six months with the legions but he’d never been at home among men whose first instinct was to strike a blow. He disliked Crespo, indeed found him disgusting, but he had a distasteful mission to accomplish and a man like the centurion was a useful means to that end. He looked down at the Iceni queen wriggling in the dust beneath the soldier’s sandal and fought back the urge to intervene. No. She had defied Rome and if she was not taught to fear it there was a danger she would defy it again.
He turned away and walked past the bloodied, kneeling figure of the golden-haired Celt scarcely noticing the dead woman at his side, his mind focused on the more urgent problem of discovering the extent of King Prasutagus’s wealth.
Crespo’s blunt-faced deputy handed him a whip, but the centurion knocked it away. ‘Not that one. Get me my flagellum.’ The flagellum was the heavier whip, made of ox leather. Boudicca would not only feel the pain of her punishment but bear the scars of it till she died. He felt the queen struggling harder now and realized she was recovering from his punch. She was a big woman, and strong, which might be awkward. He looked around the square and his eye settled on a post used for tying up livestock on market days.
‘Truss her up to that,’ he ordered, hauling Boudicca to her feet. Two men dragged her to the post, her red hair and clothing now matted with dust and her cheeks dirty and tear-streaked. She struggled and twisted between them, but her green eyes, blazing with the fire of her hatred, never left Crespo. She unleashed a string of curses, each predicting a worse death, but Crespo only laughed.
‘Now we’ll see what a queen is made of.’ Boudicca had been tied with her hands above her head and her face against the splintered wood of the post, and he took hold of the neck of her dress and with all his strength ripped it apart until her back was bared. Still not content, he half turned her and tore the garment from her front, leaving her naked to the waist and visible to all.
He hesitated for a moment to admire his handiwork. The sight of her breasts, heavy, milk white and dark- nippled, ignited something within him; liquid fire flooded his loins and he felt a roaring in his ears. He raised the whip and slashed it down on the pale flesh of her back. Boudicca screamed for the first time.
Rosmerta and Banna had watched their mother’s ordeal with increasing horror. Now they rushed to her side from the crowd of howling women and children, imploring Crespo to show mercy. Crespo watched them race towards him, his mind already framing the possibilities. So. Not one juicy little peach, but two. He threw the whip to Vettius, who was standing by, grinning. ‘Make sure she feels it, and when you’ve had enough come and take your turn.’ He took each girl by the arm and dragged them to the nearest hut, kicked in the door and threw them inside. They stared at him, terrified, cowering against the wall, their eyes showing wide and white in the darkness of the interior. The knowledge of their fear only intensified his desire. He stared at them, prolonging the moment and anticipating the pleasures to be discovered beneath the plain shifts.
‘Now,’ he said, his eyes moving lazily between them. ‘Who is going to be first?’
Even through her pain, Boudicca heard her daughters’ screams.
XXVIII
Valerius emerged from the low building that served as the port commander’s office and shook his head. ‘Every ship that’s docked this week has been at least three days late. Apparently there have been poor winds in the bay. The galley bringing our man isn’t expected until the end of the week at the earliest.’
Lunaris nodded. His knowledge of ships was limited to the transport that had brought him to Britain but he understood enough of the vagaries of the wind to accept the delay without complaint. ‘So what do we do now?’ He pointed with his thumb to the men lounging among the bales along the wharf by the Tamesa. ‘If we don’t keep them busy they’ll get up to mischief.’
‘I’ll report to the camp prefect and have you put on the ration strength. Three days isn’t long, but I’ll try to make sure you’re on light duties.’
‘Watch your back. Crespo might still be around,’ the duplicarius warned.
‘If Crespo’s around he’s the one who needs to be watching his back.’
Two hours later they met on the wharf and Valerius gathered the legionaries around him. ‘You’ve been excused duties for the rest of the day.’ The news raised a small cheer. ‘But I’ve been made responsible for your behaviour and you’re to be on parade for inspection before dawn tomorrow.’ The cheers faded as they realized there would be no night of debauchery in Londinium’s inns and brothels.
When the men had dispersed, Lunaris approached Valerius with a scowl. ‘I sent the Mules out to ask around about Crespo. Know your enemy, right?’ Valerius nodded. ‘The word is that he left eight or nine days ago to do the procurator’s dirty work and took half of the garrison with him.’
Valerius whistled. ‘That’s a lot of dirty work.’
‘That’s right, but he must have finished the job, because most of them are back now, which is why we aren’t up there patrolling the walls.’
‘Did anybody say what it was?’
Lunaris hesitated. ‘Only that it was up somewhere in Iceni country.’
Valerius froze. He thought of Maeve and Cearan in the little township at Venta.
If Crespo harmed her…
The hut stank of fish.
Maeve had bandaged Cearan’s shattered face as best she could, but was barely able to look at the torn flesh and splintered bone created by Crespo’s sword. Now she sat with her back to the thatch wall, cradling his head as his body shook uncontrollably. She had little medical knowledge, but enough to know that if he did not receive help soon he would die.
Little Banna lay slumped against the opposite wall. Her eyes were closed but Maeve doubted she was sleeping. Beside her, a dark-haired woman spoke quietly as Rosmerta sobbed against her breast. Maeve shuddered as she thought of the horrors they had endured. The Romans had eventually tired of the two girls, but so many… She knew they would never be the same again.
She had been certain she would be killed, and every man, woman and child in Venta along with her. The Roman commander was the tall pock-marked officer who had kidnapped her — the man Valerius called Crespo — and she had known better than to expect mercy. She brushed away a tear. What she had suffered was nothing compared with the suffering of the Iceni. When Crespo eventually left the square with the bulk of his men she had rushed from her refuge to Cearan’s side. Aenid’s lifeless blue eyes had stared uncomprehendingly, but Cearan still breathed and somehow she managed to raise him to his feet. The Roman guards had averted their eyes as she supported him away and Maeve sensed that some of the soldiers with the procurator were ashamed of what they’d been ordered to take part in. It gave her hope she would survive, but did not quench the fire of her anger. Later she returned to the square with a small party of women and cut Boudicca down and recovered the girls. They had left Venta and journeyed eastwards, the dark-haired woman leading them along secret paths to this isolated community among the endless reed beds and swamps of the coast.
Now the queen sat alone, a coverlet across her scarred back and breasts, staring south through the open doorway her eyes filled with unnerving savagery.
As the hours passed, the heat became oppressive and the unceasing buzz of insects filled the salt air. Dark clusters of flies settled on Cearan’s bloodstained bandages and Maeve was kept busy brushing them away. At one point she must have fallen asleep. When she awoke the queen hadn’t moved from her position. From time to time she heard her whisper to herself, a garbled litany of fury. Maeve could distinguish only a single word. ‘Andraste.’
In the late afternoon voices outside alerted them. Maeve reached for Cearan’s dagger, which was the only protection they had, but it was the Iceni lord, Volisios, who entered, accompanied by a stooped figure in dark clothing, a young man with pale, almost translucent skin that clung to the bones of his face, and eyes that knew you in an instant. He carried no weapon but wore a belt studded with loops holding short cattle-horn containers, each about three inches long and stopped with birch bark. He took in the occupants of the hut at a glance and immediately crossed to where Maeve sat with Cearan.
‘I am said to have some healing skills,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would allow me to look at his wounds.’ He deftly unwrapped the bandage and studied the Iceni without emotion. ‘He will lose the eye, I think, but one eye will
