Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  Shaking his head, Caddaric tenderly drew his forefinger along her jaw. It was agony to touch her, knowing that soon she would be out of his life, but he could not resist the impulse.

  “Then why cast me aside now?” Jilana demanded bitterly. “Why?”

  “Your father—”

  “You are no more afraid of my father and his threats than Caesar is!” Jilana bit her lip and brought her voice under control. “Was your love for me a lie, Caddaric?”

  She was tearing him apart and she did not even realize it. Caddaric pressed a lingering kiss against her forehead before he found the strength to answer. “It was not a lie,” he murmured against her hair. Pushing her away, he held her at arm’s length, feeling the sharpness of her bones even-through her toga and palla. “I told you once that I was a warrior. Now what am I, Jilana? A freed slave.”

  “So was I!”

  “Aye, but it is different for a woman.” When she would have protested, Caddaric laid a finger across her lips and shook his head warningly. “My village is gone, my nation is gone. All I have left is my son and my pride. Can you understand that? I could take you away, we could hide where your father and Lucius would never find us, but what then? What can I give you? I have no money, no land, not even a bothie to take you to.”

  Jilana wet her dry lips. “Neither does Hadrian.”

  “It is different with Ede and Hadrian.”

  “Why?” Jilana cried.

  “Because it is,” Caddaric snapped, drowning in his own sorrow. “Look to how you were raised, the villa you left just this morning. How can I compete against the life Lucius will give you?” He jerked his gaze back to the window.

  “Oh, Caddaric,” Jilana whispered brokenly. “Tis you who do not understand. What I need, only you can give me. I am not whole without you, can you not see that?” She held Artair securely in one arm and laid her free hand upon Caddaric’s forearm. “Take me with you, Caddaric, please. I beg you, my love, do not send me away.”

  The muscles in Caddaric’s jaw worked and he shook his head. “I cannot.” His decision was immutable.

  Without another word, Jilana stepped away from him and carried Artair back to the blanket. She sat with him there, talking to him, playing with him, while the time flew by. Much later, she looked up and found Caddaric standing over them.

  “‘Tis time you left.” Caddaric offered her his hand and, with a final kiss for their son, Jilana took it.

  As soon as she was on her feet, Jilana reclaimed her hand. “This is for you.” She untied a purse from her belt and offered it to Caddaric.

  “I cannot—”

  “For my son then,” Jilana burst out. When Caddaric did not take it, she dropped the purse onto the dirt floor. She stared at him for an eternity, memorizing his face, wondering how she could bring herself to leave. “Will you kiss me farewell?”

  Caddaric could have died from the pain her question aroused. “Do you want to see me bleed,” he demanded, cursing softly.

  “Do you hurt, Caddaric?” Jilana wanted to know. “I do. I am dying inside, did you know? Dying—”

  And then Caddaric’s lips were upon hers, silencing her torment. Their mouths brushed and clung in a kiss that spoke only of love, not passion. The hardest thing he had ever done in his life was end the kiss and hold Jilana to him one last time. “You must go. Now.”

  With the last of her strength, Jilana pulled away and carefully draped the palla around her head and shoulders. She walked woodenly to the door and went out without looking back. Caddaric watched the door close and felt his heart shatter.

  Hadrian and Ede were waiting. Jilana allowed herself to be embraced by both of them and then she climbed into the wagon. “Be happy,” she told her two friends.

  Ede nodded and Hadrian stepped forward and laid something in her lap. “Not a proper gift for a lady, I know,” Hadrian said sheepishly when her eyes dropped to her lap. “But it will remind you of us. I wanted you to have it.”

  In her lap lay a dagger in its sheath. Jilana picked it up and then looked at Hadrian. “The same one you gave me at Camulodunum?” When he nodded, she reached down and squeezed his shoulder. “You are a better friend than you know.” Placing the dagger in one of the folds of her palla, she nodded curtly to the driver.

  The servant slapped the reins and the wagon jolted forward. By the time they reached the docks, Jilana felt as if she were moving in a dream. She watched Lucius lead her up the gangplank and onto the ship, saw herself smile in greeting to Augusta and Claudia.

  “I will sail in two weeks,” Marcus was reminding his tearful wife. “Take care of our daughters.”

  Jilana watched her parents kiss each other tenderly and then she was enfolded in her father’s arms.

  “You completed your errand?” Marcus asked, concerned by Jilana’s vacant gaze.

  “Aye,” Jilana heard herself reply. “I love you, Father.”

  “Do not worry,” Marcus reassured her, misunderstanding. “I will be in Rome before you have time to settle in.”

  Jilana watched him walk down the gangplank and, after raising her hand in a final wave, she turned to Lucius. “I am tired. Will you show me to my cabin?”

  “Of course, my love,” Lucius agreed. “Your mother said you did not sleep well.”

  Jilana embraced her mother and sister, startling them both, and then followed Lucius below deck. The cabin to which he led her was the one she was to share with Claudia during the voyage. Their chests were in the cabin, and someone had propped open the wood cover of the porthole so that the fresh air could fill the cabin.

  “Are you certain you want to stay down here when we cast off?” Lucius queried. “You will miss all the excitement—”

  “I am sure, Lucius.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Lucius shrugged and left her to return to the deck. She could hear muffled sounds coming from the deck below her feet and then she remembered that this ship had not only sails but slaves as well, so that they would not be dependent upon the wind to see them quickly to Rome. Undoubtedly there were Iceni slaves, chained to the benches. Jilana tugged off her palla and folded it on one of the beds before taking the bench beneath the porthole. She could see the docks and the people milling about and, if she tried, she could just make out the house she had so recently left.

  There was a shouted command from the upper deck and Jilana watched the ropes holding the ship to the pier fall away. A moment later there came a rhythmic drumming from the lower deck and the oars slid outward from the sides of the ship and dipped into the water. Slowly Jilana pulled the pins and combs from her hair, letting the heavy mass fall freely down her back. She was going to Rome.

  Jilana stretched out a hand to the bed nearest her, picked up the dagger Hadrian had given her, and turned it idly about in her hands as the pier slipped out of sight and the window afforded her a lovely view of the landscape of Britannia. She would never return; as she had told Caddaric, Lucius would see that she was kept far away from her beloved island. The serenity she had felt in the bath that morning returned and Jilana smiled faintly and dropped her gaze to the dagger she held. The first time Hadrian had given her the dagger, it had been to save her from a fate worse than death. She had not had the courage to use it then, but now her life was no longer precious.

  Suicide was an honorable deed, undertaken for many reasons. Even a person who had brought disgrace upon himself and his family in life could redeem himself by the manner of his death, and the gods knew she had brought a great deal of shame to her family. It would put an end to the torment she had endured for so many months as well, and Caddaric would be telling Artair the truth when he said Jilana was dead.

  Frowning, offering a final prayer to Juno for guidance, Jilana turned the blade and laid the tip of it against her left wrist.

  ****

  What drove Caddaric to follow Jilana he would never know, but when he stepped from the house, a sleeping Artair tucked safely in his basket, he knew that he could not leave
Londinium without seeing Jilana’s ship sail.

  ‘Twas useless to torture himself in such a manner, but he was helpless to resist the compelling need to see Jilana leave his life as suddenly as she had entered it. Ede took Artair and, with Hadrian, the four of them made their to the docks. By the time they reached the pier the galley was already free of its moorings and had pulled out the center of the river. The side of the ship facing him bristled with oars and as he watched, they dipped into the water and propelled the ship forward. Scanning the crowd, Caddaric could see Marcus, alone, and his heart sank. Fool, Caddaric chided himself, did you really think she would not go?

  Jilana was gone, out of his life. Bitter defeat rose in his throat. He should have stopped her; he should have defied her father’s orders and his own common sense and taken her north with him. But no, his pride had risen to the fore—cold, useless pride—and he had sent her away. Ahh, gods, Caddaric mourned silently, feeling the gaping hole her absence had left in his heart, what have I done?

  “Look!”

  Ede’s hand was on his arm and Caddaric looked to where she was pointing. The galley had neared the bend in the river that would take her out of their sight but now, inexplicably, she had reversed course and was lumbering back toward the pier. Momentarily, Caddaric’s spirits soared but then, as he watched the galley, a sense of foreboding swept through him. There was no good reason for a ship to return.

  When the galley was in hailing distance and her captain called, “Bring out the gangplank—we have an injured man aboard,” Caddaric tensed.

  The galley was close enough now so that Caddaric could make out Augusta and Claudia standing at the railing; behind them was Lucius, a bundle of white cloth in his arms. It seemed to take an eternity before the galley was docked and Lucius finally came down the gangplank, but when he did, Caddaric saw that it was Jilana the Roman held.

  Augusta and Claudia fell weeping into Marcus’ arms, but Caddaric had eyes only for the burden the Roman carried, and as Lucius approached, Caddaric stepped in front of him. Jilana’s head was arched across Lucius’ arm, the rich length of red-gold hair falling in a cascade that shimmered with every step he took. The snowy linen of her toga was marred by a rich crimson stain and Caddaric could now see that the bandages which had been hastily tied around her wrists were turning red as well. It was all Caddaric could do to stop the scream of denial that rose in his throat.

  “She needs a physician,” Lucius, dazed, said to no one in particular.

  An awful agony ripped through Caddaric and he wordlessly took Jilana from the Roman. “Find my father,” he told Hadrian. Clywd and Heall were to have met them at the deserted building where he had met Jilana, and Hadrian turned to bull a path through the crowd.

  The weight of Jilana in his arms threw Caddaric headlong into a nightmare. Vaguely, he heard Marcus send for a Roman physician, and then Augusta’s voice rose above the others, insisting that Jilana be taken back to the villa. Suddenly Clywd was in front of him, tearing strips from his tunic and using them to tightly bind Jilana’s wrists. Claudia was near hysteria, wailing something about disgrace and gossip that the family agreed was to be avoided. Over Clywd’s strenuous objections, Jilana was to be taken home, but when they made to take Jilana from him, Caddaric refused to relinquish his precious burden.

  “You will not take her from me again,” he told a furious Marcus. “Never again.”

  He held Jilana during the endless ride to the villa, held her so close that he could feel the beat of her heart. He remained in her bedchamber when an argument broke out between Clywd and Marcus over Jilana’s treatment.

  “You cannot wait for the physician,” Clywd insisted. “Her wrists must be closed now.”

  “Not by you,” Marcus argued. “She is Roman—”

  “She will be dead if you do not act soon,” Caddaric interrupted harshly, coming to himself. “Do it, Father. I will deal with him if he tries to interfere.” There was a wild glitter to his eyes that rendered Marcus immobile and then Caddaric’s nostrils were assaulted by the stench of seared flesh as his father drew red-hot iron across the openings Jilana had made in her wrists. Unnoticed, Marcus left the bedchamber.

  Though he stayed with her until late afternoon, Jilana did not regain consciousness. Repeatedly, Caddaric touched her throat, needing to feel the reassurance of her pulse. At last, when Clywd could no longer bear his tortured expression, he sent Caddaric to tell the others of Jilana’s condition. The first sound Caddaric heard when he left the chamber was angry voices coming from the first floor and he slowly made his way toward them.

  “Why would she do such a thing?” Lucius was asking the others when Caddaric entered.

  Apparently it was not the first time the Roman had asked such a question because Heall leaped to his feet, upsetting the low table in front of him.

  “Why?” Heall asked in an angry rumble. “You can ask that after all that has happened?”

  Caddaric looked at his friend and was stunned by the anger burning in the older man’s brown eyes. “Heall, we have no right—”

  “Do not speak to me of rights,” Heall thundered. “Do all of you know her so little that you could not see what losing her son would do to her?” He gave Caddaric a look of pure contempt. “And you, allying yourself with them, forcing her into a corner from which there was no escape. Could you not see that you were tearing her apart?”

  “Caddaric had no say in the matter,” Augusta said, a trifle coolly. “We did what was best for Jilana.”

  “Aye, just as you did what was best for you eighteen years ago,” Heall raged, turning on Augusta with a savage oath. “You took my child from me once before, with the promise to love her, and look at the end she has come to!”

  Augusta reeled under the attack, grasping her husband’s arm for support. The stunned faces Caddaric and Lucius turned to her went unnoticed. “You swore—” she said weakly.

  “I swore never to interfere,” Heall agreed fiercely, his beard quivering in outrage. To Caddaric, he had never looked more dangerous. “I swore never to be a part of her life, to allow you to raise her in your ways. I went away; I raised a son of my own. But never, never, did a day pass that I did not think of my other child, the child you carried and kept apart from me!”

  Caddaric placed a restraining hand on Heall’s arm only to be flung angrily backward when Heall rounded on him.

  “For you I have no words,” Heall growled. Then, suddenly, his eyes filled with tears. “How could you treat her thus? She is your wife!”

  The loathing in Heall’s eyes was no less than he deserved, Caddaric acknowledged. So much suddenly became clear now: Heall’s attraction toward Jilana, the risks he and Artair had taken to protect her when she had helped Hadrian to escape, the dowry he had given her. The signs had been ridiculously plain, but he, Caddaric, had been too blind to see them. How the gods must have laughed at his interpretation of his dream, for the child of their union was more Iceni than Roman!

  “Jilana may be of your seed, but she is my daughter,” Marcus told the other man haughtily.

  “Aye, and see how you treat her,” Heall retorted. “She should have been given to me!” He dashed his tears away and stamped from the room, unable to bear the sight of any of them a moment longer.

  “Jilana is his daughter?” Lucius stared at Marcus incredulously. “You would have allowed me to marry her without telling me—”

  The appalled expression on Lucius’ face sent a wave of rage through Caddaric. “What does her blood matter?” he demanded of Lucius. ” Jilana is no different now than she was yesterday or six months ago.”

  Lucius laughed coldly. “It makes a great deal of difference, Briton. I can trace my lineage back to Julius Caesar; to taint it with that of a barbarian—” He never finished the aspersion. Caddaric’s fist crashed, into his jaw and sent him sprawling on the tiled floor. He started to rise, saw the fury in Caddaric’s eyes and remained where he was, raising a hand to his injured jaw. “Why are you so aff
ronted?” he taunted rashly. “Have you forgotten that you do not want her either?”

  Caddaric’s face whitened. At that moment he was not certain who he hated more, himself or Lucius. “You are wrong, Roman,” he said when he was calm enough to speak. “I never stopped wanting Jilana; I only stopped being a man.” He turned to Marcus and Augusta. “When next I leave this place, my wife will go with me.”

  “Your marriage is not valid.” Marcus’ face was rigid. “I will not allow—”

  “Whether you allow it or not,” Caddaric said softly, warningly, “I will take Jilana with me, by whatever means are necessary.”

  Three pairs of eyes watched in disbelief as he walked from the chamber; Caddaric could feel the stares boring into his back and he wondered if Marcus would choose to fight him. Under Roman law he had fewer rights than Jilana, and yet, Caddaric swore to himself, he would do everything in his power to keep Jilana with him. If, please the gods, she lived.

  It occurred to Caddaric, as he opened the door to Jilana’s chamber, that today was the first of May. Beltane.

  ****

  A soft ray of sunlight filtered through the leaves of the sacred oak trees, clothing the woman who knelt beside the stream in a mantle of light. A doe and her fawn, having drunk of the refreshing water, approached the woman and trustingly accepted the grain she held in her outstretched hand. She laughed—a sound which she had not voiced in many months—and the gentle sound floated through the grove and brought a smile to the lips of the man who stood watching her from the concealment of the trees. He stepped from behind the oak and walked toward her quietly, utilizing the stealth which had been handed down from his father and his father’s father. The woman did not hear him, did not sense his presence—not until he stood directly behind her and grasped a handful of the loose, flame-colored hair which lifted in the breeze.

  She turned and regarded him through wide, violet eyes. The doe and her fawn scampered away but she appeared not to notice. “Briton.” Her voice was soft, musical and heartbreakingly uncertain.

  “Roman.” The word should have been a curse, but instead it fell lovingly from his lips. Her gaze skittered nervously to the hand threaded through her hair and Caddaric released his hold only to settle upon the ground beside her. His eyes strayed to the bandages around her wrists and darkened in pain. “‘Tis good to hear you laugh again.”