The Wolf of Britannia Part I

by Jess Steven Hughes

  Venutios leaped on top of the wooden table.

  Caratacus instantly shoved the table over, forcing Venutios to jump clear.

  The younger man grabbed a wooden stool and hurled it at his opponent. It missed and crashed into the wall, nearly striking King Dumnoveros and several chieftains, who side-stepped. The hollow sound echoed through the room.

  Caratacus hurled his weapon, missing Venutios’s broad shoulders by a hair’s width. The knife careened off the back wall. The blade struck with such force that it bounced back, sliding along the stone floor to within his reach. Again, he grabbed the dagger. He looked up as Venutios slashed at his face. Caratacus dove to the left and snatched the younger man’s right ankle, yanked, and toppled him.

  But Venutios was quick and jumped from a backward somersault to his feet.

  Caratacus rose as Venutios slashed again. The prince deftly stepped aside, catching Venutios’s right ankle with his hand, sending him crashing to the floor.

  Instantly, Venutios recovered and lunged again.

  Caratacus slid sideways and kicked him in the groin.

  Venutios howled as he doubled over and fell, writhing to the floor. “Dirty bastard!” he moaned. “Bastard!”

  “There are no rules in claiming the right to lead men in battle,” Caratacus snarled.

  He grabbed Venutios’s jet hair with his left hand and yanked him to his knees. Caratacus stomped his left foot down on the back of the young warrior’s calves and with his right hand held a dagger to Venutios’s throat. “You shouldn’t have challenged me, Cousin—you’re no match.” Caratacus drew a shallow cut, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his victim’s neck.

  “Son of a sow!” Venutios gasped as he licked his dry mouth. A look of terror crossed his twisted face. He trembled. “Gods damn it! Kill me and get it done!”

  For a split second, Caratacus pondered the situation. I could easily kill the young prince, and probably should, but to do so would drive a wedge between both our armies. I have humiliated and defeated him. Now I must restore Venutios’s dignity.

  “I could kill you, but who would win? The Caledonians! Your death, or mine, could only divide us further.” Caratacus glanced to King Dumnoveros and the gathered chieftains. “You have led brave warriors, and although driven back, you were never defeated. For every man lost, your enemies bled two. And every man knows the truth; that disease carved away the strength of your forces as no worthy army could.”

  He studied Venutios, keeping a tight pull on his hair. “The simple truth is, the king’s army, not yours, not mine, needs your warriors’ bravery and loyalty and your proven leadership ability and knowledge of the Uplands! We, you and I, don’t have the right to challenge to the death. The times are too serious. ONLY the king shall choose who will lead, for victory is not assured in any event.” Caratacus’s voice rose. “Even now, should the king choose another to lead, I pledge to follow.”

  Caratacus slowly withdrew the bloodied knife, alert to any sign of resistance, and released Venutios, who fell to the floor. The prince stood towering over the prostrate, young chieftain. No one spoke a word. For a moment, Venutios lay on his stomach. Slowly, he rose upon his elbows, seemingly puzzled as to why he was still alive. He dropped his head, but did not touch his wound. Yet, Venutios seemed to feel the trickle of blood and must have guessed that it symbolized his defeat for all to see. Gradually, he stood.

  King Dumnoveros and the assembly of clan chieftains roared their approval as Venutios and Caratacus extended their hands simultaneously and grinned at one another.

  “Even facing death, you’re not afraid, are you? A true warrior,” Caratacus complimented. He kept his hand extended to the young chieftain. “The king needs all the good warriors he can get, especially you.”

  “Aye, that I do,” King Dumnoveros said.

  “You’re a brave man and a valued warrior, Venutios,” Caratacus said.

  Venutios nodded painfully. “I’ll not forget this. I owe you my life.”

  “I prefer to have you as a friend rather than an enemy.”

  The young chieftain stared at Caratacus as if considering his remark and slowly nodded.

  The situation had come full circle. Caratacus had no intention of killing Venutios, only disabling him at the most.

  King Dumnoveros, followed by Caratacus and the other chieftains, reentered the main assembly room of the Great Hall where the guests were still congregated, including the women. As they appeared, a hush engulfed the assemblage, who gathered before the king’s wolf-skin throne. Dumnoveros sat down and raised his arms for silence. He turned to the petty kings, but addressed Caratacus. “Prince Caratacus! I charge you with leading my armies against the Caledonians.”

  The chamber rocked with shouts of approval. Caratacus’s eyes locked onto Dana and Rhian as they hugged one another. Obviously, Rhian had been successful in befriending Dana. What had she learned that had brought about such a friendly embrace?

  Chapter 22

  After the meeting with the king, Caratacus was curious to learn what information Dana had revealed to Rhian. He turned to Clud, Tog, and his lieutenants and motioned for them to stay where they had halted by the king’s dais and wait for him. Although a few of the king’s guests milled about the Great Hall, most were departing.

  Caratacus grinned, stepped forward, and approached Rhian and Dana. “Well, it seems that you two ladies have become friends, if your hugging one another is any indication.”

  Dana smiled and nodded. “Yes, Caratacus, Rhian has been telling me all about you.”

  “Indeed?” He quickly glanced to Rhian.

  “It wasn’t all you, Husband,” Rhian said. “Dana told me much about herself.”

  “I am interested in hearing more of Dana,” Caratacus said. For the first time, he noticed the tiny mole on the right side of her delicate face.

  Dana blushed. “Oh, it’s not all that much—being a widow isn’t really the life I want.”

  Caratacus raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll tell you the rest after we have returned to our new bivouac,” Rhian said.

  Dana touched Rhian’s arm with her long fingers. “Yes, I will leave it in your hands, Rhian.” Dana turned her head to Caratacus. “I am so happy to see you again after all these years, and I hope we shall see more of one another soon.” She turned away and followed the other departing guests out of the cavernous building.

  Caratacus’s eyes followed Dana’s willowy figure as she disappeared through the main door. He moved to Rhian’s side. “I’ll wager your conversation with Dana was about more than just Cartimandua, wasn’t it?”

  “Much more,” Rhian said softly.

  Caratacus motioned to Tog, Clud, and the lieutenants to follow him and Rhian. “Let’s find where they’ve quartered our army.”

  Darkness had enshrouded the countryside when they reached the army’s site beyond the walls of Eburacum, down by the Ouse River. The heat of the day was finally receding, leaving a breath of cool air on a gentle breeze. Caratacus, Rhian, and his retinue had been guided there by a couple of the king’s retainers by the bright light of the full moon and sky full of countless stars. There was no organization as to the camp’s construction or layout. The hodge-podge of tents and lean-tos, lighted by a mixture of campfires and torches, surrounded the larger tents of the clan chieftains and captains. Their banners hung limply in the night’s heat on hardwood poles before their leader’s quarters. Guards posted on the perimeter challenged Caratacus’s party upon their approach and passed them through.

  Caratacus’s headquarters tent was the largest, located in the center of the campsite. Once inside the well-lit, goatskin tent, Rhian said she must wash up before telling him about Dana. Caratacus mentioned he would do the same.

  Later, when both had cleaned themselves, Rhian and Caratacus sat side by side on the fur-covered pallet. She had changed into a russet, linen gown, while Caratacus, bare-chested, wore a pair of homespun, buff-colored breeches. The serva
nts were dismissed after dousing all the lights, save a small, olive-oil lamp.

  “Now tell me, what did you learn from Dana?” Caratacus asked. He placed a hand about her shoulder, which still felt firm and smooth even under the material of her garment.

  Rhian leaned against Caratacus’s muscled chest. “Tell me first about what you saw going on between Dana and Cartimandua. Then when I tell you about Dana, it might make more sense to both of us.”

  “That’s right, I forgot I was going to fill you in,” Caratacus said. He explained the confrontation between the two sisters.

  “Strange,” Rhian said when he had finished.

  “Why?”

  For a split second, Rhian twisted her head toward Caratacus. “You’ll see when I tell you what Dana said about her. But you should know what she said before I asked her about Cartimandua.”

  “Is it that important?”

  Rhian nodded, rubbing her warm, smooth face against Caratacus’s chest. “I believe it is.”

  “Then tell me,” Caratacus said.

  “When you departed with the king and the rest, I approached Dana and gave her a hug. I thought she might resist, but she didn’t. In fact, she returned the greeting.”

  Rhian related how Dana was so pleased the two of them were finally getting a chance to talk and know one another. A smile had crossed Dana’s lightly freckled face, and she commented how she hated formal gatherings. “I told her I felt the same way,” Rhian said

  Caratacus grinned.

  “Dana told me,” Rhian continued, “her father put her in charge of arranging tonight’s feast.”

  Caratacus furrowed his eyebrows together. “Isn’t that the responsibility of the chief steward?”

  “My thoughts, too,” Rhian answered, “but Dana said her father believes she organizes things like a Roman, whom she loathes. Why, she even mimicked her father’s gruff masculine voice, ‘If you were a man, you’d be my top general.’ Dana admitted she hardly knows one end of a sword from another, but King Dumnoveros wanted to leave nothing to chance.”

  Caratacus smiled.

  “Actually, I chuckled,” Rhian said. “But I considered it a compliment, because everything had gone so smoothly at the feast.”

  “Thank the gods it did,” Caratacus said. Gently, he caressed Rhian’s shoulder.

  “There is more,” Rhian continued. “Dana told her father she wouldn’t do it again. From now on, her talents were for the household only, not for using at the king’s banquet. She hated being compared to those horrid Romans. Then we both laughed.”

  “That wasn’t all you talked about?” Caratacus asked, growing impatient.

  “I’m getting to that,” Rhian said. She explained that Dana seemed embarrassed talking about herself and touched Rhian’s arms with the tips of her fingers. “Her hands were rough from work, but not calloused like my own,” Rhian said. “She wanted to talk about me, because she had heard so much and believed everything people had said was true.”

  “What did she hear?” Caratacus asked.

  “She didn’t say, because I quickly replied I hope what she had heard wasn’t all bad. I admitted that I had a frightful temper,” Rhian answered with an uneasy laugh. “I mentioned my greatest desire is for children—and to be a warrior.”

  Rhian related how this seemed to surprise Dana. The younger woman couldn’t believe she had a temper. Dana had heard Rhian was the most loving of wives and more beautiful than anyone could have imagined. And no doubt she would still have children.

  “I told Dana that while I still wanted children, I had little hope, but that you still needed an heir.”

  Rhian turned her head and looked up at Caratacus. “That’s when I asked myself, what does this woman really want? She seemed too kind, too good to be true.”

  “What did Dana say?” Caratacus inquired.

  She sighed, snuggled against Caratacus, and continued. “She said it was true, that I was a good woman. Then Dana gestured with her hand and said she heard I was a great warrior, and you must be proud.”

  “You have yet to prove yourself in battle,” Caratacus said.

  “That’s what I told her.” She explained that Dana believed Rhian would fight well when the time came. “As for Dana, she demeaned herself saying she could barely mount a horse. For a moment, there was a pause, and then Dana grabbed me by my arm and pointed to the wooden bench by the hearth in the center of the Great Hall. While other guests milled about, no one else stood near the enclosed circle of stone. She led me over there where they could talk with a little privacy,” Rhian said. “It had been years since she had seen you, not since you were little children. She urged me to tell her all about you and, more importantly, myself and the women fighters. We strolled to the planked seat and sat side by side.”

  Rhian paused and pinched her eyebrows together.

  “What else?” Caratacus asked.

  “At that point, I realized Dana must be interested in you,” Rhian said. “Was it because you are cousins or was there something else? I needed to learn more.” Rhian described the conversation. “I told her about the hardship of field marching, you, myself, our marriage, and the tragic deaths of our three sons while giving birth.

  “When I had finished, Dana had said how sorry she was. She told me she was certain I would have babies. She leaned over and softly touched my hands.

  “I felt the sincerity of Dana’s contagious optimism,” Rhian said. “But I could not help but feel a sense of hostility toward her. I don’t know why I felt so jealous.” Rhian exhaled. “Then she told me she would love to have children.”

  What is Rhian hinting at? Does she want me to take Dana as a wife? I know the time will come since I want sons, but now?

  “At that point I hesitated to ask, but my curiosity got the best of me,” Rhian said. “I asked why didn’t she and her husband have any?”

  “Why didn’t they?” Caratacus inquired.

  “According to Dana, it was a long story and few people knew the reason. That’s when Dana paused and her face tightened. I understood if she did not want to go on. But Dana bit her lip and said it was strange, she barely knew me, yet found herself thinking of me as a good friend, even as a sister.”

  “What was your reaction?” Caratacus asked.

  “Somehow, I had the same feeling I told her,” Rhian answered. “I didn’t really, but Dana didn’t have to know that.”

  Rhian returned to her story. “Dana brought her face closer to mine and asked me never to tell anyone. She sighed,” Rhian said. “She admitted she did not grieve when her husband died a horrid pox death. I was surprised by her calloused answer and told her I couldn’t believe she had meant it. But it was true.” She took a deep breath. “Dana’s husband was very cruel and had beaten her countless times.

  “When I asked her why she stayed with him despite his abuse, she said she feared her father would lose face for mismatching the two of them. Like a fool, she endured the loveless marriage. Then a devious smile formed on Dana’s lips. She took deliberate pains to prevent any pregnancy,” Rhian added. “Dana used medicinal herbs prescribed by a healing woman. I agreed she had done the right thing.

  “Dana partially turned about,” Rhian said, “and glanced toward the entry to the room where her father, you, and the others were conferring about their plans to fight the Caledonians. No one was present. She turned back to me and, in a low voice, said when she returned to her father she told him she had the right to choose any man she wanted, her privilege as a widow. However, she would be content to marry a man of his choosing again with one stipulation. The groom must agree never to beat Dana upon pain of losing her and the large dowry that came with the marriage.”

  “Was there more?” Caratacus said, interrupting Rhian’s story.

  Rhian paused, pulled herself from Caratacus’s grip and sat up. Her aqua eyes peered deep into those of Caratacus. “When Dana finished, it was then I remembered the argument you and I had about a second wife last month as we di
ned one evening at home. …

  “I knew you had the right to take another woman if I didn’t bear you children,” Rhian said.

  Caratacus took a swallow of corma beer from his bronze cup and sat it back on the short-legged table at which they sat on the rug-covered, earthen floor. “By custom, the second marriage is temporary, until the woman bears her first child,” Caratacus said. “Then it becomes permanent. If no children result, the marriage is dissolved.”

  “Yes, I know children that came from the couple had the same rights as if born by the first wife.” Rhian took a sip of beer from her cup, carved with the image of the horse goddess, Epona, sitting on the back of a mount.

  “Nevertheless,” Caratacus motioned to Rhian, “even if I remarried, you would be the chief-wife, and respected all the more.”

  “Your intentions may be well and good, but will you still love me?” The firelight of the center hearth a few feet from where they sat ebbed and flowed, bright one moment, showing the concern in her face, and the next moment nearly hiding her face. “Or is respect all that I will have?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Caratacus answered impatiently. “Of course I love you.”

  “You could show a little more sincerity,” Rhian said in a sulking voice.

  “Rhian, I will always love you.”

  “But sometimes I feel like a piece of property, not your wife.”

  “How can you say that? I have never regarded you as a piece of property.” Then, in a softer, more conciliatory tone, he said, “You are the first woman of my life—the first I truly cared for—and always will. I have loved and honored you since marriage, and I do love you now.”

  Rhian appeared to be pouting, her nose crinkled, lips drawn tight.

  Caratacus reached toward her and slipped a hand about her waist. “I do love you.”

  She grimaced, eyes filling with tears, and wept for the first time since the death of their last child.

  “The time has come for me to look for another woman,” he said softly, “only to bear an heir, not to replace you in any way.”