Love's Blazing Ecstasy (25 page)

“You don’t understand these people. I do. Not all of them practice human sacrifice. The people you just slaughtered do not. Not all of the tribes have the same customs.”

“But you yourself were nearly made a sacrificial victim,” Severus answered uneasily, wondering for an instant whether he could have made a mistake.

“Not by the people you murdered!” Valerian walked as close to Severus as he could but realized his chain was too short to allow him any contact with the tribune. “To think I trusted you, while all the time you planned to use me. You didn’t want peace. My eyes were blinded because
I
wanted peace!”  He fought hard against losing all self-control.

“You lie! You wanted the victory for yourself. Well, the only victory you will have is being allowed to keep your head—temporarily.” He turned his back on Valerian, not wanting to look into those tortured eyes.   He motioned to the guards. “This man is to be taken back to Eboracum to await his execution. I want to witness it personally, but first I have some business to finish here.”

“I’ll see that the emperor Nero himself learns of what you have done!” Valerian threatened.

Severus paused for a moment. He did have to think about Valerian’s father and what he would have to say to him concerning his son. The senator was close to Nero and could seek his downfall if provoked.

Motioning the guards to leave the tent, Severus faced Valerian alone. “Your father will be told that you suffered an unfortunate accident in the midst of battle. Perhaps I will say that a Celtic spear cut short your life.”

“You will be a liar then,” Valerian said, “as well as a coward.”

“I am a man who has had to live by his wits. In this world, Valerian, there are the weak and the strong. I am one of the strong, and there is nothing I won’t do to maintain my power.”

“And what do you intend to say to my men about why I have been made a prisoner? It was no secret that I was following your orders in seeking to bring about peace.”

Severus grinned with the leer of the victorious. “They will be told that you went against my orders, that I never sought peace. A good soldier learns soon enough never to question the word of one in command. You are merely a centurion; I am a tribune. Whom do you think they will believe? Are you so foolish as to imagine that they will want to suffer punishment at your side?” Again he summoned the guards.

“What about my men?” Valerian asked as two guards moved to stand on either side of him. “They must not be made to suffer for your hatred of me.”

Severus shrugged. “I will have your century brought here to be under my command until I decide what is to be done. I need their goodwill. I won’t risk losing it by punishing them for following your orders. I hold you totally responsible. Now, go!”

Valerian was relieved when he was taken out of
Severus’ presence and thankful that at least his soldiers would not be in any danger.  He wondered what Burrus must be thinking now and longed to see the young soldier again.  If only he could talk with him, he would plead with him to find out what had happened to Wynne. He had to know if she had survived.

“If she is alive, then I will move the heavens and the earth to escape from here, but if she is dead, then I will go to my own death easily,” he whispered to himself.

“Come, prisoner,” the guards ordered harshly. “Make ready for your journey.” The guards pushed and shoved Valerian to the stables where he was set roughly upon a brown mare.

“Please. I ask you to let me take my horse with me, the black stallion. I must return it to its proper owner one day.”

The guard looked at him warily. “Well……the tribune didn’t exactly specify what was to be done about your horse.  I…I…don’t imagine there would be any harm done.”

“My father will reward you for your kindness,” Valerian promised, holding his gaze steady.

“All right.” The guard pulled Valerian from the mare and let him over to where Sloan stood pawing the ground. The stallion sensed that something was wrong.

“Thank you.” Valerian murmured, mounting the black horse and soothing him with calm words.

“My name is Marcus,” the guard said boldly. “Marcus Titanius. Don’t forget me.” A sudden grin spread over his face.  He lowered his voice so the other guard could not hear. “I like you, centurion, no matter what it is you are said to have done. I can not say the same for the tribune.”

“I’ll remember you, Marcus,” Valerian promised, then he was surrounded by soldiers to begin his journey, a journey that might end with his death.

Chapter Thirty-Five

It did not take long for Brenna to ingratiate herself with the conqueror of her people, the tribune. She praised and promised until she convinced him that she would be a worthy priestess of the new gods. What did it mater to her that henceforward the gods would be Celto-Roman?—Mercury and his consort Rosmerta; Apollo, Mars, Minerva, Vulcan, Jupiter, Hercules. While the Romans occupied the land, she would do their bidding, but as soon as the invaders had left, she would bring back the old gods, the gods that demanded sacrifice and obedience.

She was able to communicate with Severus quite well, since he had learned to speak her dialect during his long campaigns in
Gaul. She in fact knew several words in the Latin tongue, but thought it best to pretend otherwise. Hence she was able to listen to the tribune’s plans without his knowledge.  As for Severus, he thought Brenna the perfect priestess and trusted her more and more as time went on. She had cunning and ambition, traits which he understood well and admired. He was sure she would come to be more valuable to him as time went on.

Although the people clamored to have Edan declared chieftain, Severus took the advice of Brenna and made
Duncan the chief, even though he was not of the immediate tribe. Now Brenna and her lover were all-powerful, although Brenna began to worry that Wynne would eventually recognize Duncan as one of the priests of Domnu and expose him.

“I will have to get rid of Wynne soon. I can only keep
Duncan out of her sight for so long,” she mused. What if she were to make Severus believe that Wynne was a Druid priestess, a danger to his power? She would bide her time until the moment was right and then she would seek the revenge she so craved.

Sitting before the fire, Wynne looked across the room at Isolde, whose hearth she now shared. It had been impossible to live under the same roof with Brenna, particularly since she was now so friendly with the Romans, and the small lodge she had lived in after the death of her father had been allocated to one of the Romans.

“My father’s lodge holds too many memories for me,” she had explained to Isolde.

“Then of course you will share my lodge with me,” Isolde had answered.  Now that Isolde was  a widow with three small children to tend, Wynne felt her cousin needed her.

As a conquered people, the tribe’s entire way of life was changing. Before the
Romans had come, all lands were cultivated in common; no one man could claim ownership to any ground. All possessions were shared. Now, however, the Romans sliced up the territory like pieces of cake, giving out land to those they favored, those who sought their friendship. Women, who had shared most of the privileges of their tribesmen, now had no rights at all; they were the chattel of their brothers, husbands, fathers, just as the Roman women were. The Romans demanded that the line of descent be traced for written record through the father. It was as if women had ceased to have any value.

“Will these
Romans never leave our land?” Wynne cried out. “They know nothing of our ways. Why do they insist upon forcing their own laws and customs upon us?”

Isolde shuddered. “What frightens me is the way their warriors look at us with lustful eyes, as if we were theirs for the taking.”

Poor Isolde, thought Wynne; even now her cousin trembled with fright any time she was forced to endure the company of the conquerors. “Were I to have to suffer their foul touch again, I would kill myself!” Wynne vowed. “Better to leave this life and enter upon a new one than to have the dirt of their touch upon us.”

She tried hard to forget about Valerian and his betrayal, but it seemed that as long as she lived she would remember him—and his lies. She had tried to be generous in her thoughts, to
forgive, to find an explanation for what had happened, but what Brenna had revealed was convincing. The evidence of the sword was damning Valerian had used her, taken her love, lied to her, and worst of all, had taken her father from her. Rising to her feet, she paced back and forth as her memories tormented her.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You love him still, don’t deny it. I can read your thoughts, Wynne, as if they were my own.”

Wynne whirled around to face her cousin. “No! No, I hate him. How could I love him after what he has done to us? I curse the day I set eyes on him.”

“Things are not always what they seem,” Isolde whispered. The pain of her own loss was reflected in the depths of her eyes. “We both know that Brenna is selfish and evil—why, then do you trust her word about the death of your father?”

“Because I saw the Roman’s own sword stained with the blood of my father. And Edan himself saw the Roman running toward the lodge. He killed my father, and for that I could never forgive him. Never.”

“I still find it hard to believe that someone you perceived to be a good man could turn out to be so bad.  Perhaps some day you will have the chance to talk…”

The two cousins were interrupted by the raucous calls of Roman soldiers just outside their lodge. Wynne could feel Isolde’s trembling and sought to comfort her, but Isolde broke away and went to the doorway.

“What do you want?” Isolde asked, trying to mask her fear. The soldiers eyed her ripe beauty and then turned to look at Wynne, who had joined Isolde in the entryway.

“Which of you is Wynne, daughter of Adair the Druid?” one soldier asked. He clutched at his sword as if to convey his authority to the unarmed women.

Stepping forward, Wynne lifted her chin proudly. “I am she,” she answered. Immediately she was surrounded by the
Romans as if she were a dangerous warrior.

Forgetting her fears in the face of danger, Isolde pushed her way past the soldiers to take her place by Wynne’s side. “This is my lodge. I have a right to know what you want with my cousin,” she demanded.

“She is to be brought before Severus Cicero, the tribune, this very night,” was the reply from one of the soldiers, a rotund, balding man.

“Why? What does he want of me?” Wynne tried to hide her apprehension. She had done no wrong and had obeyed the
Romans’ laws and kept the peace despite her hatred of them.

“I don’t know. I was only told to bring you,” the soldier answered gruffly. His eyes roamed over Isolde and his expression left no doubts as to his thoughts. Isolde shrank back in fear, afraid to say anything else.

With resolve, Wynne stepped forward. “Then let us go and get this over with,” she said, gliding forward with all the pride of a queen. She would not give these Romans the satisfaction of bullying her; she would show them Celtic courage.

Surrounded by the
Romans, Wynne made her way to the tent of Severus, her heart beating frantically. Little did she know that Brenna was taking her vengeance, and had begun to work her evil that very day.

Wynne was taken to the largest tent, the tent of the Roman tribune who was called by her people the “demon rodent” because of his large protruding teeth and small colorless eyes. Wynne had seen him only from afar, yet she knew that he was not to be trusted. He stood with his back to her in the dim glow of the candlelight.

Severus turned abruptly, surprised by the beauty of the young woman before him. The priestess Brenna had warned him that the woman standing here was dangerous, a Druid priestess, daughter of a Druid holy man; but she had not mentioned how lovely the girl would be. As if appraising a fine sculpture, he walked round and round her, eyeing her up and down and licking his lips. He lifted a strand of her golden hair, enjoying the softness of the silken threads on his fingers. Wynne started as if she had been burned.

“Don’t touch me!” she said hotly. All too recent was the memory of other Roman hands touching, bruising, pinching.

Her eyes were full of hatred, yet somehow her look excited Severus, and he wondered what this young beauty would be like to bed. Would she fight like a lion or be gentle as a doe?

“It is my right to touch you,” he informed her, grinning at her as he reached for her hand. He fondled her soft, slender fingers as Wynne fought the urge to pull away.  In that instant he made his decision. The usual punishment for indulging in the old rites of the Druids was death by sword. He had told Brenna that would be the girl’s fate, but he could not bear to let such beauty go to waste. No. He had other plans for this golden bird.

“What do you mean, it is your right?” Wynne asked in his language, much to his surprise. So, she knew how to speak some Latin; that would be an advantage. An interpreter could always be of use.

He reached out to touch one of her full ripe breasts, and again Wynne drew back, her eyes searching for a weapon—dagger, sword, anything to use. Severus knew her intent; first to kill him and then herself; that was the way with these heathens. He would have to make certain that she was always watched closely, all weapons out of reach of her slim fingers. Her defiance so excited him, however, that he thought perhaps with her he could be a man, could once again fully enjoy the pleasures of a woman’s body.