by Linda Grant
The women, he noticed, could be just as quarrelsome as the men, who treated them like equals. According to Devonna, women could divorce their husbands, hold land, and even act as war chieftains. Talk about women’s liberation! J.J. got the feeling that Crystal would fit right in here. She was smart and had an air of self-confidence he’d noticed right away.
Much later, after most of the Celts were sacked out snoring on the floor, a woman led him and Devonna to a corner of the room, where obviously they were supposed to bunk in together, bed being some skins stuffed with straw.
Feeling a little silly about the whole thing, he took off his sandals and, still wearing his clothes, lay down on the skins. In a few moments he could feel Devonna snuggling in next to him and his body becoming aroused. He lay rigid. Maybe she’d go to sleep soon. In all fairness to Bran, he couldn’t make a pass at his girl, not when he was borrowing the other guy’s body. Sighing, he tried to adjust his position on the lumpy skins. A lot of sleep he was going to get!
“Are you awake, Bran?” whispered Devonna.
“Yeah.”
“Did you enjoy the feast?”
“I had a great time.”
He jumped. She was tickling him.
Without thinking he turned and pinned her down so she couldn’t move. A stray beam of moonlight showed her grinning up at him. Then she moved suggestively underneath him. That did things to him he was sure she couldn’t help but notice. Good thing it was fairly dark so she couldn’t see him blushing.
Conscious only of his need to touch her, he reached out tentatively and stroked her neck. His fingers came into contact with something hard.
“Where’d you get that necklace?”
“You—Bran—gave it to me before …”
Instinctively, he pulled away. She caressed his cheek and said softly, “Oh, Bran! Now that I am no longer to be the May Queen, it is not necessary for me to remain a virgin.”
She looked at him expectantly, her lips parted slightly, and lifted toward him. Then she reached up and took out the enameled combs that held her hair in place. Her hair, smelling of herbs, fell in waves around her.
“But Bran …” he protested feebly.
“ … is here.”
She wound her arms around his neck and drew him down on top of her. He didn’t need any more invitation than that. Maybe she wouldn’t guess that it was his first time, too.
“Well, you won’t need this on,” he said, lifting off the necklace. “Or this, either,” he continued, his hands fumbling with her robe.
Giggling, Devonna began pulling at his clothes. “Nor you,” she said pertly.
Finally, there was nothing at all between them, only warm, smooth skin melding together.
“Oh, Bran,” she whispered, “the gods have made me the most fortunate of women.”
Plunging his hands into the springy mass of her hair, he pulled her even closer to him.
And then he stopped thinking as her wine-flavored lips met his, intoxicating him even more. He became a creature of feeling, guided by instinct, thrusting inside Devonna, surges of ecstasy coursing through him as she moaned and murmured little endearments.
As fast as it had peaked, the tide of his passion ebbed.
“Devonna?” he whispered, wondering if she had felt so … so blessed as he. It had not been just an act of physical passion, but a kind of sacrament, a holy union sealed with their lovemaking.
In response, she hugged him with a tenderness that made him want to cradle her in his arms forever. They lay like that for a long time until he finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER 42
Bran–Jason Kramer Near the Menai Strait, April 20, A.D. 61
* * *
Something was nibbling on his ear. He shook his head and looked up groggily.
Already dressed, Devonna was bending over him. “Bellenos has ridden his chariot out of the sky already,” she said. “We must go now.”
He must have been really tired to sleep so late. Pulling Devonna down on top of him, he kissed her soundly.
“No time for that now,” she murmured. “But later …”
He got up then, reluctantly, and they continued making their way west.
Luckily for them, Devonna had traveled this route once before with her father, an artist working with gold and bronze, who had been famous for creating everything from jewelry to cups and other fine things. His work had brought him in close contact with Druids, who controlled the traffic in these things and bought much of his work for offerings to the gods.
It was after she had returned from her foster parents to live permanently with her own parents that she had met Mabon, who had ordered a golden cup from her father. Shortly afterward, her father had fallen sick of a wasting disease that had made him progressively weaker and thinner until he had died. A few months later, while giving birth to a stillborn son, her mother, too, had died.
Devonna’s foster parents had welcomed her back. She had lived there with them until Mabon had invited her to become the May Queen. She had accepted the honor and then traveled with Kunagnos to the great sanctuary at Vernemeton, where the feast of Beltane would occur in a few weeks.
They were getting close to the coast now, staying well away from the legionary fort of Deva, which was on a river only a short march from the sea. No sense in attracting attention to themselves.
When Devonna became quieter than usual, J.J. was worried and asked her what was wrong. She said that she was homesick for her tribe, the Deceanglis, who lived around there, and for her foster parents. But visiting them could be dangerous. During the past year, the area had seen a lot of fighting between the tribe and the Romans.
They’d been relieved when they’d passed into the land of the Ordovices. It was hilly, even mountainous in places. They’d had to walk much of the way after that to spare the poor horses, which were limping by then.
They’d come across very few people: some miners, shovels and picks over their shoulders, going to work in the mines, which provided iron and copper in this region and some other travelers who looked closely at them but said little.
Devonna had said that the Ordovices had been fighting the Romans for so long that they were suspicious of all strangers.
Their food supplies had dwindled pretty fast. Along the way, Devonna managed to kill a couple of rabbits with her sling. After watching her put a stone into the strip of leather, whirl it around her head a few times, and let fly with unerring aim, he’d told her that back in his home time she’d be a natural for the Olympic rifle team. Her eyes had lit up with a warmth that made him ache with longing for her, and then she’d asked a million questions about his home. He was careful not to tell her much. All the science fiction stories he’d ever read warned against that. Even small stuff could have a big impact on future events. He was supposed to do his part to make sure that the timeline was stabilized, not change history.
Devonna was a great companion and smart, too. She knew things about living off the land that had to put her right up there with the best wilderness guide.
He had never seen anyone who could imitate birdcalls like she could. Once, she even called to her a flock of little birds, which flew down and perched in a bush.
She knew how to manage people, too—like him. Knowing that he’d have to leave her soon was producing in him an agony of feeling that he was afraid to tell her about. So he was abrupt with her sometimes when he wanted to be tender, and wound up acting very businesslike with her—or trying to. Pretending that they were only casual friends was pretty hard, especially when they were constantly together. She refused to take his moods seriously and would tease him until he laughed.
Like the time he had slipped on some wet rocks and fallen down a short muddy slope. Devonna had laughed like crazy and then gone plunging down the slope after him, falling on top of him. He was pretty sure that she had fallen on purpose because that girl was as sure-footed as a cat.
He tried to push Devonna off, but she was almost as stro
ng as he was and just wound herself around him.
“Hey, look, someone’s coming.”
Devonna fell for it. As she took a quick peek, she relaxed her grip on him. Practicing a judo throw his father had taught him, he threw her off and ran up the slope. She followed him and near the top threw herself at him, catching him by the ankle. They both went tumbling down the slope, landing in a heap together at the bottom. They both laughed so hard that tears rolled down their faces.
When he could get his breath back, he said, “You’re scaring the horses, Devonna.”
“Those old nags. They’re enjoying themselves grazing. We could enjoy ourselves, too,” said Devonna, giving him one of those teasing looks that made him blush.
“Romans could be around. We’d better move it.”
Devonna made a face at him and pulled his ear, but she peeled herself off him, then ran up the slope and vaulted onto her horse.
Almost too soon for both of them, they stood on the shore and looked across the strait to Mona. As they gazed at the great Druid sanctuary touched by the flames of a sinking sun, J.J. was struck by a sense of intense urgency. Devonna must have felt it, too, because they both turned at the same time and almost ran over to a fisherman mending his nets. At first the old man didn’t want to take them across the strait, but his muttering about an army massing some miles away made them all the more determined to go. After paying what Devonna said was an outrageous price and further reducing their dwindling supply of coins, the fisherman finally took them across to the island.
The whole place was buzzing with activity. Rumors were flying everywhere. Their request to see the Archdruid was denied until Devonna showed Bryanna’s ring to an older man, who questioned them closely about where they’d received it. When Devonna said that they preferred to talk about it to the Archdruid, the man finally granted their request.
The Archdruid received them politely in a large hall with wooden floors and low tables.
“I am Tighearnach. Please take some refreshment.” He gestured to a bowl of apples that sat on a beautifully carved wooden table near them. “Now tell me, how fares Bryanna?”
J.J. took two of the apples and gave one to Devonna, who said, “She is well.”
The Archdruid nodded, looking relieved. Why? Did he think Bryanna was in danger?
“Please tell me about your journey and why you found it necessary to come all this way, particularly at this time when the dangers are great.”
While they explained why they had come, Tighearnach’s intent gaze never left their faces. It was a little unnerving.
“I will provide you with a boat to take you across to Ireland,” he said finally. “You will be safe at Tara. It is the seat of the High Kings of Ireland where Bryanna has relatives.
“You must leave soon. We have had news that Seutonius Paulinus and his two legions, as well as auxiliaries and a battle fleet, are preparing to attack this island.”
“Why cannot they allow us to worship as we would?” asked Devonna bitterly.
“It is not our form of worship that Seutonius fears, but Druid influence,” said Tighearnach tightly. “The Romans have had no end of trouble putting down revolts in Britain. By wiping out us Druids, they think to wipe out the power behind the rebellions.”
“Will they succeed?”
The Druid looked at Devonna’s face, pinched with worry. “The Keltoi will survive, child,” he said, “and so will the ancient wisdom that works through us. Another time will come in which that power will work out its destiny. And now,” said Tighearnach, getting up, “you must excuse me. I have preparations to make. I would suggest that you rest and gather your strength between now and the day that you depart. We will talk more on this tomorrow.”
But they had not seen the Archdruid the next day or the day after that. At dawn on the third day, Tighearnach had sent for them. He looked much the same as they had first seen him, but now a kind of fatalistic calm had fallen on him.
“The Romans are encamped on the shores of the Menai Strait that separates them from us on Mona,” he said. “They will be here in a short time. A boat loaded with supplies and a guide wait to take you to Ireland. My blessings upon you both.”
He made a ritualistic sign and continued. “Do not fear. You are in the hands of the One who created us all, who will shelter you from the wrath to come. But now you must leave. I regret not having had more time to spend with you both. Take this with you, Bran,” he said, taking from around his neck a torque made of twisted strands of gold ending in the heads of two bulls. The torque felt awkward and heavy around J.J.’s neck.
A rush of power surged through him. Images of the far past when sages brought advanced ideas to primitive peoples swam through his mind. He saw stepped pyramids in jungles where Quetzalcoatl, a bearded white man who abhorred human sacrifice, taught the Aztecs the arts of weaving, metallurgy, and other arts; then more pyramids, their white limestone coverings gleaming in the desert sunlight, where Egyptians were taught how to move huge stones and, under the influence of the pharaoh, Akhenaten, learned to worship the One God.
The images stopped. He stumbled as a feeling of dread flashed through him. He wanted to beg the Archdruid to come with them, but something in the priest’s attitude dried up the words in his throat. He could only look mutely at him.
Later, in the rush of activity, things became a frantic blur. They left the house where they had been staying and had almost reached the boat when Devonna put a hand to her neck and cried, “My necklace, the one you gave me. I left it behind!”
“Don’t worry about it. I—I mean Bran—will get you another one.”
“I want that one, as a reminder of the first night you and I lay together.”
“But the Romans are coming! We don’t have time.”
“It won’t take me long. You can wait for me at the boat.”
Their guide, a short, stocky young man with a blunt face, whose name he had said was Breandan, waved his arms around and shouted at her.
But J.J. could have told him it was no use. When Devonna made up her mind, it was next to impossible to make her change it.
“Then I’m going with you.” Turning to Breandan, looking goggle-eyed with anxiety at them, he said, “You go to the boat. We’ll catch up with you later.”
CHAPTER 43
Bran–Jason Kramer Mona, April 23, A.D. 61
* * *
His track coach would have been proud of the time he made running with Devonna back to the thatched house where they’d stayed as a guest of Tighearnach. But the usual Celtic boisterousness of men and women going about their chores was missing. The place was eerie, dead quiet. Everyone had gone.
“My necklace!” cried Devonna, going straight to the place where they’d shared a bed and pouncing on the beads there, shining like drops of crystallized honey.
“Great. Now let’s get out of here!” A dread that he realized had been creeping up on him all morning suddenly pounced on him. His heart felt as if he’d just sprinted the 100-yard dash, and it wasn’t because he’d run all the way back from the cove where Breandan was waiting with the boat. Something was going to happen very soon, something bad.
Mad shrieks from outside made the hair on his arms stand up.
Devonna clutched his arm. “They’re here!” she whispered.
“Out, we gotta get out of here!” he cried, pushing her ahead of him.
They burst out of the house and then stopped.
“May Andraste rot them and demons flay them alive!” cried Devonna.
It was a wonderful day, bright and sunny, with the promise of summer in the air. Back home, he’d have been lying on the beach and yakking it up with friends.
Not on this beach. Looking down the hill, he could see Roman legions lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Mounted troops waited to one side of the infantry.
Opposing them were Celtic warriors, more than half of them naked, some in wicker-sided chariots and others on foot. Next to them were women in black ro
bes waving torches and shrieking curses. In contrast to them was a rank of Druid priests standing motionless with their arms raised and shouting curses at the Romans, calling down the wrath of heaven on their enemies.
The legions seemed hypnotized. No one moved. Maybe the Druids really had a special kind of magic …
A harsh command from the Roman leader astride a great black horse galvanized the massive Roman war machine into action. Holding their shields in front of them, the legionaries marched forward in tight formation, thrusting with their short swords at the Celtic warriors.
It was no contest, J.J. could see. The Celts didn’t have any room to maneuver with their chariots, and their long swords were useless in hand-to-hand combat. Even when the Roman javelins didn’t hit their mark, the iron heads of some of them stuck in the shields of the Celts, where they were next to impossible to get out. He saw some warriors throw down their shields and fight without them, but their courage was no match for the disciplined Romans who advanced relentlessly.
Now the legionaries were seizing the torches from the frenzied women and, to his horror, setting fire to them, their hair and clothing flaring up in long spouts of flame. On the cool ocean breeze came the stench of burning human flesh.
J.J. was sure he was going to be sick. He’d seen movies like Predator, which had grossed him out, but this was different. This was real.
Tears were running down Devonna’s face, and she was shaking her fists.
He grabbed her arm. “C’mon, let’s go. Now!”
She shrugged him off, too caught up in the scene to realize their danger.
Now the Romans had hacked their way onto open ground. Behind them sprawled dead and dying men in a welter of horses and overturned chariots. Here and there J.J. could see, fluttering in the breeze, the white robes of the fallen Druids. Even worse was the sound of the agonized groans of mortally injured men and the squeals of their stricken horses.
Two Romans were charging up the hill toward them. Fast.
