was so different now; she merely accepted the fact that it was, But when she watched the two men ride away, a proud smile touched her mouth. Perhaps she was, in fact, becoming a warrior’s woman. With that thought, she climbed into the wagon and swung the team to the northwest.
Two days later, Caddaric volunteered to lead one of the night patrols that roamed the countryside in advance of the Iceni column. While Jilana drove their wagon, Caddaric slept in the back, waking only when they stopped to make camp for the night. Jilana prepared the evening meal and, while the men ate, she fixed Caddaric’s provisions.
“I can do that, wicca.” Though his footsteps had been silent, Jilana had sensed his approach and he smiled when she did not start, simply turned to smile at him.
“It gives me something to do,” Jilana countered.
Caddaric nodded and leaned against the wagon while she worked. The sight of her sent a pang through his heart. She consistently wore her hair down now, and part of their evening ritual upon retiring to the privacy of their tent was for him to comb the tangles out of its glorious length. It was an exercise that soothed both of them, creating an air of intimacy that brought them even closer and allowed Caddaric to open his heart and mind to her.
To think he had once wondered how to talk to a Roman lady like Jilana! They were so greedy to know one another that the words spilled out as they shared their lives, their thoughts, and he smiled fondly, remembering the night past when she had taken a branch and carefully scratched a series of lines in the dirt. He had been shocked when Jilana had proudly announced that the lines were her name and that she could read and write and do sums veil. Having had no sons, her father had decided to educate his daughters. Claudia had shown no interest or inclination in anything other than the traditional feminine disciplines of music and dance, but Jilana had gloried the learning. And she had promised to teach him how to read, beginning last night when she had taught him to print his name. There was, Caddaric discovered, no shame in admitting that Jilana was better educated than he.
“What are you thinking?”
Caddaric drew himself away from his thoughts and smiled at his bride. “That I should teach you to wield a sword in exchange for my lessons?”
To his surprise, Jilana’s eyes lit up. “Would you?” she asked excitedly.
Caddaric chuckled and shook his head. “What has happened to my proper Roman lady?”
“She is Iceni now, or as much so as she can possibly be,” Jilana responded tartly, shoving his food at him. “When can we begin?” she prodded. “How long will it be before I am as proficient as Ede?”
Laughing, Caddaric gave her hair a gentle tug. “Such a bloodthirsty little thing! Ede has trained since she was a child—‘twill be years, if ever, before you are as capable as she.” At her crestfallen expression, he pulled her into his arms. “Understand, my heart, an Iceni woman is free to choose her path; no one thinks less of a female who chooses not to become a warrior maid.”
“I want you to be proud of me—”
He tipped her face up to his and gazed into her wide violet eyes, seeing the uncertainty there. “I will be proud of you whether or not you can wield a sword or battle-axe; it does not matter to me. You must do what you want to do.”
His sincerity was obvious and Jilana smiled. “Then I would still like to learn.”
“Then I will teach you, once we have the time.” Caddaric kissed her tenderly and then, regretfully, moved away. “Let me raise the tent for you before I leave.”
Jilana shook her head. “The night is warm. I would prefer to sleep beneath the stars.” In truth, she did not think she could bear to be alone in the tent they shared.
Caddaric guessed her reasons for wanting to sleep in the open and did not argue. Their separations, even for so short a time, cut him as well. Before he could weaken further, he saddled his golden stallion, gave Jilana a swift, hard kiss and left the camp.
That night the nightmares came again. Jilana awoke, throat aching with a silent scream, and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Rolling from beneath the wagon, she poured water into the basin and rinsed the cold sweat from her face and neck, seeking to rinse away bloody images as well. Only a dream, she tried to tell herself, brought on by her conversation with Caddaric. But she knew better. This dream was similar to the ones which she had seen Mona’s destruction, but this time vision was populated with people she had grown to know and care about. And Caddaric was in the dream.
“Come, daughter, share a cup of wine with me.”
Jilana whirled around to find Clywd standing a few paces away. Behind him Heall snored, oblivious to all else. Clywd spread his cloak on the ground and, shuddering, Jilana sank upon it while he poured each of them wine.
“Now,” Clywd said when he had handed her one of the cups and settled himself beside her, “what troubles you?”
Jilana swallowed half the wine before replying. “‘Twas a dream, one of destruction, of a place I have never seen.”
Clywd covered the delicate hand that rested upon her knee and felt her tremble. “Show me.”
“Show—” Jilana looked at him in confusion. “How can I show you?”
Clywd’s hand lifted and his fingers drifted lightly over her eyes, closing them. “‘Tis not so fearsome. Take a deep breath, release it, and allow yourself to remember.”
Jilana did as he asked, but as soon as the first image appeared behind her closed lids, her eyes flew open. “I cannot.”
“Drink your wine,” Clywd commanded gently. “Now, try again.”
When she did as he asked, a strange lethargy descended upon her, and Jilana felt as if she were adrift in the tepidarium of her father’s bath. Her tension and fear dissolved and she wondered, fleetingly, if Clywd had drugged her wine. “Remember, Jilana.” Clywd’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Show me what you have seen.”
It was absurdly easy to do as he bid. Now that the terror was gone, she allowed her mind to return to the dream, but this time there was a startling difference. Now she and Clywd stood side by side in a dense forest which grew on a hill. Although the world was bathed in sunlight, there was a chill to the air where they stood beneath the shelter of the trees. Below them two great armies did battle, and the sounds of the engagement fell harshly upon her ears. To her right, Jilana could see the aquila of the Roman legion and on the left were the wicker chariots of the Iceni and the tall, regal figure of Boadicea. Clywd’s hand was upon her shoulder and she forced herself to look into his eyes.
“You must show me the rest.”
Strange, but though Clywd’s lips had not moved, she heard him clearly. Nodding, she turned back to the sight below them and concentrated on one place in the line where the armies met. The next instant, she and Clywd were there, but apart from the carnage that was taking place. Combatants fought around them as if unaware of their presence, and Jilana watched as the Iceni fell beneath the unwavering line of legionaries who advanced with their shields locked. The smell of blood and death assaulted her nostrils, and, helpless to prevent it, the horror grew within her again. Caddaric’s face swam into view and Jilana was nearly strangled by a sob. Beneath the blood and dirt and sweat, his features were incredibly weary and etched with pain. From time to time, whenever the lack of opponents permitted, his gaze would flash to the hill on his right, and his jaw would tighten grimly just before another legionary came at him. She could not touch him, she knew, yet she ached to take him into her arms and lead him from this place of death. Since she could neither touch nor speak to any save Clywd, it was the Druid’s arm she clutched when she saw the legion form into a wedge, the point of which drove forward and split the Iceni force apart.
Screams of rage and frustration from the Iceni, of the dead and dying on both sides, rent the air and Jilana thought the sound would drive her mad. Caddaric and the men around him fought doggedly, but little by little they were forced to give ground, to try and retreat against the solid wall of their countrymen who
, by their sheer numbers, made retreat impossible. The colors, the sounds, all seemed more vivid than was natural, and Jilana felt the scream claw at her throat when a sword flashed out from between the Roman shields to drive through Caddaric’s side. He did not cry out, only gave a surprised gasp, and sank to his knees when the blade was withdrawn. In a moment, he was trampled by the relentless Roman advance. She tried to go to him, but her legs would not love, and the hammering thud of her heart seemed to beat out, “My love, my love my love my love—”
“Enough!”
Jilana blinked and came back to reality, drained. She looked around, startled to find that she had not moved from the spot—at least not physically. She expelled her breath in a shaky sigh and looked straight into Clywd’s eyes. “You were with me,” she said, more than a little afraid. “But I was alone the first time.”
Clywd nodded and patted her hand reassuringly, but even in the moonlight his face was unnaturally pale. “You were afraid to go alone, so I traveled with you.”
Jilana retreated ever so slightly. She had thought she feared Lhwyd, but that emotion was insipid compared to the awe Clywd inspired. She knew this man to be gentle and loving and kind and yet the power he wielded was formidable.
“Do not be afraid.” Clywd withdrew his hand. He rose and refilled their cups.
Jilana suspiciously eyed the cup he offered her. “What is in it?”
“Only wine.” He pressed the cup into her hand and resumed his place beside her.
“Did you drug me?” From whence came the courage to ask that question, Jilana could not say, but her own daring amazed her.
Clywd studied her, debating his answer. “Why are you afraid of me, child? I am no different than I was yesterday, or the day before.”
Jilana swallowed nervously. “To speak of reading my thoughts is one thing; to actually enter my mind—” She gestured weakly with her free hand.
“I understand.” Clywd nodded. “I did add an herb to your wine,” he told her, deciding upon the truth. “Not this cup, but the first one you drank. Your fear stood between myself and your vision, yet I sensed ‘twas important for me to see it.”
“And to think I once feared Lhwyd,” Jilana murmured. “You have no need for a weapon, have you, wise one? You can destroy your enemies with your thoughts.”
Clywd lifted his shoulders and locked his gaze with hers. “Whether I could or not, I cannot say. Such a thing is forbidden, so I have never tried it.”
“If Lhwyd had your power—”
“The gods did not gift him with it, and the priests on Mona refused him the training that would grant him even the portion of the gift you have received.” Clywd smiled wryly. “Be’al chooses his servants carefully.”
“Thank the gods,” Jilana said in such a heartfelt manner that after a moment they both laughed softly. They sobered quickly, however, and her hand went to Clywd’s arm. “Is my vision true?”
Clywd bowed his head and studied the depths of his wine. “I believe so.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
Tears spilled down Jilana’s cheeks. “Then I have lost him!”
“Perhaps not,” Clywd intervened. “We saw him wounded, not killed. Did your dream take you any further?”
“Nay.” Jilana brushed at her eyes.
“Then there is hope.”
Jilana cast desperately about for a solution, but, in the end, could think of only one way to save Caddaric, for she could not risk his being injured. “He must not fight.” Clywd fixed her with a disbelieving stare and Jilana hastily explained, “He has been wounded once, and still weak, though he would argue the point; to go into battle again would be madness! When the battle comes—as we both know it will—I will drug him.” She leaned forward excitedly. “A measure of opium in his drink and he will never reach the battleground—”
“Nay, Jilana; I will not allow it.” Clywd’s voice held the note of finality.
Despair tore through Jilana. “And what of me? Have I not been robbed of enough? Must the gods also cheat me of my husband?” Angry, she left Clywd to his wine and escaped to the security of her bedroll. With her back to him, she let the tears come again and cried herself to sleep.
Feeling incredibly old, Clywd returned to his own blanket and found Heall watching him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough.” Heall nodded toward Jilana. “How odd she should have the gift.”
“Not so odd, perhaps,” Clywd sighed. “My son became a warrior.”
“Aye.” Heall was silent, studying his old friend. “I will guard him, Clywd. Regardless of my age, I have forgotten more tricks than Caddaric has learned. If necessary, I will drag him from the field. We will not lose another of our children.”
Clywd nodded, his eyes dark pools of pain. “You are a blessing, my friend.”
Heall took a deep breath and asked the question so many had put to Clywd over the years. “How will it end?”
“I wish I knew,” was the tortured reply.
****
Five nights later, Caddaric’s patrol returned early to report that the Roman legion was encamped on a plain barely a half-day’s march to the north. Boadicea gathered her chieftains and gave them first the news, and then her decision.
“We will march tomorrow and engage Suetonius Paulinus and put a quick, victorious end to our war.”
“Should we not wait, my Queen?” one of the chieftains asked. “Our warriors will be tired after the march—”
“We have waited long enough,” Boadicea snapped. She gestured wildly at the darkening landscape visible from the open pavilion which had been erected for her. “The land through which we travel has been decimated; nothing grows, the livestock has been slaughtered—even the wild game has fled from the Roman destruction! My people must have food, and there is none to be found here. We must end this, and quickly, before the people lose heart.”
Caddaric sat behind his chieftain, in silent agreement with Boadicea, although he had a bad feeling about fighting the Romans on a site of their choosing. Listening with half an ear to the arguments raging between the chieftains and advisors, he wondered exactly what Suetonius Paulinus had in mind. The first rule of war, he reminded himself, was to never allow the enemy the advantage of field position; and if you could not adhere to the first, you made certain you obeyed the second: a clear path for retreat.
The thought of retreat had occurred to several of the chieftains as well, and when they put it to the Queen that their forces would effectively be boxed in, she waved aside the concern.
“If we cannot retreat, then neither can the Romans. We are seven to their one—our war band will roll over them! Caddaric, you have seen the Roman force. What say you?”
Caddaric scanned the faces turned upon him and answered slowly, “That we outnumber the Romans is plain, but ‘twould be better if we could draw them into the open. There we could use our chariots and the sheer weight of our numbers to advantage. In an open area, with room to maneuver, we could surround and crush them.”
Boadicea nodded, but her mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “And of course Paulinus will happily leave his encampment if we but ask. Or have you a strategy learned at the hands of our enemy that will bring him to us?”
Knowing that his Queen was desperate did not lessen the cutting edge of her words. Caddaric felt the blood spread along his cheekbones and he said, “Nay, my Queen, I have not.”
“Then you agree that we should meet the governor-general?”
The taunt bit deep, as it was meant to do. The council knew that whether he agreed or disagreed would make no difference. Caddaric’s thoughts touched briefly on Jilana, on the supplies in their wagons that would be enough to get them home but would not stretch much further. “I agree that you have no choice,” he said finally.
Boadicea nodded curtly and turned to Clywd, who sat at her side. “You will offer sacrifices here tonight, at moonrise, both to Camulos and Andrasta. Lhwyd will assist you. The people will be he
artened by the sight of my two priests united, and by the favorable omens you will divine from the entrails.” With a slight inclination of his head Clywd assented and Boadicea rose. “Speak to your people,” she ordered the chieftains, “tell them what the morrow will bring. I will address them myself, tonight, after the sacrifices.”
Caddaric reclaimed his mount and waited for his father outside the pavilion. “Will you do as the Queen asks?” he demanded when they were walking to their camp. “Will you read the omens as favorable, even if they are not?”
“Aye,” Clywd replied softly.
Caddaric’s mouth tightened. “Why? Why would you betray the gods just because the Queen asks it? Has it all been a lie, your devotion to your gods?”
“I will do as she asks because, no matter what I say, she will do battle tomorrow.” Clywd crossed his arms and buried his hands in his sleeves. “Should I deny my friends the comfort of a favorable omen to carry into battle?” With that, he veered away from his son and was soon lost to sight.
Caddaric sighed heavily. He had meant neither to insult his father nor to argue, but he had succeeded in. doing both. Clywd was right, of course. Believing their gods favored the battle would give the Iceni confidence. That confidence might even be the difference between defeat and victory. It would not matter if they knew, as Caddaric did, that the Roman priests would be offering identical sacrifices, with identical omens, for exactly the same reason.
Word of the pending battle had not had time to spread along the Iceni grapevine, but Jilana had only to took at Caddaric’s face to know what had transpired. When he held out his hand to her, she took it and walked with him to tether his horse.
“Paulinus has been found,” Jilana stated woodenly as he unsaddled his mount while she held the reins.
“Aye.” Caddaric removed the bridle and tethered the stallion before devoting his attention to her. “He and the legion are camped a short march from here; we will meet them tomorrow.”
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