The Lion and the Lark

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I didn’t know that you were ashamed of me then, Brettix, I didn’t know that you were lining up your allies to invade the garrison!” She stopped and added in a softer tone, “I didn’t know that Bronwen was spying on her husband and reporting back to you.”

  “I was spying on you when I worked in the stables! What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that you haven’t been honest with me, Brettix, about so many things. You told me who you were but that was all; you said nothing about the rest of this. What was your scheme? To get me to come with you and then let me find out your true plans when it was too late for me to change my mind?”

  “I couldn’t tell you any more than I did,” Brettix said quietly. “You have to understand...”

  “I understand quite a bit,” she snapped, cutting him off sharply. “I understand that Leonatus is a decent man and anyone can see that he is madly in love with your sister. It will kill him when he finds out what she’s been doing behind his back. If you and your friends haven’t killed him already in your raid, that is.”

  “Lucia, be reasonable. You had to know that I would be working against your father and his men, that’s the reason I stayed with the job in the stables in the first place. Why is this coming as such a shock to you?”

  “You should have told me all of it,” she said stubbornly. “You should have told me the truth.”

  Brettix fell silent for a moment and then decided to try a different tactic.

  “Lucia, I know that you’re frightened,” he said, striving to keep his voice calm. “I’m asking you to give up everything you’ve known and come with me to a strange new life, to leave your family and friends behind and never return to your birthplace. So if this discussion has caused you to change your mind, I’ll keep you here until the weather breaks and then take you south to Londinium, where you’ll be safe and can sail back to Rome whenever you want. But don’t turn on me and tell me that what I’m doing is wrong, when any Roman in my shoes would do the same. You led me to believe that you accepted that.”

  “It’s all so underhand and dirty!” Lucia cried, clenching her fists. “Sneaking and spying and hole in corner dealings!”

  “Such are the tactics of a conquered people,” Brettix said quietly. “The Romans can afford to march out in the open for all to see.”

  “My parents may be killed,” she said despairingly.

  “Your father is a soldier, Lucia. He has long accepted that possible fate.”

  “And my mother?” Lucia demanded. “She doesn’t understand any of this,” she said, making a sweeping gesture to include the house, the village, the world. “She just wants to go home. Has she accepted her possible fate too?”

  “We never target civilians, Lucia. Unlike the Romans, we don’t feel it necessary to kill women and children when engaging the enemy. We don’t enter private homes and sack them. The chances are good that she will be fine.”

  “Oh, yes? And if you burn the fort to the ground, will she be fine then? Is that why you wanted to get me away from the garrison tonight, because it will be so safe there?”

  Brettix said nothing.

  “And your sister? Are you just going to attack the fort with Bronwen still inside it?” Lucia demanded.

  “She knows when we’re coming. It will be her choice if she decides to leave before then.”

  “I see. That will make the picture complete, if she just abandons her husband to his chances after betraying him on a daily basis throughout their marriage.”

  “Leonatus is a highly decorated Roman officer, Lucia, some would say a butcher of the first order. He’s hardly a babe in arms who requires coddling by his wife. You’re talking as if your god Jupiter has switched sides and will be throwing thunderbolts to level the fort for us! Your people will fight back, and very well, if their past is any indication.”

  “You’ll have the element of surprise. My father thinks he has a treaty with you!”

  “He knows the treaty is breaking down, he’s been through this before, Lucia.”

  “You’re expert at fighting in the cold and snow!”

  “Are you saying I should wait until spring to make sure the Romans have the advantage?” Brettix demanded incredulously.

  “I’m saying that you should have told me!” she repeated. “You should have told me what you were planning before you sent me the message to leave the garrison!” She paused. “I made my decision without having all of the information.”

  “I thought you would come to me no matter what I was planning,” Brettix said quietly, his face expressionless. “I thought you loved me that much.”

  “Maybe you were wrong,” she replied, her chin coming up as her eyes filled with tears.

  “Maybe I was,” he said tonelessly.

  “What if I told you I wanted to go back?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t allow that. Not now.”

  “You can’t allow that?” she murmured, staring at him.

  “You would warn them.”

  “And if I promised not to?”

  “The answer would still be no.”

  “Oh. So I am your prisoner, then?” she said casually, turning away from him.

  “Lucia, what’s come over you?” Brettix exploded, taking her by the shoulders and hauling her around to face him. “When I told you who I really was I thought you might react badly, but you accepted it then and told me that you understood. Now when we actually have a chance to be together you say that I’ve misled you and am holding you against your will? This is ridiculous, I feel like I’m talking to a different person!”

  Lucia shrugged him off, and when he still held her she ripped herself away from him violently.

  Brettix was stunned. This was a side of her he had never seen, a side she had previously shown only to her father.

  He found that it wasn’t charming or amusing in the least when it was facing him.

  “I never said goodbye to my father,” she whispered, her heart shaped face crumpling. “And now I may never have a chance to say anything to him again.”

  She dropped onto the stool before the fire, her head bent, her hair a screen to shield her face.

  Brettix knelt next to her, searching for the right words to calm her and turn her back into the girl he had known.

  “I know I can’t replace your family,” he said quietly. “But I love you and I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

  She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see that her eyes were still glittering with tears.

  “Lucia, you’re very young,” he said. “Much younger than I am in many ways because you’ve led such a sheltered life. In situations like this one people have to make a choice, and I thought you made yours the last time I saw you.”

  “So did I,” she answered simply. “But now I’m afraid my parents will be killed, I’m afraid you will be killed. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but your campaign against my father’s army is more important to you than anything else, and that includes me. I thought you could put me above it, but you can’t.”

  “Lucia...” Brettix began, but she held up her hand.

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” she said. “I’m very tired, I haven’t gotten much sleep recently. I know I can’t stop you from going ahead with your plans, and I can’t get back to the garrison without you, since I don’t know the way. So I’m trapped here until it’s all over, which is exactly what you wanted.”

  Brettix put his hand on her arm.

  “Leave me alone,” she said. “Don’t touch me. I’m going to sleep. I’m sorry if this isn’t turning out to be the romantic evening you had planned, but I don’t respond very well to being treated like a helpless child. I’ve had that from my father for eighteen years, and I hoped to do better with you. Obviously I was wrong.”

  She got up and stretched out on the straw matting before the fire, pulling her cloak over her shoulders.

  “There are bed
s back there,” he said, pointing to the rear portion of the house

  “I prefer to stay here,” she said, turning away from him.

  Brettix rose and fetched a thick woolen blanket, dropping it over her legs.

  She ignored him and closed her eyes.

  He pulled a chair over to the hearth and sat in it, looking down at the Roman girl who had so changed his life.

  He knew it would be a long night.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Another day passed, a day of agony for Bronwen, during which she paced the floor and watched the calibrated candle in her bedroom burn away, waiting for Claudius to return. Thoughts chased themselves through her mind: wild, desperate schemes to get him out of the garrison, some of which she had tried already, to no avail. None of them held up for long because there WAS no legitimate reason for any sane adult to go abroad outside the fort in the middle of winter, not to mention that there was literally no place to go. Everything between the Iceni camp to the north and distant Londinium to the south was open country, dotted now and then with smaller tribal villages, all of them packed solid with ice and snow.

  Bronwen was waiting for Claudius when he came home, and she tried to follow their normal routine, but she was unable to eat a morsel of anything at dinner. He watched her fiddling with her food and smiling wanly at his stories until he said to her, “Darling, what’s wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “No, I don’t feel very well,” Bronwen said suddenly, seizing an inspiration. “I’ve been nauseated all day.”

  Claudius rose immediately from his couch and came to sit next to Bronwen on hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I’ve been thinking I’d like to see Pallas. He gave us such good advice when you were wounded, and Lady Dolabella was delivered safely of her infant under his care when everyone thought there was no hope at all for her.”

  “He’s gone, Bronwen. He left the garrison once Dolabella’s wife had her baby.”

  “Then let’s go after him, Claudius. If we leave tonight we can reach Londinium that much sooner and I’d really feel most confident if he could examine me.”

  Claudius stared at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Bronwen, we can’t get to Londinium, no one can until after the thaw. I’ve told you that. I’m sure Pallas is not there either, unless he can fly.” His brow knit with concern and he stroked her wrist between his thumb and forefinger. “What is this all about, Bronwen? You’ve been distracted and distant recently. Even when we make love there’s a part of you that I can’t reach. And you keep talking about leaving the fort when you must know that very idea of it is absurd.”

  Bronwen looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

  “What is it, darling? You know you can tell me anything.”

  Not this, Bronwen thought miserably. No Claudius, not this.

  “I don’t know what it is,” she said evasively. “Or maybe I do. The winters here are so long, this has happened to me before when I’m snowbound. I start feeling trapped and caged in and I just want to go someplace, anyplace but where I am.”

  “But you’ve been feeling sick?”

  “Oh, it was probably something I ate,” Bronwen replied, wishing she hadn’t told him that. “You know Maeve is always taking over the kitchen to prepare her herbal tonics, she gave me something this morning and I think it disagreed with me.”

  “I’ll see if Scipio knows where Pallas went and try to get him back here for you,” Claudius said. “But with all this snow it may not be that easy...”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bronwen said, feeling guilty about his concern, which of course was not warranted. She put her arms around his neck and lay her head upon his shoulder. “I’m sure I will be fine.”

  He kissed the top of her head and said, “Why don’t you go into the bedroom and lie down? I have some work to do but I’ll join you soon. Get some rest.”

  Bronwen did as he suggested, but was unable to stop herself from crying once Claudius was occupied elsewhere. When Claudius came back to the bedroom later she pretended to be asleep, then rolled over and stared at the ceiling until his breathing became deep and even.

  Bronwen glanced at the melting candle.

  By morning the Iceni would be at the gates, armed to the teeth and accompanied by their allies, prepared to surprise the outnumbered Romans, who would be unable to call upon reinforcements once the battled was waged. It was exactly what she had worked for, but at this moment she felt no triumph.

  She wished, in fact, that she were dead.

  Bronwen rose from the bed and took the dagger from Claudius’ weapons belt, running from the room and into Claudius’ study. She sat at the desk and turned the knife over and over in her hands, wondering if she had the nerve to use it.

  She couldn’t get Claudius to leave and she couldn’t stop what was going to happen. She wouldn’t desert him, but even if they both survived after dawn his love for her would be dead anyway.

  There was no reason to live.

  Unless there really was a baby.

  She could kill herself, but not Claudius’ child.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there in the darkness, tears streaming down her face, the weapon like an iron weight in her hand. Suddenly a light shone in her face and she looked up to see Claudius standing in the doorway, wearing his sheepskin tunic and holding the torch from the hall niche in his hand.

  She would never forget the expression on his face as he took in her hysterical condition and the dagger she held. He crossed the room in three strides and stuck the torch in the brass sconce above her head. He hauled her up to her feet in one motion, kicking the knife away from them when it fell to the floor.

  “Tell me,” he said tersely. “Tell me right now.”

  Bronwen continued weeping, unable to answer.

  He held her with one arm and forced her chin up with his free hand. She stared at him with flooded eyes.

  “What?” he demanded. “Say it.”

  “The Celts,” she whispered, “are coming at dawn to attack the garrison. The Iceni have banded with the other tribes and will outnumber you three to one.”

  His face went blank with shock and then he said in an icy tone, “How do you know?”

  “My brother told me. He warned me to get out.”

  “Your brother! Your brother’s dead, I’ve been looking through all the camps for him and nobody can find him. He was lost in the battle at Drunemeton, as was reported.”

  “No,” Bronwen said, sobbing.

  Claudius shook her. Hard.

  “He survived, he was wounded but he lived,” she gasped. “He was captured and sold into slavery, then bought by Scipio, who was looking for a horse trainer for his daughter.”

  “Scipio?” Claudius repeated softly. “The General didn’t know who he was?”

  “No. And I’ve been reading your dispatches whenever I could and passing the information on to Brettix. He planned the attack for this date because he knows that the garrison at Londinium is depleted and won’t be able to send reinforcements to help you.”

  Claudius released her, his expression stolid. “Why are you still here?” he finally said.

  “I couldn’t leave you,” she murmured helplessly, putting her hand to her mouth. “But we can still get away. Come with me now and...”

  He turned his back on her while she was talking and strode rapidly to the door, pausing to pick up his knife. Then he turned and said, “Don’t you move from this room. If you do I will hunt you down wherever you go and wring your neck.”

  Bronwen collapsed into his chair as she heard his running feet go down the hall. A short time later she heard him dash through the house and burst out the door.

  She sat at his desk, the scene of her crimes, watching the torchlight blur through her tears. When she heard a sound she looked at the door, thinking that Claudius had come back. Instead she saw Ardus, with two brawny centurions flanking him.

  �
�Lady Leonatus,” he said grandly. “I have instructions from your husband to place you under house arrest.”

  He didn’t even try to disguise the look of triumph on his face.

  The battle commenced while it was still dark; as soon as Ardus heard the noise of combat he barked an order and dashed from the room, leaving one centurion behind to guard Bronwen.

  She sat in a daze and listened to the shouts and cries, the running feet, the pounding of horses’ hooves taking place outside as if it were a nightmare from which she would soon awake. The din escalated until it sounded like the Greek hell of Hades at the door; the scent of smoke filtered through the house as the sun rose. The centurion alternated between peering out the window and darting quick glances at Bronwen to make sure she hadn’t moved. As a piercing scream sounded just outside the door Bronwen said to him in Latin, “Why don’t you run out there and join the fun, maybe get yourself killed? I’m not going anywhere.”

  He looked at her briefly. “I have my orders, madam,” he said.

  They both jumped as the front door crashed open with a loud report and a short time later three heavily armed Celts burst into the room, the first going for the centurion immediately when he saw the Roman uniform.

  “Leave him alone!” Bronwen shouted imperiously in Celtic, leaping to her feet as the centurion drew his sword.

  The Celt halted in mid-flight, his dagger raised, so surprised by Bronwen’s presence and her commanding tone that he held up his hand for his companions to stop also.

  “I am Bronwen, princess of the Iceni, daughter of King Borrus, and this man is my guard. I command you to leave him unharmed and depart my house at once.”

  The men, who were Regni, exchanged glances, and then the leader said, “You are Bronwen who was married to a Roman officer as part of the old treaty?”

  “Yes.”

  “This man is not your husband?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony outside.

  “No, my husband is with his men out there, and probably dead by now. Go back to the battle and leave us alone.”