When it finally eased, Ramah was laughing.
“No scream, Theron?”
Theron reiterated his earlier invitation.
“I am going to enjoy this,” Ramah said.
This time when the pain hit, it felt like a flaming boulder had been forced into Theron’s skull. He clenched his fists and his eyes shut, but the flames licked through the insides of his mind like a predator, clawing and eating away at his brain until all rational thought had fled. It didn’t take long for him to break his silence, giving Ramah the scream he desired.
12
Boudica watched the sun break over the Eastern horizon. Dawn. Time to march.
Behind her, the army of Iceni and Trinovante prepared for their journey. Her advance scouts had reported killing over a dozen Roman legionaries in the outlying fields. Some of them had been caught spying, while others were simply passing through but could not be allowed to continue after seeing the army camped so close to Londinium. Additionaly, dozens of civilians who’d been spotted in the area had been captured, interrogated, and put to the sword. Boudica was taking no chances.
Even with all their precautions, she knew her troops could not catch every single person who’d caught sight of her army. It mattered little enough, however. The prize was the city, and she meant to have it. The soldiers who remained in Londinium would not be able to withstand her onslaught, and the Roman insult would be avenged this very night. She turned to regard her troops. Cyric stood at the head of the army, calling orders to his officers, who in turn shouted orders to their men. Soon they would be ready to move. The journey would take the entire day, but that suited her just fine. Her intent was to attack at night when the city’s defenses would be at their lowest.
“It will be a long day,” her daughter said. Boudica turned to regard Heanua, uncertain of her meaning.
“Have you lost your will for this?” she asked. “Like Lannosea?”
Heanua’s eyes snapped left, and she stared hard into Boudica’s face. “Hardly. I wish we were there now. I can’t wait to gut the people of Londinium.”
The queen smiled. She should have known better. “Don’t worry. We’ll be there tonight.”
“It isn’t soon enough,” Heanua replied, and turned her face West, toward their objective. “Even if we arrive in five minutes, it will not be soon enough.”
Boudica noted that her daughter’s knuckles had gone white on the pommel of her sword, and nodded her approval. Heanua wanted this even more than she did. She supposed that made sense. Her indignities had not broken her spirit like they had Lannosea’s. Instead they had molded her into a fiery, merciless warrior.
Thinking about Lannosea reminded her that she had neither seen nor heard from her younger daughter all morning. The girl should be here with me right now, she thought, anxious to avenge herself on some Roman scum.
“Have you seen your sister?”
Heanua shook her head. “Not this morning. She is probably still asleep.”
“It’s almost time to move,” the gravel in her own voice surprised her. She hadn’t thought she could be so angry. “Why is she not standing here with us?”
Heanua shook her head again. “I don’t know.”
“Find her,” Boudica snapped. “If she sleeps, wake her. If not, drag her to my tent. I want to see her within the hour.”
“I am not your personal messenger, mother,” Heanua said. “Send someone else to collect Lannie.”
Boudica rounded on her eldest daughter, her face flushed and warm. “You will do as I say, child!” she spat. “Or you will watch the conquest of Londinium from one of the cages!”
The cages were just that; mobile cells the Trinovante had brought with them to house prisoners. Each one was six feet by six feet, with stout wooden floors and iron bars set wide enough apart to allow for throwing rotten fruit and buckets of excrement. The Trinovante liked to humiliate their prisoners prior to killing them. Boudica had no intention of taking prisoners, but the Trinovante leaders wanted the cages brought along anyway, and she needed their help. They rolled along on wooden wheels behind the bulk of the army, pulled by oxen.
“Mother, you can’t-” Heanua began.
Boudica cut her off. “I can and will. I will have one of the cages brought to the front lines just for you, so you can view the taking of the city from behind its iron bars.”
A dark look flashed across Heanua’s pale features, but Boudica held her ground, daring her to disobey. For a moment, she seemed like she might argue further, but then her daughter pulled her hand from her sword and swept into a curt bow. “Yes, my Queen,” she said, and turned back to the encampment.
I’ll have to watch that one, Boudica thought. Heanua was not next in line for the throne of the Iceni, but she was not far behind. If anything happened to Boudica, Heanua would assume the leadership of her people. While Heanua would no doubt make a fine, strong Queen, Boudica wasn’t ready to give up her rule just yet.
She turned and headed back for her own tent, which would be disassembled within an hour. Along the way, she pondered the strangeness of having one daughter with no ambition at all, and another who would probably try to kill her in the coming days.
It is a strange world in which I live. Strange or not, Heanua would never have considered disobeying her queen before the Roman attack. Those bastards had not only taken her husband’s kingdom from her, they had taken her daughters, as well.
But she would have the final word. Nero would beg her to take her kingdom back by the time she finished with his army.
13
Theron awoke to the sound of someone groaning. It sounded distant, hollow, as though he heard it through a long corridor. The sound grew stronger and louder as he gradually drifted into consciousness. He kept his eyes closed and listened, not wanting to give away his growing lucidity.
The pain was amazing. All through his body tiny sizzles fired on his nerve endings, making his muscles twitch and spasm. Because of these involuntary movements, he knew without opening his eyes that he had been moved from the table to the stocks. The groaning sound must be Taras, who might be regaining his senses, as well. But did he have to be so damn noisy about it?
Theron opened his eye a crack and risked a quick look. He was in the same room as before. The chains on the wall where the Lost One had tortured Taras hung empty. He couldn’t see anyone else in the room with him. That didn’t mean anything, of course. With his head stuck in the stocks there could be an army behind him and he wouldn’t be able to see them. He might be able to hear the breathing of living occupants, or their heartbeats, but the only other people likely to be in the room with him had no need of either. Still, the silence of the place spoke to its emptiness. He hoped. He opened his eyes the rest of the way and looked around as well as he could, all the while expecting to hear Ramah’s chortling laughter behind him. When the laughter didn’t come, he listened harder. The sound of a mouse scurrying across the floor confirmed there was no Psalm of Silence on the room, which meant he probably was alone for the moment. Well, except for Taras. Ramah had left them both in the cell and gone off somewhere, probably to sleep away the day.
And why not? Neither of his prisoners were going anywhere. Not weak and shackled like they were. All Theron could do was wait for Ramah to kill him, which would probably occur just after dark. Most likely, the only reason he still lived at all was because Ramah had run out of time and had to find a place to spend the day.
Was it dark outside now? He was awake, which usually did not happen during the day. Did that mean dusk had come? If so, how long did he have before Ramah returned? It didn’t look good. Sooner or later the Councilor would come back to the room and finish what he’d started.