The Lion and the Lark (35 page)

     Lucia nodded.  Her face was very pale.

     “Let’s go.”

     They went outside and untethered the horses, mounting together.

     “Ready?” Brettix said to her.

     “Ready,” she replied, and they rode off into the frosty morning.

     Claudius dressed quickly on the day scheduled for Bronwen’s execution, ignoring the breakfast Maeve had left for him.  He’d spent a sleepless night in the house he had shared with Bronwen, toying with the idea of visiting his wife with a concealed knife, then opening her veins as well as his when they were left alone.  But that was giving up hope that Scipio would change his mind or the Iceni would arrive at the last moment to negotiate.  Claudius knew that Borrus had expected Bronwen to get out of the fort before the battle, and he couldn’t believe that the king would abandon his daughter.

      But if he did, Claudius was prepared to take her life with a clean cut, and then his own.  He would not let her become a bloody pulp at the hands of the infantry archers, a butchered corpse to be displayed as a cautionary tale to the avaricious eyes of onlookers.  He knew how to dispatch an enemy with one stroke.  He could do as much for his beloved wife if she was destined to die anyway, and then follow her by falling on his sword.  The Roman code permitted suicide as a noble end to life when all else was lost, and such a death would preserve his honor and the reputation of his family.  They would cut off his hand and bury it apart from the rest of his body, because it had done the final deed, and he and Bronwen would finally be at peace.

     But he wanted to live with her much more than he wanted to die with her, so he waited and hoped, delaying his final scheme until he saw that it was too late to do anything else.  

     He reported to the garrison headquarters to find the archers on the campus, practicing for their assignment later in the day.  They stood in the snow, cloaks thrown back over their shoulders, aiming flights of arrows at a target, the tree to which Bronwen would be bound when the moment came.  Claudius walked past them and entered the blackened building, now half destroyed by fire, to find Scipio pacing stolidly, his hands folded behind his back.

     “Ah, Claudius,” he said when he saw his tribune.  “Not a happy day, is it?”

     “No.  Has she been alone all this time?”

     “The old woman came early this morning, but your wife wouldn’t see her.”

     “She turned Maeve away?” Claudius said.

     “Yes.  It seems she wants to be alone.” Scipio hesitated.  “Will you talk to her again?”

     Claudius closed his eyes, then shook his head.

     “I had hoped for some communication...” Scipio said quietly.

     Claudius looked at him.

     “I had thought the Iceni might offer to trade my daughter for your wife,” he explained.

     “Not if Brettix wants to keep Lucia,” Claudius said.  “Not if she wants to stay.”

     Scipio sighed and nodded.  He stared at Claudius, who looked gaunt with pain, and said, “I’m sorry, son.  I never thought it would come to this.”

     “I know.  Neither did I.”

     “You can go back home if you like.  Ardus will come in and cover for you.”

     “I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.  There are too many memories in that house.”

     “As you wish.”  Scipio left the room and Claudius stood at the window, watching the archers at their work.  They were arranged in three staggered lines, one behind the other, the spacing allowing all the arrows to reach the target.  He heard the
capite 
barking commands as the
sagittarii 
raised their bows at the first word, drew them at the second, and let the arrows fly at the third.  They acted as one man, in perfect unison.  Their aim was true; only a few of the missiles fell shy of the tree, and most lodged within it.

     Claudius tried to imagine Bronwen’s slender body on the receiving end of that murderous volley, and felt ill.

     His last act of love would be to spare her that.

     The morning passed with agonizing slowness; every time Claudius looked at the candle burning on the hearth mantel it seemed the same size.  Finally Scipio came back and gave the order to bring the prisoner forward; Claudius watched as Bronwen was led past him, her hands bound behind her back, flanked by two guards who were holding her upper arms.  She looked at him searchingly, but said nothing as she stumbled to keep up with her captors, her loose hair flowing down her back.  He stepped forward as she went out the door, as if to aid her, and Scipio blocked his path.

     “You don’t have to watch this,” he said to Claudius.

     “I will.  I want to tend her body when it’s done.”

     Scipio moved aside and Claudius went before him, looking toward the ruined ramparts when the apparitor’s horn blew.

     It was noon.

     The guards were tying Bronwen to the tree when a shout went up from the ranks assembled to witness the execution.  The officers looked toward the entry and saw two riders approaching, a tall man bareback on a native stallion and a young woman on a horse Scipio recognized.

     “It’s Lucia,” he called to Claudius, who had edged away, moving closer to Bronwen.       

     Claudius’ hand relaxed on his sword.  Was there still a chance?

     “She’s with Brettix,” Claudius added quickly.

     The capite glanced at Scipio, who held up his hand.

    
“Consistere!”
  the general said.  “Halt!”

     The capite gestured with his hand and the archers stood at ease.

     Scipio watched Borrus’ son come closer, a commanding presence with his height and gold adornments, his blond hair gleaming in the winter sun.  The general felt a surge of resentment as he saw Lucia, composed and dressed in Celtic clothing, riding beside him.  Scipio’s lips compressed.  Was he, the military commander of Roman Britain, now supposed to negotiate with this barbarian who had stolen his only child’s heart, this Iceni prince who was hardly older than his daughter, this BOY?

     All eyes were on the pair as they cantered to a stop.  The crowd was so hushed Scipio could hear the click of melting ice falling from the branches above him to the banks of crusted snow, the slight rush of wind through the bare trees.

     “You’re bold, to come alone,” Scipio said to Brettix in Latin, looking up at the mounted youth.

     Lucia translated, then added to her father, “He’s not alone.”

     Scipio glared at her but did not reply.

     “Tell him I have come to make a bargain for peace,” Brettix said.

     Lucia obeyed, and Scipio said, “I had expected to see your father.”

     Claudius glanced at Bronwen, who looked back at him hopefully.  They both understood that Scipio’s reply indicated a willingness to deal with the Celts; otherwise he would have spurned the mention of a “bargain.”

     “My father would have come but his wound detains him.”

     “What is your offer?” Scipio asked shortly.

     “We will forbear any further attacks on the fort...” Brettix began.

     “The Iceni?”

     “The Iceni and allies.  I speak for all of them.”

     “In exchange for what?”

     “My sister’s life, for one,” Brettix said, nodding toward Bronwen.  “She is to be freed and restored to her husband.”

     “She was a hostage to the treaty, and the treaty was broken,” Scipio said flatly.

     “Such a judgment is within your discretion,” Brettix countered readily.

     Bronwen’s eyes were fixed on Claudius’ face, watching his reaction to the conversation.  Her heartbeat was so loud in her own ears that she had to strain to hear Lucia’s soft voice as she translated for the two speakers, switching from the harsh gutturals of Celtic to the smooth cadence of Latin with hardly a pause.

     “What else?” Scipio said.

     “Self rule for the tribes.”

     “What else?”

     “The grain duties paid to your provincial government cut by half.”

     Scipio sighed and shook his head, as if indulging a fractious toddler.  “I assume there is more?” he said dryly.

     “Withdrawal of your troops from Camulodonum to Londinium within the year.”

     Scipio snorted and gestured for the capite to ready his archers.  Bronwen gasped and Claudius moved toward her, his hand on his sword hilt again.

     “Father, please!” Lucia said, speaking for herself, and the general looked at her.

     “Brettix has good reason to wish to live in peace with us.  If you give him what he wants he’ll convince his allies to go along with him.”

     “He wants too much!”
     “Are his conditions so impossible?  If you grant them he’ll keep his word.”

     “The recent past has shown me the worth of Iceni promises,” Scipio said disgustedly.

     “Father, you need a rest.  We all need a rest.  Look at your men, look at this fort.  I have seen myself that the Iceni are just as tired, just as dispirited.  Can I tell Brettix that you will at least think about it?”

     Scipio was silent.

     “Let Bronwen go and arrange a time for further negotiations,” Claudius said in an undertone to Scipio.  “That’s enough of a concession to appease Brettix for now.”

     “I want my little girl back,” Scipio said stubbornly, like a child who demands a treat before going to bed.

     “She’s not your little girl any more,” Claudius said quietly.  “She’s a woman, and she belongs to Brettix now.”

     Scipio looked around at his men, who were all watching him.  It was plain on their faces that they were hoping he would concede; they were bone weary and heartsore, fed up with the endless cold and snow and missing their families, their dead comrades and their home.

     The general bowed his head slowly.  “Let the girl go,” he said to the guards.

     They untied Bronwen as the capite barked an order and dismissed the archers.

     Claudius closed his eyes, expelling a long held breath.  He turned toward Bronwen, who ran to him and collapsed into his arms.

     “Tell him that his sister is free,” Scipio said to Lucia, jerking his head toward Brettix. 

     Lucia murmured to her companion.

     “And tell him I will meet with him next nundina at the Drunemeton at noon.  He is to bring the leaders of the other tribes, and I will be accompanied by Leonatus and my quaestor.  We will work out the details of the truce then.”  He sighed.  “Let’s hope it’s the last one.”

     “Thank you, Father,” Lucia said, on the verge of tears.

     “Now get him out of here before I kill him,” Scipio said curtly, turning his back on Brettix.

     “May I come and see you?” Lucia called to him.

     “You know where I am,” her father replied, and walked away.

     Lucia leaned forward on Stella and spoke once more to Brettix, who nodded and reined in, turning his horse around to head for the garrison gates.  The crowd, watching him depart with the general’s daughter, stirred and murmured with relief.

     “Let’s go home,” Claudius said to Bronwen.

     She tried to take a step and faltered, clinging to Claudius.

     He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to their house.

epilogue

     “You are so lovely,” Bronwen said to Lucia, who was dressed as an Iceni bride, a crown of mistletoe adorning her dark head, a golden torque at her throat.

     “I hope Brettix will think so,” Lucia said.

     “How could he not?”

     “I don’t look much like an Iceni,” Lucia replied wistfully, gazing into Bronwen’s silvered glass.

     “That’s one of the reasons he loves you.  Brettix always liked to be different.”

     Lucia laughed, then removed the circlet from her head.  “I can’t believe I’m getting married tonight,” she said.  “Thank you for agreeing to come to the ceremony.”

     “Of course I’ll be there.  Claudius and I wouldn’t miss it.”

     “My parents won’t come,” Lucia said sadly.  “And I don’t think your father will come either.”

     “Don’t worry about that.  These things take time.  The treaty was just settled, you can’t expect old enmities to vanish overnight.”

     “My mother has taken to her bed,” Lucia said sadly.  “She thinks she can never go back to Rome and face her friends.  When I visited her last week she said it would be easier to tell everyone that I was dead.”

     “Then let her tell them that you are dead,” Bronwen observed, shrugging