Marcellus said, voice grating, “I need to draw a weapon to defend myself if anything goes wrong. If it would make you feel better, I will hold my hands up at the exchange.”
Catrin blew out an exasperated sigh. “I will not tie your hands.”
“Where to?” Marcellus asked, hiding the knife under his belt.
“We will wade a short distance down the river. Cynwrig spotted some Roman scouts along the pathway. He does not want any surprises.”
Marcellus tensed. Surprises from whom? Trying to maintain a stone face, he decided to keep a close eye on his surroundings for any hidden warriors. He gave her a disingenuous smile. “Makes sense, lead the way.”
Catrin stepped into the shallow water while he followed. She was as quiet as swimming minnows while he splashed in the water. After a few hundred feet, she hoisted herself onto the riverbank. Feeling grimy, Marcellus stayed in the river to splash water on his face. He frowned at the reflection of his swollen eye now rippling on the surface. He recalled Decimus telling him that nothing is ever what it seems. With the tribune’s words loudly echoing in his head, he was beginning to wonder whether Catrin was truly how she appeared to him—his lover and friend. Taking such an arduous route added to his uneasiness.
He joined Catrin on shore and said, “I thought you said the exchange site was a short distance from the cave. We have walked at least a mile.”
“As I told you, Cynwrig fears you could lead the Romans back to the cave.” She stared at Marcellus and her shoulders tensed. “You have declared your love for me, but have not yet told me the real reason Rome is here.”
Though he was aware that Catrin had been charged by the king to exploit him for information, he felt anxious that her love for him had been a facade. Yet he was reticent to express his doubts and did not answer her.
Catrin said, “If you ever meet Marrock, you would clearly see how evil he is. Why would Rome put him on the throne to replace my father?”
The pit of Marcellus’s stomach clenched, making him queasy. “You are asking me to betray my own people.”
Catrin jerked her head back and glared. “I have already been accused of this because of my steadfast loyalty to you.”
“If you are an oracle as you profess,” he retorted, “you should already know this.”
She regarded him for a moment. “My visions are flashes of the future, but I don’t always know how to interpret them. My images of your future have been the clearest. I sense your father is an embittered man harboring deep grudges and can be cruel if it serves his ambitions.”
“You are describing characteristics of all powerful rulers,” Marcellus said sardonically. “This is also true for your parents. Your mother had no compunction about sacrificing me if that would save your father’s life.”
Marcellus regarded Catrin for any inflection in her face that she was deceiving him. Unsettled that he might have been blinded to what she really was, he said with forlorn hope, “I want to believe your heart is pure and you are loyal to those you love. And that you are but a white raven in the midst of black ravens feeding on the carrion of their enemies. Before I answer your question, you must first answer mine. Did you lie with me, so you could obtain this information?”
A teardrop formed in Catrin’s downcast eyes. “I did this to show you my love and to change your fate to die young.”
“Did you bewitch me when we made love?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the truth.
“What I did was out of true love,” she said, her glistening eyes meeting his. “I cannot control how you feel about me. Only your true heart can do that.”
Marcellus took a deep breath. “Right, I will answer your question. I am not sure how this will help your family avoid the dangers looming ahead. The emperor sent my father to determine which rulers would aid Rome if they invaded Britannia. My father believes Marrock will not resist an invasion if Rome agrees to support his claims to your father’s throne. All I know is my father had planned to negotiate a separate agreement with Marrock. Beyond that, I don’t know if this ever took place. Knowing your father, he would never agree to aid my father’s plan to invade Britannia. Further, the emperor suspects Amren allied with a Germanian prince in a rebellion that annihilated three Roman legions. This happened about fifteen years ago, but the emperor has a long memory. Your father is considered anti-Roman, and that does not bode well for him.”
Catrin looked at Marcellus with pleading eyes. “Could you persuade your father to help my father and not Marrock?”
Marcellus hesitated. “Even if I argued on your behalf, I may not be able to change his mind. He takes little credence in what I say. Ultimately, only the emperor can make the final decision on whether to invade or not. I don’t want to see you harmed. That is why I asked you to go back to Rome with me. I will find a way to hide you, to protect you.”
Emptiness throbbed in his heart as he stared at her. If you truly love me, you will come with me.
Catrin looked away and gazed blankly across the river toward the east. “My mother warned me that your father would never allow you to take me back, except as your whore. From what you have told me, I know it is impossible for us to be together. It is better that I die by the sword defending my homeland than to lose my honor by agreeing to go with you to Rome.”
Marcellus felt as if his heart had been ripped out. He turned his head the other way with the agonizing realization that he had just betrayed his own people for the love of this foreign woman. He vowed not to go down the same path as his forefathers.
51
Betrayal
The wrenched pain on his face tore at her heart when he growled with hate, “You betrayed me.”
As Catrin silently sat next to Marcellus, she gazed at the billowy clouds which were similar to those in last night’s storm. Even though the last moments with Marcellus were heart-wrenching, she could not bring herself to say good-bye knowing she would never see him again. Cold wind sweeping across the waterway made her tremble. Perhaps it was her anxious energy as she reviewed every image on the Wall of Lives in her mind.
After a few moments, she heard three scratchy partridge calls, Cynwrig’s signal the Romans were approaching the exchange site. To emotionally distance herself, she avoided looking at Marcellus when she told him it was time to go.
They walked together up the hill in dead silence and continued on the footpath beside the river way. After a few hundred feet, she heard approaching footsteps, but the thick hedges obscured her view. She halted and told Marcellus, “Get in front of me.” She drew her dagger and pressed the tip against his back.
A few minutes later, three Roman soldiers appeared on the pathway. When Catrin did not see her father and Trystan with them, her stomach clenched. The Wall of Lives had shown that her father and Trystan would be escorted by the tribune and four other Roman soldiers when they first met. In front of her was a brawny commander wearing a helmet that had what looked like a red rooster’s crown on top of it. He displayed a warrior’s demeanor with uplifted broad shoulders as he strode toward them. The bright sun escaping the cover of clouds was also unexpected as the sky had been gray on the Wall of Lives. Cynwrig’s latest report that there were at least fifteen soldiers in the entourage concerned her.
She whispered to Marcellus, “Something is wrong. It was the tribune I saw in my vision.”
“That officer is a centurion by the name of Priscus Dius,” Marcellus said. “He is a former gladiator who Decimus recruited to carry out his most dangerous assignments. This is not a good sign.”
Senses heightened, Catrin raised the dagger blade against Marcellus’s throat when the centurion came within a few dozen feet of her. “Halt! Identify yourself.”
The centurion, ignoring Catrin’s command, took a few more steps.
She sliced Marcellus’s neck with the blade and shouted, “Halt or he dies!”
&
nbsp; Marcellus gasped, “Gods above!”
The centurion stopped and motioned for his men to do the same. When blood began dribbling down Marcellus’s neck, Catrin pulled the blade away.
“What are you doing?” Marcellus rasped. “I would like to leave with my head.”
Catrin’s heart stung for the pain she had inflicted on him. She swept the remorse from her mind as she again demanded, “Identify yourself.”
“I am Centurion Priscus Dius dispatched to deliver two prisoners. Who are you?”
“I am Catrin, daughter of King Amren. Where are my father and his commander?”
“They are not far from here,” Priscus said, hardening his stare. “My orders are to escort Marcellus to our camp before I release them.”
Catrin remained adamant. “I will not release my prisoner until you release my father and his commander.”
The centurion kept eyeing the hedges beside him. Fear was rising in her chest that she had inadvertently altered the future as a result of making love to Marcellus. She continued threateningly, “If you do not return your prisoners to me first, I will cut off his head.”
Marcellus blubbered, “Do what she says! I’m bleeding!”
Priscus hesitated and again glanced at the hedges. A swarm of ravens began circling over the treetops to his right. When Marcellus tilted his head toward the thick woods, Catrin also turned to check, but could not see anything. She then turned her eyes on the bushes.
About ten Roman soldiers brandishing their weapons rushed into the open. Among them was Tribune Decimus, barking orders, “Surround Marcellus and the girl!”
Dismayed that she had not foreseen this, Catrin gripped Marcellus by the arm, pulled him closer, and pressed the blade against his neck.
“Stand back! Or I slash his throat.”
“Do what she says!” Marcellus cried out.
Catrin again demanded, “I want to see the king now.”
The tribune held up his hand to halt the men. “Did you bring any other warriors with you?”
“As you can see, I am alone,” she said. “I have met my end of the bargain. Now meet yours.”
Decimus glanced at Marcellus. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but I will be if you don’t stop this hostility.”
The tribune waved one of his soldiers closer and they huddled together. A rivulet of sweat streamed down Catrin’s face as she nervously waited for the tribune’s next move.
Decimus finally ordered Priscus to bring forth the prisoners. Priscus saluted and left with two men down the path.
Catrin breathed a little easier. Her arm twitched with fatigue as she held the dagger against Marcellus. Noticing he was struggling to swallow, she pulled the blade back a tiny bit from his skin.
A few minutes later, both her father and Trystan appeared, unshackled, walking alongside five Romans down the path. She again pressed the blade against Marcellus’s throat. “Stop there! Only my father and his commander move forward.”
The soldiers looked to Decimus.
“Do as she says,” he grunted. “Release the prisoners.”
Leaving their guards, the king and Trystan strode swiftly toward Catrin, frequently glancing back. When they reached her, the king demanded in Celtic, “I want you out of here now!”
Catrin shook her head. “Cynwrig has weapons ready for you at the Ancient Oak. I will stay until I hear your signal that you are safe.”
Trystan interjected, “It makes more sense that I stay with Marcellus. We cannot risk the Romans taking either of you prisoner.”
“I am staying,” Catrin said firmly. “If we’re attacked, our best line of defense is for you to be fully armed. Cynwrig is now ready with bow and arrow.”
The king reluctantly nodded. “As soon as you hear our signal, release the Roman and run for your life.”
The king and Trystan dashed to the woods as she kept a steady blade against Marcellus’s throat.
“Could you take the pressure off,” Marcellus rasped. “You are hurting me.”
Noting the pained grimace on his face, she allowed the blade to drop to his collarbone.
After a few moments, a warbler’s whistle shrilled through the forest, Trystan’s distinct order to attack. Panic clawed at Catrin that he had foolishly signaled for an ambush with only three men and herself. They would surely all be slaughtered.
Catrin then noticed Marcellus gawking at the woods near the Roman soldiers. When she turned her head in the direction of his eyes, she was shocked to see several Cantiaci warriors charge through the trees like a tidal wave.
The sudden grip of Marcellus’s strong hand around her wrist further shocked her. She momentarily froze as he quickly pivoted to face her and grabbed her other arm. She eyed the dagger still in her hand that he was forcing to her neck. Terrified, she pushed against his arm with all her might as the shimmering blade inched closer and closer to her.
When the cold steel finally pressed against her throat, she gasped and stared into her executioner’s cold blue eyes that glinted in the sun. The wrenched pain on his face tore at her heart when he growled with hate, “You betrayed me.”
With the weight of the Apollo amulet pressing against her breast, she rasped, “You are my Apollo. You promised to protect me.”
He hesitated, uncertainty written all over his face.
The blade shook against Catrin’s throat and began to cut into her skin.
A pained anguish sheared through Catrin that her true love was resolved to slay her. She stared into his eyes and could feel her pounding heart reaching for Marcellus.
His eyes turned misty and she felt the blade release. He pushed her back and his voice cracked with emotion. “Go! Save yourself!”
Momentarily stunned, Catrin watched him bolt away with the sword that he had taken from her belt. He sprinted into the melee of Roman soldiers and war-painted warriors clashing head-on with the clang of swords and shields.
In the distance, she observed more Roman soldiers marching quickly to join the battle. With betrayal on both sides, there must have been all together fifty soldiers and warriors in brutal combat.
Catrin paled when Centurion Priscus ran out of the chaos straight at her. Realizing she was unarmed, she wheeled on her heels and pumped her arms hard up and down as she dashed to the cover of dense woods.
Just as she reached the trees, Priscus caught and tackled her to the ground. He picked her up and shook her like an empty sack. Then he slammed her to the ground, knocking the breath out of her, and kicked her in the stomach.
She curled into a ball and writhed, unable to draw air into her lungs. Nausea waved over her until a breath grated through her throat and she gasped.
The next instant, the centurion came within inches of her eyes. All she could see was the scar that stretched from his mouth to his ear like a macabre smile. With the strength of a bull, he again picked her up and hurled her on the ground like a slab of meat, knocking her unconscious.
52
Death Arrow
A blurry line suddenly blocked his vision and what felt like hot metal shot into his chest and sharp pain burned deep into his ribs.
In the midst of the battle, Marcellus thrust his sword into the belly of a blurred warrior catapulting at him. His hand jerked back when the blade pierced the abdomen and they both slammed on the ground.
Lying flat on his back, Marcellus saw dots flash before his eyes. With the warrior’s weight on him, he could hardly breathe. He pushed the broad-shouldered man off and rolled to his side for a closer look at his foe.
King Amren!
Panic spliced through him. With other Cantiaci warriors closing on him to protect their king, Marcellus sprung to his feet. Before he could escape, a vice-grip hand clenched his arm and stopped him. He turned to strike his opponent with his sword, but pulled back when he recognized De
cimus.
The tribune barked orders to the soldiers, “Line to formation. Get Marcellus out of here now!”
Two soldiers with shoulders the size of bulls grabbed Marcellus and shoved him through a blur of clashing soldiers and warriors. One guard, upon reaching the edge of the fray, released Marcellus to fight off a blue-faced warrior armed with a spear.
A strange force compelled Marcellus to look at the pathway in the distance. There, Priscus had Catrin pinned on the ground. Whatever betrayal Marcellus had felt switched to raw emotions that gripped his heart. In that split second, he had only one thought in mind.
I must protect my true love!
He yanked his arm away from the soldier guarding him and charged like a raging boar toward Priscus. Everything seemed in slow motion when he saw Priscus’s hands clenched around Catrin’s throat. A flash of anger rushed into his blood, yet he could not move his legs fast enough as he watched Catrin buck Priscus and knee his groin. The centurion jackknifed to the ground, his hands clasped over his crotch.
Marcellus had to make sure Priscus did not get up again. Reaching the centurion, he roared, “Get off her,” and nailed a hammer fist into Priscus’s temple, followed by a crunching fist to his jaw.
The assault hardly seemed to faze the maddened centurion. Rallying swiftly, Priscus jumped up and blocked Marcellus’s next blow with his forearm. Priscus rammed his head into Marcellus, and they both crashed on the pebbly path. Before Marcellus could throw another punch, the centurion wrapped his arms around to restrain him.
Priscus yelled, “What in god’s name are you doing?” With the aid of another soldier, the centurion yanked Marcellus up and planted him on his feet. Fighting against the men’s restraints, Marcellus again felt Catrin’s essence, and he frantically darted his eyes around for her.
When he caught sight of Catrin, she was staring at him with fear-struck eyes, as if trying to warn him.
His heart shuddered.
A blurry line suddenly blocked his vision and what felt like hot metal shot into his chest and sharp pain burned deep into his ribs. The force knocked Marcellus against Priscus, who then staggered backward and loosened his grip.
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