Chapter 29: Eadweard

Somehow she does it, she rolls away from his blow. I give a heartfelt sigh of relief. Then, totally unexpectedly, she switches the sword to her other hand and swings at his legs. His knee buckles, he falls, dropping the sword. Truly she is protected by her gods; she has divine assistance on her side. I have never seen anything like it. She has him now, surely. She raises her sword, as Adsiltia was showing her; she plunges it in with all her might this time, in the place Cador instructed her to, all those days ago in the field. She leans on it, so there is no mistake, yelling to the heavens with all the force in her body. My heart swells with pride. She has won, my Roman girl, against all the odds. She is a doe no longer. Cador slaps my shoulder hard, then squeezes it triumphantly.

The Romans are stunned.

Then she collapses down on to her knees, throwing up and sobbing, her head down on her arms, on the ground.

'Come on,' I say to Cador.

We leap forward and I gather her up into my arms while Cador sorts out her father's sword. She is shocked, covered in blood and barely able to stand. She hangs on to me for dear life. I doubt she will want her step-father's head as a trophy: she won't want the reminder. And it might upset her mother too much.

Then we are aware of slight movements among the soldiers. Cador and I back slowly towards our fighters, taking Bella with us, pointing our swords at the Romans. They have drawn their swords again, sheathed during the fight, and stand ready, waiting for the signal to take us. However, the camp commander does not appear to want to turn single combat into a general fight, so we agree to step back and go our own ways. But the druid-hunter has other ideas. Grabbing the step-father's abandoned sword, he comes for me.

I throw Bella behind me. I call on the gods to stand with me and prepare to fight to the death. I feel their strength. He is shorter than me, with the shorter legionary's sword, but he is ferocious and attacks with all the anger of self-righteousness. I defend his blows, but they take burrs out of the edges of the blade. I wonder if he has actually seen active service. He fights like it. We crash about from side to side of the clearing. A deafening roar fills our ears. We have both learnt to watch for the altar fire and the stones. When we come together, sword pressed hard against the other, it is almost all I can do to throw him back. But throw him back I do, and I start to nick him. He is not distracted by the blood. Then I manage to get in a thrust, just below the ribs, which causes him to drop to one knee. He presses his free hand across the wound and starts to keel over. I watch the sword hand as I step in. Once I have knocked him on to his back and I can place a foot on his sword arm, I drive my own into his throat. I drop to one knee, so I am the last face he sees in this life.

'This is for Mona,' I say. 'This is for my mother. And for your insult to Bella. You were not worthy of her.'

He will know about Mona, but he will not have any idea about Kerenza. Perhaps he will learn in the afterlife, wherever the Roman dead go. Let him carry the blame for her death.

He gurgles and gasps as the life leaves him. I retrieve my sword and walk away, drained. The camp commander and I can agree on one thing – no-one else needs to die today. He could avenge the deaths, but then the little clearing would be awash with blood and that would achieve nothing. Too much has already been spilt because of Roman pride. He denies me my trophy – the head of the druid-hunter. He calls me over, walking towards me with his hands held out wide. I push my sword through my belt and show him my empty hands.

'I will tell my legate in Isca that you and Aurelia have left the area,' he says. 'But if I see either of you within sight of the fort, I will have no choice but to come after you. Do you understand? Things are peaceful round here – let's keep them that way, shall we?'

He seems reasonable; we could do business with him. But war is coming from the east. Bigger tribes than ours are rising up. This could be the end of the Roman occupation. We can but hope. He has not heard anything, so no orders from Isca to join the fighting. Perhaps, for once, we have the upper hand.

The two former slaves of the Second Augusta return to the fort with the soldiers: Bretta to take care of Bella's traumatised mother, Cinnia to join her soldier sweetheart. Some people you just can't help. My first priority is to get Bella, equally traumatised, back to the village, where I can care for her.

And she needs a lot of care. Her wound is not serious but it needs a couple of stitches to hold it closed, to help the healing, but that is not the only thing that needs to heal. We watch her, we make sure she doesn't stray too far, but she spends her days wandering and crying. It is impossible to reach her, and there is no point trying to talk to her. I have not found that talking about such things does a lot of good. I manage to keep her in my bed by means of sleeping draughts, otherwise I am convinced we would be up all night every night with her. I am hoping that sleep will be the best help for her, but it is difficult to get her to rest. When I am busy, which is most of the day these days, given the unrest going on, Adsiltia watches her for me.

We don't lie together; I wait for her to show me somehow that she wants to. Until then I sleep close to her, to make her feel safe. Whenever I can, I hold her hand, I put my arms round her, I keep her close and in physical contact with me. I don't know if it is the distress of what she went through that stops her, or whether she is haunted by that word. I seek out Katurix, the Roman veteran, and ask him what it means. Something tells me it is not a fit word to ask a woman about. He tells me, in his plain soldier's language, which is what I want. No dressing it up, no hiding it behind fancy other words. A prostitute. Her first time, our beautiful first union, reduced to something paid for, a business transaction, with no feeling, no longing, no desire behind it. If it takes me a while to get over that barb, how much more did it wound her? I can't begin to imagine. No doubt he wanted her to feel dirty. His revenge for her betrayal of him, as he saw it. But he paid for that, and I do not regret killing him.

And she does show me. It takes a bit of time, but when I take her to watch the barge carrying her mother away, it is like she starts to wake up from the living nightmare she is in.

Word gets back to us, through someone in the market, no doubt from Cinnia or Bretta, that Livia, her mother, is returning to Italy. Livia, the boy, and Bretta, we hear. I wonder, not in her hearing, if we can arrange a meeting, secret of course, so that Bella can say good bye. Totally predictably, Cador does not like this idea.

'You heard what the centurion said. If you're seen, that will be it. That. Will. Be. It,' he says.

It is very difficult to communicate with Cinnia or Bretta or whoever it is who is giving us information. But we get a message that Livia will go to the port, to arrange some details about their passages. The best idea would be to wait somewhere along the route, to intercept her on her way back. But the centurion outflanks us. Because there is a lot of people coming and going, many coming to speak to Father about the upheaval in the east and to consult me about auguries, he sends Livia and Cinnia out with an escort of two legionaries. It is definitely too risky. Fortunately I have not told Bella of our idea, so we have not raised her expectations then disappointed them.

The day comes when Adsiltia brings me news of the sailing Livia will be taking. This comes to us from Valeria. Bella is apparently sleeping when Adsiltia arrives, and although we think we are speaking quietly, the sound of her mother's name wakes her. She has heard enough, so we have to confirm what is happening. I agree to see if I can take her to watch the barge depart.

We ride to a place further down the river, where we can watch from the bank and she will have a good view. Valeria has reported that the centurion is sending a soldier to escort them all the way to Rome, which is generous of him. Travel can be dangerous at the best of times, and especially for unaccompanied women. I don't know what I was expecting, but the sight of her mother leaving on the tide does not upset her. If anything, it seems to make her calmer.

She sits behind me on the horse, holding on tight to my waist, pressed up against my back. When we return to the house she stands in the middle, as if unable to move. In my concern, I go to embrace her, and she kisses me, sliding her hand under my tunic, seeking my skin. Somewhere, deep down, she wants to connect, or purge the stain of that word.

I take off my tunic for her, but I don't undress her. I am not sure she is ready for that. I let her take what she needs; I don't need her to give me anything. Just to be intimate with her is enough. Intimate knowledge: Katurix explained that expression, too. It is a nice way of saying it, but again, the intended husband made it dirty. I will purify it for her. Slowly, tenderly, I move my hand towards that special place between her thighs. She becomes totally carried away by those feelings, holding my hand in place, guiding me to the exact right spot. When she appears to be right at the height of them, she takes me inside her. Then I am lost, in a beautiful moment. The memories of Beltane come flooding back. I hope she feels the same. Afterwards, we have no need to go anywhere till the evening meal, so we allow sleep to wash over us, to bear us away. To heal.

Although she is recovering now, she is still fragile, still not at full strength. While Adsiltia keeps her company, I make preparations to go to war. We have village meetings to discuss it. Chiefs of the neighbouring villages come together to confer, and to hear the result of the auguries, which suggest this is the time. More stories are being passed along, round the tribes; this is serious, it is not just a local flare-up. Some of our young men are keen to go. They have been itching to fight the Romans for years. Father does not forbid them this time, but neither does he insist that all men of fighting age go. I, as a druid, am exempt, but the Romans are an itch that I also need to scratch.

Once I have decided to go, I need to have a conversation with Cador. He is sorting spears when I approach him.

'What's up?' he asks.

'If I don't come back,' I begin.

He stops to listen.

'If I don't – come back – '

'Always a possibility with you, with your sword skills.'

'Thanks. That's encouraging.'

He shrugs. 'It's the truth, Brother. Although you did all right against that fat Roman.'

I know he's just jealous because I have actually killed a Roman.

'Just let me say this, will you? If I don't come back – will you look after Bella for me?'

'Not what I was expecting to hear, I've got to admit. I thought you were going to ask me to bring back your head. What, take her into my household, you mean?'

'Yes. And before you say anything, she will be my widow, as good as.'

He knows that, as well as I do.

'Hmm. Not sure what Ula will make of that. That will go down a storm at the wedding.'

'She'll understand. Father won't be able to do it. Brina won't let him.'

And he knows why. Brina hasn't really forgiven me yet. And she won't, while Lavena remains in the village and under Father's roof.

'Hmm.' He ponders it for a brief while, testing spear points. Then:

'Of course, Brother. I'll make sure she's looked after. Goes without saying. You'd do the same for me, I know.'

'Thank you.'

'I'll just have to make sure you come home, then – alive. No more talk of widows, all right?' He shakes the bundle of spears. 'It is the Romans who will have widows. These are the widow-makers.'

'They're mostly not married, the legionaries. You do know that, don't you?'

'You spoil all my fun.'

He slaps my shoulder then sets off with the spears, to take them to the smiths.

The smiths sharpen the swords and the spear points, and make them gleam. We, the men who are going to war, gather outside the meeting house. We have already put the lime in our hair, so it stands out round our heads in white spikes. We take off our tunics, and paint on our sacred symbols, while my father and Brina watch. Cador paints mine on to my chest, his hand resting on my shoulder. I watch him, our heads close, as he makes the blue swirls. I do not want too much paint, I don't intend to fight without my tunic, but I need to join in with the others. Then it is my turn to adorn him. While he stands patiently, he exchanges remarks and banter with the others. He is excited, his eyes shine, he laughs. I tell him to keep still, my lines are going crooked. We don't get much practice at putting on the war paint. He looks at me, smiling, and pats my face affectionately. We have been very close since our talk after the grandmother's death.

Adsiltia wants to see the preparations, so she brings Bella with her. Bella approaches, to look at the designs and to trace the pattern on my chest with her finger.

'You will smudge it,' Cador says, but kindly. She puts her hand on my heart anyway. I kiss her palm, then press her hand back in place, with both of mine. We cannot say what we feel; the emotions are too big. I do not know whether the next time I see her will be in this life or the next. Her eyes shine with unshed tears.

She turns her gaze to Cador. She takes in his war paint, far more extensive than mine.

'What do you think? Is it impressive?' he asks. 'Has he done a good job?'

'I pity the Roman soldiers who have to face you all,' she says.

She thinks about touching him. He takes hold of the hand she has raised.

'I will look after him,' he says.

She nods her thanks.

'May the gods protect you all, and bring you home safe. I will pray for that.'

He squeezes her hand, then pats her shoulder reassuringly, before moving off to mock Ansgar. He has been kinder to her since we brought her back to the village. He will greet her now, he will speak to her; bit by bit, he is showing her more warmth. He uses her name and no longer refers to her as 'the Roman girl' or, more usually, 'your Roman girl'. He is proud of his role in her survival: he and Adsiltia argue with each other about who taught her the most. Through my request to him to take her into his household if I don't return, it is starting to come home to him that she will be related to him, she is related to him, his sister by marriage. He bestows on her his smile, which is a gift not given to many. I think she impressed him with her courage; I think, in his eyes, she has earned her place with us. She is good enough to be considered a Celt.

After he has joked with Ansgar and the other lads, Cador shyly approaches Ula, waiting with her chaperone brother behind Brina and Father. She has won his heart, we can all see that, despite his reaction when she first came to the village. I am pleased for him, she will surely bring contentment to his life. She is softening his anger, his edges. But I have to turn away from their bitter-sweet parting. My own parting from Bella is hard enough to deal with. I cannot even begin to explain to her why I am going, and that hurts her. She doesn't understand why I would leave her like this. Sometimes I think it is too deep even for me to understand, but I feel compelled, and I will know no rest unless I do, even though a large part of my heart wants to remain here, with her. She does not hide her hurt face, her perplexed face, her heartbroken face from me. She can't. I cannot speak when I make love to her for what might be the last time; I am too choked. She cries. But we cannot dwell on what we are leaving behind: we have to concentrate on what we are fighting for.

We are all feeling a mixture of excitement, pride and apprehension. We will be like auxiliaries to the main fighting force, but we will be able to say we helped to expel the Romans, and did not rely on other tribes to do it for us. I have just made my first kill in anger, and I am ready. This is our time, I feel it.