The Centurion and the Queen

by Minnette Meador

  “Glenys.” Delia shot a desperate plea to Aelius. “Stay with Aelius. Stay here.”

  “No!”

  “It will be all right. Stay here with Aelius.”

  “Do not worry, little one,” Conall said viciously, protectively folding his arms around Delia’s chest and kissing her on the ear. “I will take good care of your mistress and come back for you later.”

  Without another word, Conall backed out of the tent with Delia clasped in his arms. She did not struggle, staring at Marius, her face full of regret.

  Marius lunged again, but Kuna caught him.

  “No, Centurion,” he said. “Patience. Patience.” He glanced at the entrance. “Another way.”

  Marius came out of his daze and shot an angry glare at Kuna who simply raised a twisted brow.

  “Another way,” he said.

  At that moment, a panting messenger darted into the tent and saluted his superior.

  “Centurion, you are ordered to the Iter III road immediately. The Colonia at Camulodunum has been attacked. Queen Boudiga with her Iceni and the Trinovantes are marching against Rome . Your orders are to join the IX Hispania within two days. General Suetonius has ordered you to Londinium.”

  Marius glared at him as if he were speaking gibberish. It took him an eternity to get his wits wrapped around what the man had just said. All he could think about was Delia. His duty, his orders, his control seemed to slip through his fingers. The loss of her made him sick. He grappled for a solution to the chaos. In the end, his experience presented the only solid ground he could find. It took an effort to fall back to his usual position, but it was all he had. He would deal with it, as always, in due time.

  Marius nodded. He knew what he had to do.

  “Strike the camp,” he ordered. “You have thirty minutes.”

  Outside, he could hear the thundering hoof beats of the departing Bretons, and he rushed out of the tent, followed by Kuna. The group disappeared from sight and all that was left of them was a loose pack of horses trotting down the road.

  Marius issued more orders and turned his back on Delia.

  C hapter Sixteen

  The dread of being with Conall again was all Delia was aware of as the horses cantered down the road away from Marius. Her brother held her tightly against his chest, making her stomach ache where he held the reins. He had not said a word since they left, but now he laughed into her ear.

  “You reek of Roman stench. How many of them touched you?”

  Delia held her tongue, staring straight ahead at the dark forest they were about to enter. She wanted desperately to look back, hoping Marius would be coming up behind them, but she knew better. As if reading her mind, Conall chuckled again and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard against his chest so he could whisper into her ear.

  “He is not coming for you, you little fool. Do you honestly think he wanted anything more than your body? Look, if you do not believe me.” He stopped the horse and swung it around.

  They stood on a rise above the campground. It seemed small from this distance; tiny men ran around, tents fell, and horses moved. They were breaking camp and Delia;s heart skipped a beat.

  “See,” Conall said, “they are leaving. The rebellion has started and your precious centurion has no doubt been ordered to abandon his mission here and move to be with the other Roman bastards.” The hostility in his voice was heavy. “As soon as I am done with you, we go to join the others.”

  “What are you saying, Conall?”

  He ran his tongue along the side of her neck and she jerked away. He laughed again. “We ride to join Boudiga. Plans have been set and we leave tomorrow. I take my three hundred best warriors and we meet her in Londinium. We will teach these bastards what it is to be Breton.”

  “You will kill us all.”

  She watched the camp go down and her heart ached.

  Conall turned his horse and returned to the road. “No… just you,” he growled. “I am going to make it last as long as I can. Then, I think, I will come back for that little bitch of yours… and the centurion.”

  “You are no match for Marius.”

  “Marius? Well apparently you are.” His voice was vicious, angry, and jealous. “Is it his stink I smell on you, whore? I should kill him merely for that.”

  She said nothing, hearing the violence in his voice, the danger. He was going to kill her this time.

  The thought hardened Delia’s resolve. She would make sure her death would have purpose, on her own terms and at a time of her own choosing. Manipulating Conall would ensure that; it was something at which she was skilled. When the time was right, she would provoke Conall, tease him, anger him, and make him careless. Delia would plant the seed, and the rest would be inevitable. He would kill her quickly and then attack the Romans. She knew he and his warriors were no match for Marius or his Roman century. If she did this well, Conall would never reach Londinium—he would die tomorrow. That was what she wanted. Wanted it so much, she did not even care that it would leave her country leaderless. If all they had was Conall, it would be better. The vision of him dying on Marius’ blade sustained her. Her only regret was she would not be there to see it.

  “Tell me what you have done with Evyn and the rest.”

  “The villagers? They are tucked away safely, Delia, at Hillfort.”

  “I will do nothing for you until you release them.”

  “As I anticipated. You will watch them leave Hillfort as we walk through the gates. But keep in mind… they are a short distance from my warriors.”

  “You would kill your own people?” she said, horrified.

  Conall took her chin in his hand and forced her head back. “For you,” he hissed into her ear, through his teeth, “I would do anything.” The chilling words left her speechless, her body quaking in his arms. “For our love… for our alliance… I would kill anyone.”

  “There is no alliance, you sick bastard.”

  The twinge of pain surprised her when he squeezed her face. “I do not know why you fight this, Delia.”

  The dementia was getting worse. She could hear it in his voice. The delusions were becoming more real to him. Conall’s voice had changed; his manner faded into quiet, soft pleading. The country was being run by a madman.

  “You know you love me and always have. The sooner you accept me and my bed, the better it will be for both of us. I do not want to hurt you.”

  There was that contrition again, that little voice that always started the abuse. She had heard it so many times it became an echo.

  “I love you. Do you not know that? I want us to be together forever, have children, and rule our country in peace. You want that too… I know you do. You are my wife, Delia. Submit to me.”

  “I am not your wife, you monster,” she hissed. “I am your sister.”

  “You will feel better when we get home tonight. All arrangements have been made. By tomorrow it will be all over.” He turned her face to his. A sadistic glower flooded his eyes. Conall pressed his mouth violently to hers and took a kiss, his men hooting behind them.

  You are correct, you lunatic. Tomorrow, it will be all over.

  C hapter Seventeen

  The century beat Marius’s strict deadline of striking the camp by several minutes. He was grateful. He would need all the time he could to put his and Kuna’s plan into action and still be able to meet up with the IX Hispania. He marched the century south along the forest to reach the Iter III road. It was a three-day’s ride at standard speed and a day and a half at double. Pacing the march, he knew they should reach the road by tomorrow night with a six-hour break. He wanted the men rested and alert.

  Marius was having difficulty concentrating. He was getting increasingly anxious, worrying about what Conall was doing to Delia. He and Kuna had decided to wait for nightfall. The waiting was difficult. No one would have known it, however. He kept his face as stony as ever.

  He glanced at Kuna and the empty space where Aelius should have been. He had
left on a swift horse to return Glenys to the village and would be back soon.

  Behind Kuna sat a completely dispirited Leonius, black and blue everywhere, a cut on his face swollen, his neck red, his lips puffed, and his armor barely able to conceal the multiple contusions. To his credit, he had not complained, although, Marius was certain he was in a great deal of pain.

  “Second!” Marius called and Leonius looked up.

  “Sir?” he said tentatively, surprise etched on his face.

  “Front and center, soldier.”

  Leonius dug his heels into his horse and trotted up to walk alongside Marius, keeping out of sword range. “Sir?”

  “Tonight, Kuna and I have an—errand to run. I will need you to lead the men and set up camp. You march until midnight and then set—six hours rest. Sentries two on, two off, tripled. Camp is to be broken an hour before dawn and then maintain the double time split on the road until you reach Iter III. We may return before then, but I want you in charge if not. Understood?”

  Leonius blinked. “You want me to take command of the century?”

  “Was my order not clear?”

  “It is not that, sir. It is just, I thought…”

  “What did you think, soldier?” Marius questioned. “You are my second, Leonius, until I tell you otherwise. You will do your duty. Unless you are not up to it. Shall I relieve you?”

  A slow, confused grin came over Leonius’ face. “No, Centurion,” the second said in a clipped tone. “I know my duty and I will follow it.”

  “And what is your duty?”

  “To obey your orders, sir.” There was not even a trace of hesitancy in his voice.

  Marius thought he might have finally gotten through to him. Leonius remained dangerous and would bear careful watching, but he thought there had been progress made. He would put measures in place to ensure Leonius’ obedience, of course, but he was optimistic.

  “Good. Now organize your men.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Aelius came thundering up.

  “Secure?” Marius asked. He searched the forest on either side of the column, spotted a scout, and signaled him to go out further.

  “Yes, sir. They will take care of her.”

  “Good.”

  With a tilt of his head, he dug his heels into Brutus to put distance between himself and his troops, signaling Aelius to follow.

  “I want you to watch Leonius carefully, Aelius,” Marius said when they were well out of earshot. “Make sure he stays to the road and follows my orders precisely. If he does not—if he falters again—I want you to remove him. Make it quick and final. Then command is yours.”

  “Sir?” Aelius brought his brows together, confusion crossing his features.

  “Was the order unclear?”

  “You want me to—execute…”

  “There is no room in this century for disobedience. A war is brewing—rebels have attacked Romans. Disobedience will kill us all. You know that. If you cannot do it, Aelius, tell me now. I can have the blacksmith…”

  “No, sir. It is not that. I will obey your orders, of course. It is just… I have never killed a man.”

  Marius shot a quick glance at his aide and nodded. He had forgotten that hardly any of them had actually killed. Uprisings were rare in Britannia over the seventeen years they had occupied the island. Most of these men had been children when Rome invaded. Few of them had ever seen battle beyond their training and daily drill. The thought was a sobering one, and he realized they soon would.

  “It is all right, soldier. I hope that it will not be necessary. Make sure you have backup and follow my orders.”

  “Yes, sir.” Aelius slowed his pace and waited until the column passed him about half way. He made his way among the troops and spoke to several of them.

  Marius whistled at the head of the column, the standards behind him bobbing in the afternoon air. He increased his speed to double time and the soldiers behind him increased theirs.

  The Centurion and the Queen

  Chapter Eighteen

  The night was very dark around Hillfort, a collection of wattle and daub roundhouses, individual homes and buildings grouped together to create a fortress. Around the hundred or so conical buildings was a fence of tall, thin pines that had been barked, and their tops sharpened to a point. These were latched together expertly, forming an impenetrable wall that ran hundreds of feet in all directions. At the center of the square, palisade was the largest of the buildings; a great tapering structure that filled most of the center of the fortress. It stood well above the spiky fence and loomed thirty feet in the air. It was a marvel of construction; larger than any roundhouse Marius or Kuna had ever seen. It must have taken year round attention to maintain its size and splendor.

  There were several men stationed at the wide entrance in front of the fortress, their faces illuminated by small fires around which they talked or ate.

  What took two of the men by surprise, however, was the city of tents that had sprung up around the fortress. There were hundreds of them, also illuminated by fires and alive with activity.

  Marius and Kuna watched from a small break in the surrounding forests. Both men had changed into dark, local clothing to blend in, although the tall Roman soldier and the short Asian warrior would not bear scrutiny by the locals, despite the dirt they had used to darken their faces.

  “This not good,” Kuna whispered.

  “This was not in the last report,” Marius said to him, scanning the tents. “How many do you think?”

  “One hundred. Two. More in fortress. Three, maybe.”

  “What is he up to?” Marius’s guts turned into knots knowing these warriors would only be gathered for one reason. “He will join the revolt. Attack us.”

  Kuna nodded, his eyes catching the distant fire. “We get pretty lady. Return to century?”

  “We will get Delia, but I need to get her away from here. Some place he cannot find her. Londinium would be the logical choice. She will be safe with a garrison posted. Antonia—would she take her in?”

  Kuna lifted the side of his mouth crookedly. “My wife take her, yes. We need hurry.”

  Marius nodded and went to draw his sword, but Kuna rested gnarled fingers on his wrist, stopping him.

  “No weapon.” Kuna glanced at the sky.

  Rain fell in a fine mist that thickened within a few minutes into a raging torrent. Kuna lifted the deep Breton hood over his head and motioned for Marius to do the same. Marius smiled at him, and they ran toward the flurry of the crowded fortress.

  The downpour picked up volume until it was a sheet of slashing water and howling winds. The deluge sent people running for the shelter of the tents, the fortress, or the woods. Marius planted his hand firmly on his sword under the cloak, but they pushed through the throng of people without a second glance from anyone.

  When they arrived at the entrance, a group of four wagons and soaking villagers pushed to get into the dryness of the fortress and their homes. Marius and Kuna slipped easily in among the group.

  When they were through the opening, they peeled away from the Bretons and were careful to stay out of sight of the main paths that led to the dwellings and large thatched buildings.

  Security within the fortress was practically non-existent as they made their way slowly to the royal house at the center of the fortress. They saw no warriors, and the pelting rain kept everyone in-doors, making their progress smooth.

  When they finally reached the large main structure, they hid behind a small storage area across the wide path that bordered the house. Men and women were stationed every ten feet or so around it, their swords drawn, and protected by the long lip of thatching that protruded low to the ground above their heads.

  Marius and Kuna made their way carefully around the building to check for any openings or weaknesses; there were none. The building was secure.

  They took their station behind the shed and huddled in the pouring rain. All they could do was wait for
an opportunity to present itself.

  They settled in for a long wait.

  Delia paced the small room where Conall had unceremoniously deserted her several hours before.

  It was a servants room on the top floor of the great house; small, central, with no windows and only one door. There was a small bedroll, table, and a chair. The small space reeked of rancid straw and smoke from a dirty lamp wick that flickered fitfully on the small table. Otherwise, there was no other furnishing.

  She pressed her ear to the door and could hear two men stationed outside, talking. They had brutally searched her after Conall left and taken the dagger she had concealed inside the tunic. A servant had shown up with food and water. They laughed, pushed her on the bed, and locked the door behind them when they left. It was the last human contact she had in hours.

  When she finally heard the voices outside reply to a third, Delia picked up the chair. Conall was not going to take her without a fight. The snick of the lock echoed dully through the chambers, and the sudden light from the hallway blinded her. She held the chair in one hand and shielded her eyes with the other.

  The bulk of her brother’s shadow filled the doorway. He leaned against the frame and gloated, “You going to hit me with that chair?”

  She could see he was drunk as his languid eyes came into focus.

  “I might get lucky.” Delia hefted the chair into both hands and raised it. “It would be very satisfying to hear your skull crack, brother. Come a little closer and I will show you.”

  Conall’s laughter was loud in the small chamber. He slammed the door behind him and stepped into the room. A drunken spark of lust came into his eyes along with the unconcealed bulge of his erection pushing his tunic forward. Unable to stop herself, she shuddered.

  He moved slowly to the right, his hands out, trying to circle around her. “Come on, Delia, you know you missed me.”