Chapter 26

Bella

Publius is surprised when we enter his study. He puts down the parchments he is reading. His face asks us what we want, what we mean by disturbing him. I put the box on the desk.

'What?' he asks.

I open it and take out the phial.

'This is the remains of the remedy which I gave my father.'

'Which I showed you yesterday. Which killed him, if I remember correctly. Carry on.'

His tone says – why are you telling me something we already know? You are wasting my time.

'But it shouldn't have done. Should it?' I remove the stopper. Publius manages not to shrink back. He attempts to remain still and stern, but I catch a look of fear swiftly crossing his face. It emboldens me.

'Shouldn't it? You were the one who knew what they were doing – so you said.'

'Can you smell it? This is the way it smelt when I gave it to my father,' I say. 'And now you are giving it to me, to commit suicide.'

'It was clearly effective in your father's case, so I naturally assumed . . . I don't keep poisons handy.'

'But I didn't make it by myself – did I?' I persist. 'You helped me. This is not how it smelt the first time I made it.'

He looks like he is sneering. 'How would I know? I mixed what you gave me.'

'This is the smell of white hemlock.'

'Is it? I'll take your word for it.'

'The white hemlock you put in it. When you offered to help me.'

'Are you suggesting –' he stands and draws himself up to his full height '– that I had anything to do with your father's death?'

'That's the only way it could have got in there.'

'You were a child. I always thought Marcus was a fool to trust you.'

'I used only plants I had used before. Aunt Sevy would never have given me white hemlock. It has no other use.' I force myself to meet his gaze.

'You do seem to know what white hemlock does,' Mother says.

'And what does that prove?'

'You won't want this getting out,' Mother says.

'Oh, of course you believe her. Her wild accusation. She always has been able to take you in.' He turns to me. 'So this is your last desperate attempt to get out of your fate, is it?'

He squeezes past us to the door and calls Fabius. When he enters, I am obliged to repeat my assertion.

'He needed the money,' I say desperately. 'He's the only one who has benefitted.'

'Madam,' Fabius says to Mother, 'I was unaware of how your late husband met his death. This is a serious claim indeed.'

My heart lifts for a moment.

'And I fully understand your desire to save your daughter. However, I believe that Publius is right. There is not enough evidence to prove his involvement. This potion is seven years old. The smell could be there for any reason. I am so sorry.' He takes her hand. 'The solution your husband has suggested is the best way. For all of us.'

He leaves, unwilling to be drawn into our family feud. He does not look at Publius, so if nothing else, I pray my step-father's plans for advancement are also ruined, like my last hope.

'The Emperor will listen,' Mother says.

'Will he? Don't count on it. Aurelia is a nobody. There is no gain to be had by pardoning her, and plenty to be had by executing an enemy of the state.' He looks directly at me, emboldened by Fabius's stance. 'I advise you to get on with it, Aurelia. Put your mother out of her misery.'

He packs the phial into the box and hands it to me. We are dismissed. Bretta later tells us that Fabius went back to the study, and that there were heated words, and then Fabius left the house.

In my room, we sit in despair. We have no other ideas. All hope is gone. We both know that the time is come. Mother goes to Rusticus to ask permission for us to leave the fort. I know now that it will be painful and unpleasant, because my father suffered. While Mother is gone, I pray to Ultio to strike Publius down, for what he did to Father and what he is doing to me.

Mother returns with the precious permission. I like Rusticus; I think he is kind at heart. I am sure that left to his own devices, none of this would be happening.

'Do you remember? When – when Cinnia – when we were thinking she would have to . . . you asked me if I had a poison in my remedies,' I say. 'I gave you one. What . . . happened to it?'

'Oh, my dear, I didn't think – I got rid of it, in case Gaius found it. I'm so sorry.'

'Let me send Bretta to the village,' I say. 'Let her ask for something that will be quicker.'

Bretta willingly agrees to go, even though she only leaves the fort to go shopping in the market. I send her to Adsiltia. She does not return. I feel as if all the gods have deserted me.

'Shall we wait a while?' Mother asks.

The sun is high in the sky. I feel I would like to go later in the afternoon, when the sun is sinking and the shadows lengthening. So we wait. Still Bretta does not return. At last we gather our things and set out. The guards swing the gates open with the fervent hope that my soul is forever tortured in Tartarus and that crows peck out my eyes. Their hostile stares burn into me as they wish me good riddance. One of them spits on the ground as I pass. Mother hurries me through. It is possible that the sentries of the night before last have been flogged because of me. It is a matter of pride with them that they don't cry out, so we would have heard very little, if floggings had taken place. But the soldiers already have enough to hate me for.

I turn my face up to the sunlight, feeling the warmth of the late afternoon. There is a breeze off the river. We do not appreciate these gifts until they are taken from us. I am sad that I paid so little attention to the changing seasons of the estuary, that I was always moaning that this place was not like Italy. Now I think I would be happy to spend the rest of my days here, should I be spared.

I lead Mother to my special place in the little wood. While she sits by my altar to Venus, I gather the sticks I will need. I want to look for him in the smoke one last time. Although I am not very good at making a fire, I manage to get it started. The slight breeze lifts and swirls the smoke.

While the fire grows and the smoke builds, we make an offering to Venus. I also offer a last, silent prayer to Ultio. While I was in his study, a lifetime ago, I stole one of Publius's rings, which I now manage to slip into the tongues of flame without Mother seeing. I breathe in the smoke, wishing hard that it could carry me away from all this. I am aware of my heartbeat, and it frightens me to think that I might have to listen to my body shutting down. The smoke makes us both cry.

Eadweard's gods are good to me in my hour of need, and I see him, in the swirl of smoke, between the trees. My heart leaps with gladness. Much as I love Mother, I want my last sight in this world to be Eadweard, vision or not.

'Now,' I say to Mother. 'Give it to me now.'

She grips my arm. 'No. He is here.'

'What, can you see him as well?' I am surprised.

'I'm telling you, he's here. Over there, in the trees.'

She jumps up and drags me to my feet. I run to him and we embrace.

'Blessed Juno. Holy Venus. You're here. You're . . .' I can't say the word. Alive.

'Thanks be to the gods. And to you.'

'What about Mona? You didn't go.'

'I wasn't going to leave you.'

'But Mona . . .'

'Is probably destroyed, in Roman hands now.'

'I am so sorry.'

'The word is, the Iceni have rebelled. There is serious fighting in the east. I will avenge Mona there. But you are more important to me. So much more.'

He holds me close. I feel warm and safe in his arms, safer than I have for days. I wish time could stand still, and I could stay there for ever. Gently, he pushes me away and gestures for me to be silent and to turn around. He melts back into the trees. When I turn, I see Romans approaching, searching the wood. They arrive in our clearing: Rusticus, Publius, Fabius and a small detachment of soldiers. The soldiers wear their armour, Rusticus his imposing helmet, like they are expecting trouble. Publius is carrying a sword.

'Come to watch the sport, gentlemen?' Mother says. 'Do you not trust us?'

'Madam,' Rusticus says awkwardly. 'There has been a change of circumstance, I'm afraid.'

'Have you had word from Isca?'

'No, but . . . '

Publius steps forward.

'I am claiming my right under the Lex Juliae,' he says.

'Your right to what?' I ask, trembling.

'To kill you. As an unmarried daughter, who has had – who is no longer a virgin, bringing shame on my house.'

Our eyes widen in horror, Mother and me.

'You cannot mean that,' Mother says.

'It is the only way to purge the stain. Stand aside.'

'Do you have proof?' Mother demands.

Sternly he produces Valeria's phial of chicken blood.

'Why else would she have this, if not to deceive her husband on their wedding night?'

Rusticus is looking everywhere but at Mother and me.

'Lucius?' Mother says.

He shrugs. 'I don't know what I can do. I'm sorry.'

'Stand aside, Livia,' Publius commands.

So here he is, the cause of all our problems, handing down demands and expecting us to obey. I have obeyed, out of guilt, out of obligation to my mother, and it has done me no good. I am going to die anyway, but not meekly. I am not going to make it easy for him, as it was with my father.

'I demand the right to speak,' I say. I don't know, at that point, what I am going to say, or how I am going to get out of this. I pray frantically to Juno, to Ultio to come to my aid.

Rusticus is notionally in charge. He nods, holding up a hand to Publius.

'This man,' I am pointing at Publius, 'poisoned my father, in order to marry my mother and take her inheritance. He needed the money to buy himself a position in Rome. His own family did not have enough, even after his own father died. So he took mine. My mother has the proof. And now he is trying to kill me with the same poison. White hemlock.'

The legionaries are muttering among themselves. Rusticus is looking at Publius, puzzled.

'I call upon the goddess Ultio to be my witness. I demand the right to avenge my father.'

Rusticus's head is reeling now.

'That's enough, that's enough. Let's stop all this nonsense now. All this talk of honour killing. That is not the Roman way,' he says.

'I have the right under the Lex Juliae,' Publius insists. 'She has no right.'

All this time we are waving away smoke, which is drifting across the small clearing. People are coughing. Eyes are watering. Out of the smoke, Eadweard steps forward, sword in hand. There is the slicing, swishing sound of Roman swords being drawn. They also advance a step, but no further, as other Celtic swordsmen appear behind Eadweard. I feel rather than see Adsiltia, emerging from behind the British fighters to stand next to Eadweard. There is a combined sharp intake of breath and a murmur of astonishment on the Roman side when the soldiers realise how young she is and that she is armed. She hands me my father's sword, gleaming, newly sharpened.

'So this must be the druid,' Fabius says. 'We meet at last.'

I feel the collective shiver that runs through the legionaries when they hear the word. Here is their worst nightmare, in the flesh.

'Come to claim your whore, Druid?' Fabius asks.

The word hits me like a slap in the face.

'I speak your language pretty well,' Eadweard says, 'but I do not know this word. I assume you insult Bella's honour by it.'

'A Roman woman who allows a man who is not her husband to have intimate knowledge of her has no honour. And she brings dishonour on her father's house.' Fabius is really getting into this.

'Then let her come with us. She will honour me and my house by marrying me. I have already made Bella that offer. I stand by it. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.'

I turn towards him. Our eyes meet. How I love him. He acknowledges me, he stands by me; he will face down the might of Rome for me. He does love me. He smiles tenderly. I bite my lip to stop the tears. This is not over yet, though. It will not be that easy, I feel it.

Fabius snorts his derision. 'No self-respecting Roman would accept such an offer. If you want her so much, you will have to fight for her.'

'Willingly,' Eadweard says. 'But it is not your fight. Not your decision, I think. And there is another issue here, is there not? Bella's father's death. His blood cries out for vengeance. I cannot avenge him. There is only one person here who can.'

There is a silence that seems to last forever. I only wish it could. I stand by myself in the clearing, sword in hand, feeling the chill in the air grow as the sun starts to sink lower. The chill of death, of the afterlife, which draws round me like a cloak. We are all waiting for Publius's decision, but he does not speak.

'Let them fight,' Eadweard says at length. 'If she wins, she is free to come with me. If he chooses to withdraw –' he points his sword at Publius '– she still comes with me.'

'No. No.' This is Mother, almost hysterical, standing between me and Publius, protecting me from his view. Rusticus slowly sheathes his sword, steps forward and leads her gently away from me, explaining it in a quiet voice. He passes her to Decimus, who gives her his arm to lean on.

'So be it,' Rusticus says. 'Let them fight.'

Fabius puts a hand on Publius's arm.

'When the whore is – dead – we can take the druid – alive.' He raises his voice to the soldiers. 'Alive, boys. Take the druid alive.'

The word druid sends a shiver through the soldiers again. The word whore strikes me in the heart, where he meant it to. He seeks to trample into the dirt our exquisite love-making and to make me feel soiled and used. This man could never have loved me.

'Bella.' Eadweard's voice cuts through to me. 'Bella. Look at me.'

I dare to turn my head, taking my eyes off Publius.

'You can do this,' Eadweard says, looking deep into my soul with those beautiful, intense green eyes. 'You can do this. A Roman sword to avenge a Roman death. You are ready, Bella Romana. This is your time. I have seen it in the smoke. The gods are with you.'

He could have said it in Celt, but he speaks in Latin, so Publius will also understand. The gods are with me. His gods. My gods, hopefully. Ultio. Venus, who brought him to me. Juno, my protector. His words settle my nerves a little. Adsiltia stands at his shoulder, firm and steady. She nods. I feel her confidence flowing into me.

They form half circles round the clearing, the Romans on one side and the Celts on the other. In the middle is the fire and the altar of Venus: I will need to watch out for those. I pull the back hem of my tunic through to the front and tuck it into my girdle, freeing my legs. Mother steps forward and Rusticus holds up both hands, stepping forward to halt proceedings for a moment.

'I'm sorry, Mother,' I say.

I kneel before her. She places her hands on my head. 'I forgive you. I forgive you for what you think you have done in the past. I forgive you for whatever happens here today. I absolve you of any blame. Can you forgive me?'

I take her hands and kiss them. 'There is nothing to forgive.'

I stand and move back to the Celt side of the circle, sword in one hand, the other out to the side to balance me, crouched a little and ready to move.

Publius has not felt the need to hitch up his toga. He strides forward, swinging. His early blows are easy to dodge. As Adsiltia has taught me, I let him tire himself out for a few minutes, chasing me and swinging the short sword to no effect. The soldiers jeer his efforts. I swing my sword down on his, pushing it downwards and away, then flicking mine up and in as I jump back or to the side. Or I swing underneath his, pushing it up and away, then trying to slice in below. The folds of his toga get in my way.

Father's sword is not heavy to start with but it is getting heavier the more I have to wield it, despite the attentions of the Celt swordsmiths, so I know I won't have many chances to strike. I can't dance away for much longer: I am going to have to engage with him. When we do clash swords, it is hard to withstand the blows, but somehow I do. Under the shouts of the men, I hear Adsiltia's voice, but I cannot hear what she is saying. I go high, I go low, I keep moving.

Then suddenly I catch his arm with the blade, cutting him. Red starts spreading out instantly. He does the thing Cador told me not to do, and looks down at the blood. I know where I need to strike now, and I thrust home where I think his ribs end, but I do not push hard enough. Because of that, he is able to fend me off. It is going to take a mighty effort to kill him. I begin to doubt that I have the strength, although I think I see blood beginning to seep where the sword point touched him.

He is thrusting the sword towards me, point first, urged on by the soldiers. They are getting excited, perhaps scenting the kill. It is getting harder and harder to deflect his efforts. As I jump out of the way, he changes direction and swings side to side. The point slices across my upper arm, my non-sword arm. I cry out but I don't stop and look. He follows up quickly and it is all I can do to avoid being run through, as Cador warned I would be. I jump to the side and swing wildly, connecting with his sword arm, above the elbow. He cries out: I have drawn blood again.

I am getting panicky. I realise the strange whimpering noise I can hear is me. My arm is hurting, but I daren't look. I begin to feel he will win, and I will die in the next few heartbeats. I retreat to the far side of the fire, panting. My chest is hurting, scraped raw by the effort. I can't stop, I can't rest, I can't ask Adsiltia or Cador what to do. He comes for me, the sword above his head now. It looks like he wants to cleave me in two, from the head downwards. I thrust under the stroke, towards his heart, where a spreading patch of red offers a target to aim at. He fends me off, pushing me off-balance. I stumble round the fire. A breeze suddenly swirls, smoke gets in his eyes and he lurches forward, falling heavily on to the edge of the fire. And there he is, prostrate before me, still and silent even though the embers must be burning him, surely the flames are scorching him, small though they are. I approach cautiously, not sure if he is dead or not. A movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. It is Adsiltia, who is holding the end of her sword hilt with both hands and subtly demonstrating that I need to plunge my sword downwards into him. In that brief moment of distraction, he reaches out and grabs my ankle, pulling me over. The soldiers roar their approval. I try to crawl away while he attempts to get up from the fire. I scramble on all fours to the far side of the altar.

'Sword up!' Adsiltia yells, her voice cutting through the noise of the men shouting. 'Get your sword up! Face him!'

I roll on to my back, but I don't have time to get up.

He is almost on me, trampling down my altar, ready to deliver the killing blow, his eyes fixed on mine. Horrified, I really am about to die this time. I want to look for Eadweard, I want his face to be the last one I see in this life. Jupiter has decided: it is death without him. Into your hands, o judges of the underworld, I commend my spirit.