“Your ladyship, we should go now,” Bleiz said. HeHe He stood at my elbow, just within range of my peripheral vision. Bleiz was one of my most trusted advisors, and I respected him greatly, but I didn’t want to hear what I knew must be said.

When I didn’t reply, he continued, “Their numbers are too great. We will sound the retreat soon, but it will soothe your men’s souls to know that you survived this—this massacre.” He said nothing about how few of my men would live long enough to be grateful for my escape.

I frowned, watching the field. Those bloody Romans. A curse on them all—may they meet Macha while she is in a bitter mood.

A Roman foot soldier began his stumbling ascent up the hill toward us. Grass the color of clotted blood stuck to his boots, but he knew better than to try to wipe the sticky, tar-like blood off. It would only contaminate his hands. The grass where I stood with Bleiz and the rest of my advisors was still green and lush, but not thirty feet below us it became red and rusted, tainted with blood. This field would be cursed by the time we were done with it.

I tensed, but the Roman foot soldier didn’t make it far. An archer caught him in the throat and he fell heavily and rolled back down the hill.

“Our little rebellion is over, Bleiz. There won’t be any of my men left to appreciate my escape.” I fingered the cold hilt of my sword, strapped securely at my waist. Mere months ago I was not able to wear my weapon as I did now, due to the flogging the Romans had given me. But I had gotten off lucky. My two young daughters—my beautiful girls—had been raped. The scars I bore were nothing next to the horror they had endured.

“Your men love you, lady, and their families adore you as well. Those that survive this day will appreciate any word of your survival.”

I was silent again, up on that grassy hill, listening to my men fight and die below me. My two daughters were long since fled, as were the families of the other leaders. I could not say the same for the families of my men. They would not leave, refusing to believe that their beloved Warrior Queen, the Lady Boudicca of the Iceni tribe, could ever lose a battle. For a while, I had almost believed it myself. After all, my forces had successfully sacked Colchester, London, and Verulamium, and massacred all that stood in our way.

I wanted to fight with my men, but my fellow rebellion leaders, the kings of neighboring tribes, had advised against it. They had nearly forbidden it.

A clash of wills had ensued, one full of angry shouts and furious snarls. Mothers had ushered cringing children away from our verbal sparring. In the end, however, they had worn me down. I grew tired of fighting my allies in order to fight my enemies, and I knew it was not wise to argue with my allies at all. They had logic on their side, whereas I only had passion; passion cannot defeat logic. Were I to die, this rebellion could very well fall apart. And were I to die at the hands of a Roman, gods forbid, my tribe and country would fall once again under the harsh and unfair rule of those barbarians.

I gritted my teeth and glared out at the battlefield. It had been a cleverly planned attack, and none of us had seen through the misty veil until it was too late. We had grown far too confident with our handful of victories, and now we were the victims of a massacre similar to the ones we had orchestrated.

I expected nothing less from Seutonius. He would be pleased to hear that his reputation preceded him.

“M’lady?”

“Very well,” I snarled, and Bleiz cringed before calling for our horses.

A runner brought forth my mare, and I reached out to grasp the soft leather bridle, still watching the death-soaked field. The air was already beginning to ferment with the stench of rotting men.

We were all damned fools, and now we were going to pay for it with our lives.

“Lady Boudicca, if we are going to leave, we must do it now.”

My chest tightened as I forced myself to look away from the carnage. I did not need a last look; I knew the bloodbath would haunt me all the nights of my life.

“Sound the retreat,” I ordered and mounted my mare. I gave the signal, and we thundered away from our people. No dust rose behind our horses; the ground was far too damp with mist and blood.

We traveled for seven long days that blended into one another, discernable only by the changing light that filtered through the constant fog layering the green earth. We made good time, traveling long distances and stopping only to rest the horses. We had to be careful not to overtax them, since they were irreplaceable. Everyone knew who we were, and to show our faces to anyone, even to buy a horse, would be dangerous.

But we met no Romans, and stayed away from our own people. Our rebellion had failed, and our presence was now no more than a danger to our people. The Romans would have every sentry, every foot soldier, and every captain on the lookout for us. Even our own people, those who were suffering from a lack of abundant crops and a surplus of taxes, were no longer to be trusted. There was little hope that we would rally what was left of our troops and save our homeland from the greedy hands of the Romans, and our people knew that. The Romans had, doubtless, put a reward on our heads, and those who suffered most would be happy to turn us in to ensure their family’s survival for another season.

We traveled southeast, toward Gaul. We would take a ferry across the channel and begin our revolt all over again. I was not sure how. I had no contacts there, no one I knew, but several of the other chieftains and kings did. Some just wanted to leave. They wanted to disappear with their families and live out their lives in peace. They were tired of war, and I could not fault them for that. I could, however, find fault in their willingness to give up on our cause and be content to leave our people and their children under the tyranny of the Romans. I would not stop them from leaving our company if they chose do so.

Whenever my mind wandered from our dangerous course, I thought of my daughters. I had no knowledge of where they were, though I had instructed everyone in our company to alert me at the first whisper of their whereabouts. I did not believe that they had been captured or slain by the Romans or anyone vying for favor with their Roman governor. I knew that if that were to happen, the Romans would shout it from their towers until all the world knew that the Lady Boudicca, Warrior Queen of the Iceni and protector of her people, could not even protect her own daughters.

Perhaps they had been killed without anyone knowing who they were. Perhaps they had been taken as slaves for a Roman bastard. Perhaps they had fallen ill. Perhaps they had killed themselves.

Whenever thoughts of my children overwhelmed me, I would force myself to focus on what was left of my allies.

Bleiz was gone. He had departed only a day ago, and I still felt the loss. He had been my closest advisor, and my husband’s before me, but I understood his need to find any of his family who might have survived the Romans’ retaliation.

We were attacked later that day, a mere hour or so before sunset. The air was already beginning to cool when an arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the man riding directly in front of me.

I jerked on the reins, wheeling my horse around to meet our attackers. They were Romans.

An arrowhead whipped past my cheek and happily embedded itself in my chest. Had I not turned, it would have bitten my neck. “To me!” I bellowed through the sharp pain that resonated from my chest to my fingertips, drawing my sword with my uninjured arm and holding it high, “Men of the homeland, to me!”

Exclamations from both my men and my enemies took flight as my men took up the call and their horses began thundering toward battle. They engaged the Roman dogs; slashing and fighting and shouting in rage and pain. My own horse danced forward, and I made short work of an archer’s bow before killing the man who’d wounded me. He screamed and fell from his horse, and another man’s head snapped up, horror making his eyes go wide. This man and the dead archer were family; they had the same color hair and shape of face. They were probably brothers. “No!” he cried, grief wrenching his face in the same way mine had when I’d learned what the Romans had done to my daughters, those many months ago.

Shouts rose from man and beast alike as we all began to die—my own men as well as the Romans. A brief reprieve allowed me the time I needed to yank the arrow from my chest. I had to dig my fingers into the steaming wound and navigate around my ribs to retrieve the arrowhead.

The skirmish was a close one; it lasted far too long for it to be anything but. We had technically won, but far too many of us were dead for it to matter. Two lone Romans escaped, galloping away on their exhausted geldings.

I let out a bark of laughter. The blood loss made me lightheaded and caused me to speak bluntly. “We’re not going to make it to Gaul,” I told me three men who still breathed. The whole world swayed dangerously, and after a moment I realized I was about to fall out of my saddle. “I’m not even going to make it to the coast.”

“Lady—” one of them began, but I cut him off.

“If any of you live long enough to see Bleiz again, tell him I’m very glad he left while he did,” I said, “If any of you see either of my daughters, tell them—tell them—” The world tipped dangerously, and I yelled a pained curse as my bloody and wounded shoulder cushioned my landing as I fell from my mare. The whole world went black, then blindingly white, and I could see nothing. When my vision cleared, I blinked up into the concerned faces of my men. “I’m sorry we failed,” I told them. “I’m glad we rebelled, I’m glad we hit the Romans, and I’m glad we hurt them. I just wish we hadn’t gotten so arrogant. I wish it had ended differently.” I sighed and closed my eyes, still seeing the beautiful, beautiful blue sky that that framed their heads. They tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear them. It wouldn’t matter in a moment. “I never thought it would end like this. We were supposed to live the rest of our days bathed in a halo of glory, or at least kill ourselves to keep the Romans from getting us.” I laughed, and it turned into a painful, wet cough. It was getting hard to breathe. I felt as though I was drowning. “Battle wounds! That’s what I’m going to die of?” My head lolled in disbelief, and I sucked in a noisy breath. My breathing was harsh; it sounded as though I was trying to breathe through a mouthful of water.

“My lady—”

I cut them off with a wave of my hand and ceased rambling. “When you ever see my daughters, tell them I love them, and I’m proud of their strength. Tell them—tell them not to seek vengeance, that Macha will see justice done.”