The Wolf of Britannia Part I

by Jess Steven Hughes

  “Donn must have objected to the council’s decision, along with Uncle’s arch-Druid, Havgan.”

  “Thank Teutates they fled before being murdered,” Tog said.

  “Considering how loyal they were to Uncle Epaticcos, they were lucky not to be murdered before the council voted for Verica.”

  “At least Da had his wits about him at the time to grant Donn and Havgan asylum.”

  Darting from behind a roadside bush, a thin, mottled fox crossed their path a few paces away and disappeared into a nearby drainage ditch. The animal startled Caratacus’s gelding, who whinnied and reared up on its hind legs. Instantly, Caratacus clamped his legs tightly around the horse’s girth and leaned forward, bringing the animal down on all fours. He calmed the horse with soothing words as he stroked its neck. After settling the mount, they continued riding.

  Caratacus remembered how happy and grateful Rhian was to hear her father, Donn, had escaped from certain death at the hands of Verica and had arrived safely into his father’s kingdom. Now, Caratacus and Cunobelinos would have to deal with Adminios’s treachery. Again, he clenched and unclenched a fist.

  “What are you thinking, Brother?” Tog asked. “You’ve been quiet these last few minutes.”

  “We’ll see if Adminios will heed Da’s summon to come to Camulodunum and answer his questions about the rumors.”

  Tog shook his head. “Don’t be surprised if he fails to appear—that’s something he would do.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Caratacus said. “However, if he obeys the order, will Da have a clear mind when he arrives?”

  “He better be alert. If our arsehole brother has been conspiring with the Romans, Da must remove him from the throne.”

  Caratacus’s hand gripped the hilt of the dagger tied to the belt around his waist. “If I had my way, I would cut his throat and be done with it.”

  Tog winked. “I’d help you, but no chance of that. Banishment and losing all rights as a tribal member is what he’ll get. Besides, it’s more disgraceful.”

  “Adminios is supplying the Romans with information about our people, lands, and warriors. That’s why the bastard traitor shouldn’t be spared.” He paused, hearing the sounds of hooves as his and Tog’s horses trotted along the path.

  “Adminios has more ambition than I gave him credit for. He intends to replace Da sooner than I expected,” Caratacus continued.

  “By murder you mean.” Tog blew on his hands. “The Druids are leading him by the nose. He’s too lazy to do anything on his own. I can’t believe they would work with the Romans, knowing they hate Druids.”

  “If the Romans invade, we fight to the death,” Caratacus said, squeezing the handle of his knife, knuckles turning white. “I will not see our people enslaved by those butchers. I still remember the tales Havgan told us as boys of how the Romans murdered more than a million people when Caesar conquered Gaul.

  “No matter who the buggers are behind Adminios, we’ve got to stop them from taking the kingdom.” Caratacus’s jaw tightened.

  “There is no way we can allow him to do that—it would be a disaster for the kingdom and us,” Tog said. “Then he will invite the Romans here for sure.”

  “I’m not waiting for Adminios’s arrival; it’s time to learn who our real allies are,” Caratacus said. “I’m sending secret messages to the kings of the Iceni, Durotrigians, and to others to seek help.”

  *

  The brothers parted as they approached Caratacus’s wattle-and-daub house, which loomed out of the patchy fog. Tog’s place was about a half-mile further away.

  Upon returning home, he dismounted his horse at the stable. As he took the short walk to his home, he remembered how Rhian had grown increasingly hostile to Dana after they had returned to Camulodunum from Eburacum. The situation came to a head one night about a month later. It was a late afternoon like this, a pale and watery yellow sun trying to pierce through a foggy mist. The air silent, heavy with a chill. He had returned home from a training exercise with his warriors. Upon entering, he spotted Dana and Rhian by the hearth, the fire’s illumination filling the home’s interior with shadowy light. A small cauldron, cooking a tangy venison stew, sat on a grill at one end of the spit. The aroma made his stomach rumble.

  At first, the women didn’t see him. It was just as well, because at that moment he saw something he didn’t like.

  Caratacus stepped forward into the light

  Startled by his appearance, the women stood.

  “Rhian, why are you treating Dana like dirt?”

  Dana shook her head. “No, she isn’t, Caratacus.”

  Caratacus glowered at Rhian. “I think otherwise.”

  Rhian crinkled her nose and returned his glare. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw the dirty look you gave Dana when she offered to help with the sewing. You threw my tunic at her.”

  “Honestly, Caratacus, she didn’t—it was an accident,” Dana said as she raised a hand up toward him.

  “Really? I’m surprised you didn’t throw it back,” Caratacus said. “I saw how your face flushed and the frown that crossed your lips.”

  Rhian sniffed and turned to Dana. “Why didn’t you, dear Sister-Wife?”

  Dana slightly lowered her head and answered quietly, “I’m trying to keep peace in this family, Rhian, that’s my way.”

  Caratacus stepped to Rhian and looked down into her apple-green eyes. “You’ve treated Dana like dog-meat ever since our return from Eburacum. Why?”

  Rhian sucked the bottom of her lip, glanced to Dana and back to Caratacus. “Since we have returned, you have spent nearly every night with her but no time with me. I’m the one who is dog-meat!”

  Heat rushed into Caratacus’s face. His ears filled with roaring sounds like ocean waves crashing upon the surf. The muscles tightened in his shoulder and back. He raised his head and stared at the ceiling as wisps of smoke from the fire pit drifted upward and disappeared between strands of straw in the thatched roof. He loudly exhaled, lowered his head, and glared at Rhian and then Dana. “For the love of the gods, is that what this is all about?” Caratacus realized what Rhian said was true. He had spent most of his nights with Dana enjoying the passions of their newly formed union, all but ignoring Rhian.

  Dana dropped the tunic she held to the hard-packed, dirt floor. She glanced to Rhian and back to Caratacus. “Rhian is right. I have watched her anger growing with each passing day. You have spent too much time with me. She is your first wife and deserves your attention and respect.”

  Caratacus paused, allowing himself time to relax, the tension draining from his body. The two women watched him patiently as if waiting for him to make a decision. “You’re right, Dana,” Caratacus finally said. He turned to Rhian. “From now on, I promise to give you the attention and respect due to a chief wife, my Wife.” He looked from Rhian to Dana. “I will divide my nights equally between the two of you. Is that agreeable?”

  Dana nodded.

  “It is, Husband,” Rhian answered.

  Caratacus pulled Rhian close and hugged her tightly, holding her for the length of a dozen heartbeats before releasing her.

  Rhian smiled. “Now I can turn my energies to other matters. I need to recruit and train more warrior women to replace the losses we suffered against the Caledonians.”

  Relieved, Caratacus glanced to the stew cooking in the small cauldron at one end of the hearth. He remembered his grumbling stomach. “Good, now if there isn’t anything else, I’m hungry.”

  Fortunately, since that night, it appeared to Caratacus that Dana and Rhian, if not good friends, were at least getting along with one another.

  *

  Within a few minutes, Caratacus had reached the front porch of his home and entered. Instantly, he felt the warmth from the center fire pit seep into his body, starting with his face, rushing through his arms, down his torso and legs, and into his toes. He allowed his eyes to focus on the interior as he handed his cloak to a fema
le servant, who disappeared into the shadows.

  Beyond the firelight of the hearth, he spotted Dana and Rhian by the clay oven. The aroma of fresh-baked bread filled his nostrils. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. Dana looked up for a split second and saw Caratacus. She smiled, but raised a finger and nodded to the bread. He understood. She used a heavy rag to remove the flat loaves of bread from the oven. An overhanging, wooden plank deflected the last remnants of smoke from a hole in the oven’s domed top toward the center of the house’s straw roof. She placed the hot dishes on the clay ledge next to the oven. The fragrant smell permeated the household. Nearby, a young slave woman sat on a mat grinding corn into flour in a stone bowl.

  Finished with the bread, Dana got up and straightened the sleeves of her dark-green, tartan tunic and shook out the lower part clinging to her slender legs. Both women stood. Rhian kissed him on the cheek followed by Dana as he came over to the fire pit. He grinned and gave both a quick hug. “It’s good to be here.”

  Caratacus’s eyes drooped. He decided to wait until he had eaten and relaxed a bit before telling Dana and Rhian about Adminios’s treachery. There was no rush as it would be at least a week before he arrived in Camulodunum. If he comes at all, which I doubt!

  He turned to Dana. “How was the trip to my client villages? Are the people well?”

  “They prosper,” Dana answered with a smile.

  Caratacus grinned. “Good, I’m pleased.”

  “There is more,” Rhian said. “We need to talk with you.” She nodded to Dana.

  “Oh, by the looks of you two, it must be serious,” Caratacus said. They couldn’t have heard the reports about Adminios and the Romans.

  “It is,” Dana said.

  He exhaled. “Give me time to get my wits together. The council session was grueling. I promise to give you my full attention.”

  Dana and Rhian nodded.

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. I may have to tell them about Adminios’s treachery sooner than I planned.

  Caratacus opened his eyes about the same time his stomach growled. “I’m hungry, but dinner can wait so long as I get a piece of that bread to chew on while I listen.” He motioned to a servant hovering nearby and ordered her to bring him part of a loaf and a cup of warm mead. The women ordered chamomile tea.

  A servant appeared in the firelight with a wooden platter holding a partial loaf of the flat bread, which she placed next to Caratacus’s side and left to retrieve the women’s beverages.

  Caratacus tore off a small chunk and chewed the warm, savory bread. The growling in his stomach ended.

  After the slave returned with their drinks, the woman was dismissed, and the three of them settled on fur skins by the fire pit. Caratacus and his wives sat silently, savoring their drinks. The warm liquid warmed Caratacus’s insides, and he shut his eyes again and allowed the tension to drain from his shoulders, arms, and even his calloused hands. He took another bite of bread, chewing it slowly.

  “Now, tell me, Dana,” Caratacus said. “I have a sneaking suspicion your news is worse than I can imagine.”

  Chapter 29

  Rhian and Dana looked at one another.

  Dana nodded. “It’s a long story, Caratacus, please hear us out.”

  “This better be worth it.” Caratacus took another gulp of mead.

  Rhian sat quietly, staring past Dana towards the wall of the hut. Within a few heartbeats, she turned her head toward Caratacus. “When I have ridden with you,” she said slowly, “on days you inspected your holdings, I have heard the peasants praise Dana’s name, especially the women.”

  Dana blushed. She set her cup of chamomile tea on the hard-packed floor beside her. “It’s Caratacus they praise.” Her eyes focused on Caratacus. “I know you want to help them, but you’ve been distracted by tribal affairs and your father’s worsening condition.”

  “You’re right, but I still should have done more,” Caratacus said.

  “It’s not your fault,” Dana said. “That’s why I tell the people when I visit them, I come on your behalf.”

  Rhian shrugged. “I have heard the same thing from the women warriors I have recruited from among the villagers. It was Dana who persuaded them to join me.”

  Caratacus raised his eyebrows and turned to Dana. “You have become my extended hand, Dana,” Caratacus said. “Because of you, they are more loyal to me than before.”

  Dana’s nose flared. “If you say so. But you don’t see the little things that make all the difference in the lives of people. A little extra piece of cloth for a new tunic, or a fur to line their clothing against the cold, and an additional portion of grain to feed a growing child means a great deal to them. Rhian has seen that.”

  Caratacus bristled at her comment, but kept his tongue. Unfortunately, you are right. “What does any of this have to do with your serious news?” Caratacus asked, his impatience growing.

  Rhian touched her heart and glanced to Dana, whose hand momentarily covered her mouth. “We suspect Adminios and the Druids are practicing human sacrifice.”

  Caratacus jolted, nearly spilling his drink. His back tightened. He sat straight. “Are you certain of this? What proof do you have?”

  “He was seen riding through the village of Usk and the surrounding hamlets on several occasions,” Dana answered. “People saw him disappearing into the woods.”

  “Adminios could have been hunting,” Caratacus said in a dismissive tone. “He’s bragged enough about being a great hunter.”

  Dana crimped her mouth in annoyance. “The people reported strange sounds and omens.”

  “They are probably signs from the gods,” Rhian said. “We must respect them.”

  “They do, and so do I,” Dana replied. “However, from what the villagers have told me, I believe there may be more than just the gods at work.” She paused and glanced to Rhian and Caratacus. “Both of you know the village of Usk is closest to the great forest of the River Tamesis basin. It’s a logical choice for conducting secret, human sacrifices. Rumors abound that this area had been such a place in the past.”

  “I’m familiar with the place—a small fortified village,” Caratacus said. “I wouldn’t put it past Adminios to bribe the Druids to perform human sacrifice.” True. Why didn’t my spies uncover it?

  Dana blanched. “If he did, then he’s an animal. But why here? Why not do it in the land of the Cantiaci?”

  “If he is involved, it means he plans to kill me and Da,” Caratacus said. “The sacrifice must be performed in the land where the murder is meant to happen. In other words, the territories ruled by Da, not his.”

  “If your horrid brother practiced human sacrifice, why so far from the fortress?” Rhian motioned toward the entry of their home.

  “It must be done in secrecy,” Dana said, “away from any populated area. Usk is remote, and the peasants are very fearful of the gods and the wrath of the Druids.” She touched her chest as if warding off a curse. “They told me as much and wouldn’t dare interfere.”

  “How would they really know that was going on?” Rhian asked. “If Adminios hunts there, the villagers would be used to his passing through their midst. After a while, the people would think nothing of it.”

  Dana took up her cup from the floor and, holding it with both hands, sipped her tea. She lowered it to her lap, her hands around the cup. “I believe I found the answer on my last visit.”

  “Finally, we get down to the matter.” Caratacus took a drink of mead and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. I have a sneaking suspicion this ties in with the Romans.

  “As usual,” Dana said, “I took a couple of female attendants and ...” She paused and glanced to Rhian before continuing, “a small escort of Rhian’s warrior women when I traveled to Usk yesterday.

  “If sacrificial rites were still being held there,” Dana continued, “I made it a point to be careful of what I said and did. I feared there might be followers living there who would inform on me if
they believed I was attempting to learn of the acts.”

  Dana explained Usk was her best hope for discovering any information about them. She had aided the villagers in the past, and would be welcomed, especially since she arrived during the Festival of Imbolc. The holiday celebrated the time of lambing and the year’s renewal and purification.

  “After paying a brief visit to the village chieftain,” Dana said, “I rode to the sacred oak outside the compound. As I expected, I found only women praying before the image of Brigit.”

  Dana went on to say that in the cool, afternoon, winter light, she had observed about a dozen women offering wooden bowls of ewe milk to the tall, weathered, wooden statue of the goddess. A larger group of women had stood about in little knots gossiping. Dana commanded her escort and attendants to stay behind and carefully slipped off the back of her chestnut mare and approached the group.

  “And?” Caratacus asked.

  “Two young women stood apart from the rest by a bush I was walking past,” Dana answered. “I overheard the red-haired one say to the smaller girl of about fourteen that she shouldn’t speak evil in the presence of Brigit’s sacred statue that she’s the goddess of life, not death.”

  “What evil?” Rhian asked.

  “The younger girl, Fiona, said she saw the sacrifice of a baby eight months ago.”

  Rhian’s hands flew to the side of her face. “No!”

  Caratacus clenched his fists. “Go on, Dana.”

  “The other girl, Aife, looked around to see if anyone was listening. The other women continued chattering. She turned and warned Fiona to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Why?” Rhian asked.

  “Otherwise, she would be accused of lying and punished,” Dana said.

  “Then I was spotted by several women who called my name and flocked about me. They chattered all at once and asked me dozens of questions.”

  Dana explained that she stepped to the idol and bowed and then walked among the scattered groups of colorfully clad women wearing tartan tunics dyed in the hues of the rainbow. The material had been supplied by herself on her last visit a month earlier. At the same time, she kept an eye on Fiona and her friend.