Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

“I am aware of this,” Lucius said, as the tribune lit a candle that clearly illuminated the senator’s chestnut-brown eyes. The senator poured some wine into goblets and offered one to Marrock. Taking a sip, Marrock waited for the senator to start.

  Lucius cleared his throat. “King Amren refuses to recognize you as his son. Why is that?”

  Marrock gave a thin smile. “Did he not tell you?”

  “Yes, but I would like to hear your side.”

  “Did my father say anything about what happened on the day I was banished?”

  “He did.”

  Suspecting his father may have told the senator all the sordid details, Marrock would need to counter the tale with his own. “Shortly after the wolf attack, Father accused me of casting a curse on his kingdom. In truth, my presence was a constant reminder to him of his heinous deed of beheading my mother, the rightful queen. You should know that he forced me to watch as he lopped off her head.”

  Decimus leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Interesting, but that is not what your father told me.”

  Marrock twitched a smile. “Exactly what did he say?”

  “He said you cut the throats of two children, then tried to do the same with his youngest daughter.”

  Marrock did not flinch as he considered how to deflect his father’s accusation. “That is a blatant lie. I came across the gruesome act on my walk home. The boy and the girl were already dead. It is no coincidence that some of the king’s warriors were conveniently there as I cradled the heads and wept for the children’s souls that had been entrapped in the skulls.”

  Lucius’s voice quavered, “What do you mean by ‘entrapped’?”

  “It is our belief that the skull is the temple of a person’s soul. When the head is removed from the body, the soul—the essence of the person—cannot escape the skull and travel to the Otherworld.”

  Lucius jerked his head back. “Oh, gods above! If that is so, why does your father line his receiving chamber with skulls?”

  “Power!” Marrock spewed with disdain. “He believes he can use the strength of his enemies’ skulls to protect his kingdom. I believe as the Romans do; it is barbaric … a desecration.”

  “That we can both agree on.” Lucius took another sip of wine and regarded Marrock for a moment. “What if I were to tell you that I support your cause?”

  Finally, progress on my claims. Smiling slyly, Marrock said, “That conclusion would confirm the accolades I have heard about you being a wise man.”

  “What if I were to tell you that Cunobelin is considering withdrawing his support of your rights as heir to the Cantiaci throne? And that he favors a political marriage between his oldest son, Adminius, and Amren’s daughter. Amren has already made several concessions, promising Cunobelin that he will transfer some of his authority to Adminius after the wedding. In exchange, you will be handed over to Amren for his pleasure.”

  At that instant, Marrock’s temple began to throb with the image of his fangs tearing away his traitorous father-in-law’s throat. He said sharply, “I would say my father has led Cunobelin astray. My father-in-law has been my most ardent supporter for ruling the Cantiaci kingdom on his behalf.”

  The senator leaned back in his chair and tapped a corner of his mouth. “Sadly, people’s true motives are sometimes masked. I must admit that what your father and Cunobelin are considering is not in Rome’s best interest.”

  Marrock stared at the reflection of the wavering candle flame on the senator’s eyes. He knew Lucius had some other insidious plan in mind. Now was the time for him to pounce on the opportunity and to maneuver the senator to his cause. “I understand your meaning. Quite possibly, I could offer something more to your liking. If Rome were to proclaim me as the Cantiaci king, I would gladly give my fealty to the emperor and open the harbors for Roman ships and trading, but my loyalty does not need to stop there.”

  Lucius furrowed his brow at Decimus who then set his quill down. The senator looked at Marrock. “I would like to further explore where your loyalty might go.”

  “How far would you like it to go?”

  Lucius extended his left hand on the table. “This is my signet ring with the imprint of my patron god, Apollo. What would you offer this god?”

  Marrock smiled wryly. “I also worship Apollo and would offer gifts deserving of his favor: tin, silver, grains, cattle, and slaves. Cantiaci warriors are renowned for their ferocity and skill with weapons. As gladiators, they would draw crowds to your arenas.”

  “I would like to move forward with your claims, but there is the sticky issue if Cunobelin agrees to the nuptial agreement proposed by Amren.” The senator sipped some wine, his eyes fixed on Marrock. “I fear what your father might do to my son, Marcellus, if I proclaim my support for you. At the first meeting with Amren, his maggot put a blade to my son’s throat—an act I will never forgive.”

  “A despicable act!” Marrock snarled, meeting the senator’s hard stare.

  “Will your father and his queen keep their truce and not harm Marcellus, if I pronounce my support of you as the rightful heir, regardless of whether the marriage pact is finalized?”

  Marrock rubbed the corner of his mouth to hide his smirk. “Based on my own experience, neither my father nor his queen can be trusted to keep their treaty. It is well-known that Father will extend one hand in friendship while thrusting a sword into your heart with the other. The queen and their youngest daughter, Catrin, are sorceresses. If either of them suspects treachery from you, they will gladly sacrifice Marcellus to their war goddesses.”

  The senator’s mouth gaped open. “Sacrifice! A human sacrifice?”

  “An abomination!” Marrock exclaimed, matching the senator’s fervor. “To prevent this, I strongly advise you take my father prisoner now and demand Marcellus be released. After your son is freed, you can do whatever you please.”

  Decimus interjected, “Senator, we need to talk before you go further with this discussion.”

  Lucius paused, then pushed his chair back to get up. “Agreed. I will give this further consideration before I make a decision.” He acknowledged Marrock with a nod. “If you will excuse me, I must join Cunobelin and my fellow envoy. Later, we can again discuss your generous offering.”

  Marrock rose and bowed, the toga almost slipping off his arm. “I am here to serve you as your client king.”

  When Marrock left, his mind twisted around the inroads he had made with the hubris senator. He was now ready to shed his Roman attire for the comfort of his wolf skin as he planned his next steps to ensnare the stag, the symbol of his father in his vision. For that, he needed Agrona to set up the next phase of their scheme. He sneered, knowing the senator’s seal of Apollo would give him the authority he needed to ignite the political firestorm between his father and the Romans.

  Soon enough, Blood Wolf will outsmart the eagles and feast on the Cantiaci kingdom.

  22

  War Chariot

  With reckless glee, he again cracked the leather straps. The chariot lurched when the horses accelerated into a full gallop.

  A month had passed since Marcellus first kissed Catrin. Since that day, he had relished every moment he spent with her. Today, he felt invigorated from the morning sun and the scent of freshly cut hay from a nearby pasture. With excited anticipation, he watched Catrin instruct two stablemen on how to harness the bay mare and the black stallion to the queen’s war chariot.

  He chuckled.

  She definitely likes to take control.

  Waiting for them to finish, he reminisced about his outings with Catrin, a constant companion who shared his love for racing horses, hunting, and hiking in the pine-scented woods and sweet-flowered pastures. The island was so unlike Rome where he had to duck excrement thrown out of upper flats on his walk to the pubic baths. He had grown apathetic about exercise, preferring the dull tales of his
friends as they leisurely soaked. At night, even his sexual adventures with Eliana no longer excited him as it had at the start.

  Marcellus sighed wistfully. Catrin, this “Celtic Diana” had opened his eyes to the joy of sharing the bounty from their hunting trips with her people. Unlike Roman nobles, who hoarded wealth for their own extravagances, the Cantiaci royal family shared food and wine in exchange for the people’s fealty. The previous week, Catrin donated two boars she had killed on a hunt for the people to feast on. The raucous celebration, he discovered, was a public way for a warrior to elevate himself by challenging others to single combat. Out of what seemed a chaotic contest was how a warrior acquired and maintained his status.

  The last couple of weeks had given Marcellus a different perspective of why he had grown to hate Rome and resent his father for forcing him into politics. With the Cantiaci, he could meet his opponent face-to-face in combat to settle differences. The political fighting among Roman patricians was done in the shadows of the Senate, where alliances formed in clandestine meetings. Sometimes, patricians hired hooligans to resolve any quarrels by dumping the bodies of their adversaries in sewers that flushed into the Tiber.

  Although he had at first viewed the Cantiaci as ignorant barbarians, his opinion had changed, particularly after Catrin explained their religious beliefs. No one died, but all lived in a cycle of destruction and rebirth. Souls could reincarnate into a human being or animal form. With each new incarnation, the living being lost memory of a prior life, but was influenced by past deeds.

  Catrin proclaimed she was born with a raven spirit which allowed her to travel to other spiritual realms. The bards sung of ancestral warrior queens born with the raven spirit that bestowed them with the ability to foretell the deaths of their enemies. Though Catrin never professed she had been a warrior queen from a previous life, Marcellus assumed so. She matched his physical intensity and skill with weapons, and had a rebellious nature like him, though at times she seemed vulnerable.

  In Rome, Marcellus considered women as empty vessels whose only purpose was for sexual pleasure and child-bearing. However, Catrin was more like a reflection of his soul. The mystical way they began their relationship, joining their thoughts and sharing deep secrets, intrigued him. With his growing love for Catrin, the urgency of fulfilling his father’s mandate to find out more information from her was waning. His father’s lofty aspirations of invading Britannia now sank ingloriously in his chest. A war would destroy Catrin. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to persuade his father to ally with Amren and leave in peace.

  The loud snorts of the chariot horses pulled Marcellus out of his reverie. He shifted his gaze toward the queen’s chariot to study its distinct differences from the quadrigae his family sponsored in races at the Circus Maximus. The rectangular, flat-bedded vehicle was unlike the Roman cylindrical chariot. Built for speed, Roman chariots had front panels that arched to tapered sides. In contrast, the queen’s chariot had two low-lying, ribbed sideboards on each side, the front and back open for a warrior to jump off and on during battle while another drove. Another factor to consider was the circuitous race track in Rome was smooth and sandy whereas here he had to drive the chariot over grasslands, rolling hills, and gullies. He was anxious to meet Catrin’s expectations, particularly after his bold claim of being a skilled charioteer. She had somehow persuaded the queen to allow him to drive her war chariot. Now presented with the challenge, he was determined to prove his boast true.

  Marcellus flashed a prurient grin when Catrin ambled toward him. Gods above, she looked stunning in her leather chest armor that provocatively laced at the front. With no visible shirt underneath, her alabaster skin glistened in the sunlight. Tight multi-plaid breeches accentuated the curvature of her small hips. His perception of what construed a woman’s beauty had completely changed. With a spear in hand, Catrin had the pale lunar radiance of the goddess Diane. Though her close communication with the raven had at first unnerved him, he now accepted this as part of her mystique. She seemed more a goddess than a mortal.

  And his sexual self-restraint was melting away.

  Sweet Venus! How did you get past your mother dressed like that?

  More baffling, why did the queen trust her daughter to be alone with him during the day without any additional guards? Had he imagined the shadows lurking in the forest a few days back, when he was alone with Catrin. If they were ever caught in an intimate moment, the queen would undoubtedly rip out his heart. Though he should be cautious with Catrin, his loins told him otherwise when his eyes wandered down to her sweet spot. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching. He playfully patted her hind side. She jumped and wheeled around, her lustrous blue-green eyes warning him not to do it again.

  Marcellus curled his lips into an impish smile. Just try to stop me.

  When Catrin glowered, he frowned and asked in a matter-of-fact manner, “Do you still plan to ride with me?”

  “Yes, of course,” Catrin said sharply. “I have brought spears for hunting. Can you drive this chariot, so you do not scare the game away?”

  Though Marcellus inwardly prayed to Apollo that he would not crash the chariot into a tree, he haughtily proclaimed, “Hah … I’m lightning fast. No prey will ever hear me coming.”

  In truth, he most wanted to capture the affection of Catrin. He hopped into the back of the chariot and waved his arms over his head, signaling the great champion was ready to go. Then he extended a hand to assist Catrin into the chariot. A stableman gave her a couple of spears that she leaned across the side rail. She gave Marcellus a dubious look.

  “Have you driven this kind of chariot before?”

  “I’ve only driven Roman chariots,” he admitted, “but I assume they all work about the same.”

  “You will need to squat, so I can throw the spear over your head.”

  “Squat?”

  “Yes. Squat. Can you do that?”

  Of course, he could do whatever the goddess asked and much more. He bent down and balanced his weight on his right foot as the two stablemen finished adjusting the harness. After a few moments, his legs began cramping in the crunched-up position.

  Shit! I must be crazy!

  He took the reins from one of the stablemen. Raring to go, he cracked the leather straps on the horses’ backs. The chariot squealed into motion on a grassy pasture populated with rocks and boulders.

  Whoa! Not a good idea!

  Immediately one wooden wheel hit a rock.

  Marcellus bounced up, nearly losing his balance and spilling him out the front. He contracted his thigh muscles to stabilize himself as the chariot sped across the open terrain. Behind him, he felt the rocking motion of Catrin shifting her weight back and forth as he negotiated the vehicle onto a dirt road, toward the forest. Relying on his experience with Roman chariots in Gaul, he pulled one rein, directing the horses to the left, while tightening the other to whip the vehicle around a tree. Exhilaration surged through his veins at every sharp turn. At the top of his lungs, he cried out, “Aaaah hooah!” Catrin mimicked his war cry.

  After awhile, Marcellus was skillfully maneuvering the chariot back and forth across a gully. His legs screamed bloody pain as he fought to control the reins, looking for any obstacles through the open gap between the horses, their manes swooshing back. With reckless glee, he again cracked the leather straps. The chariot lurched when the horses accelerated into a full gallop.

  Up ahead, he glimpsed a white stone jutting from the grass. He yanked hard on the reins barely missing it, but the other wheel crunched over a boulder. The chariot flipped up and catapulted Marcellus across the field where he landed face down in the grass.

  The wind knocked out of him, he struggled to his hands and knees. Afraid Catrin had met a similar fate, he glanced up to find her. To his shock, she was unscathed as she drove the chariot toward him. The embarrassment of being hurled
from the chariot wounded his pride. He rolled on his back and slowly inhaled to ease the pain anchored in his ribs. The clacking of the approaching chariot’s wheels silenced, and he heard footsteps rushing toward him.

  Catrin knelt and stroked his forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” he rasped.

  She showed him the crimson tinge on her fingertips. “Your head is bleeding.”

  “It is only a scratch,” he groaned, playing to her sympathy.

  When Catrin interlocked her arms under his back to lift him, he sputtered, “Let me … rest … a moment.”

  She set Marcellus back down and checked his arms for broken bones. Seizing the moment to capture his prize, he wrapped his arms around her and pinned her flat on the ground. Even with her strength, she could never escape this hold if he had full weight on her.

  Catrin protested. “Marcellus, you had me scared! Let go of me!”

  He knew how to disarm her with a whimsical smile followed with a breathless kiss. Ready to kiss her, he noticed a glint in her eyes signaling she desired more. He stroked her cheekbone with the back of his hand and traced his thumb over her bottom lip. She gently clamped it between her teeth, the tightness reminding him of what he would feel inside her. A breath hitched in his throat when he gazed at her lustrous lips. She had an intoxicating scent that was driving him crazy. He recalled his Roman lover’s mantra. Every woman wants to be taken like a goddess. Touch her in the right places and she will soar to the heavens. Though his heart raced with excitement, he hesitated, glancing around for any unwelcome visitors. Perhaps he should wait until they found a more secluded spot, where he could slowly build her arousal to match his.

  His caution melted away when she placed his hand on her armored breast cup.

  Aroused, he interlaced his fingers into hers, the movement of their palms in an ethereal dance connecting their hearts. An overpowering desire to press against her hips burned away all his caution. He kissed her passionately, but could not fill his hunger for her. Wanting more, he said, “I want you to join my soul like when we first kissed.”