Alternate Generals Read Free Page B

hold the Iceni for her daughter.

    His chin went up. His brows rose. "So tell me then, Tribune, how is this barbarian village defended?"

    My heart sinking, I told him that, too.

     

    The old man let the scroll roll shut. He shut his eyes and touched his lips with his fingertips. From the atrium came the sounds of voices, footsteps, and furniture sliding across the tile floor.

    "Are you in pain?" asked his wife's voice.

    "Yes, as always," he replied, looking up. "But mostly I'm tired."

    "Why are you writing it down? It was so long ago." She walked to his side and began stroking his shoulders.

    "It's my geas . I know the truth and I must speak it."

    She sighed. "The memories are harsher for you than they are for me."

    "You were guiltless. I was not." He captured her hand and held it to his face. It was scented with rosemary, thyme, and coriander, the hot herbs of a hot climate. "What will you do when I've gone to Mars and Mithras? Is there comfort in your secret new god, the crucified one?"

    "He reminds me of the gods I knew as a child, who taught that death was not an end."

    "As Mithras teaches, too."

    They leaned together in companionable silence, as they had for almost forty years now. From the corner of his eye Marcus saw her dangling braid, its red-gold faded to gray. Which was just as well—her hair color no longer drew comment in the streets, although her height always would.

    Through the atrium he could see the flat, pale sky. "Thank you, my love," he said, releasing her hand, and spread open the scroll.

     

    The next time I saw Venta Icenorum, it was burning. The damp thatch of the roofs singed slowly, sending billows of gray smoke to mingle with a gray sky. Men lay dead beside their plows in the muddy fields. Birds both black and white wheeled overhead.

    A blond warrior was pinned by a javelin to one of the gateposts. Inside the town women screamed and arms clashed. But Catus's legionaries had taken the Iceni by surprise. Why should they suspect an attack by an ally?

    I urged my horse toward the Great Hall, Ebro jogging at my knee, sword drawn. But already the sounds of battle were dying. I wondered how many of the bodies we passed were of men I'd lately heard boasting. But perhaps they were the fortunate ones, to go so swiftly to their gods. . . . There were very few bodies, I noted, and wondered whether Catus had been fortunate enough to attack when most of the warriors were out hunting.

    I couldn't believe my eyes. Catus himself stood atop a small platform hastily assembled from logs, the standard bearers ranged behind him. Before him Boudica was lashed to an upright pole. Two legionaries crouched nearby, clasping themselves, red-faced. She'd not gone without fighting, then.

    Catus signaled. Two centurions stepped forward, ripped Boudica's dress open, and began applying their rods. The slap of leather against her back made my gorge rise. "Catus!"

    He ignored me. Obviously he meant not only to bring the Iceni under Roman rule here and now, but to punish Boudica for her presumption. But she was hardly presumptuous in following her own customs. . . . High-pitched screams made me look around.

    Several legionaries were dragging Brighid and Maeve away, tearing at their dresses and shouting coarse wagers at each other. Horrified, I swarmed down from my horse and came face to face with Ebro. His laconic expression didn't change, but his meaning was obvious. The legionaries were following orders. By interfering I'd only call censure upon myself.

    I spun around and shot the sharpest look of which I was capable at Catus. He was inspecting Boudica's brooch, turning it back and forth to catch the light. Nothing personal, just business, Roma's virility making an example of the proud women of a proud tribe.

    The girls' screams turned to sobs. Boudica never screamed. Her eyes blazing, she spat quick painful gasps—curses, no doubt—toward Catus and toward me.

    Again I started forward, again I