White Raven's Lover

by Nhys Glover

  ‘But Pater…’ Cal whined as he dragged his feet.

  ‘Don’t but Pater me. I have duties to perform, as do you. You go with Bellia to the temple today, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’ll be Cerealia in a few days and the games are to be very special this year. Braxus will have his gladiators there. We have one of the sweet loaves to offer today. Ceres will take special care of Mater because of that offering.’

  ‘She certainly will. Watch out for her snakes on the way to the temple, though.’

  ‘I will. Hermes has taught me to always watch where I step. One must always know where one is heading by looking up, but then keep a close eye on each step you take to get there.’

  ‘A wise lesson to learn about life. Now go, Cal, I have to dress.’ He gave the child a little push out the door and then closed it. For a moment, he leaned against the barrier he had created between himself and his son. It broke his heart to do it, but it was better for everyone. He had things to do, and so did his child.

  They would have time together later.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cal ran ahead to the front door of the villa and waited impatiently for Hermes and Bellia to catch him. He hated that he had to wait for grown-up. They were always slow, acting as if they had all day to get where they were going. And Cal wanted to get to the temple so badly today that it hurt.

  In a few days, it would be the Cerealia, a weeklong festival that was popular with the plebs. Peasants would soon start to flow into Londinium to take part in the celebrations and the temple itself would be garlanded with spring blossoms and new grass. Ceres was his favourite goddess. Not because she protected the spirit of his dead mother, but because she protected all young creatures, even humans like him. She was his mother, too, in a way. The only mother he’d ever known.

  Certainly, Bellia was like a mother to him. But she had her own children, and though she didn’t treat him any less than she did them, he still felt like the odd one out.

  It was different with Ceres. He was hers. He felt it every time he went to the temple or saw her in his dreams.

  ‘Come on!’ he cried impatiently as Bellia and her husband Hermes dawdled toward him, chatting and laughing with each other.

  ‘You hold your horses, young Master. The temple isn’t going away,’ Bellia griped back in her heavily accented Latin vulgaris. Her people were Iceni, and she had been enslaved as a child after Boudicca revolted against the Romans, Cal knew. But she felt no animosity toward Cal’s people. Ordinary people got on with their lives, no matter who was ruling them, she told him. And being a slave to Cal and his father was no hardship.

  Hermes’ parents were Achaean slaves who had brought him with them to Calidius Lentulus’ new household in Britannia twenty years ago. The old master had not liked the heat of the Aegean and had chosen to settle at the end of the Empire to the north.

  Cal knew that Hermes still missed the sunshine and warmth of his childhood home. He would often tell Cal of the adventures he had on his island home. Cal thought there were plenty of opportunities for adventures here in Britannia, if only he was allowed to partake of them. His father said he was too young to go about on his own or with only the company of Bellia’s children on the estate. And here in Londinium, it was even worse. He couldn’t wait to be old enough to be able to explore the world on his own.

  Finally, the couple had reached the door and they were on their way. The temple was located at the very northern edge of the township, so that it could be close to the goddess of nature. Unlike the temples of the other gods, Ceres preferred low roofs and wood for her temples. And her statues were all made of clay and often painted to seem lifelike.

  The statue he liked best was in the very centre of the temple, which was open to the sky. She was made of fired white clay and sat on a strange box, with snakes at her feet and torches in both hands. This statue of her wasn’t painted except for the crown of red poppies resting on her white hair. Cal thought she was beautiful – just the way he imagined his mother must have looked.

  ‘Come on!’ he yelled back at his lagging companions as they made their way through the already crowded streets. The sun was shining, and considering it was still only early spring, the day was mild. It was looking like it would be perfect weather for the Cerealia.

  ‘Get back here, little Master. You know what your father says about staying with me,’ Bellia called impatiently. Hermes started to jog after him and he knew he was in trouble.

  He looked down at the cobbled street beneath his feet and kicked at a loose stone. Why was he the one who was wrong when they were the ones who wouldn’t hurry up? But that was adults for you. They were always right, he was always wrong. Even Pater could be like that at times.

  As Hermes grabbed him roughly by the hand and held him in place, waiting for Bellia to catch up, Cal thought about his father. This morning for a few moments he’d seemed almost… himself again. For the whole time he’d been in Londinium over winter Pater had seemed like a stranger, an old, tired stranger. He was always busy.

  But this morning he’d hugged him as he used to do, and smiled at him as he jumped on his bed.

  He missed his father almost as much as he missed his mother. Why did he have to be so sad all the time? Had Cal done something to make him sad? It was almost like Pater didn’t love him anymore.

  With than unhappy thought, he trudged along at Hermes’ side while the guard resumed talking to his wife. The interminable journey to the temple went on and on.

  Vencuros and three of his men, dressed at Catuvellauni, lounged against the wall of the last building of the township, waiting for the first sight of their prey. There were more people on the street this morning than usual because of the good weather, but as long as they remained within the township and didn’t drift out to the temple on the outskirts, then they would have no problems.

  They had their horses hidden in the copse of trees behind the temple in readiness. Normally at this time of morning, there were few priests within the sanctuary. That would aid him.

  He’d noticed that the Iceni nurse always chose early mornings to visit, before too many people came to the temple. She didn’t appear to like standing in line, awaiting their opportunity to place their votive offerings before the foreign goddess.

  To Vencuros, this Ceres reminded him of his own Triple Faced Mother. But The Lady was never worshipped in temples. And for that reason, Vencuros felt no concerns over invading this goddess’ sanctuary. She was an invader, like the rest of the Romans, and had no place amongst them.

  ‘There!’ One of his men announced the first sighting of the child in a harsh whisper. Vencuros felt his heartbeat increase. He’d planned this so well, nothing was going to go wrong. He wouldn’t let anything go wrong.

  As the three visitors to the temple passed them by, Vencuros gave the signal to follow. Slowly, independently, the four of them began to saunter in the direction of the temple that lay just inside the tree line several hundred paces away.

  Brennwen walked the full length of the now familiar deck like a caged beast. The morning sun should have been a welcome sight after the last two days of cloud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the beauty revealed by the spring sunshine.

  Last night, the dream had been much worse. It had been so bad that she’d cried out in her sleep, and Leonis had been forced to shake her awake.

  ‘It’s coming. Oh, Leonis, I think we’ll be too late,’ she’d cried, unable to hold back the tears.

  ‘The Goddess will get you there in time to save him. If not from the abduction, then from wherever he’s taken. Remember, she has given you many clues. Have faith.’

  But it was hard to have faith when she was exhausted from so little sleep. Her worries seemed to multiply with every passing moment. And being tapped on the rocking ship was the worst kind of torture, even though she knew they were making far better time than she could ever have made alone on foot.

  ‘We’ll reach Londinium shortly. Se
e, there are the white cliffs I told you about. Not far now, I promise,’ Leonis assured her, pointing at the towering cliffs they were now sailing past. They looked stark against the unrelieved blue of sky and sea.

  ‘Too late. We’re too late,’ she mumbled into the wind, letting it dry the tears on her cheeks. ‘I came so close…’

  Cal tried to wrestle his hand free from Hermes’ as the temple came into sight. His sadness over his father was forgotten the moment he saw the temple. But Hermes wouldn’t let him go, and so he had to bide his time, taking in every detail of his mother’s home as if for the first time. On a sunny morning like today, it was particularly beautiful, with the trees surrounding it, already dressed in their pale new greenery, seeming to embrace the temple with their verdant arms.

  ‘Have you got the honey cakes?’ Cal asked for the tenth time. He kept thinking Bellia had forgotten them. She seemed more distracted than usual. Hermes had said something to her about a new baby to make offerings for. But Cal didn’t know of any new baby. In his father’s villa, there was only four-year-old Boaz and five-year-old Ariadne. Neither of them were babies.

  ‘I have the honey cakes. Do stop going on about them. Am I likely to forget?’ Bellia snapped, pressing her hands into the base of her back as she walked.

  At the entrance to the temple, two priests awaited them. It was not usual for them to come out to greet the supplicants this way. They looked troubled and wary as they scanned the forest around the temple.

  What were they looking for?

  Just as he passed between the two silent sentries, chaos broke out. He tried to make out what was happening but everything happened so fast.

  One minute, he was holding Hermes’ hand; the next, he wasn’t. One minute, he was walking, looking up at the adults above him; the next, he was on the ground, watching as a bright red pool formed on the stones in front of him. One minute, all was quiet; the next, there was shouting, screams and the sound of clashing swords and running feet.

  The puddle of red reached his hands on the cold stone floor and he lifted his fingers to study it more closely. What was it, wine? Had someone spilled wine meant for the goddess? Then he looked up and saw Bellia lying on the stones, her eyes open wide as if in shock. Had she fallen down like he had?

  Cal had to get to her.

  He began to crawl on hands and knees toward her as the sounds of chaos continued around him. With the part of him that knew better, he sensed danger, knew that something terrible was happening. But the other part didn’t understand anything.

  When he reached his nurse, he shook her. She didn’t move. Then he heard a cry and one of the priests fell to the ground on top of Bellia, his eyes wide open like hers. Blood pumped like a fountain from his neck.

  The red pool was blood, he realised suddenly. He remembered seeing blood pump out of a stuck pig in just such a way.

  Cal looked up in search of Hermes. He saw his guard battling a Celt, his sword flashing in the filtered sunlight of the temple portico. His eyes were wild and terrible. In all the years Cal had known this man, he had never seen him look so fearsome. It terrified him as nothing else had, so far.

  Before he could see if his guardian would be the victor, someone scooped him up and began running with him along the colonnaded portico that wrapped around the outside of the temple.

  He looked up at the person who carried him. Friend or foe?

  Foe! He knew it the moment he saw the bloody, ferocious face of the Celt. Screaming, Cal began to throw himself about, trying to escape the man’s cruel grip. But his captor was too strong. No matter how hard he twisted and turned, he couldn’t escape the man’s arms. Just like he hadn’t been able to escape Hermes’ hand. Too small and weak. He was just too small and weak.

  ‘Paaa…ttt…er,’ he wailed, calling out for the only person he knew could save him from this bad man.

  But though he screamed and cried out for his father, no one came. And his captor raced on towards the trees behind the temple.

  Cal looked back and saw two other men following them, both Celtic strangers. No rescue there.

  ‘Shut him up!’ one of the bad men yelled.

  Before he knew what was happening, Cal felt pain explode in his head. All went black.

  Brennwen pushed her way past the sailors and dashed off the ship as soon as the gangplank was placed across from dock to deck.

  ‘Brennwen, wait,’ Leonis called, hurrying after her.

  ‘I can’t. I can’t. I have to find him,’ she yelled back between sobs. It was too late. She was too late. They’d taken her child. They’d taken her boy. And she didn’t even know where to start looking.

  By the time she reached the end of the dock, Leonis had caught up with her. While she panted from the exertion, he seemed unaffected by the race down the wooden wharf.

  ‘Where are you going? Do you know where you’re going?’ he demanded, grabbing her arm.

  ‘To find him. I have to find him.’

  She tried to break his hold, but it was like a bird trying to escape the claws of a cat. Not that Leonis was trying to hurt her. His grip was as gentle as he could make it. But her bruises were not yet healed, and so his grip was so painful she had to bite down on the gasp of agony she wanted to release.

  She didn’t stop struggling. Finally, Leonis lost his temper and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Stop this! You can do no good panicking. You’re attracting attention! Look around you, woman! Use your head!’

  She stopped struggling for a moment and did as he said. The dockworkers and sailors that teemed around them were all watching cautiously. This wouldn’t help her cause, she knew that. Leonis was right. But she hated that he was right.

  Slowly, he let her go. ‘We’ll ask for Annius. Come, the best place to start is the harbourmaster.’

  Silently, meekly, she followed along in his wake as he strode out through the crowd. Gasping for breath, she forced her legs to keep up with the warrior.

  ‘I’m looking for a Roman patrician called Annius,’ Leonis said to the clerk at the desk of the harbourmaster. The man looked overworked and disinterested in their question until Leonis reached into his pouch and dropped a couple of copper coins on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Do you mean Gaius Annius Bibulus? He’s the only one of his clan I know of in these parts,’ came the abrupt reply as the coins were scooped up and quickly hidden away.

  ‘Where will I find him?’

  ‘The Governor’s offices in the Forum. You won’t get in to see him, though. He’s a busy man…’

  They didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest of the clerk’s caveats. Leonis spun on his heel and sped off toward the centre of town. Brennwen ran along beside him, watching as people jumped out of their way with looks of stunned surprise. They were probably quite a sight: A golden-haired warrior and a white girl-child. But she had no time to feel self-conscious. Her son needed her.

  They reached the forum a few blocks away and Leonis headed for the most impressive of the newly built stone structures. While Brennwen gasped at his side, trying to get enough air into her labouring lungs, Leonis was again making demands.

  ‘Annius Bibulus. I need to see him, now.’

  The clerk at the front desk of the Governor’s offices looked up in shock, dropping the scroll he had been holding.

  ‘I…I’m afraid the Governor’s advisor is…’ the man stuttered out.

  ‘This is a matter of life or death. Get him or tell me where I can find him.’ Speechless, the man pointed down the corridor as two Praetorians who had been stationed at the front entrance moved in to see what the disturbance was all about.

  Before they got close enough to interfere, Leonis took off down the hall in the direction the clerk had pointed. On shaky legs, Brennwen followed. Glancing behind her, she saw the Praetorians were closing in.

  ‘Stop!’ One guard demanded, drawing his sword.

  Leonis ignored the man. He opened the door at the end of the corridor and closed it after Brenn
wen. Effortlessly, he dragged a nearby desk in front of the door.

  The clerk in this room jumped to his feet. ‘What are you doing? What do you want?’

  ‘Annius Bibulus. His son is in danger. We must speak to him at once,’ Leonis yelled as he stabilized the heavy piece of furniture in place. The guards started banging on the barricaded door.

  The inner office door opened and a young Roman noble stormed in. He frowned as he looked first at her and then at Leonis, who was now using his weight to keep the desk in place.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘Are you Annius Bibulus?’ Leonis demanded in reply.

  ‘Yes. What do you want with me?’

  ‘Your son is in danger!’ Brennwen found her voice as she crossed the room and grabbed the man’s surprisingly strong arm. He wasn’t a tall man, not like Leonis. Nor was he a warrior. Yet there was power in the man, a certain competent strength that she found as reassuring as Leonis’ warrior ways. This man wouldn’t let anything happen to his son. This man would save her boy!

  ‘Cal is in danger? How? From whom?’

  ‘Where are the snakes?’ she asked him in return.

  ‘The snakes?’ The nobleman frowned as if her words were nonsense.

  ‘Yes. The snakes are trying to save him, but they can’t,’ Brennwen sobbed.

  Suddenly her legs gave way under her and the Roman caught her to him, holding her against his sturdy chest. She could feel his heart pounding as hard and fast as her own.

  ‘It was only a joke. I told him to watch out for snakes on the way to Ceres Temple,’ the man said as he shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Ceres is always depicted with snakes.’

  ‘Men have taken him. You have to stop them! Please, you have to stop them.’

  The Praetorians had broken down the door and Leonis was backing away from them, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.