Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  “Excuse me,” Augusta said in a voice that brought the three of them upright like naughty boys. “Caddaric, Jilana wishes to know if you want to be present at the birth of your child.”

  The pleasant glow brought on by the wine evaporated into thin air. Caddaric rose on legs that suddenly shook and made his way to the staircase. Behind him, he heard Augusta say, “I will tell you as soon as the babe is born,” and then he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  Additional braziers had been lit in Jilana’s bedchamber but Caddaric was not conscious of the heat. His eyes went immediately to where Jilana lay on the bed, her eyes closed. She was so still that, except for her breathing, she might have been dead and Caddaric nearly cried out at the thought. Instead, he moved to the foot of the bed where his father stood, his hands moving in circles over Jilana’s stomach.

  “Sit by her head,” Clywd ordered without looking at his son. “When she tells you, lift her upright and hold her there.”

  Caddaric swallowed heavily when he caught sight of the blood staining the linens and did as he was told. Jilana’s eyes flickered open when the bed sagged under his weight and he smiled shakily. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Jilana nodded weakly. “Clywd told me—‘tis your right, as the babe’s father.” She went tense in his arms and gritted out, “Lift me.”

  Caddaric obeyed immediately. Jilana seemed to vibrate in his arms and a feral sound emanated from her throat. Caddaric could do nothing more than hold her, wonder how bad the pain was, and wish he could take it from her. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over and she was lying limply against his chest, her eyes closed.

  “Good, Jilana,” Clywd said encouragingly. “Not much longer now.”

  Clywd had barely finished speaking before Caddaric felt the vibrations begin again. No sooner had that contraction ended than another began and suddenly Jilana’s groan changed into a screech of agony. Caddaric’s stomach turned over and he swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat.

  “Wait, wait,” Clywd ordered. Caddaric saw his arms move and then he said, “Again, child, once more.”

  Jilana seemed to come apart in his arms and then she collapsed, gasping for air. Before Caddaric had time to realize that it was finished, over the sound of her labored breathing came the mewling sound of a newborn babe. Caddaric’s eyes flew from Jilana’s pinched face to his father.

  Clywd straightened, a mass of red, wrinkled humanity held in his hands. “A son,” Clywd announced, smiling. “You have a son.”

  Tears clogging his throat, Caddaric bent his head to Jilana. Forgetting their circumstances, he whispered thickly, “Did you hear, my heart? We have a son.” The corners of her mouth twitched in response and Caddaric surrendered to his emotions and kissed her tenderly.

  “Love you…” Jilana murmured as she was lowered back to the pillows. She felt a warm, hard hand cup her cheek and turned her mouth against its flesh before exhaustion claimed her.

  The others had gathered at the far end of the room to examine the child, and they stepped away from the cradle when Caddaric joined them. The babe was squalling at the top of his tiny lungs and a smile tugged at Caddaric’s mouth as he pulled the blanket away and studied the small, perfectly formed body. Small, so small, he thought in wonder. His hand easily spanned the shoulders.

  “Like this.” Augusta stepped forward and showed him how to hold his son. Caddaric copied her actions and held his son in front of him, one hand bracing his back and head while the other cupped his buttocks. “He is perfect,” Caddaric said with such awe that the others chuckled.

  “I sent for the priests when Jilana’s labor began,” Augusta told her husband. “They should be here by now. I will give them the offering.”

  Marcus nodded. “Wrap the babe in his blanket, Caddaric, and we will take him below.”

  “Why,” Caddaric demanded, feeling abruptly possessive over the bit of life he held in his hands.

  The men grinned, understanding the feelings that held Caddaric in their sway.

  “The priests are here to bless the babe,” Marcus explained, reaching out to touch the cap of brown hair on the child’s head.

  “I will stay with Jilana,” Clywd offered, and then he helped Caddaric wrap the babe securely in the tiny blanket.

  At the front door stood three men, their faces hidden behind masks representing the gods Intercidona, Pilumnus and Deverra; they held, respectively, an axe, pestle and broom. Augusta and Marcus stayed in the shadows, leaving Caddaric to face the priests alone.

  “Who presents this child to be blessed?” One of the men intoned.

  “I—I do,” Caddaric stammered. Apparently, his answer was correct, for the three began to beat the threshold with the symbols they carried. The noise was unnerving and when they began to chant, the babe began to cry. Over his son’s cries, Caddaric could make out the words to the chant: the priests were cutting, crushing and sweeping away any evil spirits which could attack a helpless, newborn babe. Augusta and Marcus closed the double doors on the priests’ chants and Caddaric found himself smiling at them. They might not be able to claim their firstborn grandson, but neither had they rejected him out of hand.

  “Precious child,” Augusta whispered, brushing a kiss on the babe’s cheek. She looked up at Caddaric, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “If things had been different—” Her voice broke and she fled up the stairs to the sanctuary of her chamber.

  “Women,” Marcus scoffed. “They think all babes are precious.” But the longing look he cast the babe before he followed his wife belied his words.

  Caddaric, Heall beside him, returned to Jilana’s bedchamber and found Jilana awake.

  “Let me see him,” Jilana said eagerly, her arms outstretched the moment she saw the babe in Caddaric’s arms.

  “Hold his head,” Caddaric instructed as he turned the babe over to her care.

  Jilana gave him an exasperated look. “I know how to hold a babe, Caddaric.”

  And, from what Caddaric could see, she was telling the truth. She held the babe snugly in one arm while her free hand made short work of the blanket and she made her own inspection of the body so recently separated from her own. Satisfied, she rewrapped the blanket and then, with her forefinger, lifted the babe’s chin ever so slightly. “Oh, see, he has blue eyes!” She looked up at Caddaric and smiled. “What shall we name our son?”

  Reality intruded with jarring abruptness and Caddaric’s euphoria vanished. Gods! what was he doing? An icy chill settled around his heart and he knew, by the way Jilana’s smile faltered, that his withdrawal was mirrored on his face. When he spoke, his tone was gentle, but unmistakably final. “I will name him Artair.”

  Jilana ducked her head and blinked rapidly to clear away the tears. The babe nuzzled at her breast and she said in a small, broken voice, “I must feed the babe. Will you leave us please?”

  Ede returned the next day and resumed her duties as Jilana’s maid. Jilana did not see Caddaric again. He saw Artair several times throughout the day, but Ede always brought the babe to him. If it had been torture for Jilana to see Caddaric every day, it was even worse not to see him at all. No one spoke of Caddaric in her presence unless she questioned them directly.

  “Do not torture yourself so,” Ede implored her one night when she brought Artair back from his time with Caddaric. “Please, Jilana, you know it is futile.” Jilana nodded and reached for her son to nurse him.

  Lucius returned to the villa four weeks after Artair’s birth. He ordered the babe taken from Jilana’s chamber during his visit, and then announced that their ship would depart in three weeks.

  “So soon,” Jilana cried, dismayed. “Lucius, I cannot possibly leave yet. Artair is still so small—”

  “He is a month old, Jilana,” Lucius said coldly. “I have already told your rebel lover to find a wet nurse for the child.”

  The ability to speak deserted Jilana and she sank back against her pillows, barely hearing Lucius tell her about the plans he
had made for their journey. It is ending, she screamed silently, unable to accept the truth even though she felt the pain slashing through her. Just months ago she had thought she could leave the babe with Ede and Clywd and sail away, comforted in the knowledge that he would be well cared for and loved, but now, it was not enough. He needs me, her soul shouted, I am his mother. And she knew, then, that she would do anything to stay with her child.

  She would go to Caddaric, on her hands and knees if necessary, and beg him to take her north. Though he did not want her as a wife, he would have need of a wet nurse, so she would go with them in that capacity. She would make no demands of Caddaric, she promised herself. If he wished, he could even take another wife. An Iceni wife. Jilana relaxed ever so slightly and planned how she would make her appeal to Caddaric.

  All Jilana’s plans came to naught, for from the day she left her bed, Caddaric was forbidden to come to the villa and she was forbidden to step foot into the slave quarters. Her father had even posted guards by the courtyard gate, to ensure she followed his orders. Panicked, Jilana sent word to Caddaric through Ede and the others, but there was no reply to her entreaties. A week before Jilana, Augusta, Claudia and Lucius were to sail for Rome, Ede told Jilana that Caddaric had found a wet nurse for Artair. He was claiming his son now, this instant, and leaving the villa. Jilana watched them take the cradle, the clothes she had sewn, and the child she had borne and the bottom dropped out of her world.

  Her last week on Britannia passed in a blur, though Jilana was immune to the excitement whirling around her. No one save Augusta seemed to notice her distraction. Certainly Lucius did not. He was full of stories of Rome, of the life they would build, the feast that would follow their wedding, and Jilana was his passive audience. Whenever she thought of her coming marriage, it was with revulsion and she began to question her own sanity when she discovered that thoughts of her own death brought her comfort.

  The day before they were to sail, Clywd came to see her and he was stunned by the change that had overtaken her since he had seen her last. She had lost the weight gained while carrying Artair, and more. The skin was stretched over her cheekbones and her eyes held a haunted look.

  “Have you come to bid me farewell?” Jilana asked with a pale smile.

  “Aye, I have.” Clywd took the chair next to her. “I shall miss you.”

  “That is nice to hear.” Jilana’s gaze drifted to the window, which was open now to the spring breezes. “Have you seen Artair?”

  “Aye, he is well,” Clywd said, thinking to allay her fears.

  A gust of air came through the window and Jilana closed her eyes, savoring the feel of it against her flesh. “Clywd, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Jilana, nay,” Clywd pleaded. “He will not take you north.”

  The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips again and then was gone. “Nay, I know. What I ask now I think Caddaric will agree to.” She paused, then said on a thin thread of sound, “I want to see Artair once more, before I leave.”

  “Jilana—”

  “Please, Clywd,” Jilana begged. The violet eyes opened wide and her thin fingers wrapped around his wrist with surprising strength. “‘Tis such a small thing. I want only to see him, hold him. Surely Caddaric will not refuse.”

  Clywd considered a moment before nodding. “I will ask him. If he agrees, I will send word to you.”

  Jilana nodded and then rose and wandered out to the colonnaded gallery that ran around the front and sides of the villa. Clywd watched her for several minutes, his eyes dark with concern, before quietly letting himself out of the bedchamber.

  Caddaric’s reply came by messenger late in the afternoon, disguised as a letter from Hadrian. Her fingers trembling, Jilana broke the wax and unfolded the paper. In Hadrian’s hand were the directions to a deserted house not far from the docks. She memorized the directions and then burned the message in a brazier. Jilana’s ship sailed on the noon tide; Artair would be at the house at mid-morning.

  Jilana did not sleep that night.

  When dawn broke, Jilana rose and finished packing the last of her possessions. Then she left her bedchamber by way of the gallery and availed herself of the bath. As she soaked in the tepidarium, her mind turned to the first bath she had shared with Caddaric, but instead of pain, the memory brought her a kind of serenity. Returning to her chamber, she dressed in her finest toga and then, with the help of Claudia’s servant, swept her hair up into an artful arrangement of braids. The meal she shared with her parents and Claudia was a light one, but Jilana did not taste it. Claudia left the hall first, leaving Jilana alone with her parents.

  “I have an errand in Londinium,” Jilana said quietly, her eyes fixed on the view of the garden the windows afforded. “If you have no objections, I will leave ahead of you and join you at the dock.”

  Marcus frowned. “What is the errand?”

  “I am going to see Artair,” Jilana replied with a dreamy smile. “I will be at the dock, Father, I swear it.”

  “I will go with you—”

  “Nay, I want to go alone.” Jilana gazed at her father, a distant look in her eyes. “Please.”

  “You must, at least, take a servant with you,” Marcus countered, concerned with her safety.

  Jilana nodded. “As you wish.”

  She and the man chosen as her guard left shortly thereafter in one of her father’s wagons. Jilana’s mind was blank during the trip; she thought only of seeing her son again, not of the parting that would so swiftly follow the reunion. Following her directions, the servant soon pulled the team to a halt in front of a small house and helped Jilana from the seat. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than the door opened and Ede and Hadrian stepped forward to greet her.

  “We will talk later,” Ede said as she embraced Jilana. “I know you are eager to see Artair.”

  Jilana nodded and with a faint smile for Hadrian she stepped into the house. She pushed the hood of the palla off her head and closed the door behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness after the morning sunshine, but when they had she saw her son lying on a blanket in the center of the empty room. Smiling, she walked forward and knelt beside him.

  “Ave, Artair, my son,” Jilana murmured as she took him into her arms. The babe gurgled happily and. she tickled him beneath one of his chins. “How you have grown!” She nuzzled his cheeks and cooed to him, loving the feel of his body and the smell that told her he had just been bathed. “How are you faring with your wet nurse, mmm? Does she treat you well? And your father, does he hold you and play with you as I used to do?” She laid Artair back on the blanket and rubbed the soles of his tiny feet.

  From the shadows of the adjoining room, Caddaric watched their play, his gut wrenching. Even from here he could smell her perfume, the light scent of roses reaching out to tease his senses. Nearly two months had passed since he had seen her last and, if anything, she was more beautiful than he remembered. Clywd had warned him that she was painfully thin, and while that worried Caddaric, it also lent Jilana a fragile air that made him want to sweep her into his arms and protect her. Caddaric shook himself mentally. No purpose would be served thinking of things that could never be. She was leaving, today, as was he. They had been fated to come together briefly, then part; they could not change their destinies. But, oh, how he wished it were otherwise!

  Holding such treacherous emotions at bay, Caddaric took the step that would bring him into Jilana’s vision. He watched her slowly raise her head until their eyes met; she seemed neither surprised nor dismayed at his presence, merely accepting, but she gathered Artair back in her arms as if afraid he would snatch the babe away.

  “Good morrow, Lady Jilana.” Caddaric heard his voice as if from a great distance, and he wondered at its hollow ring.

  “Good morrow, Caddaric.” Jilana carefully came to her feet and offered him a hesitant smile. “Thank you for letting me see Artair.”

  Caddaric shrugged, a nebulous feeling
of unease forming when he saw how empty those beloved, violet eyes were. “You are his mother.”

  “Aye, I am.” Jilana tilted her head to peer into Artair’s face. “Will you tell him of me when he is old enough to understand?”

  The blunt question took Caddaric by surprise; he turned away from her and went to stand by the window. “I had not considered it.”

  Misunderstanding, Jilana said, “You may tell him I am dead if you wish, only—only let him know that I did not willingly abandon him, I beg you.”

  “Gods, Jilana!” Caddaric’s hands curled into fists and he felt his breathing grow ragged.

  “Lucius will never allow me to return to Britannia,” Jilana continued, “so you need not worry that I will suddenly appear and take Artair away. Is it so much to ask that you tell Artair that I loved him, that I wanted to stay with him?”

  “Nay.” Caddaric shook his head.

  Artair nuzzled at her and Jilana stroked his hair. “They bound my breasts when you took Artair away,” she told him softly. “My milk is gone. Even if you had agreed to take me along as Artair’s wet nurse, I would be of no use to you now.”

  Caddaric squeezed his eyes shut against the burning there. “Stop it, Jilana,” he ordered thickly. Somewhere, no doubt, the gods were laughing at the trick they had played on these two lowly mortals.

  Jilana looked at the man who was her world and slowly walked to his side. “I have had a great deal of time to think about us, Caddaric, to wonder why all of this is happening.” She ignored the impatient shake of his head and plunged forward, spurred on by the demons which had haunted her during the long, empty nights. “Had the Iceni won, would you have cast me aside?”

  Caddaric forced himself to open his eyes and gaze down at her. “Nay.”

  “And if you had found me with the horses?” she asked, her eyes clinging to his.