Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

  Catrin gave him a puzzled look. “You said that sharing our thoughts and feelings were unsettling.”

  Gazing at her blue-green eyes, Marcellus stroked Catrin’s hair that sparkled like gold under the sunlight. He nibbled at her lips. “I want to touch you in other ways, to taste the depths of your love. For this to happen …”

  He pressed his lips against her and pulled her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he savored the sweetness of her mouth. He deftly pulled the bindings on her chest armor. As they loosened, he spread the lacing apart and slid the palm of his hand over a soft breast. As he fondled the supple tissue, he moaned when her mouth floated open in delight. He knew then he could take her.

  Yet, an ominous chill that somebody was watching clawed at his neck. Glancing sideways, he saw two bare-chested warriors riding on horses. His heart thwacked against his ribs. He hurriedly staggered to his feet and helped Catrin up. Her face blushed as red as a shiny apple as she turned to tighten the bindings of her chest armor.

  When Belinus and Cynwrig reined their horses to a halt, they looked down on Marcellus and Catrin with the all-seeing eyes of judges ready to pass sentence.

  23

  Misdeeds of Ancestors

  She felt like a ship sailing aimlessly on a vast ocean toward hurricane forces. Like Marcellus, she wondered how much of her fate was controlled by her father … the curse.

  Catrin could see the distrustful glints in the warriors’ eyes as they approached. Tightening her fists, she turned to Marcellus. “Let me talk with them.”

  “Do you think they saw what we were doing?” Marcellus said quietly.

  “I’m not sure,” Catrin whispered. She turned, raised a hand and greeted the warriors. “Good day. What brings you here?”

  Belinus looked down on them from his mount. “The queen ordered us to keep an eye on him.”

  “Father charged me to guard the Roman hostage, not you.” Catrin said emphatically. “Why would Mother give you such an order?”

  Belinus spat. “She does not trust the Roman.”

  “Is that so?” Catrin said, her eyes pierced at Belinus. “How long have you been watching us?”

  “Since the first day he was put under your charge.” Belinus kneed his horse next to Marcellus. “And I’ve seen everything this Roman has done to you.”

  Catrin could feel heartbeats throbbing in her neck as she fought for composure. “What have you reported to my mother?”

  “The Roman’s every move. Whenever he kisses, touches you—”

  “I can’t believe you spied on me!” Catrin lashed out. “I was doing what my father ordered: find out more information. Mother is well aware of this.”

  “We do what the queen commands,” Belinus said with a scowl. “You need to bring this up with her.”

  “I will,” Catrin barked, then stomped over to Belinus and pulled the reins of his horse. “You can leave now. I have the hostage well in hand. You can tell my mother that.”

  Belinus pointed to the chariot. “What happened there?”

  “We were thrown,” Catrin quickly replied. “Marcellus was helping me get up.”

  Belinus cocked an eyebrow. “When did you last fall out of a war chariot? From what I saw from the hilltop, this pompous rooster drove the queen’s chariot over a rock and was thrown. When I rode up, he was ready to flaunt his manhood.”

  “I resent your insinuation!” Catrin hissed. “Remember, I know about your secret with Mor.”

  Before Belinus could reply, Cynwrig burst into laughter. Belinus’s face flamed as red as burning embers. Catrin darted her eyes back and forth between the warriors as they began to spar verbally with each other.

  Belinus snarled, “What’s so funny?”

  Cynwrig jested, “Everyone seems to know about your little secret.”

  “What do you mean ‘everyone knows’?” Belinus paused, eyeing Catrin. “We’ll have words about this later. Go see how much damage the chariot has sustained.”

  Snickering, Cynwrig rode to the chariot. After circling it, he looked at Belinus. “The wheels and axle look fine. Catrin can drive, so that idiot does not crash again. We’ll escort them back. You can tell the queen about what you saw between the two at your own risk.”

  “She can account for her own actions,” Belinus grunted.

  Cynwrig winked at Catrin. She turned to Marcellus and gave him a sweet smile. “Everything is fine now.”

  Marcellus’s jaw tightened as he leaned closer and murmured, “What did they say? They sounded vexed.”

  “Oh … Mother summoned me. That is all,” Catrin said calmly, trying to ease his concerns.

  “What was that horse-haired warrior laughing about?”

  “Something that Belinus said,”

  “And what was that?”

  “He thought it odd that we had fallen out of the chariot.”

  “What’s so funny about that?” Marcellus said, creasing his forehead. “Did he see what we were doing?”

  “Oh … I told him what happened to the chariot,” Catrin said, lightly touching his arm. “I said it flipped and threw us out.”

  Marcellus motioned his eyes toward Belinus, making Catrin aware the warrior was trying to listen to their conversation. He whispered, “What if your mother questions me? I want to make sure our stories match.”

  “I can handle Mother,” Catrin said firmly. “We need to go now. I will drive the chariot. Do not say anything along the way. Belinus has big ears and will be escorting us.”

  Marcellus nodded.

  Catrin walked to the chariot where Marcellus hoisted himself up and offered his hand to assist her. She moved to the front of the platform, took the reins, and crouched. She cracked the leather straps on the horses’ backs and the chariot jerked into motion.

  On the journey to the village, Catrin mulled over what she would say to her mother. She first thought about confronting her mother about not trusting her with Marcellus. She admitted to herself that she had become amiss carrying out her father’s mandate, gleaning little information from Marcellus about Rome’s intent for her kingdom. Instead, she became increasingly absorbed with Marcellus, learning about his interests, his beliefs, and his family. She should consider him an enemy, but they had more in common than not. Each of them was overshadowed by older siblings, their fates seemed more determined by the misdeeds of their ancestors than by their own actions.

  Catrin recalled her unsettling conversation with Marcellus when he revealed his greatest fear was to die young like his namesake—the nephew of Augustus—who was considered the presumptive monarchic heir to the emperor. The charismatic noble married at the age of seventeen to the emperor’s daughter, Julia. Two years later, his life was cut short by typhoid before he could fulfill his destiny.

  Marcellus disclosed that he wanted to emulate his great-grandfather. As a boy, he imagined himself leading his army into battle against Celtic hordes in Gaul, like the legendary General Mark Antony. Marcellus even asked Lucius, his father, to change his first name to Marcus in tribute to his great-grandfather, but Lucius declared, “As your paterfamilias, I not only decide your name but also your fate.”

  After Marcellus told Catrin this, he gazed at the setting sun as though longing for it to rise again. The lines around his eyes deepened when he divulged that he no longer believed plundering other homelands for personal gain was honorable and that he would make sure his father knew this. It was as if he was warning her that Rome intended to attack the Cantiaci kingdom.

  In retrospect, Catrin could have dredged more information out of him. Yet, at the time, she felt like a ship sailing aimlessly on a vast ocean toward hurricane forces. Like Marcellus, she wondered how much of her fate was controlled by her father … the curse.

  She recalled the altered curse etched on the dagger and struggled to understand its meaning. At the
time your daughter flies out of Apollo’s flames with the powers of the Ancient Druids … Blood Wolf will ally with the Roman Empire …

  The curse no longer foretold that Marrock would destroy their father. Rather, the curse gave her a different path to use the ancient powers to save her father and their people. She wondered how Marcellus would weave into all of this. As the empire’s agent, he was empowered with the authority of his family’s patron god—Apollo. Perhaps, she could convince Marcellus to plea with his father not to ally with Marrock.

  A man’s shout and animal squeals jolted Catrin back to her reality that she needed to halt the horses before they stomped on piglets romping away from a beleaguered herder struggling to direct them through the fortress entry into her village.

  “Get back inside, you stupid swine,” a gruff voice shouted above the pig snorts.

  The chaos compounded when other villagers jumped on the piglets and scooped them into their arms. A strapping farmer clamped a sow’s mouth with an elbow while lifting the forelegs to pull the animal through the entryway to a pigpen.

  When the entrance finally cleared, Catrin drove the chariot down the sodden pathway to the royal stables where Trystan met them. He first ordered Belinus to report his findings to the queen, then stared at Marcellus. “What happened to the Roman? It looks like he got the worst of a cock fight.”

  Before Cynwrig could answer, Catrin blurted, “He was hurt in a chariot accident.”

  Catrin nervously watched Trystan walk around the chariot, stopping at times to scrutinize the scrapes and gouges caused by the accident. After making a complete circle, he grumbled, “The queen will not be pleased to see this damage.” He flicked his eyes toward Cynwrig. “Take the Roman back to his quarters where a servant can tend to him. Catrin, you come with me.”

  Marcellus gave Catrin a puzzled look. She said, “You must go with Cynwrig. I will see you later at the evening meal.”

  Marcellus stitched his eyebrows together with concern. “What about your mother?”

  “I will speak to her. Do not worry,” Catrin said smiling, though her stomach knotted from the dread of what her mother might do.

  Marcellus seemed to relax and touched her hand. Though she had only known him for about a month, it felt as if she had built a lifetime of trust with him. He jumped down from the chariot and proffered his hand to assist her down.

  Catrin watched Marcellus trail Cynwrig to the rear of the structure. Before entering, Marcellus glanced back and grinned. She returned a whimsical smile, but she pressed her lips into a firm line when she heard Trystan clear his throat and order, “Follow me, Catrin. The queen wants to see you right away.”

  Apprehensive about what her mother would say, Catrin walked beside Trystan to the back door and they both entered. About half-way down the torch lit corridor, he halted and said, “The queen awaits you in her private chambers. I will stay here for any further instructions. Be forewarned, your mother watches your every move.”

  Taken aback by Trystan’s warning, Catrin asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

  He didn’t answer, but gestured for her to continue. Leaving Trystan, Catrin passed her bedchamber that had been converted into a makeshift cell for Marcellus. She peeked through the open doorway and found an elderly female servant swabbing lavender ointment on his chest. Reassured that Marcellus’s wounds from the chariot mishap were being properly tended, she turned her full focus on her mother’s bedchamber down two rooms. Squaring her shoulders and breathing deeply to steady her shakiness, the fear of how her mother might punish her indiscretion with Marcellus prickled the hairs on her arm. Was Belinus in there now revealing all the sordid details?

  Reaching the chamber’s door, Catrin hesitated. She looked down at her chest armor and tightened the lacing to seal the leather panels together. Swallowing hard to ease the tightness in her throat, she brushed some loose strands of hair from her face. Finally ready, she lightly tapped the door, her hand feeling as heavy as a mallet. “Mother,” she said quietly, hoping her mother would not hear.

  Queen Rhiannon’s voice blasted, “Come in here now!”

  Opening the door, Catrin observed a lady-in-waiting adorning her mother’s neck with a gold torc. Sitting on a stool, the queen was looking at herself in a mirror, fingering her braided hair coiled on top of her head. The queen snapped her fingers for the attendant to leave, and she twisted her torso, still with mirror in hand, and arched a discerning eyebrow at Catrin. “That is quite an outfit you have on. Where is the undershirt?”

  With hot sweat beading between her breasts, Catrin tugged at her chest armor to loosen so she could breathe. “I thought it was too warm to wear today.”

  “You thought leather armor would be cooler?” Rhiannon said, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “Your bare midriff is making quite an announcement.”

  The sweat now streaming over her abdomen, Catrin feigned ignorance of her mother’s insinuation. “Announcement of what?”

  Rhiannon shook her head with obvious chagrin. “Do not think me a fool? I know of your shenanigans with the Roman.”

  Catrin stiffened. “Is that not what Father instructed me to do? Find out more information from him.”

  “And … what did you find out today?” Rhiannon asked, setting the mirror on the nightstand. “Did he reveal anything new about Rome’s true intent for sending his envoys here?”

  Catrin scrambled for any new tidbits that might satisfy her mother. “I learned Marcellus has a half-brother just like me. He rides horses and drives chariots as well as any Cantiaci warrior. Marcellus is only here because his father is teaching him to be a diplomat. Now that he better understands our situation, I’m sure he will support us over Marrock’s claims.”

  “You actually believe that?” Rhiannon said, sternly lifting an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “That is what you said yesterday … and the day before that. It hardly seems worth the effort to glean so little information.”

  Uneasy that her mother was ready to deliver her ultimatum of not escorting Marcellus, Catrin snapped, “Why did you summon me?”

  Rhiannon picked up a scroll from the table and held it in the air. “This is a message from your father. He says negotiations are going well with Cunobelin … almost too well. To the point, your father anticipates negotiations will end soon. There is no need for you to escort Marcellus. After today, I have ordered Belinus to guard Marcellus until his release.”

  Shaken by her mother’s order, Catrin argued, “You can’t do this. Father charged me to guard Marcellus. Besides, Belinus detests Marcellus. And … and Marcellus likes my company.”

  Rhiannon frowned. “Oh, I see. Now the truth comes out.”

  “Mother, let me escort Marcellus until he leaves. I have learned so much about Rome from him. I can uncover more information if you give me more time. Besides, it is the first time a man has shown interest—” Catrin almost bit her tongue off to stop the words “in me” from escaping her mouth.

  Rhiannon gaped at Catrin. “Oh! In the name of the gods, why would you say that? There are lots of young men interested in you.”

  “Tell me who,” Catrin demanded.

  “There is Ferrex—a warrior, Cynwrig’s close friend,” Rhiannon said. “And there are others, but you wave them away like flies pretending they do not exist, ever since that day…”

  “What day?”

  “That day with Marrock,” Rhiannon said with hesitation. “Since that day, we have tried to shield you from any young man until you were ready.”

  Catrin felt as if her eyes were ready to burst. “Until I was ready for what?”

  “Affection with a man that is blessed by Mother Goddess.” Rhiannon then tripped over her words as she continued, “But … because … of what happened—well … let me be blunt. I do not believe you are ready for a man’s touch.”

  Catrin co
uld not believe what her mother had just said. “Not ready?”

  Rhiannon rose, walked over to Catrin, and gave her a pat on the hand as if soothing a young child. “Sweet girl, you isolate yourself and have spent entire days with only your raven. That is why we ordered Belinus to train you as a warrior, to empower you. That way, you can protect yourself from any man who does not treat you with honor.”

  Insulted, Catrin stepped away from her mother. “I thought you trained me to defend our kingdom, to be a warrior like Vala.”

  “That, too,” Rhiannon quickly replied, “but I had not anticipated how strong your infatuation for the Roman would be and—”

  “Mother! He has a name … Marcellus,” Catrin blasted. “I have more in common with him than any man from our village.”

  “Marcellus is a foreigner as smooth and sweet as honey,” Rhiannon cautioned, keeping a steady voice. “He is, at least, four years older than you and most likely sexually experienced. I can see by the glint in his eyes that he has special plans for you and that is not to be your friend, nor to help us!”

  Catrin felt hot blood surge into her face. “Mother, I cannot believe we are having this conversation! Father placed his trust in me to guard Marcellus. Now that I know him, I can assure you he is not who you think he is. Our friendship has developed into much more. I truly believe he will help us.”

  Rhiannon’s mouth flung open. “After a couple of weeks with him, you can declare this! You owe your loyalty to your family, not to an enemy who charades as a friend. You have wavered on your father’s mandate to find out what Rome wants from us.”

  “I’ve been—”

  “Don’t say anything until I’m done,” Rhiannon said, raising her voice. “Are you blind? That Roman rogue is beguiling you. Remember, the Roman emperor supports Marrock’s claims to the throne. If that monster overthrows your father, he will kill everyone in our family. Face it, the feelings you hold for Marcellus ring true because you are young and stupid. You have no future with him.”