Boadicea's Legacy (29 page)

“I want to die—glorious. In battle. I am ready to join your father in the afterlife. I promised him I would care for his land, and instead, I lost it to the Romans he trusted. Mayhap if he sees how I tried, he will forgive me for allowing
his daughters to be ruined and his people to be lost …”

“Father should be asking
you
for forgiveness, for leaving you without the proper documents.”

Osbert turned toward the husky voice of Boadicea. Dear God in heaven, she was a queen. Tall, at least six feet in height, with deep auburn hair that was a nest of tangles. When he peered closer, he realized that the tangles were tiny knots decorated with bits of feather and twig.

The image of her dancing naked in the moonlight before a sacrifice to the War Goddess Andraste came to him as clear as if he were seeing it for the first time. Bathed in blood and standing before an altar of stone, Diyani, Ana's sister, held out a Roman woman's decapitated head, shaking it at the moon. She too had a babe in her belly, and she was also naked. Where was Ana?

Forcing his way through their memories, he found Ana kneeling before the wicker cage of would-be sacrifices, slipping the victims herbs before they were called. He saw himself—a Roman in a short tunic and bare, muscled legs—tall, blond. Bloodied. He felt the conflict within himself as he watched Ana ease the victims' bodies before they were sent to a horrifying death.

To her mind, and her tribe's, the captured prisoners were necessary offerings to a thirsty goddess. To him, Roman-born, the Iceni were not quite civilized.

Osbert grunted as Kailyn dug her fist into his side. “Stop it—you need to let
her
lead into the battle. You are caught up in things that don't matter. We haven't got all night. Let her
do what she must. I warned you to simply listen.”

It frustrated him that he couldn't be in charge. He was a leader. He was a warrior—a knight in service, by God.

He bowed his head and opened his ears as the woman he loved spoke.

Not Verulamium. That was the third victorious battle—the one where my mother took the wound to her thigh. She was glorious—undefeated—brutal. Some say that when she went into battle she became Andraste
.

I know that no matter her fury, she was my mother
.

And she never let go of Andraste's spear
.

My sister, Diyani, is afraid of bringing her baby into this war that is life. I know that she prays for an honorable death. Am I the only one praying for a chance at life? I see Antonias, and I feel his concern that we will be beaten down by Rome. He worries over what will happen once the battles are done. How can he save me then? I laugh, even though I know it hurts him. What else can I do?

My mother is determined to make the Romans pay for their brutal crimes, and as protective as I feel over my child not yet born, I understand that desire for revenge. It is why I pick up the sword and my own spear and fight the enemy
.

My lover is Roman and feels guilt for what his people did. But they are still his people, and it is only his love for me that keeps him from joining with them as he has been taught to do
.

I sacrificed my gray mare to Epona. I want my mother to remain victorious, but I also want to live. I know you can
hear me, Antonias, if you will but open your heart to me as you used to do
.

Osbert blinked, but didn't release Ela's hands. Had they been fated to love unrequited?

“This life is your last cycle to get it right, else you will never be with the mate of your spirit.” Kailyn's voice was altered, huskier. Goose bumps ran up and down Osbert's spine. He'd heard that voice in Ela—Ana's—dream.

“Boadicea?” Os strove to breathe calmly. The body still looked like Kailyn's, but fuller—larger.
Impossible
.

“Aye. Antonias. You must get it right in this life. You pledged eternal love, and yet each try, one or the other of you fails. You lack faith. Believe in love.”

Kailyn sneezed, and the spirit that had invaded her body was gone.

Osbert swallowed—or tried to. His throat was drier than it had been when he'd trekked through the desert on the way to the Holy Land.

God didn't suffer witches …

But they were real.

Something unnatural was happening here tonight, and it burned him that he was a part of it. He could get up and turn his back now. He could go to confession, be forgiven, bribe a priest for silence, so that no word of his craziness got out.

He looked down at Ela—pale beneath her tan, quiet as death. Os stayed on his knees, his hands over hers.

This time they would get it right.

Ana felt Antonias return to her in spirit. He made her heart light, the battle bearable. “You are my rock,” she said. “Mother wants to catch Suetonius Paulinus before he can set up his troops.”

“It has proved to be the best way to win. Once Paulinus organizes his legions, then the British tribes won't stand a chance.”

“Are you saying that we are doomed to lose?” Ana felt the irritation rise in her chest
.

“No. I am saying that I agree with your mother. If Boadicea can catch Paulinus unaware, then her victory will be assured. But if he has the opportunity to pick the battle place and get his troops in position, it won't be like the previous battles. Romans have military training that requires them to be disciplined and dedicated to the whole army—not individual troops.”

Ana sighed. “The Trinovantes have been wild since their king died. We are a wild people, Antonias, and surely our desire to not be conformed into another Roman unit is worth fighting for?”

“Let's not argue this again. I chose you. I will always choose you.”

She leaned over and kissed his serious mouth until he smiled beneath the onslaught. “Mother is determined to lead the battle.”

“How is her leg?”

“Still red and hot to the touch. She's made me and Diyani both promise to kill her before letting her become a Roman
slave. Then Diyani made me promise to do the same for her.”

Antonias grabbed her wrist and she flinched. “You?”

She pushed at his chest, sending him backward and into the deer-hide tent. “You should know me better than that. I will live, Roman. That will be my revenge.”

In the privacy of their tent, Antonias grabbed her by the back of the head and molded his lips to hers. Hot, spiced with mint from the meat they'd shared that morning, his mouth devoured hers, and she responded with instant passion. It didn't matter that there was a war to be waged, and that they were tired and sore from marching. When he touched her, she flamed
.

Her loins throbbed, and she hooked her leg up around his hip—searching for his heated length. She moaned at the hard ridge against her woman's softness. He dropped her to their furs, yanking at her clothes and his until they were both naked and hungry for each other's flesh
.

“Never give up,” he said against her mouth. “Not to the Romans, and not to death.” His blue eyes darkened to deep ocean-gray as he poised himself at her aching entrance
.

All she could do was nod and wait, quivering on the edge
.

“You are
mine.”
He plunged his hips forward, spearing her with his throbbing manhood. Ana locked her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips, tightening her inner muscles until he groaned his release. Pleasure burst over her as she whispered, “Just as you are mine.”

Kailyn cleared her throat and Os startled. He'd forgotten the seeress was there. He glared at her for being a part
of that private moment.

She winked. “I can see now why your love is eternal.”

Os flared his nostrils. “Look at the battle, wench, and nothing more.”

Shrugging, Kailyn said, “Then take her there, for St. Bridget's sake.”

“The last fight,” Os said in a commandeering tone. “Show me Paulinus and Boadicea.”

Ela's radiance evaporated as she nodded, scrunching her eyes closed as if going back was physically painful.

“Don't let go,” Kailyn warned.

Os had no time to argue as he was plunged into the midst of screaming horses and the deafening sound of death.

Ana saw her mother abandon the chariot. Uldred wouldn't be able to fix it again—it was too broken, and Uldred was dead
.

Her mother carried Andraste's spear, a hare's foot was all that was left of the body parts tied to the spear's shaft for good fortune. Diyani had fallen once, and Rondel, blessed Rondel, had carried her back to the wagons at the rear of the lines
.

It didn't help to know that Antonias had been right. Paulinus had been prepared for the undisciplined Britons, and they were being slaughtered like sheep. Her heart ached, and she held her shield protectively in front of her belly. She would stand by her mother. Family
.

She'd lost sight of Antonias, but she couldn't think about it, any more than she could acknowledge that this battle would
be her funeral. Please, Goddess, let them burn my bones and scatter the ashes
.

Death. Her side ached, and her arm throbbed from where an axe swing had cut deep into her skin. She'd taken many lives, but as she made her way through groaning, dying warriors from both sides, she knew that she would be sacrificing her blood for Britain
.

It was worth it
.

Her only regret was her unborn child. She'd loved and fought with all of her heart
.

“Ana! Go back, child—go back!”

Her mother was covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Her men fought valiantly—the three that were left
.

Paulinus watched from atop the hill. Boadicea wanted his head on the tip of her spear, and she was hacking her way through the men to reach him
.

And getting there
.

Ana ignored her mother's order and slashed at those who would cut Boadicea down. She was strong, quick, and not as impetuous as everyone thought. Her movements were deliberate, as she also protected her belly
.

Grinning at the grim faces of Romans thrown off their disciplined mark, she slashed and thrust, yanked and pulled, smashed and swore with all the strength in her limbs
.

“Stubborn girl, Ana. Use your fear. Never let them see you cry.”

Her mother back-slashed at a Roman's bare neck, and the man's head went flying into the dirt
.

They made it to the bottom of the hill. Ana could see the brown leather laces on Suetonius Paulinus's boots. His face was impassive, yet his tensed body betrayed his concern that mayhap his legions would lose to a British queen
.

Ana lifted her sword and yelled a war cry into the air
.

And then Antonias was there, by her side. They fought through the fresh men Paulinus sent down the hill, comfortable after all this time fighting as equals
.

She heard her mother's anguished scream and spun toward the sound. She and Antonias raced for the place she'd fallen. How would she get her mother free from the enemy horde?

Like a blessing from Andraste, Diyani roared from the left, cleaving her way through Romans and Britons. “Move, move, damn you—move!”

The Britons realized what was happening and fought to clear a path for the chariot her sister had commandeered from somewhere. Diyani drove the panicked horses up to Boadicea's side. Antonias and Ana followed the retreating chariot at a run
.

Their beaten and bloody people fought to close the gap, shielding them from the advancing Romans
.

Diyani only stopped when the left wheel fell off completely and the chariot could move no more
.

Ana leapt inside, cradling her mother's head in her lap
.

Diyani dripped blood from her right arm, where it was nearly severed off from the shoulder. Leaning over from the driver's platform, she asked, “Does she live?”

“Of course I live!” Boadicea's once-robust voice came out as a scratchy shout. She closed her emerald green eyes. “I live
.
But not for long, may your father forgive me the wrong I've done him. I should have run my spear through you both before letting those foul beasts ruin your right to choose your path—it is the Iceni way, and by Andraste, I vow that my kin will be protected against such brutality.”

Boadicea lifted her head and opened her eyes. Ana gasped at the banked power they held. “We are born of goddess and earth, we are sacred women of Iceni! No man shall ever be blessed in a union with you unless you are joined in love.”

Her head dropped back to Ana's lap. Ana's tears streamed down her cheeks, dropping on her mother's forehead. The heavy gold torc around her neck glinted dully beneath the dried blood of her enemies
.

“Take the spear, Ana,” her mother instructed
.

“No!” Diyani slammed her good hand against the wood partition. “I am the one to lead us into war after you.”

“And you have but one good arm, daughter. Take my torc and know that I have a mission for you as well. Go to the Fens and hide. You've our magic and our pride. Build up the bloodline again, and never let our kin forget they come from Britain's soil. A day will come when the Iceni will find their revenge.”

Boadicea lifted a swollen fist
.

“Ana can't lead the warriors into battle,” Antonias said in a dull tone, his expression pained
.

Ana, who fought sadness from all angles, angrily hefted her chin. “You think to tell me what to do? We have freedom, Roman, to choose. It is our blessing—did you not hear my mother vow it anew?”