Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

  Struggling to resist his smoldering stare, she said firmly, “I will not jeopardize my daughters’ status by reigniting our cold ashes to the flames we once had.”

  Trystan pulled her hand against his chest where she could feel the strong beat of his heart. “I can never love another woman. If all I can have are cinders of your love, I will accept them as long as I can stay near you.”

  Dumbstruck, Rhiannon froze when he lowered his lips to hers. A sudden movement of the curtain caught her eyes. Hearing footsteps, she gasped.

  The king appeared at the opening.

  Rhiannon recoiled. Trystan’s eyes and mouth flew open as if a serpent had struck him.

  Amren glowered. “Trystan, leave now!”

  11

  King’s Curse

  She regarded the stubbornness etched on Amren’s face and told him, “As your queen and wife, I fall to your command. Yet, I sense Agrona will be our doom.”

  When Trystan’s face turned crimson, Rhiannon knew he was ready to unfurl his rage and pummel the king. She quickly grabbed Trystan by the arm and said sternly, “Do as your king commands! Go!”

  Trystan stood firm, his eyes darting from Rhiannon, to Amren, and back to her again. He must have seen the horror in her face because he finally backed down and lowered his head to Amren. He said with a bitter tone, “I fall to your command.”

  With a blistering scowl on his face, Trystan removed himself from the room.

  Amren closed the curtain, his deadly stare making Rhiannon flinch. He turned his back on her and said bitterly, “After all these years.”

  His silence thundered accusation.

  Shaking, Rhiannon touched his shoulder. “It is not what you think.”

  Amren turned and glared. “Did my eyes lie? Were you not in Trystan’s arms?”

  She stammered, “He … he was troubled by the events today … and what you might do to him. I tried to reassure him.”

  “Events he made worse by openly defying me—not once, but twice.” Amren gripped Rhiannon’s wrist, the pressure so tight she feared the bones would break. “Is this a sign you have again cuckolded me after all these years?”

  Rhiannon felt her stomach drop like an executioner’s axe, and she dropped to her knees. “No, my king! My loyalty remains steadfast, even more so after today’s unfortunate events.”

  Amren’s blue eyes hardened into steel. “If only I could be moved to believe you!”

  Rhiannon kissed the back of her husband’s hand, so he would soften his grasp. “You must believe me. As your queen, I stand united with you against our enemies. If we cannot trust each other, then divided we fall.”

  Amren loosened his grip, giving some relief to the throbbing pain in Rhiannon’s wrists. He looked down on her with a clenched jaw. “That is what I am trying to do—hold my kingdom together; maintain a tenuous peace with Cunobelin. Yet, when I heard of Cunobelin’s betrayal, I wanted to rip out his bloodsucking heart! Trystan’s reckless actions only made it worse.”

  Throwing away caution, Rhiannon said, “I warned you. So did Trystan. Do not trust Cunobelin. You can’t barter Mor away like a whore. Don’t capitulate to Cunobelin’s demands and proffer your sovereignty to his son.”

  Clenching Rhiannon’s shoulders, Amren pulled her to his chest. She cringed when his hot breath assaulted her nostrils with the pungent odor of the washed-rind cheese he had eaten earlier.

  “What would you have me do?” Amren growled. “Go to war? Spill more blood? I’ve had my fill of so-called glory. You know where my ambition led me—a dark journey into my soul’s depths from where I might not have returned. If it weren’t for you, I would still be warring to satiate my hunger for more lands and plunder.”

  “No one knows more than I how much you have sacrificed,” Rhiannon said, squirming, again trying to soften his grip by appealing to his pride. “You are an honorable king. I knew of your resentment to fight in the Roman auxiliary to fulfill your father’s obligation, to maintain peace with the Roman Empire.”

  Amren tightened his hold as if aware of her ploy to pander to his ego for advantage. “I discovered the limits of your sacrifice when I caught you in Trystan’s arms. Even so, I forgave you. Yet today, you showed me your true face at the time I most need your loyalty.”

  Rhiannon yanked out of his strong embrace and leveled her eyes at him. “You accuse me of being disloyal, but you dismissed my counsel when you summoned Agrona back. You know how I despise her.”

  “I did not summon her to spite you,” Amren quickly replied. “She came back to help me counter Marrock. There is something else I needed to tell you before I walked in on you and was rudely greeted by Trystan.” He grew quiet, his chest caving in as if the weight of what he was about to reveal would crush him.

  “Tell me,” Rhiannon said. “What is it?”

  “Today’s omens tell me Rhan’s curse has begun,” Amren said, his voice shaky. “Catrin just confirmed what I had already suspected. She can enter the raven’s mind.”

  “You mean that she can shape-shift?”

  Amren shook his head. “No, not yet, but she is on the verge. She has learned how to channel the raven’s powers. That is why I believe the curse rewrote itself on my dagger. The gods must have chosen Catrin to be a conduit for their supernatural powers. I believe Agrona can teach Catrin to control these forces and can change the curse.”

  “I don’t trust Agrona,” Rhiannon said sharply. “Everyone in the village knows of her black magic. You have other Druids who can advise you. Use them instead.”

  Amren sat at the table and waved his hand over the burning candle. “Agrona was there when I beheaded Rhan. Mute since birth, she spoke for the first time at the execution. I took this as a sign the gods had chosen to speak through her. She knows things about me only Rhan could have known. No matter what you think of her, I need to use her sorcery against Marrock.”

  Rhiannon sat across the table from Amren. She moved the melting candle aside to study his face as she spoke. “Remember, Agrona begged you to spare Marrock after your guards found him with the headless bodies of the children from the nearby village. You should have executed him. Instead you kept his dark secret from everyone.”

  Amren shifted back in his seat. “I didn’t have enough proof.”

  Rhiannon flared. “Enough proof! Due to your inaction, he did something vile to Catrin that day he abandoned her in the forest.”

  Amren snuffed out the candle, and the room darkened. Only the torch light filtering through the thin curtain dimly lit the room. “Don’t forget, I forsook him as my son and banished him. Exile is worse than death.”

  Her face prickling with heat, Rhiannon leaned forward and said, “Is that so? Explain how Marrock can return with two powerful forces backing him. He never suffered for what he did to Catrin. She isolates herself with the raven. Sometimes, I wonder if she is in her right mind.”

  “I’m also haunted everyday that Catrin can’t remember what happened that day,” Amren said, grimacing. “I fear she does not understand the dangers of summoning the mystical powers from her raven.”

  A foreboding chill iced down Rhiannon’s spine. “What dangers?”

  “Powerful forces such as these can overwhelm a person and cause ill effects. Agrona warned Catrin could go raving mad.”

  “Amren, you promised me these forces would never be summoned again. You said the powers of the Ancient Druids died with Rhan.”

  “I did not invite these forces back,” Amren said. “These powers came to Catrin only after Marrock abandoned her. Only the gods know what that monster did. My head runs rampant with fears that he might have cast a spell on Catrin and controls her.”

  Rhiannon reached for his hand. “You’re right. His mind is twisted. Catrin was an innocent lamb until that day with Marrock. Every muscle in my body twinges with dread that he raped and cast an
evil spell on her.”

  “That is the reason I summoned Agrona,” Amren said. “I truly believe she can help Catrin counter any of his spells.” He paused and furrowed his eyebrows together. “There is something more I need to tell you. I have charged Catrin to use her charms on the Roman hostage, to trick him into revealing Rome’s intent for our kingdom.”

  Rhiannon’s mouth dropped. “Have you lost all senses? First, you risk your life by agreeing to meet with Cunobelin and Marrock in their territory. Next you allow Vala to offer herself as a hostage. And now this! You offer Catrin as a whore to a foreigner.”

  “I did not ask Catrin to lie with him,” Amren quickly replied. “I told her to entice him, get his hopes up. She can then pull the anchor up after he unloads all the information we need. Marcellus is a political piece that we should play to our advantage.”

  Appalled that Amren would proffer Catrin to Marcellus, Rhiannon said, “Catrin is inexperienced with men. What makes you think that she will not falter under the Roman’s charm? She overstepped your authority to save him. Would she not do that again?”

  Amren rose from the table. “My mind is set. Catrin will do whatever is necessary to get information that may help us counter the Romans. Although Julius Caesar never completed his conquest of our lands almost seventy years ago, we are still held under Rome’s yoke with the hope its legions will not crush us. After having served in their army, I know how they spin webs to divide rival rulers. Rome is looking for an excuse to attack us. The only leverage we hold is Marcellus. While I negotiate with Cunobelin and the Romans, you will rule the village on my behalf and safeguard the dagger with the inscription of Rhan’s curse. Keep a close eye on the blade and warn me of any changes to the wording. If I am taken prisoner, hold Marcellus for ransom and threaten to kill him, if I am not released. If you must lead our army into battle to defend our kingdom, have Agrona oversee the village.”

  Rhiannon angrily pushed her chair back to stand. “What? Leave Agrona in charge? You cannot do that! Someone from our family like Mor should rule instead.”

  Amren drew Rhiannon into his arms and softly kissed her lips. “My love, you asked me to trust you when you said there is nothing between you and Trystan. I, in return, ask you to give me that trust. Agrona foresees shadows lurking in my future, but she cannot yet discern what these specters are. In the meanwhile, both you and I must heed what she advises.”

  Rhiannon sighed with resignation, knowing that once her husband’s mind was made up, he was as immovable as a mountain. She regarded the stubbornness etched on Amren’s face and told him, “As your queen and wife, I fall to your command. Yet, I sense Agrona will be our doom.”

  12

  Roman Spy

  “Don’t get caught,” Lucius said with a smirk. “You volunteered to be a hostage. Make the most of it. Find out what you can.”

  A Roman guard pulled away the flap to the massive tent, allowing Marcellus to join his father and Decimus inside. The spacious headquarters welcomed them with a central brass brazier radiating heat. The main chamber was sparsely furnished with a long wooden table, fold-out chairs, and multiple standing shelves. Behind the table was an embroidered gold eagle tapestry that divided the larger room from the living quarters.

  Marcellus thought it a mixed blessing that he would be exchanging his father’s ire and living quarters for the hospitality of painted barbarians. Soaked from the rain, Marcellus removed his cape and laid it on a bench near the doorway. He hesitated joining his father and Decimus, who were both warming their hands over hot coals in the brazier. The chilly ride back to the encampment had been quiet. Too quiet. His father had refused to look at him and remained silent as they traveled on the sodden path.

  Apprehensive his father would castigate him for not keeping his mouth muzzled and obeying him like a trained dog, Marcellus’s throat tightened. Would his father lash out at him in the presence of the tribune? Shivering, he stepped next to Decimus to warm his numbed hands and looked down, averting his father’s burning stare.

  Decimus asked Lucius, “Do you want me to stay?”

  Lucius’s voice grated. “By all means stay. I want you to hear what I am about to tell him.” Lucius grabbed Marcellus by his tunic with one hand while lifting the other to strike. “Never, let me repeat, never overstep me again in front of my enemies. I am the paterfamilias! You are my son; it is your duty to obey me!”

  Marcellus recoiled from his father’s fist that was waving in front of his face. He could overpower his father, but that would only inflame him further. Fighting for composure, he apologized. “Father, I’m sorry; I misunderstood. I thought we agreed I would stay as a hostage if negotiations broke down. I didn’t know you wanted the last word.”

  Chest heaving with anger, Lucius growled. “That was exactly my plan, only if we were in danger of losing our heads. Our talks had not reached that point.”

  Decimus stepped in and intervened. “May I speak?”

  Lucius glanced at the tribune and loosened his grip on Marcellus. “Go ahead. Speak.”

  “With due respect, I beg to differ with your assessment,” Decimus said, lowering his head, but keeping his eyes fixed on Lucius.

  “Tell me why.”

  “King Amren may have negotiated a little longer,” Decimus continued, “but his commander had a knife hidden at his side. He stared at us as if he was ready to spike our heads alongside the other skulls in the king’s receiving chamber. The cut to your son’s neck is proof King Amren was losing control of his warriors.”

  “Did you think I was not aware of this?” Lucius said gruffly. “That is why I didn’t want to leave Marcellus with these savages.”

  “We had no other choice,” Decimus said. “As a result of Marcellus volunteering to stay, Amren finally conceded to your demands. He, like you, wants a peaceful solution. He has a lot to lose if his eldest daughter is harmed while held hostage. The deed is done. Let us move on and discuss our next steps.”

  Marcellus blew a breath of relief when his father released him and turned to Decimus.

  “Tell me your thoughts,” Lucius said.

  “I will have my best men hide near the Cantiaci village and keep an eye on Marcellus,” Decimus said. “The meeting with Cunobelin should give us time to get more troops and supplies from Gaul just in case conflict breaks out.”

  “Where do we house the king’s giant daughter?” Lucius asked with disdain. “The men will grumble about a female in camp, especially one that ugly.”

  “Why not set up a separate tent outside the encampment,” Decimus suggested. “I will order my most experienced soldiers to guard her, making sure that she does not escape. Meanwhile, you can arbitrate between Amren and Cunobelin.”

  Marcellus studied his father’s face. Throughout their journey to Britannia, his father had never clearly explained the emperor’s directive and what role Marcellus would play in the negotiations. He asked, “What is my mandate as hostage?”

  “Socialize,” Lucius mocked. “Is that not your special talent?”

  Decimus interjected. “Amren’s family should allow you freedom to move around the village. See how well-armed the Cantiaci are—” The tribune’s words cut off when he began coughing.

  Lucius slapped him on the back. “Are you all right?”

  Still hacking, Decimus nodded and waved Lucius away. After a moment, he spat and cleared his throat. “Sorry. The damp weather and mold makes me wheezy,” Decimus rasped. “As I was saying, Marcellus should count how many warriors are in the village and find out what neighboring rulers have sworn their allegiance to King Amren.”

  “How can I find this out?” Marcellus asked. “I don’t speak their awful-sounding language.”

  Perhaps,”—Lucius snickered and winked—“the youngest daughter can teach you how to use your tongue on her.”

  Marcellus did not know how to take his father’
s comment. At one moment, his father could be as eloquent as any Roman orator, but at the next, he was as crude as any battle-hardened soldier. Not wanting an argument, Marcellus bit back his snide comment.

  Perhaps, you should bite off your own tongue.

  Lucius sat down at the table and stroked his chin, as if churning over some clever plan. His eyes glinted when he looked at Marcellus. “The youngest, what’s her name?”

  “Catrin,” Marcellus answered.

  “Catrin,” Lucius repeated. “For some reason, she spoke up to save your pretty head. She gazed at you with starry eyes.”

  Decimus grimaced. “I didn’t like the way she looked at Marcellus. She looked as if she was casting a spell on him. Why would King Amren proclaim Catrin as an escort to Marcellus if she didn’t serve some kind of purpose? The raven flying through the blast of smoke at the ritual and landing at her feet is a sign she is a sibyl or a sorceress.”

  “That is superstitious nonsense,” Marcellus said. “More likely, I can bewitch Catrin with my magical fingers.”

  Lucius gave Marcellus a twisted smile. “That’s not a bad idea. You could charm the wench to find out more information about her family. Does the queen have additional loyalties we should know about? Find out why Amren banished Marrock. If need be, take the wench to bed. That way, you could thrust out any secrets about Marrock. It might help us understand the best way to handle him.”

  The suggestion by his father unnerved Marcellus. Though he’d enjoy a lively frolic with Catrin, he had not anticipated his noble father sanctioning a tryst with a foreigner. Senator Lucius Antonius had just crawled out of the mire of his forefathers’ debauchery.

  Welcome back to the family cesspool, Marcellus! Ah, tradition!

  He frowned at his father. “I’m surprised that you have me take this risk.”

  “You do what you must, boy,” Lucius said, slapping the table to emphasize the point.

  Marcellus flinched. “Didn’t you see those skulls on the walls when we were in the king’s receiving hall? Mine could join the others.”