Chapter 28: Bella

As Publius raises his sword high above his head, I desperately summon the energy to roll away. As I do so, I switch the sword into my other hand and bend sideways, swinging a hack at his nearest leg. Perhaps I can put him off his aim.

He cries out sharply. The thud that I feel rather than hear behind my back is not that of a sword hitting the ground, more like that of a body. As I scramble frantically to my feet, I turn to see that he has again fallen, face down in the grass. His knee must have given way. There is blood all over the lower part of his toga. His sword has flown out of his hand.

As he starts desperately to roll over, I take the hilt of my father's sword in both hands, the point downwards. Taking a deep breath, I jump into a wider stance, raise it high and plunge it with all my strength into the red target on his toga, leaning all my weight on it, expelling all the air in me in a huge, angry, almost animal scream. I am shocked at how much strength it takes to push the sword home. It quivers in the middle of his body. He tries to clutch it and pull it out, shredding his hands on the sharp edges. I fall to my knees, my arms on the ground, my head down, and vomit. As I shake violently, I hear his gurgling death throes. I can't look. It is done. I can't believe it: the gods of the underworld have not taken my soul, but his. Juno has stayed Jupiter's hand. Ultio has taken her revenge. There is a brief moment of silence: a stunned silence on both sides of the clearing, like the pause between the lightning and the thunder.

Then the storm breaks, the thunder rolls. Mother begins to wail and howl, I am sobbing my heart out, the Roman soldiers give voice to their shock and wonder in their vulgar Latin. Suddenly I become aware of people beside me, someone bending down to me and taking hold of my arm.

'Bella. Bella. It's all over. Come. Come.'

When I lift my head, Eadweard puts his non-sword arm under my uninjured arm and hauls me to my feet: I am almost completely incapable of standing by myself. He holds me up and close with his free arm, while I put my arms round him, clutch his tunic and press my cheek to his chest. Cador is also there, sword in hand. He puts his foot on Publius's body and pulls out my father's sword. He has to press his foot down quite hard. He then wipes it on Publius's toga. I can't look at Publius's face in its death agony, with its staring, shocked, unseeing eyes.

'He's dead, he's dead. You're free,' Eadweard says.

But then Eadweard and Cador are slowly retreating, Eadweard dragging me with him, swords pointing towards the Romans. The legionaries have their swords in hand, waiting for the word from Rusticus.

'You agreed,' Eadweard says. 'There is no need for any more blood to be shed today.'

'Agreed,' Rusticus says. 'Step back, boys.'

'Are you going to let him get away?' Fabius cries.

He grabs Publius's sword, unattended on the ground, and rushes forward, yelling. Eadweard shoves me out of the way and advances to meet him. Adsiltia darts forward to grab my arm and drag me to the safety of the edge of the clearing. The swords clash. I hold my breath, terrified. Fabius fights with the strength of a man possessed. He is a bigger build than Eadweard, but he has the Italian stature: Eadweard is taller. Eadweard is also more agile and more used to swordplay, but Fabius won't give up. This is a fight to the death: Eadweard's – and mine, if he loses.

Rusticus holds back the Romans and Cador does the same with the Celts. Adsiltia takes my hand. The two sides step back as the two men thrash round the clearing, yelling, coming together, then separating. The surrounding men yell, too. It is like the waves crashing against the wall of the harbour when it is stormy. I do not know how much longer I can watch. I sink to my knees, offering up prayers to whichever god will listen. Adsiltia hugs me, whispering in my ear to comfort me.

Finally Eadweard gains the upper hand. Fabius sinks to one knee, holding his side. Blood spreads out through and round his fingers. He can hardly keep himself upright. I close my eyes as Eadweard steps in and drives his sword home. He bends down to the stricken Fabius, putting his face close.

'This is for Mona,' he says. 'This is for my mother.'

He says something else, which is for Fabius alone to hear.

Then there are two dead bodies in the clearing, and the sound of my mother, keening.

Eadweard puts his foot on Fabius's body and pulls out his sword. He and Rusticus face each other. Someone rushes out from behind the Celts and grabs me in a big, warm hug.

'Bretta!' I cry. I attempt to stand up. I am shaking violently, my legs can hardly support me.

'She told us what was happening, so we came,' Eadweard says. 'I told you I would.'

'Bretta, thank you, thank you. We thought you had run away.'

I hang on to Adsiltia, to steady myself.

'I did. But now he is dead –' she gestures to Publius '– I look after your mother.'

She walks purposefully towards Mother, defying Rusticus to do anything. He is only too glad to have someone take Mother off his hands, envelop her in an embrace, and comfort her.

Eadweard comes to put his arm round me. We are both covered in blood. He is also trembling, breathing heavily. He kisses my forehead. I have to grab hold of him again, to hold myself up.

'We have no argument with you, Roman,' Eadweard says to Rusticus. 'Can we depart peacefully?'

Rusticus is barely able to nod, stunned by the turn of events.

'We will leave you to bury your dead. You know there is rebellion in the east, don't you?'

'No. We have had no word here.'

'You will not be here much longer, I think. Perhaps we will meet on a battlefield somewhere soon.'

'We look forward to it – don't we, boys?'

The legionaries roar, a ferocious sound.

'Can I take his head?' Eadweard asks, pointing to Fabius with his sword.

'No,' Rusticus says firmly. 'This is not a time for trophies, Druid.' He calls Eadweard over to him, and they confer. Then he turns to the soldiers.

'Better get some stretchers, I suppose. Better get them back to the fort. Burial party – look lively! Jupiter alone knows how I am going to explain this to the Legate, let alone the Governor.'

'Why does she mourn him, when he was so horrible?' a voice beside me murmurs.

'Because he is her husband, the father of her son. Because she is a widow now, in a strange country. Because she has lost her daughter, her last link to the man she truly loved,' I say. 'Have some sympathy, Cinnia. It was her plan that helped you escape.'

We embrace, and I am so pleased to see her. The Celts prepare to move off, Adsiltia retrieving my father's sword. I motion to Eadweard to wait a moment, and he nods agreement. I manage to approach Decimus as the soldiers are milling around, preparing the bodies, waiting for stretchers from the fort. I touch his arm. He looks at my hand, then glares at me as if I have struck him. I am dead to him now, a proven traitor. I turn my head and look towards Cinnia, and he follows the line of my gaze. Then he is running towards her. He sweeps her off her feet and swings her round, burying his face in her neck.

'Oi, soldier!' Rusticus calls. 'You bringing her back with you, or what?'

'Only as a free woman,' Eadweard declares. 'And only if she wishes it.'

Rusticus sighs, swears wearily and turns his eyes to the heavens.

'Do whatever you want,' he says. 'I can't be doing with all this. The paperwork will be a nightmare. But she does the chores.'