“But there are clothes to be washed—”
“I will do it.” The look on Caddaric’s face brooked no further protest.
Jilana huddled in his cloak by the fire while Caddaric bathed and washed their clothing. When he was finished they secured the wagons, put out the fire and headed back to the column—Heall and Clywd in one wagon, she and Caddaric in the other. They regained the road without difficulty and Jilana turned to Caddaric. “Will you not rejoin the vanguard?”
Caddaric shook his head. “We will make camp soon. I will stay here.”
Jilana nodded and turned her eyes forward. By the time the wagon was turned back off the road for the night and she crawled down from the seat, Jilana found she was stiff and sore. She set her teeth and helped prepare the camp. She had proved today how incompetent she was; she would not compound the error by complaining. She made the meal from their rationed grain and roasted the last of the fresh meat. To the men she served large portions of each and took the remainder for herself—as she had done
since seeing the concern in Caddaric’s eyes when he had strictly apportioned the grain. They were larger than she and thus needed more food, Jilana reasoned, and they would need to fight at the end of the march; she would not.
“Is that all you are eating?” Caddaric asked sharply when he saw her plate.
Jilana met his gaze without wavering. “I am not very hungry.” He frowned but said nothing more, and Jilana concentrated on eating the venison without choking. When the meal was finished, she cleaned their dishes and then sat by the fire beside Caddaric while the men talked. Her eyelids grew heavy and her head nodded. The next thing she knew, Caddaric was lifting her into his arms. She looked at him drowsily.
“‘Tis time you were abed,” Caddaric murmured as he carried her into the tent. He undressed her as if she were a child and slid her between the blankets on their pallet. “Sleep now, you are going to be sore tomorrow and will need your strength for the march.”
She was sore now, but there seemed no point in telling him that. “Are you coming to bed?”
“Soon.” Caddaric smoothed the hair away from her face and tucked the blankets around her shoulders. “I must smoor the fire and see to the horses one last time.”
Jilana nodded and closed her eyes. She heard Caddaric leave, heard him talking to the others and then she was asleep.
“No accident,” Clywd agreed when Caddaric had told them the whole story about the runaway. He took the piece of rein Heall offered him and wrapped it around his hand.
“Nay ‘twas not an accident.” Caddaric poured mead for the three of them and handed a cup to each.
“But who?” Heall wanted to know. He took a mouthful of mead and savored it before continuing. “Who would want to kill Jilana? The people from our village have come to accept her as one of us.”
Caddaric shook his head. “It could have been anyone. You know how the camp is. People move about at all hours without arousing suspicion.”
“The cut would have been noticed when the horses were harnessed,” Heall pointed out.
“Mayhap.” Caddaric shrugged. “Jilana is not experienced enough to notice a small cut in the rein. I inspected the harness last night, however; there were no breaks or cracks or cuts then. Nor did I see any when I checked Jilana’s work this morning.”
“Let us assume that the harness was intact when it was put on the horses this morning,” Clywd put in. “What does that mean?” The two men looked at him in confusion. “It means,” he clarified, “that the rein was cut once the horses were harnessed.” He looked at his son. “Did you escort the wagon to the road?”
“Nay,” Caddaric answered. “Jilana was in the wagon, ready to drive to the road when I left to join the vanguard.”
Heall nodded thoughtfully. “Then someone was by the horses after you left but before Jilana joined the column.”
“But who?” Caddaric asked again. “The only one I know who would want to harm Jilana is Lhwyd, but this is hardly his way. He wants her as a sacrifice for his goddess.” He swung his gaze to his father. Clywd sat with his eyes closed, his fingers running the length of the rein. “Well, wise one? Is your precious gift of any use to us?”
Clywd’s eyes opened, but he seemed unaware of the taunt. “There is naught.” His voice was so frail that Caddaric reached for him. “Naught,” Clywd repeated hollowly.
The look in Clywd’s blue eyes stopped the sarcastic comment Caddaric had been about to make. “Father?”’
Clywd blinked and looked about him, as if awaking from a deep sleep. With a convulsive movement, he hurled the rein into the fire. Without speaking, the Druid rose and disappeared into the night. Clywd struggled with the dread which assailed him. He had not lied to Heall and
Caddaric; when he held the rein, he saw nothing. ‘Twas like stepping into an emptiness where nothing existed, save for an invisible presence of overwhelming evil. Cold sweat covered Clywd’s body and only when he was deep within the womb of the forest did he become calm once again. Pausing, he gathered kindling and brought forth the battered copper bowl and the herb pouch.
“What is amiss?” he muttered to himself as he set about building a small fire. “I should have seen something., .someone. I always have in the past, why not now? What is different this time?” He measured herbs into the bowl and nestled it into the side of the fire. “Be’al, help me,” he intoned. “The girl is in danger, but from what quarter?” Sparks of white light appeared in the bowl and Clywd studied them while they danced around the metal and changed color. “Be’al, I implore you, help me! There is evil around the girl, around all of us. How can I fight it if you do not help me?”
This evil will not take her life, my child.
Clywd closed his eyes and let the peace wash through him. “But the danger—”
She will not die at its hands. Be content with this.
Clywd swallowed at the warning, but was compelled to press further.
“Will you not show me from whence the danger comes, Father?”
So that you might shed another of my creature’s blood?
“Nay, I would not.”
There is another who would, and I cannot permit that. The evil will not take her, faithful one. Ask no more.
When Clywd opened his eyes, the copper bowl was empty. Using a twig, he removed the bowl from the fire. He wrapped himself in his cloak, curled up on the ground and watched the fire die. Shortly before dawn, Clywd rose ,scattered the dead ashes, and returned to camp.
Heall was awake as well and together they added wood to the campfire and made the morning meal. By the time Caddaric and Jilana rose, the two men had packed away much of the camp and the meal was ready.
They ate in silence, although Jilana did not notice anything unusual. She was so stiff and sore that it was agony to move. Caddaric and Heall struck the tent but when Caddaric made to harness the team, she made a token protest!
“I will drive today,” Caddaric interrupted and she said nothing more.
Nor did Heall ride with the vanguard. He and Clywd shared the second wagon.
“Go into the back and rest,” Caddaric said an hour into the march when he saw Jilana wince.
Jilana was too miserable to argue. She crawled over the seat and settled herself as comfortably as she could. I will never sleep, she thought, but the next moment she did. Caddaric glanced back at her from time to time, and when he did, his face softened. While he stared at the wagon in front of him, he wondered how he could protect Jilana every minute of every day. When Jilana woke, shortly before noon, Caddaric helped her climb back onto the seat. From beneath the seat she took the leather bag containing their meal and a skin of water.
“I can drive while you eat,” Jilana suggested softly.
Caddaric glanced at her. “Do you feel up to handling the team?”
Jilana nodded and smiled slightly when Caddaric handed her the reins.
Caddaric took an oat cake from the bag and chewed it thoughtfully. “
How do you feel?”
“Sore,” Jilana replied with a wry face. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Caddaric.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life,” Jilana snapped. “It may not mean much to you, but it does to me!”
Caddaric choked on the oat cake and had to take a healthy swallow from the skin before he could speak. “Why are you angry?”
“I am not angry,” Jilana hissed, her eyes throwing sparks at him.
“Yes, you are,” Caddaric argued. He eyed her curiously. “Are you going to throw something at me again?” Jilana ground her teeth together and stared at the road ahead. He ate another oat cake and a piece of dried meat before speaking. “I will keep you safe, Jilana. Why do you not believe me?”
Jilana lifted her shoulders, not deigning to look at him. At last she said, in a small voice, “I have never been this far from home before. All of this is strange to me.”
Caddaric lightly touched her arm. “Are you frightened, wicca?”
“Aye,” Jilana admitted. “Had your Queen not rebelled, I would have seen all this with Lucius, when we traveled to Londinium to take ship to Rome.”
Caddaric ran a finger up and down her arm. “Do you think of him often?”
Jilana looked at him in surprise. “Lucius?” Caddaric nodded and Jilana said, “Nay, I have not thought of him in weeks.”
“And your family?”
Jilana sighed. “I think of them sometimes, when I wake at night and forget where I am.”
“And who you are with,” Caddaric added gruffly.
The violet eyes softened and Jilana smiled slightly. “I never forget who I am with, Caddaric.”
The corners of Caddaric’s mouth lifted fractionally. “I wish we could have met earlier, wicca, before the rebellion.”
He said it so softly that for a moment Jilana thought she imagined the sentiment that so echoed her own. He took the reins from her hands and she stared at him for a long time before she took an oat cake from the bag and nibbled at it. At last she asked, “How long before we reach Londinium?”
“Five days at least, at the rate this column travels,” Caddaric answered with a trace of disgust. “The legions will make better time.”
Jilana’s mouth went dry. “They will come for Boadicea then?”
“Aye, they will come.” Caddaric’s hands tightened on the reins. “Paulinus will not flee from Albion like a dog.”
“Can Boadicea win?”
“Mayhap, but it will not be an easy victory.”
But his voice lacked assurance and Jilana wondered why.
That night, as they sat around the fire after the evening meal, Ede and Ewan came to their camp. Their news shocked Jilana.
“We would like you to marry us,” Ede told Clywd when the pleasantries had been exchanged.
Apparently the others were as shocked as she, for it took some time before the men stood to grasp Ewan’s forearm and congratulate him.
“Are you sure?” Clywd asked the couple when the commotion had subsided. “Your brother would undoubtedly want this honor.”
“No doubt,” Ede said, a trifle coldly. “But these days he has no time for anything save the Morrigan and those who are equally dedicated to her.” She gave them all a brilliant smile as she pushed thoughts of Lhwyd away. “I want our marriage to be a joyful occasion.”
“This calls for a celebration,” Caddaric announced. He went to the wagon and lifted up a small cask of wine he had been saving.
“You need not sound so relieved,” Ede chided and everyone laughed, even Ewan, who gave his betrothed adoring looks throughout the evening.
Jilana sat with them, listening to the plans for the marriage. The wedding would take place in three days, leaving enough time for all the people of their village to be told.
“There will be some discrepancies, of course,” Clywd mused when the wine was nearly gone. “No white oxen to pull the chariot.” He fixed Ede with a bleary, accusing, stare. “And there has been no feast.”
Ede looked embarrassed and Ewan shifted uncomfortably upon the ground. “Surely, wise one, given the circumstances…” Ewan’s voice trailed off when Clywd’s gaze fixed on him.
“Some things,” Clywd pronounced solemnly, “must be done correctly, or not at all.”
At that, a belligerent expression settled on Ewan’s normally placid features. A Druid’s word was law and Clywd was intimating that the marriage might not take place.
“What feast?” Jilana asked innocently and nearly dropped her wine when five pairs of eyes swung in her direction.
“The woman’s family gives a feast for all the young people in the village. When everyone is present, the woman chooses the man to become her husband by offering water to him so that he might wash his hands.”
“Oh.” Jilana thought about that for a moment. “And this is what bothers you, Clywd, that Ede has not offered Ewan a bowl of water before witnesses?” When Clywd nodded gravely, Jilana said, “With the shortage of supplies, a great feast is impossible, but we can observe the form nonetheless.” She rose and, motioning for Ede to join her, made her way to the wagon.
“What are you doing?” Ede asked when Jilana climbed into the wagon, hunted through the supplies until she found what she wanted, and then dragged a copper bowl from its resting place.
“Satisfying Clywd’s need for tradition.” Jilana handed the bowl to Ede and climbed off the wagon. “Fill it with water.” She grinned at Ede and after a moment the other woman returned the look. She left Ede to the task and, keeping her right hand behind her back, returned to the fire.
“Clywd, do you agree that we cannot have a feast?” Jilana questioned the priest.
“Aye, I do.”
“And would you agree that, next to Lhwyd, you and Heall and Caddaric are the closest thing Ede has to a family?” Clywd nodded and Jilana brought her hand from behind her back. In her hand was a cloth which she carefully unwrapped to reveal a small wedge of cheese. “Caddaric, may I have your dagger?”
Had the wine not affected him, Caddaric would have protested such usage of a fine weapon, but the tone in Jilana’s voice hinted that it would be to his advantage to do as she asked. He handed the dagger to Jilana without an argument.
Jilana carefully cut the cheese into six sections and gave one to each. “Now eat,” she ordered, and popped the cheese into her mouth. The other five followed suit. Jilana sat down and nodded at Ede. Ede rose, picked up the bowl, and placed it in front of Ewan.
“I choose you,” Ede said in a clear, sure voice. For a long moment her gaze locked with Ewan’s and then he plunged his hands into the bowl. He washed his hands with more vigor than was necessary and when he was through, he grabbed Ede by the nape of her neck and pulled her across the bowl and onto his lap for—to Jilana’s mind—a thoroughly indecent kiss.
Heall and Clywd exchanged smugly satisfied looks and Jilana ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. Beside her, Caddaric gave a noncommittal grunt and drank the rest of his wine. No doubt Ede had insisted upon marriage, Caddaric thought, although why Ewan seemed just as enthusiastic as his betrothed was puzzling. No man in possession of his senses would take on a wife now, in the middle of a war. He kept his thoughts to himself, however, and poured the last of the wine.
****
The next morning, Jilana awoke before Caddaric and she worked the soreness out of her muscles by adding wood to the fire and caring for the horses. She set the oatmeal porridge to cook over the fire and ventured back into their tent to wake Caddaric. Not an easy task, she decided as she bent over the pallet and shook him by the shoulder. The wine made Caddaric sleep like the dead and to add to her troubles, her hand kept slipping from his shoulder to the broad expanse of his chest. Not exactly slipping, Jilana admitted to herself. She liked the way the hair on his chest felt under her fingers and her hands ached to explore the soft hair and the hard flesh beneath it. Warmth suffused her body and Jilana pulled her hand away just a
s Caddaric’s eyes slitted open.
“Morrow.” Caddaric’s voice was a hoarse croak and Jilana was unable to suppress a smile.
“Good morrow,” Jilana replied, straightening. “The meal is nearly ready.”
Caddaric groaned, sat up, and groaned again, both hands going to his head. “Are the others awake?” The words were muffled, since his hands covered his mouth.
“Not yet.” The blanket had fallen to his waist and Jilana’s eyes roamed avidly over the exposed flesh. “Shall I wake them?”
“Aye.” Caddaric slowly got to his feet and the blanket dropped away.
He turned away from Jilana and she stared at the ridges which marred his back. “Caddaric,” she breathed, “what happened to your back?”
Caddaric glanced over his shoulder at her, frowning because of the hammer behind his eyes. “My back?”
Instinctively, Jilana glided forward and touched the hard scars with her fingertips. The marks were old, but that did not lessen their impact upon her. ‘Twas obvious that Caddaric had once been beaten, severely, and anger surged through Jilana. “Who did this to you?”
Caddaric moved away from her touch and drew on his tunic. “‘Twas a long time ago, Jilana,” he answered, as if that was the end of it.
“Who?”
Slowly, Caddaric pivoted so that he was facing Jilana. “When I first joined the legion, one of the decurioi was outraged that a Briton had been assigned to him as a replacement. When I did not follow one of his orders as quickly as he thought I should, he made an example of me.”
Tears welled in Jilana’s eyes at the thought of Caddaric being so mistreated, and she turned quickly away. “I will wake Heall and Clywd.”
There was little conversation during the meal—the god Bacchus was having his revenge upon those who overindulged, and breaking the camp took more time than usual. Even gentle Clywd wore a pained expression and spoke more softly than was normal for him. Heall groaned whenever he moved too quickly, and as she loaded the wagon, Jilana could hear his low sounds of agony as he packed the second wagon. That day Jilana drove, and after a few minutes of swaying next to her in the seat, Caddaric mumbled something about checking their supplies and climbed back to the wagon bed. When she glanced over her shoulder later, Jilana found him asleep, with his head pillowed by the grain bags.
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