When the Eagle Hunts

'Since when?'

'Since I was betrothed to Prasutagus. We're to be wed as soon as we return to Camulodunum.'

Macro sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. 'Married? To him? When was all this decided? It's been less than a month since we last saw each other. You couldn't stand the sight of him then. At least, that's how you behaved. So what are you playing at, woman?'

'Playing?' Boudica repeated the word with a faint smile. Then she turned and faced him. 'There are no more games for me, Macro. I am a woman now, and I'm expected to behave like one. That's what they told me.'

'Who told you?'

'My family. After they finished beating me.' Her eyes fell to the floor. 'Seems that I caused them some embarrassment after that last night we had in the i

Macro had been beaten a few times in his younger days – at the hands of a centurion wielding a vine staff with all the brutality the officer could muster. He remembered the agony well enough, and understood what she must have endured. Rage and pity welled up inside him. He rose from the cot and went to sit beside her.

'I thought he was going to kill me,' whispered Boudica.

Macro put his arm round her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. He felt her body flinch at his touch.

'Don't, Macro. For pity's sake don't touch me. I can't bear it.'

The chilling despair of rejection turned Macro's guts to ice. He frowned angry with himself for having let this woman work her way into his heart so completely. He could imagine the other centurions laughing contemptuously into their cups if they ever got wind of his infatuation with some native girl. Screwing them was one thing; forming an emotional attachment was quite another. It was just the sort of pathetic behaviour he himself had once been so critical of. He recalled the jibes he had given Cato when the lad had fallen for the slave girl Lavinia. But that had been a harmless teenage fling; just the kind of thing to be expected of youngsters before the harsh demands of adulthood closed down such experimentation with all that life had to offer. Macro was thirty-five, nearly ten years older than Boudica. True, there were relationships with greater differences in age, but they were rightly derided by most people. The gap in age that had charmed him so utterly a few months earlier now mocked him. The centurion felt like one of the pathetic old gropers who haunted the Circus Maximus, trying their hand with women young enough to be their grandchildren. The comparison made him burn with shame. He stirred uncomfortably.

'So they forced you never to see me again?'

Boudica nodded.

'And you went along with it.'

She turned her face to him, twisted with bitterness. 'What else could I do? They said if I was ever caught with another Roman I'd be beaten again. I think I'd rather die than face that. Truly' Her expression softened. 'Sorry, Macro. I can't risk it. I have to think about my future.'

'Your future?' Macro was scornful. 'You mean marriage to Prasutagus? I must admit, that came as a bloody big surprise. Why did you agree to it? I mean, he's not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver.'

'No. He's not. But he is well-positioned for the future. An Iceni prince with a household in Camulodunum and a growing reputation in the tribe. Now he's developing a useful relationship with your general. With this mission he will win Plautius's gratitude.'

'I wouldn't put too much faith in that,' muttered Macro. He had experience of just how short-lived the general's gratitude could be.

Boudica gave him a curious glance. When he did not elaborate, she continued, 'If we manage to find the general's family, Prasutagus will have more influence with Rome than almost any other Briton. And if Rome does eventually conquer this island, those people who helped her do so are bound to be rewarded.'

'Those people, and the wives of those people.'

'Yes.'

'I see. Well, you've come a long way over the last month. I hardly recognise you.'

Boudica was injured by his cynical tone and looked away. Macro did not regret his remark, but at the same time he could not make himself dislike Boudica enough to enjoy insulting her. He wished he could find some hint of the brassy, affectionate girl he had fallen for back in Camulodunum. 'Are you really so cold-blooded?'

'Cold-blooded?' The idea seemed to surprise her. 'No. I'm not cold-blooded. I'm just making the most of what has been forced on me. If I was a man, if I had power, then things would be very different. But I'm a woman, the weaker sex, and I have to do what I'm told. That's the only choice I have, for now'

There was a pause before Macro summoned the courage to speak. 'No, you had another choice. You could have chosen me.'

Boudica turned and looked at him closely. 'You're serious, aren't you?'

'Very.' Macro's heart soared as he saw Boudica smile. Then her eyes fell away and she shook her head.

'No. It's out of the question.'

'Why?'

'It would be no life for me. I'd be an outcast from my tribe. What if you tired of me after a while? I'd have nothing left. I know what becomes of such women, pathetic hags who follow the army and live off the legion's scraps, until disease or some violent drunk does for them. Would you wish that on me?'

'Of course not! It wouldn't be like that. I would provide for you.'

'Provide for me? You don't make it sound very appealing. I'd be rootless, and at your mercy, in your world. I couldn't bear that. Despite what I've learned of life beyond the lands of the Iceni, I'm still Iceni through and through. And you're Roman. I might speak your language well enough, but that's as far as I want Rome to penetrate my being – and none of your filthy i

They both smiled for a moment, and then Macro raised his rough soldier's hand to her cheek, marvelling at its softness. Boudica remained still. Then, very tenderly, her lips brushed his palm in a soft kiss that sent tingles up Macro's arm. He slowly leaned forward.

There was a heavy thud outside the lodge. The leather flap hanging across the entrance was flung to one side. Macro and Boudica sprang apart. The centurion snatched up some kindling and began snapping it into pieces and thrusting it at Boudica, who resumed laying the fire. A dark figure blotted out the light from the doorway. Macro and Boudica, squinted at the silhouetted figure.

'Prasutagus?'

'Sa!' He moved inside the lodge, dragging the gutted carcass of a small deer after him. The light fell on the Iceni warrior's face, revealing a faint look of amusement in his eyes.