To Love Again (7 page)

“Why, when you speak of Quintus,” Kyna asked her daughter, “are your thoughts always so dark, Cailin?”

The girl shook her head. “I do not know,” she answered
honestly. “My voice within warns me against him, calls to me of some nameless danger, yet I know not what. I thought when he married Antonia, these feelings would evaporate, but they have not. If anything, they have grown stronger each time I am in Quintus’s presence.”

“Are you jealous, perhaps, of Quintus’s marriage?” Kyna probed. “Is it possible that you regret your decision not to wed him?”

“Are you mad, Mother?” The look of distaste on Cailin’s beautiful face told Kyna that she was definitely on the wrong track.

“I only asked,” Kyna said apologetically. “Sometimes we regret what we have refused, or thrown away.”

They were called into the atrium, where the family altar was set up. Proudly, Quintus Drusus bestowed his own praenomen, or first name, upon his son. Gently he hung a beautiful carved gold bulla about the baby’s neck. The locket, held together by a wide spring, contained a powerful charm within the two halves that would protect its wearer until he became a man. With the dignity befitting the patriarch of a great family, Quintus Drusus intoned prayers to the gods, and to Mars in particular, for this was the month of Mars. He prayed that Quintus Drusus, the younger, would live a long and happy life. Then he sacrificed a lamb, newborn on the same day as his son, and two snow-white doves to honor the gods so that his prayers would be favorably received.

Once the religious ceremony was over, the celebration and feasting began. Each member of the Gaius Drusus family had brought the baby a crepundia. Crepundia were tiny toys made of gold or silver in the shapes of animals, fish, miniature swords, flowers, or tools, which were strung together upon a chain and hung about the little one’s neck to amuse him with their rattling and jingling. They were the traditional gifts brought to an infant’s purification and name day.

Quintus Drusus was expansive in his good humor. Sharing wine with his cousins Titus and Flavius, he teased them, “I hear it said that there is a certain slave girl at your father’s villa who ripens like a summer melon. Which one of you is
responsible, eh?” He poked a playful finger in their direction and chuckled.

The twins flushed, and then laughed guiltily.

“We are not certain,” Flavius admitted. “As has been our habit from childhood, we shared.”

“Mother was quite angry with us. She says we are going to be matched and married before the summer is out lest we cause a scandal,” Titus told his older cousin. “The girl has recently miscarried, at any rate, and so we shall never know who the father was, though perhaps we would not have known anyway.”

“And Father says we are not to dip our buckets in any more wells, no matter how sweet the water,” Flavius added.

“And have your brides been chosen, cousins?” Quintus asked.

“Not yet,” Titus replied. “Father would go slightly farther afield than Corinium. He says it is time for fresh blood in the family. I think, perhaps, he is not pleased with the girls available to us here.”

“The selection is not particularly great,” Quintus observed. “I was fortunate in my darling Antonia. May the gods bring you both the same good fortune, my young cousins, and may I live to celebrate the name day of all of your children.” He raised his goblet and drank.

They, in turn, saluted him.

“And what of Cailin?” Quintus asked. “Is she to be matched with a husband soon? She grows more beautiful every day.” He looked across the room to where Cailin sat with his wife. “Had I not fallen in love with my Antonia on sight, I should have despaired at losing your lovely sister. Whoever she chooses will be a fortunate man.”

“There seems to be no man who attracts our sister,” Flavius said. “I wonder indeed if there is any man who will do so. She is sometimes strange in her ways, our sister. There is more Celt in her, we say, than Roman blood. What a pity if she were to die a virgin.”

“More wine, master?” A tall slave stood by Quintus’s elbow.

“Yes, Cato, thank you. And fill my cousins’ goblets, too,” he said jovially.

On Beltane night the bonfires blazed from every hill in the province. The Celtic celebration in honor of the new growing season was underway and shared by all. Class barriers seemed to fade as men and women, freeborn and slave, danced together and shared potent cups of honeyed mead around the fires.

Gaius Drusus Corinium had just finished making love to his wife in the privacy of their empty house when he thought he heard a noise. Arising, he went out into the atrium to investigate. He never saw the two intruders who came up behind him and strangled him swiftly.

Kyna did not realize the thump she heard was that of her husband’s body falling to the floor. She arose, and was but halfway across the bedchamber when the room was invaded by two men.

“I told you she was a beauty,” the taller said.

It was easy to divine their intent. Terrified, Kyna began to back away. “I am the daughter of Berikos, chief of the Dobunni,” she managed to say, although her throat was tight with fear.

The taller man grabbed Kyna, his mouth pressing against the mouth that had only just entertained her husband’s sweet kisses. Kyna fought her attacker like a lioness, clawing and spitting at him. Laughing, the man pushed her upon her marriage bed, falling atop her, his hands pushing up her sleep tunic. The other man was quickly at her head, silencing her screams with his hand. Kyna prayed to the gods for a quick death.

Brenna returned to the villa early. She had been chaperoning Cailin at the celebration, but her granddaughter did not really need her. There was no one who took Cailin’s fancy, and besides, the girl would not go off into the darkness with any man. She simply enjoyed the dancing and the singing.

Brenna stumbled over something in the dim atrium. Bending down, she recognized with shock the face of her son-in-law.
It was blue, and he was dead. She began to shake. With great effort, she pulled herself to her feet, and then, heart pounding, she ran to her daughter’s bedchamber. Kyna lay naked, sprawled amid a tangle of bloody bedclothes. Brenna crumpled to the floor, not even realizing that she had been hit.

“The old woman was certainly easy,” Cato remarked nonchalantly.

“But the younger one was more fun,” his companion said. “What a good fight she gave us. The girl will be best of all, however. Let’s dice for who takes her maidenhead and who gets the leavings before we kill her.”

Titus and Flavius Drusus Corinium, coming home very drunk with honeyed mead, never saw their assassins. They were easily ambushed, quickly throttled, and then dragged along with their father’s body into their parents’ bedchamber, where Cailin would not stumble over them.

The two Gauls waited. The minutes slipped into an hour, and then another.

“Where the hell is that girl?” the shorter slave grumbled.

“We dare not wait any longer,” Cato said. He pointed a finger through the window. “The sky is already lightening with the false dawn. We must fire the house so that it seems like just another Beltane fire, and be gone from here before the servants return. The girl isn’t worth our getting caught. Do you think Quintus Drusus will save us if we do? A man who would murder his own stepsons so they could not inherit from him, and who would murder his cousin’s family to gain lands, is not a man who would help us in our hour of need. Indeed I suspect he would kill us too if he could. The gold he promised us is in a hiding place beneath the statue of Juno in the alcove. Get it, and let us be gone. I do not trust that Roman scum to give us several days’ lead. He’ll be after us by tomorrow. We’ll fool him, though. We’ll not take passage for Gaul, but Ireland. They’ll not suspect we’ve gone in that direction.”

Brenna lay quietly, absorbing his words. She prayed they would not realize she was still alive. When they had gone, she
would somehow escape to warn Cailin of the carnage. She stifled a groan, almost biting through her lip with the effort. Her head hurt fearfully. She suspected she had lost a great deal of blood, but if the gods would just grant her the power to remain alive long enough to avenge Kyna and the rest of her family, she would never again ask them for anything.

Brenna smelled the smoke of the burning bed and the gauze window hangings. Heard footsteps moving away from her. Saw the two pairs of boots as the murderers went out the door, leaving it ajar in their haste. She did not move. She needed to be certain that the two men had gone.

Soon the bedchamber began to fill with thick smoke. Gasping, her lungs burning with the acrid smell, Brenna realized that she could no longer lie where she was. Slowly, painfully, her head spinning dizzily, she crawled toward the open door and out into the atrium. There was no furniture to burn here as in the other rooms. Although the atrium was filling quickly with thick, black smoke, she knew her way to the door. Nausea almost overwhelmed her, and using a pillar for balance, she retched, racked by dry spasms, but she pulled herself to her feet. With an iron will Brenna stumbled across the atrium to the main entrance of the house. Pulling on the door handle, she staggered out into the cool, damp night air and collapsed several feet from the villa.

There was no one in sight. The assailants had gone. Brenna gulped in the clean air, noisily cleansing her lungs of the foul-smelling smoke. Above her a full moon beamed down placidly on the scene of the slaughter.
She had to find Cailin!

Instead, Cailin found her. She came running down the lane, her long hair flying, but seeing her grandmother on the ground, the girl stopped and knelt down.

“Grandmother! The house is on fire! What has happened? Where are Mother and Father? My brothers?” She grasped the older woman by her arms, pulling her up. Brenna groaned. “Ohh! You are hurt, Grandmother! Why is there nobody to help? Why are the slaves not back from their celebrations?”

“Come away, my child! We must get away from the villa! We are in mortal danger! Help me! Hurry!” Brenna told her.

“The family?”
Cailin repeated, already knowing in her heart the answer her grandmother would give.

“Dead. All of them. Come now, and help me. We are not safe here, Cailin. You must believe me, my precious one,” Brenna said, sobbing.

“Why can’t we wait for the slaves to return? We must inform the authorities,” Cailin said desperately.

Brenna looked into her granddaughter’s face. “I have no time to explain this to you now. You must trust me if you wish to live a long life. Come now, and help me. I am weak from loss of blood, and we have a ways to go before we are safe.”

Cailin felt frightened. “Where are we going, Grandmother?”

“There is only one place we can go, my child. To the Dobunni. To your grandfather, Berikos. Only he can keep us safe from this evil.” Grasping her granddaughter’s arm, Brenna began to walk. “ ‘Tis but a few miles, although you did not know that, did you? Your whole life you have lived but a few miles from Berikos, and you did not know it.” Then Brenna fell silent, realizing that she needed her strength if she was to get them to their destination alive. Berikos must know what had happened. Then, if the gods willed it, she would die.
But Berikos must know
.

“I do not know the way,” Cailin whimpered. “Can you show me the way, Grandmother?”

The old woman nodded, but said nothing more.

They left the beaten path, and Brenna led her granddaughter up one hill and then down another. They made their way through a small, dense wood with only the light of the bright moon to show them the way. The night was silent, for the creatures belonging to it had long ceased their songs. Here and there a bird would trill nervously, certain that the bright white light signaled the dawn. Occasionally they would rest, but Brenna dared not stop for long. She did not fear pursuit, but rather she feared her own mortality. They crossed a large grassy meadow where deer were grazing in
the early light, and then entered a second wood. Above them the sky was visibly lightening. They had been traveling for some time now, and Cailin had the feeling that they were moving up.

“How much farther is it, Grandmother?” Cailin asked after they had been walking for several hours, mostly uphill. She was weary from the unaccustomed exercise. She could only imagine how the older woman must feel. It had been a long time since Brenna had walked such a distance, and certainly never in such a precarious state of health.

“Not far, my child. Your grandfather’s village is on the other side of this wood.”

The forest began to thin out, and the sky was bright with color as they exited from the trees. Before them rose a small hill, and atop it was the Dobunni village. Suddenly a young man appeared before them. He had obviously been on watch, and was surprised to see someone out so early. Then his face lit with slow recognition.

“Brenna!
Is it really you?”

“It is I, Corio,” Brenna answered him, and her knees buckled beneath her.

“Help me, sir!” Cailin cried, attempting to keep her grandmother in an upright position, but it was futile.

Corio, after his initial amazement at seeing Brenna, jumped forward and caught the fainting woman up in his arms. “Follow me,” he told Cailin, and without so much as a backward glance at her, he ran up the hill.

Cailin hurried behind him, her face creased with concern. Her curiosity was strong, however, and she noted that the hill was ringed with three stone walls. Behind the third wall, they entered into the village. Corio made directly for the largest house, and Cailin followed him through its entrance into a big hall. A woman, fully six feet tall and dressed in a deep blue tunic, came forward. She glanced briefly at Cailin, gave a start of recognition, then looked at the burden Corio carried.

“It is Brenna, Grandmother, and she is injured,” Corio said.

“Put her there, boy, on the bench by the fire pit,” the older woman commanded. “Then go and fetch my medicines.” She looked at Cailin. “Are you squeamish, or can you help?”

“Tell me what you would have me do,” Cailin answered.

“I am Ceara, Berikos’s first wife,” the tall woman said. “You are Kyna’s daughter, are you not? You look like her, yet there is something a bit different about you.”