most of the trouble had been confined to the west; the Britons in this area accepted us long
“Nay, they did not,” Jilana said quietly. “We invaded island, took away their priests, left their kings powerless and set up temples so that they might worship our Emperor. In our arrogance we laid the kindling for this conflagration; Boadicea is but the spark.”
“Since the early days of the Republic, it has been our to conquer. An uprising in some far-flung territory not change policy.” Hadrian muttered an exasperated oath.
“It does not matter to us, Hadrian.” Jilana’s words dropped into silence and they stared wordlessly at each other for several moments before Hadrian swung the baldric over his shoulder. He pulled dagger from his belt and held the unadorned weapon to Jilana. “You will have need of this. ‘Tis well led; there will be little pain.”
After a brief hesitation, Jilana took the dagger from him.
Hadrian took her arm and pushed back the wide sleeve. Using his forefinger, he traced a path across her wrist as spoke. “A dagger strike to the heart is not certain; you must open your veins in this manner, with deep, bold strokes. Do you understand?” When Jilana nodded, he continued. “When my legionaries fall back you will know defenses have been overcome. Bar the door and windows and use the dagger. Do not hesitate, Jilana; better a swift, honorable death by your own hand than what the Britons would do to you. This is the only comfort I can give you.”
Hadrian kissed her lightly on the mouth and then he was gone. Jilana closed the door behind him and slowly talked to the bedchamber. She laid the dagger upon the bed, then washed and drew on the green stola and green-heeled sandals. Jilana straightened the room and the bed, reclaimed the dagger, and then returned to the antechamber and forced herself to eat a bit more of the meal. When she was finished, Jilana covered the remaining food with a cloth. From its place on the table, the dagger drew her attention and, giving in to some impulse she could not explain, Jilana used it to cut a strip from the cloth covering the food and tied the dagger securely to her inner thigh. Going to the two windows, she opened their shutters. The sky was no longer gray, but streaked with the first light of the sun. Jilana put out the oil lamps and then returned to the window.
All was silent, not even the birds trilled their usual morning greeting. Jilana stood motionless for several minutes, staring blindly across the parade field to the deserted barracks. As the silence dragged on, Jilana allowed herself to think Hadrian had been wrong. Mayhap Boadicea thought Camulodunum’s defenses too strong to attack. Mayhap she sought worthier prey than a detachment of legionaries and defenseless citizens. Mayhap—
The silence was rent by three sharp blasts that Jilana identified as coming from a carnyx, a Celtic trumpet. The echoing sound drained the strength from her legs and Jilana slid downward until she came to rest upon the floor. Thousands of Celtic voices raised in battle cries flooded the air to assault her ears, and there followed the rumble of thunder which was in reality the pounding of horses’ hooves and human feet as the Iceni stormed the vallation. A minute later came the screech of metal upon metal and Jilana covered her ears so that she would not hear the screams of the wounded and dying.
****
Caddaric’s
place was in the first line of the phalanx surrounding Camulodunum. To his right and left, had he been able to look, he would have seen his fellow Iceni hurling their javelins across the vallation in the hope that their spears would “find a mark. Far to the rear, the best archers loosed their arrows upon the defenders with little success. The soldiers behind the earth wall had undoubtedly been ordered to keep their shields above their heads in order to foil just such an attack. Caddaric himself was in the vanguard assaulting the legionaries who held the only land bridge to the city. The legionaries were well trained; they presented a solid wall with their shields which neither raised nor lowered although it bristled with the blades of their short swords. Those blades would thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw, in the time-honored tradition of the legion and took their toll on the attackers. Early on, Caddaric had tried to tell those next to him how to breach this defense: the attackers must keep their own long shields in front of them and use their swords—of greater length than the gladius—to thrust through the cracks which appeared in the wall of rectangular shields.
A few listened and were successful in their attacks; from time to time, and with increasing frequency as the battle wore on, one of the rectangular shields would fall but it was quickly replaced by another. Those who ignored Caddaric’s hoarse shouts and tried to defeat the barrier with their favored slashing strokes found death at a Roman sword. Caddaric blinked the sweat from his eyes at the same moment he felt an enemy blade thrust against his leather-covered shield. In answer, he jabbed his own sword forward and felt it slither between two shields. A heartbeat later his sword encountered resistance and he heard a man cry out. The enemy shield wavered when Caddaric pulled back and though it fell completely, an instant later the gap it left was filled.
Defy the Eagle Page 24
