Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  Kissing her gently on the forehead, Caddaric left the tent and strolled to where the horses were tethered. From the six, he selected a mare whose coat was black as ebony for the Queen. She was a spirited horse, but well-trained; the Queen would be pleased. He returned to the camp with the mare and found his chieftain sitting beside Clywd by the fire.

  “This one is for the Queen,” the chieftain demanded, rising.

  Caddaric nodded and handed the rope to the man.

  “I should punish you. To break the Queen’s law about brawling was bad enough, but to assault a Druid and try to kill him!” He shook his head. “Lhwyd wants your head on a pike, young Caddaric.”

  Caddaric folded his arms over his chest. “Are you going to give it to him?”

  The chieftain frowned blackly. “Have a care, young pup, or I may consider it!” Caddaric nearly laughed at being called a young pup, but he caught himself in time. The chieftain, however, had seen the glint in his eye and now shook his head in exasperation. “Lhwyd is forbidden to enter your camp uninvited, and you are forbidden to enter his. I have no liking for Lhwyd, but you have left me no choice in the matter.” He extended his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Another horse, Caddaric, that is my fine. One I choose myself.”

  Caddaric had no choice but to agree and led the man to the horses. The chieftain inspected all of them, but he lingered over the golden stallion and Caddaric’s heart sank. Resigned, Caddaric stepped forward to untie the stallion.

  “Nay, not this one.” The chieftain pointed to one of the mounts that held no interest for Caddaric. “That one.”

  Trying not to show his relief, Caddaric untied the horse and handed the rope to his chieftain.

  “Let this be a lesson to you,” the chieftain admonished as he took the rope. “Do something as stupid as this again and the Queen will not be so generous. And never forget that I could have taken the stallion.”

  Clywd was emerging from the tent when Caddaric returned to the camp a second time. They met at the entrance to the tent and for a long time, neither spoke. Behind them, the fire crackled and the sounds Heall made as he prepared the meal were muted.

  “I thought she would be safe,” Clywd said finally, his voice low. “Lhwyd’s camp was far away—” The words died; his eyes fell away from Caddaric’s. He spread his hands helplessly and started to walk away.

  “Wait.” Caddaric stared at the tent flap. “I should not have spoken to you as I did.”

  Clywd laid a trembling hand upon his son’s arm. “I would cut off my arm before I would hurt you. In truth, I do not know what I was thinking of. We set up the camps and then I remembered that I had bandages to change and I needed to replenish some of the herbs and roots in my medicine case and I…” He shook his head sadly. “I am so sorry, Caddaric.”

  Caddaric covered his father’s hand with his and squeezed roughly. “I understand, Father. I did not mean the things I said; but I was so afraid for her.” Clywd nodded and moved away. Caddaric went into the tent to sit with Jilana.

  As the sun set, Heall brought a pot of stew, bowls and spoons into the tent and gave them to Caddaric. “Do you want me to stay with her?”

  Caddaric shook his head. “I will care for her.”

  Heall looked as if he might argue, but then thought better of it. With a slight nod he left them alone. Caddaric took a portion of the stew and ate without really tasting it. He nestled the pot into the coals to keep it warm and then rolled into a blanket on the ground beside Jilana’s pallet. The camp quieted earlier than usual, anticipating the battle tomorrow. With a start, Caddaric realized that he had not spared a thought for the coming battle, nor sharpened his weapons. He started to rise and then fell back wearily. There would be time enough in the morning.

  Jilana awoke in the cold, dark hours of early morning. Her body and head ached, but she recognized immediately the emptiness in the pallet. One hand crept over to where Caddaric normally lay, and when it did not encounter the familiar warm body, she weakly called his name. Why did it hurt even to speak, she wondered, and then gasped when Caddaric loomed over her.

  “What is it, wicca?”

  Jilana blinked, trying to bring his face into focus. “Thirsty,” she whispered.

  “Wait.” Caddaric fetched a skin and held it to her lips while his other arm supported her head. “Drink, but only a little.” When she would have emptied the skin, he firmly removed it from her mouth and returned her to the furs.

  The water eased the parched ache in her mouth and throat and Jilana turned her head to the side. The tent looked different and it took several moments before she realized why. “Why did you light a fire inside?”

  “Because Clywd said you should be kept warm.”

  Remembering what had happened, Jilana sighed. “I fell ill. Have I been a terrible burden?”

  Something between a laugh and a sob escaped Caddaric’s throat. He shook his head and took her hand. “Nay.”

  “I am glad.” Jilana searched his face. “Are you angry with me?”

  Caddaric closed his eyes and shook his head again. When he opened them, Jilana was still staring at him. “Are you hungry? I have kept some stew warm.”

  Jilana’s stomach revolted at the thought. “A bit more water?” Caddaric brought the skin to her lips and this time allowed her to drink a bit more. “Is this fresh? It tastes much better than the water I drank at midday.”

  “Nay, ‘tis from the barrels.” Caddaric studied her intently. “What was wrong with the water in your skin?”

  Jilana shrugged. “It left a bitter taste in my mouth.”

  “But you took it from the barrels?”

  “Aye.” Jilana’s brows drew together when Caddaric abruptly released her hand and started out of the tent. “Caddaric, what is wrong?” He did not bother to reply and Jilana was too tired to repeat her question. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Caddaric was once more beside her. “Where did you go?”

  “To talk to my father.” Caddaric stroked her cheek with his forefinger. “Would you like to try some stew now?”

  “Nay.” Jilana frowned at him. “What is it, Caddaric? What is amiss?”

  Caddaric pursed his lips together, as if considering his answer. “Did you see Lhwyd yesterday?”

  “Aye,” Jilana answered slowly, a prickle of unease running through her. “Before we marched. But—”

  “Did you fill your skin before or after you saw him?”

  “Before.”

  “Did he touch the skin?” Caddaric demanded.

  Her unease blossomed into pure dread. “I do not think so, but—he could have, I suppose. I left the skin under the wagon seat and he was standing next to it when I put away the veil that Ede had sent him to return.” A terrible thought formed in Jilana’s mind and she asked softly, “I did not take ill, did I?” When Caddaric answered, she closed her eyes.

  “Nay. You were poisoned; by Lhwyd.”

  “Juno,” Jilana breathed. Swallowing, she told Caddaric, “Lhwyd came to our camp the day the rein broke. To see Clywd, he said, but Clywd was gone and Lhwyd was standing by the team the entire time.” She looked at him with wide eyes, her fingers fearfully curling into his arms. “The broken rein was no accident, was it?”

  “He will not bother you again,” Caddaric soothed. “He has been forbidden by our chieftain to come to our camp.”

  That was welcome news, but Jilana sensed Caddaric had not told her everything. She started to ask what else had happened but his next words stopped her.

  “I gave you my word that I would keep you safe and I did not,” Caddaric stated harshly. “I would not blame you if you never trusted me again.”

  For a stunned moment, Jilana could do nothing more than stare at him, and then she placed her hand upon his cheek and turned his face toward her. “Twas not your fault, Caddaric. The poison was Lhwyd’s doing, not yours. How could you think I would blame you?” She hesitated before adding, “Caddaric, I would trust you with my life.”

>   The light seemed to come back into Caddaric’s eyes. “Would you?” A beautiful, masculine smile curved his lips.

  In reply, Jilana moved over and lifted the corner of the blanket. Caddaric needed no further invitation. Stripping out of his clothes, he slid in beside her and took her in his arms. Moments later they were both asleep.

  Jilana awoke alone the next morning. The fire had gone out, and through the hole in the roof, she could see the gray fingers of light which signaled early morning. She stretched, cat-like, feeling the ache that lingered in her muscles—the ache Lhwyd had caused. Jilana shuddered. She had proof now of how deeply Lhwyd hated her, and so did Caddaric; the Druid would not catch them off guard again. Muted sounds drifted into the tent from the camp and Jilana recognized the distinctive grate of iron against whetstone. Fear darted through her. The Iceni were preparing to attack Londinium. She rose and dressed as quickly as she could, then wrapped Caddaric’s cloak about her and left the tent.

  The three men around the fire rose when she appeared and Heall hurried to meet her. “You should remain in bed,” he chastised her.

  “Nay, Heall, I am well.” Jilana took his hand and they walked to the fire. The contents of Clywd’s medicine chest had been emptied and were strewn about the Druid as he sorted through them. Caddaric’s sword and battle-axe were propped against a log and he held the whetstone in one hand. Heall’s weapons were also being readied. Her eyes came to rest on the fire and the pot suspended over it. “Is that porridge?”

  Her words seemed to release the three men. Heall and Caddaric seated her on a log while Clywd filled a bowl for her. “Heall bartered for the oats,” Clywd explained as he handed her the food. She smiled at him, but his eyes slid away. “I have a potion for you to drink when you have eaten.” He walked back to his place, sat down, and continued sorting through his supplies.

  Clywd’s actions worried Jilana, but she had no chance to ponder them with Heall and Caddaric hovering over her. She raised the wooden spoon to her mouth and, looking up, found both men’s eyes upon her. She ate slowly while the men watched her like a pair of hawks. When she was finished, Caddaric took her bowl and Heall poured a cup of water for her. Clywd brought his potion and the three of them watched while she drank it and took a large swallow of water. Jilana found their watchfulness amusing. “I feel much better,” she announced when they showed no intention of leaving her alone. “Have the three of you nothing better to do than watch me?”

  The older men went back to their tasks but Caddaric sat by Jilana and resumed honing his sword. “Clywd will remain with you,” he informed her. “You are not to leave the camp.”

  “You cannot ask Clywd to stay here,” Jilana protested. “He must see to the injured.”

  “He can tend them once Heall or I have returned,” Caddaric said.

  “But that may be too late for many of the wounded.” Jilana laid a hand on his arm. “I will go with Clywd.”

  “You will not,” Caddaric growled. “Gods, woman, have you no sense at all? I will not allow you to place yourself in danger.”

  A spark of anger flared inside Jilana, but she tamped it down. “Caddaric,” she said reasonably, “where is the danger in accompanying your father?”

  Caddaric’s jaw set stubbornly. “Have you forgotten that Lhwyd tried to kill you? You need to rest.”

  “I am not at death’s door,” Jilana retorted.

  “Yesterday you were!”

  Struggling to keep her voice level, Jilana said, “I am stronger than I look, Caddaric.” His answer to that was a snort of disbelief. “Why will you not allow me to help where I may?”

  Caddaric stood. “Tis nearly time. I will see to the horses.”

  Jilana gaped at him as he strode away and then, with a strangled cry she was on her feet, following him. He heard her, Jilana knew, but he did not wait. Instead he lengthened his stride and she had to run to catch up with him. “Why are you acting this way?” she demanded, struggling to keep pace. “At least I am asking your permission. I could simply agree to obey your order and then do as I please when you are gone.”

  “Aye, you have done that often enough in the past,” Caddaric agreed grimly.

  Jilana opened her mouth to argue further and then gasped. “Someone has stolen your horses!” Tears flooded her eyes and she failed to see the odd look that flashed across Caddaric’s face. “Caddaric, the black mare is gone. And the brown gelding. Who could have done this?”

  Caddaric untied the remaining four horses in order to move them to fresh grazing. “The horses were not stolen, Jilana, I gave them away.”

  “Gave them—” Jilana stared at him. “Why? Were they what Heall traded for the grain?”

  Caddaric turned his attention to re-tethering the horses. “‘Twas the fine imposed upon me.”

  “Fine!” Jilana waited until the last horse was tied, then grasped the short sleeve of Caddaric’s tunic and pulled with all her might until he turned to face her. “What fine?”

  Caddaric cleared his throat and stirred restlessly beneath her violet stare. “The fines imposed by the Queen and my chieftain.”

  Jilana’s eyes widened. “What have you done?”

  “I tried to kill Lhwyd,” Caddaric retorted with a shade of defiance. “And I would have, except that the Queen intervened!”

  “Because of what Lhwyd did to me?” Jilana questioned breathlessly.

  “Aye,” Caddaric admitted, his chin lifting.

  “Oh, you fool,” Jilana screeched. “You fool!” She gave him a shove that knocked him back a step and burst into tears.

  Caddaric watched silently, dumbfounded by her reaction. He could not tell whether she was angry or sad, but either way she certainly was not pleased by the action he had taken in her defense. “I did it for you, Jilana,” he tentatively explained.

  “For me? For me! ” She was screaming through her tears. “And what would have happened to me when you were executed for killing a priest?!”

  “My father and Heall would have cared for you. Jilana—” Caddaric extended his hand to her.

  Jilana batted his hand away. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and cry out that she did not want him to die for her sake; that she loved him and wanted him safe. But she did not, because even slaves had some pride. “You did it for yourself, because someone had dared to hurt your slave and damaged your pride in the process. Gods! You men with your silly pride and your childish need for vengeance.” She looked up at him, imagining what would have happened had he succeeded and grew even angrier. “Are all men this stupid?”

  “Only me, apparently,” Caddaric said coldly. He swung on his heel and walked away. She had called him stupid, a fool. No doubt he was, compared to the Roman men she knew. Something withered in his heart. He should have ignored the dream, should have known it was impossible. And above all, he should have guarded his heart more closely. In camp he paused only long enough to gather his weapons, then headed to join the vanguard, Heall close behind. When Jilana did not return to the camp, Clywd put away his medicines and went in search of her.

  He found her sitting on the ground near the horses, Caddaric’s cloak wrapped tightly around her. Silently, he sat beside her and watched the horses graze. When Jilana made no move to leave him, Clywd said, “They are gone.”

  “I know.” Jilana’s voice was thick with tears. “If Caddaric is wounded it will be my fault. We argued.” When Clywd said nothing, only watched her calmly, she poured out the story to him.

  In turn, Clywd told Jilana the details of what had happened, ending with, “Did he tell you that he asked the Queen for your freedom, and she granted it?”

  “Nay. I did not give him a chance.” Jilana’s lower lip trembled and she felt the tears spill down her cheeks again. “Why did he do such a thing?”

  “He told the Queen it was because you had proven your loyalty to him.” Clywd hesitated before adding, “And that he wanted you a free woman, safe from Lhwyd, should he die.”

  “Oh, Juno,
what have I done?” Clywd opened his arms to Jilana and she went into them without hesitation.

  “Forgive me for leaving you alone,” Clywd murmured. “I should have been here when you needed me.”

  “You were—Heall told me yesterday how you cared for me. I thank you for my life.”

  When her tears subsided, Clywd helped Jilana to her feet and they returned to the camp. The morning dragged by and they filled their time with packing their medicines. Cloth that they would use for bandages was boiled in water and vinegar and hung over the ropes they had suspended between the wagons to dry. Jilana noticed that Clywd’s gaze often strayed to the city in the distance, as hers did. At midday they shared a meal of the last dried fruit and washed it down with water, saving the grain for the evening meal.

  “Caddaric said that when we took the city he would forage for supplies,” Jilana mused when Clywd noted their lack of provisions. .

  Clywd nodded. “And Heall says the hunting is good in the forest.” He smiled speculatively. “A good haunch of venison would not be amiss now.”

  Jilana chuckled, but she could feel her nerves fraying as time passed. “How do you bear the waiting, Clywd?”

  The old man sighed heavily. “The fighting is a way of life for us, Jilana. Before we fought the Romans, we fought each other.”

  “Sorely you fear for them?”

  “I fear the pain their passing will cause,” Clywd admitted, “but they are both warriors. ‘Tis a fact I have accepted, and you must as well, if you are to be Caddaric’s woman.”

  Jilana nodded, but in her heart she knew she would never be able to accept such a violent life as normal. She turned to the city, blocking out the sounds that were borne back to the camp by the breeze. Within the maze of buildings was Caddaric, and she prayed to every god she knew to keep him safe.

  ****

  By midday, Caddaric was covered with dirt and blood and sick at heart at the slaughter of unarmed civilians. The soldiers and most of the civilians had been evacuated; the only opposition to the Iceni came from poorly armed men who had rarely—if ever—-handled a sword. He shook his head as, in front of him, a Roman was cut down before he could so much as lift his weapon. All around him were the sounds of the dying and the Iceni battle cries. Caddaric saw no need to yell out his victory or scream a challenge at his poor opponents. He did what was necessary, as swiftly and as mercifully as was possible.