The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

‘Look for the other children. There were three, I understand; bury these two women with honour, then bring these two back to the camp. Gently!’ He shouted the last word up at his second in command who nodded gravely, at last sliding down from his own horse.

      ‘And find out who committed this outrage,’ the officer went on, his voice deceptively quiet. ‘Whoever they were, they will pay with their lives.’

      When Eigon woke she was lying on a low bed in a tent. Her mother was gently sponging her body with warm water. Behind her a lamp burned, throwing shadows round the walls. She could smell lavender.

      ‘Mam?’ Her eyes filled with tears.

      ‘Quietly, sweetheart. Everything is going to be all right.’ Cerys managed an exhausted smile. She had been given hot water and clothes and food, though she had eaten little, watching over her daughter as the child lay, a small alabaster figure on the bed, moaning now and then as slowly the shroud of dreams lifted and consciousness began to return.

      A figure appeared at the door of the tent behind her. It was the officer who had brought her back. His name she now knew was Justinus. ‘Queen Cerys?’

      There had been no point in denying who she was. Dozens of men and women from the fort had been captured together with hundreds of her husband’s warriors. Some of them would be bound to confirm her name in exchange for a promise to save their lives. The others were dead. Thousands, he had told her. Putting down the sponge she carefully pulled the sheet up round her daughter’s small body as he stood looking down at her. ‘How is she?’

      Cerys stood up wearily. The child’s eyes had closed again. ‘The gods have blessed her with sleep for the time being.’

      ‘And she hasn’t spoken at all?’

      Cerys shook her head.

      ‘We need to find your other children, lady. For their own safety. They are alone out there on the hills.’ Justinus glanced towards the entrance to the tent and shook his head slightly. ‘Better my men find them than …’ He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Both of them looked down at Eigon’s sleeping face. There was a short silence. ‘I have spoken to our commander, Publius Ostorius Scapula,’ he said quietly. ‘There is as yet no sign of your husband.’

      She closed her eyes with a murmured prayer of gratitude to the gods. If he had escaped the battlefield he would return to rescue her.

      ‘He might have been slain, lady,’ he said gently. He had read her thoughts immediately. ‘There are still bodies to be recovered from the battlefield.’

      ‘I think his capture or his killing would have been shouted from the highest summit of the hills,’ she said sharply. She straightened her shoulders painfully. ‘My husband is a king and the saviour of his people; the greatest warrior in Britain. If he had fallen, we would know it.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘You are probably right to say that.’ He sighed. ‘Scapula wishes to speak with you, lady. I told him you are injured.’ He glanced at the bruises on her face and at her throat and on her arms, and the strapping on her ankle, showing beneath the mantle and cloak in which she was huddled. ‘He has ordered me to bring you to him when you are well enough.’

      ‘Thank you for giving me that respite at least.’ She bowed her head. So far she had been treated with courtesy, even consideration, but that she was a prisoner was beyond doubt. Two men stood outside the entrance to the tent, their spears crossed over the doorway. They had snapped to attention as the praefectus had entered, but crossed them again behind him.

      ‘If there is anything you need for yourself or the child, tell one of the guards,’ he went on. Then he bowed. He left her sitting at Eigon’s bedside, her hand over the child’s pale cold fist as it lay on the bedcover.

      When Eigon woke again at last the lamp had burned low; the oil was sputtering in the bowl and the tent was almost dark. She stared round. ‘Mam?’

      ‘Here, sweetheart.’

      ‘Where is Alys?’

      Cerys bit her lip. ‘She isn’t here, Eigon. I’m sorry.’

      ‘And Togo and Glads?’ The child’s voice suddenly slid higher with anxiety.

      Cerys shook her head. ‘I don’t know where they are.’ She sighed. Was the officer right? They would be better off with her? Better that than to risk being raped and murdered on the cold hillside, surely; but if they were with her they risked, what? What would the Romans do to her and her children? Imprisonment? Ransom? Death? She shook her head violently. Caradoc would rescue her. He would find a way of saving her. Her duty was to keep the children with her, safely.

      ‘Where were they, Eigon? You came to find us, but the children weren’t with you.’

      Her daughter shook her head. ‘I told them to hide. I told them we were playing hide and seek like you said. I told them not to come out till I went back for them.’ The child’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did those men hurt me, Mam?’

      ‘They were soldiers, Eigon. Ignorant, vicious men. You must try and forget what happened. The gods will punish them for what they did.’ Cerys closed her eyes for a few seconds, unable to look at her daughter’s anguished little face. When she opened them she took a deep breath. ‘Eigon. We have to find Togo and Gwladys. Do you remember where you left them?’

      The child shook her head again. ‘It was dark. The wind was roaring in the trees. I couldn’t see anything. We hid in a ditch where the wind couldn’t get to us. It was warmer there.’ Tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘Are they all right?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ Cerys felt the words catch in her throat.

      ‘It wasn’t hide and seek, was it?’

      ‘No, sweetheart. It wasn’t …’

      Hide and seek!

      The words echoed through the bedroom as Jess sat up abruptly, suddenly wide awake. The moon had moved on and the room was dark. She stared round, frightened. ‘She’s telling me her story. Eigon wants me to know what happened. She knows I understand because it happened to me.’ Climbing out of bed Jess stood for a moment in the darkness trying to steady her breathing. Padding barefoot to the window she looked out. The night was dark now. She couldn’t see anything or anyone outside.

      The luminous dial on her bedside clock told her it was just after three. Switching on the light she stared down at her pillows for several seconds before turning her back on them and heading for the stairs.

      In the kitchen she switched on the kettle, then she went to the door and unlocked it. Pulling it open almost defiantly she stood looking out into the courtyard. The night was balmy; a gentle breeze touched her face. It was very quiet. Even the trees were motionless. Still barefoot she stepped outside and glanced up. The sky was bright with a myriad stars. She caught her breath. One could never see the night sky in London properly. This was spectacular and she was not going to lock herself inside, frightened by a dream. She had vowed not to be a victim. She was not going to be terrorised by a ghost any more than she was going to be terrorised by the man who had raped her. To walk to the gate was the first proof that she was succeeding. The flags were warm under her feet as she walked away from the open door.

      ‘Eigon?’ She whispered the name out loud. ‘Eigon? Glads? Are you there?’ Her voice was louder this time. With a shriek of alarm a blackbird flew out of the bush by the gate and disappeared into the darkness. Her heart hammering, she stopped. It was only a bird. Nothing to be afraid of. In fact, if there had been anyone there lurking in the shadows the bird would have long gone. She forced herself to walk on. Two more steps. Then one. She put out her hands to the gate and grasped the top rail. ‘Eigon?’

      She could just make out the line of the track outside the gate. In one direction it led towards the wood, in the other back down between high banks which eventually followed the contour of the hillside to the road in the valley bottom. Faraway in the distance she could make out two or three lights which showed a village tucked away in a fold