Love's Blazing Ecstasy (34 page)

“We need more oarsmen,” the captain shouted. His eyes scanned Valerian’s face as if to ask him how much his life meant to him. Several passengers came forward, perhaps thinking it safe to be below deck when the pirates boarded, but the captain refused the paunch
y bejeweled merchants. He needed strong men—men like Valerian.

“I will go below,” Valerian finally volunteered, although he would much rather have stayed above to help fight. Following his example, five other sailors volunteered.

The galley was ill-suited to outrunning the pirate vessels, which may have had as many as a hundred oars to move them onward. Instead of rowing benches there were only cleats pegged to the planks on the deck for the oarsmen to brace their feet against as they moved their burden. The ship had no supports for the oars, merely holes in the railing. Taking off his cloak and tunic, clad only in his loincloth, Valerian bent to the task, pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing with all the strength he possessed.

All around him he could smell the sweat of fear as the men struggled against the waves.

“Row faster, faster, you bastards!” shouted the rowing master, beating his drum faster, frenzied with terror.

“I had vowed to my wife that this would be my last voyage,” said one of the sailors sadly. “Little did I know how right I was.”

“Stop talking, and move that oar,” shouted another oarsman, “or your prophecy will come true.”

Frantically they rowed, even as the sound of scuffling feet sounded above them. It was torture for Valerian not to know what was happening, where the pirates were at this moment and if they were gaining on them. He looked at the sword at his feet; if worse came to worst, he would be prepared.

“They are going to ram us. I can see the battering ram even from this distance,” they all heard a voice above them shriek. “May the gods save us.”

Valerian knew that it would not be long now before the other ships would be close enough to fire a rain of arrows upon them. As if refusing to admit defeat, he pulled and pushed even harder on his oar, clenching his teeth with his determination. He did not want to die!

With a panicky scream the man nearest Valerian dropped his oar and jumped to his feet. “We don’t have a chance,” he wailed. “We are as a gnat outrunning a bird, three birds. I don’t want to be sold as a slave.” Shaking and babbling, it was obvious that he was having a mental breakdown.

In an instant Valerian was on him, knocking him unconscious and gesturing to the rowing master. “You take over his spot.”

With eyes wide in his head, the rowing master refused. Picking up his sword, Valerian threatened him bodily if he did not obey. “We, every one of us, must do his part or we are certain to die,” he stated.

With reluctance the man took his place. Hardly a beat of the rhythm was lost, so quickly did Valerian act. Dropping his sword, he too rejoined the oarsmen.

A flurry of sound overhead came to their ears. A shouting so joyous that Valerian was puzzled. What was going on above deck?

“May the gods be praised. May the gods be praised!” shouted a young sailor, running down to fetch the others. “The wind has shifted. Haul up your oars. It is blowing from the north.

Bounding to his feet, Valerian raced up on the deck. The sails had been unfurled. The ship was fairly skimming across the water. Being higher by far than the three pursuing ships and lighter, it did not take long for the
Vesta
to be far ahead of the pirates. Looking back, Valerian saw the ships grow smaller and smaller as they outdistanced them.

“We have won today,” he said. “Let us hope that our voyage will be watched by the gods and that they will protect for the rest of the journey.”

Even through the aching of his entire body he felt joyful. He would make it to Rome, of this he felt certain now.  The gods were on his side.  And perhaps the goddesses too.

“And when I reach
Rome, you will pay, Severus. I vow you will pay for what you did to Wynne,” he whispered.

Severus
reclined on the couch in his tent, drinking wine and gazing at the sleeping blond-haired Celt. What was the nickname the soldiers gave her? The ice princess. Surely it was a suitable name for the cold bitch. Try as he might, he could not force her to work his will, yet he wanted to keep her with him for the sake of his pride. He wanted his men to be eaten away by jealousy, thinking what they might. None would ever know the truth, that he, Severus Cicero, could not make love to this woman.

Yet she went freely enough to Valerian’s bed, he thought sourly, rage festering in his soul. It was as if the centurion’s every action mocked him for his frailties and now this Celtic woman was a reminder that Valerian was a man and he was not.

Overcome by his anger, Severus strode to the couch where Wynne lay sleeping, wanting to hurt her for insulting him with her stubbornness. His eyes fell on his dagger. He could freely slit the bitch’s throat and none would say him nay but the pain would be over too quickly. Torture seemed not to affect her, for she had withstood every punishment he had dealt out to her, all the while mocking him with her eyes.

Of course! A grin spread over his face. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The other Celtic girl, Meghan—he could use her to tame this one. It was obvious that she was overly fond of the red-haired young woman. Besides, Meghan had been his and Valerian had tricked him into giving her to him. At every turn he seemed to be bested by that damned centurion.

Severus gazed down at Wynne, who looked like a vestal virgin in her slumber. He laughed. Slowly, deliberately he tipped his cup so that wine sloshed down on her, waking her abruptly. Jumping up and wiping her face with the hem of her short sleeping tunic, Wynne eyed him with her usual contempt. Never had she hated anyone more than she hated this monster. She could never forget that it was his legions who had slaughtered her people.

“Forgive me for my clumsiness,” Severus said to her in mock gallantry. “I do hope that I have not disturbed your dreams.” His mouth spread into a toothy grin which Wynne had learned from experience meant that he was about to do something cruel to someone.

“You are forgiven,” she replied icily, holding herself as erect as a queen.

“I wanted to inform you that I intend to give a small banquet tomorrow evening for a few of my officers. It is my wish that the little red-haired slave dance for us.” His laugh was full of malice and the look on his face made Wynne’s blood run cold.

“You have no the authority to command her. She is now Burrus’s slave and his to command. Meghan does not belong to you,” she said.

He made a growling sound deep in his throat. “She is a slave; Burrus is mine to command. If he wants to please me, he will not interfere in this matter,” he hissed at her.  It was at this moment that a messenger arrived, his eyes wide with apprehension as he saw the expression on the tribune’s face. He turned to leave, but Severus ordered him back into the tent.

The messenger eyed his tribune warily, afraid of the reaction to the news he had to tell him. Nervously he twisted his fingers together.

“Well, what is it you have to say?” thundered Severus in irritation at the man’s silence.

“It is the centurion Valerian. He has been spotted,” he blurted out.

Wynne’s heart seemed to stop beating. She froze, not moving a muscle.

Severus poured himself another cup of wine for celebration. Soon, soon he would have the centurion within his grasp. “Tell me where he is so that I may send a century after him.” He exclaimed. Oh, Valerian had been so tricky, changing direction in an effort to outwit Severus.

The messenger swallowed hard. “He is on his way to
Rome aboard a merchant vessel,” he managed to say.

Severus nearly choked on his wine. “
Rome. He is on his way to
Rome
? How do you know?”

“One of the empire’s spies is aboard the ship and sent a message to us by carrier pigeon when the ship was a half-day out to sea.”

In a fit of anger at this news, Severus threw his cup to the floor, shattering it into a hundred pieces against a rock. “Send a message back and tell the spy to kill him.  Kill him!”

The messenger shook his head. “He is a spy, not an assassin. Besides, there is no way to get a message to him, for the ship is far out to sea and most likely has reached
Gaul by now.”

Severus’ eyes were angry slits in his face. “Then you are useless to me. Get out of here!” Valerian had bested him once again.

In spite of all that he had done to her, Wynne smiled at the news that Valerian was safely out of reach of Severus’ anger. The thought of his having won a victory over the hated Severus was sweet. She was not aware that the tribune saw her smile until he seized her roughly by the arm.

“You are happy for your lover, eh? Oh yes I know about you and the centurion. I saw you spreading your legs for him like the whore you are, but it did you no good, did it?” He slapped her hard across the face.

Wynne’s eyes blazed their hatred. If she had been armed at that moment, she would surely have struck him down.

“He still betrayed you,” he said with a laugh, noting her expression change. “Betrayed your people for his own glory. But I was too smart for him. I knew he intended to subdue your tribe and claim the victory for himself. I followed him and struck first. For that you cannot blame me. If not me, it would have been him.”

It was as if a knife twisted in Wynne’s heart.  Severus was reinforcing the testimony that Brenna and Edan had given to her, that Valerian was responsible for unspeakable deeds, that he had betrayed her.

Severus took note of the look of despair that contorted her face. So the bitch did not know of Valerian’s noble efforts to save her people. Severus hardly believed that story himself. If he could make her hate the centurion, perhaps she could prove to be a valuable ally. Did the furl in her brow, her frown, mean that she longed for her lover, that she still desired him? Well, he would put an end to such feelings.

“If you only knew how he laughed at you. He thought you an ignorant heathen who could be manipulated. Oh, yes, you no doubt believed his soft words, that he loved you, while all the time his Roman lover awaits his return.

“
Roman lover…”

Severus’ barb hit its mark. The thought of Valerian in another’s arms tortured Wynne as no physical punishment could. But Severus’ words merely echoed all that Brenna had said.

I can no longer hide from the truth. Valerian never loved me. I was merely a tool to be used against my own blood
, she thought. And now he was on his way back to his Roman lover. She had been so foolish to trust him.

Her face was a mirror of her anger, and with a chuckle
Severus continued his assault. “All the while you were giving your body to your lover, he was planning to conquer your people. As much as you obviously hate me, my sweet ice princess, Valerian has earned your hatred more.” Savoring his triumph, Severus spun on his heel and left Wynne staring at the walls of her silken prison.

Fifty-Two

Already the men in the tent were drunk. Wynne could hear their laughter as they awaited the surprise Severus had promised them—Meghan.

He has no quarrel with her
, she thought sadly
, it is only because he knows I want to protect her and that hurting her will hurt me as well that he has planned this travesty.
She had begged him not to make the girl dance before his guests, had even promised to do as he wanted her to do, but Severus had only laughed in her face. He was certain that now he would be able to even the score with her.

Meghan looked beautiful with her long red-gold curly hair falling down her back. Severus had ordered that she be clad only in the sheerest veil-like material from the East. It was obvious that the tribune wanted the men to desire her, but just how far would he allow the soldiers to go?

“I’m frightened, Wynne,” the gentle girl whispered, looking down at her sheer tunica with disgust. “I don’t know if I can bear this. If I  were forced to let any of those men touch me, I think I would die of shame! If only Valerian were here, he would never allow this.”

At the mention of the centurion’s name, Wynne shuddered. Too fresh in her mind were Severus’ accusations against him. She had longed to confide her feelings for Valerian to Meghan, but each time she opened her mouth to speak, she remembered the girl’s loyalty to her former master and remained silent.
Let Meghan have her fond memories, she would be true to her vow not to speak his name again until she had her revenge on him.

When Burrus entered the tent, Wynne felt pity for him as well. She still wondered if her instincts were correct and if he loved Meghan. Certainly there
was every indication that he did---the way he looked at her, the way he said her name,  the gentle manner in which he touched her.  Now there was such a fury in the young centurion’s eyes that Wynne worried at the outcome of tonight’s banquet.

“It wasn’t bad enough to torture you, Wynne,” he said. “Now he seeks to force his attentions upon Meghan. And I…I am too much the coward to act like a man,” he added with self-loathing.

“There is nothing you can do, Burrus,” Wynne whispered gently. “Severus has the power to do as he wills. The only thing he may not do is take her to bed. That at least is forbidden him by the law. Is it not?”

Sadly he shook his head. “I do not know, for here Severus makes his own laws. I can only promise you that if he abuses Meghan I will kill him!”

Hearing his words, Meghan smiled and whispered to Wynne, “Perhaps Burrus does have some affection for me. Maybe I am more to him than just a slave.  Do I dare to hope?”

“I keep telling you that he cares deeply for you,” Wynne whispered back.  “Now, smile at him.  You must show him that
you
care.”

Meghan took Wynne’s advice and her smile was sweetness itself.  Burrus fought against the temptation to gather her into his arms. She had bloomed like a rose these last months. If she were only a free woman of
Roman blood, he would seek her hand, but he would not be allowed to marry a slave. But he could free her……

“The slave girl is requested to dance for us now,” a tall soldier announced. His eyes feasted upon Meghan in her scant attire, and she blushed, covering herself with her hands against the assault of his eyes. Instinctively she sought for Burrus’ strength, clinging to his hand, longing to hide behind him for protection. She wanted to beg him to take her away from this wretched place.

“If I cannot save you from this humiliation, at least let me escort you  to your doom,” Burrus said dryly. Wynne walked along behind them.

Inside the banquet tent Severus was flushed with wine as he plucked playfully at the strings of a lyre that one of the slave girls held within his reach. The girl was naked, as were several of the officers of the legion who sat inside the tent. Others had gathered outside and Wynne wondered how they could stand the cold, for it was nearly winter and the weather had cooled
. No doubt the drink had warmed them and clouded their good sense.

A juggler stood before the soldiers, tossing about his many-colored balls. The soldiers roared with amusement as he made an obscene gesture at his crotch and reached f
or Meghan as if to ravish her. She pulled away from the clown just in time to keep him from grabbing her buttocks, and stood in the corner as if to become invisible. But Severus had seen her enter and now bade her to begin her dancing.

With shaking limbs, Meghan began to sway to the music of lyre, harp, and drum, averting her eyes from the leering crowd.

“The red-haired slave dances like a novice!” a low booming voice said.

“No doubt she is frightened. Her trembling and terror make her dance like a beginner,” echoed another voice. “She should be whipped. Perhaps that would make her move faster.” Laughter filled the room.

Severus scowled at Meghan as she danced before him. Her modesty infuriated him. “Give the girl some wine,” he ordered. “Perhaps it will warm her blood.”

Burrus furiously watched as the tribune made Meghan drink cup a
fter cup of wine, until she was slightly drunk. Not too gently she was pushed back before the  throng. Severus ripped at her sheer tunic as she walked by him, leaving her standing nearly nude before the crowd.

“Now, begin again,” Severus ordered.

This time Meghan’s dancing was more provocative as she felt the warmth from the wine engulf her. Her eyes met those of Burrus, and it was as if she danced only for him. He reached for her, but drew back his hands when he beheld the look of anger on Severus’ face.

“Come now, don’t be selfish with your slave, my dear Burrus. You have ample time to sample her charms,” Severus said firmly, motioning Meghan to continue the dance.

Her shyness was completely gone as she moved to the beat of the drums. Imagining herself being loved by Burrus, Meghan writhed before him. Faster and faster she whirled as hands reached to tear the last of her veils away. She was dancing completely naked now, her small firm breasts and lithe body a glory to behold. She was tall and slim and golden; long-legged and perfect. As she danced, her red-gold hair glinted in the light of the torches.

All around the room the desire of the men for this lovely girl was apparent. Burrus to his shame, was no exception. He fought against his
desires but it was no use. He longed to make love to her.  To quench the fire in his loins, Burrus drank until he was senseless and had to be carried out of the tent. Worriedly Wynne looked around. There was no one to protect the young slave girl now, as it became evident from the soldiers’ faces that soon Meghan would fall victim to the lusts of the Roman barbarians.  But that was what Severus had planned all along.  And the poor innocent girl was inebriated and  helpless to defend herself.

With indrawn breath Wynne watched as one of the soldiers picked Meghan up and whirled her around, pressing his half-naked body against hers. Pushing her to the floor, he attempted to mount her but was too drunk to strip off the rest of his clothes without tripping and falling on his face.  But a second soldier, likewise scantily clothed, was not as inept.
Taking his erection in his hand, kneeling beside Meghan he parted her legs and straddled her as the soldiers loudly cheered and moved in to take their turn.

“No!”  Wynne flew at the man like a lioness defending her cub. She couldn’t stand by and watch Meghan be violated the way Isolde had been, the way she would have been if not for Edan. Diving for the soldier’s sword, she held it out before her.

“The first man who dares to touch her will find himself a eunuch!” she threatened, and the look on her face enforced her words.

Too drunk to be of much danger, the soldiers stumbled, fumbled around for their weapons or just fell on their faces, others seemed to tire of the game and sought more wine. 
If only these soldiers of the mighty Roman Empire had been drunk the night they attacked her village
, Wynne thought,
her people wouldt have survived the attack
.

Severus was not so inebriated.  “I will punish you for this!” he shouted. “I will flay all the skin off your back myself and feed you to the lions when I take you back with me to
Rome.”

“I don’t care!” Wynne retorted, pretending that his threat did not alarm her.  She knew she had just sentenced herself to a brutal beating or worse, and yet she knew she couldn’
t have just stood by while Meghan was raped over and over. “Meghan belongs to the centurion Burrus.  It is not your right….”

“I have every right! I am a free man of
Rome and both of you are nothing but lowly slaves,” Severus shouted, taking a step forward.

Wynne raised the sword. The look in her eyes cautioned Severus and he stood his ground with an angry growl,
but he made no attempt to move closer or follow her as Wynne took hold of Meghan and maneuvered her toward the entryway.

“If you leave this tent, you will answer to me!” Severus yelled, losing all self-control. “I am the ruler here.” At his words several of the soldiers looked uneasy, as if even in their drunken state they knew Severus had taken more power upon himself than was his due a
s tribune.  He wasn’t a general.

Not wishing to cause any further commotion and sensing that she must get Meghan to a place of safety until the situation was mollified, she put her arm around Meghan
, picked up a discarded cloak from the floor to drape over the young slave girl, and dragged her from the tent to a small clearing of trees where they would be safe at least for a time. With a start Wynne realized the feast of
Samhain
—the time when a new fire was kindled by her people, welcoming the new year--had passed without celebration.

“I am becoming as heathen as these
Romans,” she said softly, begging the gods to forgive her weakness. But so much had happened and it seemed that the old ways were quickly disappearing.

“Wynne…thank you….” Slurring her words, Meghan looked at Wynne with sleep-glazed eyes, the wine having its full effect on her now. Leaning against a tree, sliding down to the ground, she fell fast asleep, secure that Wynne was guarding her.

As if to appease the gods, Wynne built a small fire, a miniature of the sacred flame, and sat in silence and prayer. No doubt she would pay for her actions on the morrow, but she could not have done anything else. There were times when a human being—be they man or woman—had to show courage.

She looked around her, wondering how far she had wandered. The stone walls of the fortress of Eboracum surrounded them, another reminder of the changes the
Romans had waged on the Celtic land.

The
Romans have tortured this land as well as my people
, she thought sadly, remembering Valerian, his betrayal, the attack on her village and all that had transpired. And now she had come to this.  She wondered just what the punishment would be for tonight’s transgressions.  She had never seen Severus so furious, but she would worry about it with the coming of the dawn.