Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

  “You set me on a silvery wolf pelt just like he did.” Catrin paused. “When I saw the reflection of the white raven disappear from your eyes, I took this as an omen that our love was doomed.”

  “Did you envision that today?” Marcellus asked warily.

  Catrin’s eyes glinted from the crackling fire as she traced the curvature of his eyebrow with her finger. “Today, I only thought of you and the joy you brought me. The memory will last a lifetime after we part and go our separate ways.”

  The words “go our separate ways” seared in Marcellus’s mind. Swallowing the pain that he would soon lose Catrin, he lifted her chin. “I wish we had more time to know each other better. If everything goes right today and I survive that omen of yours, I promise to find a way for us to be together.”

  Sadness washed over Catrin’s face as her eyes filled with tears. “I could never willingly leave my home. The only promise I can now keep is that I will always be with you in spirit.” She suddenly pulled away from him and wrapped herself inside her cape. She stood and reached for some stacked garments nearby. Marcellus was surprised when she lifted the leather-stringed Apollo amulet that he had given her, placed it around her neck, and bowed her head in prayer. “Apollo, let my soul walk with Marcellus Antonius on his life’s journey.”

  Marcellus said, “I thought your mother had taken that amulet away from you. She accused me of cursing you with it.”

  Catrin smiled. “The raven stole it from her and returned it to me. I put it back on, so it would protect me.”

  In the bittersweet moment, Marcellus watched Catrin wash off the vestiges of their lovemaking. Had he been a fool for succumbing to her sexual danger? Was this Apollo’s cruel trick to send this Siren to seduce him and to capture his heart like no other woman? Could his first instinct that she would lead him to his destruction be true?

  As Catrin donned her crimson and red-plaid trousers and chain mail shirt, transforming her into a warrior, Marcellus felt emptiness stab into his soul. He rose and clutched his hand to his chest. “Why must it come to this? Just when we find each other, the Fates pull us apart. I don’t know what kind of mystical powers you have over me, but I again ask, will you return with me to Rome? I fear what might happen to you.” Guilt-ridden, he dropped his eyes, recognizing that he never told Catrin of his father’s sinister plan to invade Britannia.

  “Do not make this any harder,” she said with a somber tone. “What I did … I did for you. And if anything goes wrong …” A sob caught in her throat. “I must fight to save my father.”

  From her pained grimace, Marcellus knew she would kill Roman soldiers to protect her father. Would she kill me if ordered to do so? Staring at her, he asked, “Could you do that? Hurt me after making love to me?”

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, but I need your help to make sure my father is released and I am not taken prisoner. Otherwise, I foresee that Cynwrig will release an arrow that kills you.”

  The tribune’s warning that Catrin was a sorceress again rattled in Marcellus’s mind. How could he completely trust this mystical woman who had just strangely lured him into another dangerous encounter at the risk of Cynwrig returning any moment?

  Masking his growing mistrust, he stepped over to Catrin and pulled her into his embrace. As he stroked her hair, his thoughts switched to his father, a man with the pride of Jupiter, who would readily betray any agreement for revenge. He kissed Catrin for what possibly could be the last time and said softly, “This moment will be forever etched in my memory.”

  49

  Preparations for the Exchange

  “For us to defy the gods today, I must know exactly what you saw in your vision before I am to be killed. If we do everything exactly the same, it might be easier to change that one moment in time.”

  Catrin left Marcellus in the cave and scanned the area for Cynwrig at the entrance. Cynwrig had departed at the break of dawn to place weapons at the Ancient Oak, close to the designated site for the exchange. Before she caught sight of Cynwrig, the raven’s screech warned of his approach.

  He strode out of the woods, his wet hair hanging like coiled wool over his shoulders. In his hand was a freshly killed rabbit.

  She asked him, “Did you see the Roman camp?”

  Joining her at the cave’s entrance, he replied, “Yes, as you foresaw in your vision, there are more Romans than what the queen had agreed to … at least, fifteen soldiers, maybe more. Your father’s and Trystan’s ankles were bound.” He looked around. “Where is the Roman prisoner?”

  “Inside the cave, by the fire.” Watching Cynwrig closely, she flinched when he pulled a knife from his baldric. “What are you planning to do with that?”

  He sliced a hole through the rabbit’s shoulder and muttered, “Prepare this, so we can eat.”

  When he cut and ripped the fur away from the rabbit’s body, she shuddered, recalling rumored tortures that Romans inflicted on their prisoners. “How did Father look? Bruised or battered?”

  “From a distance, he looked mean and hungry to escape,” Cynwrig said, snapping the ankle joint of the rabbit’s foot. “Have you talked to that Roman about our plans?”

  She winced at the sound of his cracking the rabbit’s bones. “He knows what is expected of him.”

  Cynwrig pulled the fur down the rabbit’s legs like he was removing socks. Slicing the underbelly with his knife, he grunted, “Do not let your heart for that foreigner get in the way. If your vision holds true, I will unleash the fury of the gods on any Roman who betrays us and tries to capture you and retake your father.” He scooped out the slithering guts with his hand and set them on a rock. “Does the Roman know that I will kill him if he even thinks of betraying us?”

  Familiar with Cynwrig’s ferocity, Catrin could feel her heart pound more rapidly. “He’s assumed that by your presence. He will also feel the sharpness of my sword against his throat until my father is released.”

  After Cynwrig crammed a sharpened stick through the pink-fleshed hare, Catrin followed him inside the cave to the fire. He set the spitted meat on a tripod over the fire. She glanced at Marcellus, who tensely nodded his acknowledgement.

  Cynwrig unbuckled his baldric and placed it on the ground. Frowning at his chain mail shirt, he grumbled, “This armor hinders me from moving quick as a fox.” He gripped the bottom of his metal shirt and uttered, “Help me take this thing off.”

  She yanked the shirt over his head and his sweaty chest blasted a pungent odor into the cave. The blue tattoos on his chest and arms reminded her of the lightning bolts that the thunder god Taranis had hurled at them the previous night. Scrunching her nose, she turned to Marcellus to see him gagging, too.

  After clearing his throat, Marcellus asked, “What did Cynwrig say?”

  “The Romans are camped close by. There are about fifteen soldiers.” The outer corners of Catrin’s eyes creased as she said bitterly, “Your father broke his word. Only five guards were to escort my father.”

  Marcellus grimaced. “I’ll do what I can to make sure everything goes smoothly. Are we to wait here until then?”

  “Yes, that will give us a chance to discuss our plan and eat. Be forewarned: Cynwrig will not hesitate to kill you if he suspects you or any other Roman of treachery. Unless you do exactly what I say, I may not be able to save you today.”

  Cynwrig snarled in Celtic. “What are you saying to that Roman?”

  “I told him his people are already here.” Catrin gestured toward the back of the cave. “Check through the weapons while I speak further with him.”

  Cynwrig grunted and did as she commanded.

  Turning to Marcellus, she again described the prisoner exchange that was projected on the Wall of Lives. She concluded by saying, “You must convince your people to leave peaceably. If they do not, Cynwrig has been ordered to kill you. I am telling you th
is, so we can thwart the gods’ fate that you will die today.”

  Marcellus regarded her for a few moments, then said, “I don’t understand your mystical powers. If the gods have fated me to die today, how can we counter them?”

  “As I told you, we shifted the future when we made love; this was not shown on the wall. It is hard to explain how everything works. Just know that if I alter a moment in your life, then I can change your fate of when you die. I am not sure how this change will affect my future or others, but I cannot bear to see you killed today.”

  Marcellus creased his brow. “What if … you cannot defy the gods and change my fate?”

  “I can do this,” Catrin proclaimed, “but this must happen the instant Cynwrig releases an arrow at you. What I fear most is my concentration will be disrupted if the Romans attack me.”

  “How will I know when this is about to occur?”

  “Listen for my voice. It may come to you in your mind. I may shout it out. You must instantly hurl yourself on the ground to avoid the death arrow.”

  Marcellus rubbed his jaw as if he was mulling over everything she had said. “If I am slain, what will happen to you?”

  “My father and I escape. After that, I fear your father might use your death as an excuse to destroy my family and to elevate Marrock to the throne.”

  With a dagger in hand, Cynwrig walked out of the cave’s shadows. “You have talked a very long time to that prisoner. What are you saying to each other?”

  “He knows of your reputation for being a brutal warrior,” Catrin replied. “He says he will try to convince his people to let my father go without incident.”

  “You have put a lot of trust in that foreigner.” Cynwrig spat on the dagger blade. “Remember, he will do anything to save himself, and that means killing you.”

  “I am well aware,” she said, knowing in her heart Marcellus would never turn against her.

  Cynwrig picked up his baldric and glanced at her. “Please help me adjust this.”

  Catrin buckled and tightened the leather straps around his bare chest. He told her in a hushed tone as he put the dagger in the belted scabbard, “Make sure you keep an eye on the Roman. Do not let him overpower you while I’m gone to make final preparations.”

  “I can handle him,” Catrin said firmly. “Besides, if he had wanted to escape, he would have already done so. He is smart. His only chance for survival is for the exchange to take place.”

  Cynwrig shook his head as he placed a couple of swords in his baldric and grabbed two spears. Striding away, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure there are no other Romans hiding in the forest. Get yourself armed, so we can move quickly after we eat.” Without another word, he swaggered out of the cave.

  Catrin knelt by the fire to inspect the roasting hare. The meat was browning nicely. The aroma of dripping juices sizzling in the fire made her mouth water. When she looked at Marcellus, he appeared troubled, his eyes languishing on her.

  “What is wrong?” she asked.

  Marcellus sighed loudly. “Just thinking. I know we’ve already discussed this, but I don’t believe I was meant to go back to Rome without you. Perhaps, the gods fated me …” He looked down, shaking his head.

  “Say it,” Catrin urged.

  He looked at her with doleful eyes. “If we cannot be together, perhaps it is because of the gods’ mercy that I am fated to die young. Somehow, I’ve always known this. Now that you are part of me, I can sense your thoughts and feel you”—he pointed to his heart—“here.”

  She reached for his hand. “For you to live, we must both accept that we may never see each other again, but you still must escape two deathtraps set by the gods. I can help you today, but after that, you must listen to your own instincts. My gift to you is for you to rewrite your own legacy.”

  Marcellus embraced Catrin with a kiss. “Thank you, sweet love, for giving me courage. For us to defy the gods today, I must know exactly what you saw in your vision before I am to be killed. If we do everything exactly the same, it might be easier to change that one moment in time.”

  Catrin pressed her hand against Marcellus’s throat. “I put a blade against your neck and cut the skin to make it bleed. Only after I threaten to slash your throat does the scar-faced commander let my father and Trystan go.”

  “Was the commander the tribune at our first meeting?”

  Catrin nodded.

  “That is Decimus. I assume they still have your sister Vala.”

  “Yes, your father did not agree to let her go until you were released. We are holding some Roman soldiers captive in the village. My mother plans to barter them for my sister’s release.”

  “Decimus is loyal to his soldiers,” Marcellus said. “Knowing this, I can reason with him not to do anything rash that could cost my life. What else did you see?”

  “After I release you, two Romans chase after me while others run after my father and Trystan. That is when Cynwrig shoots an arrow at you.”

  “You can only change one predetermined moment at a time?”

  “Or add another moment that was not on the Wall of Lives.”

  Marcellus gripped Catrin by the shoulders. “Do everything exactly as you saw in your vision. I will try to reason with Decimus that we need to leave peaceably.”

  Catrin gave a self-assured smile. “I can do that.”

  He did not return the smile.

  50

  Growing Doubts

  Binding my hands makes me feel like a sheep being taken to slaughter.”

  After the morning meal, Marcellus warily watched Cynwrig help Catrin strap a sword at her side. He handed her a dagger and knife, which she placed underneath her belt. With his fingertips, he painted blue arched wings on her forehead—a ritual Marcellus assumed was performed to embolden her. In the span of a few minutes, she was transformed from a young woman into a fierce warrior. As they conversed in Celtic, Cynwrig’s feral eyes remained fixed on Marcellus, leaving no doubt the fierce warrior would take great pleasure in slaying him.

  Twice that morning, Cynwrig had left the cave with an armload of swords, spears, and arrows. Uneasy that Catrin had not been forthright about other warriors hiding nearby, Marcellus approached them and asked, “What are you and Cynwrig talking about?”

  Catrin turned to Marcellus. “Cynwrig is placing more weapons near the exchange site for my father and Trystan to use should the Romans attack.”

  Marcellus wondered, Why would they need so many weapons for so few men? He stared at Catrin. “It looks like Cynwrig is preparing an army for battle. Is there something I should be aware of?”

  “I have already told you everything,” Catrin said sharply. “We must be prepared for any ambush. The Romans cannot be trusted.”

  A twinge of panic sliced into Marcellus when Catrin mumbled some orders to Cynwrig in Celtic. The warrior grunted and walked to the back of the cave. She motioned for Marcellus to join her outside.

  When Marcellus walked out of the cave to join her, he found the forest eerily still as wisps of fog hovered over the treetops like ghosts. He had hoped to see a favorable omen after last night’s storm. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t see Cynwrig come out of the cave. He turned to Catrin, “Isn’t Cynwrig going with us?”

  “He is taking a different route, so he is not seen by the Romans.”

  Everything that she was saying was raising the hairs on the back of his neck like hackles. “Why are you making such moves?”

  “Precautions to counter any Roman ambush,” Catrin replied sharply. “Now turn around, so I can bind your wrists and blindfold you. Do not say a word until I tell you.”

  Marcellus nervously shifted. Why does she keep belaboring the possibility of a Roman ambush? He dubiously raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course, I do, but Cynwrig doesn’t trus
t anyone.”

  “Binding my hands makes me feel like a sheep being taken to slaughter. Didn’t you tell Cynwrig that I would help ease the tension at the exchange?”

  Catrin snapped her eyes at him. “I did. Still, he ordered me to blindfold and restrain you. Don’t argue with me. He is watching. Put your hands behind your back.”

  Uneasy with her explanation, Marcellus hesitantly put his arms behind him, so she could tie his wrists together with leather straps. After she placed the cloth over his eyes, she grabbed his arm and led him up a steep slope. Sure-footed as a goat, she told him when to step around a rock or over a fallen branch. He cautiously walked on the muddy ground, occasionally slipping on slick spots. A raven’s croaks loomed over the chatter of other birds in the forest. The odor of decaying leaves and mold added to his dread.

  After several minutes, she called a halt and told him they needed to wait a little while. She untied his straps and removed the black cloth from his eyes. Rubbing his wrists, he adjusted his eyes to the light filtering through the thick woods beside the river’s edge. “After everything we have gone through,” he said bitterly, “I thought you had more trust in me.”

  “I do,” she snapped, “but I could not show this in front of Cynwrig. He is already leery that I may not fulfill my part in this.”

  Marcellus held out a hand. “At least, give me a dagger to defend myself in case anything goes wrong.”

  She yanked a knife from her belt and slapped it in his hand. “Now do you trust me?”

  Still skeptical, he quietly flipped the knife in his hand.

  “Much good that will do you,” she said with a sarcastic bite to her voice. “I’ve been ordered to keep your wrists tied during the exchange.”