The Wolf of Britannia Part I

by Jess Steven Hughes

  A big man past fifty, King Dumnoveros sat on an ornately carved, wooden throne upon the low dais. He wore a heavy graying beard that Caratacus found more appropriate for a Druid priest. It cascaded down the ruler’s chest in front of his broad but sagging shoulders. Pink cheeks surfaced above where whiskers did not cover his face. And yet there wasn’t a single hair on his leathery, sunburnt skull. A bulbous nose pushed out from between small but alert, grey eyes that studied Caratacus and his party.

  “I don’t like seeing all these guards lining the walls,” Clud whispered as he and Tog walked behind Caratacus. Rodri was taking his time moving through the crowd toward the king.

  “Smells like a trap,” Tog added in a low voice.

  “They could kill us easy enough; though we be armed—the king’s guards surround the place,” Clud affirmed. Standing along the wall in the murky shadows lurked Dumnoveros’s retainers, armed with shields and swords.

  “I doubt it,” Caratacus whispered. “King Dumnoveros’s forces are too weak, he lost many of his best warriors to the plague. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Do you really think so?” Rhian whispered as she looked about. “Is that Cartimandua and her husband, Venutios, sitting on the king’s right?”

  “Yes,” Caratacus answered

  “She appears to be already playing the part of a queen,” Rhian said.

  At twenty, Cartimandua was a striking woman who appeared older than her age. Light freckles covered her full, pleasant face. Her lips were the color of rowan berries, and her hair appeared like that of a shimmering sunrise, tightly woven like a net and combed in a wave along the sides of her head. She was clothed in a garish, cardinal and aqua, tartan gown with long sleeves trimmed in silver. A twisted, eight-strand, gold torc collar surrounded her neck.

  “You think so? What about Dana?” He nodded in her direction where she sat to the king’s left. “If anyone looks the part, it is she.”

  No more than age nineteen, Dana’s large, hazel eyes and a slightly turned up nose radiated a gentleness about her countenance. A narrow, gold diadem crowned her wiry brown hair. She wore a long, scarlet tunic trimmed in silver and three jeweled torc collars around her long neck.

  “Hmph, maybe so, but it doesn’t look as if she is trying to be one,” Rhian answered. “Her appearance isn’t smug like that of her older sister.”

  Rodri looked back, scowling.

  King Dumnoveros fixed his gaze upon Caratacus and raised his bushy eyebrows.

  “The king is waiting for us. Let’s proceed to the front before he grows impatient,” Caratacus said to his retinue.

  They approached the king.

  Rodri presented Caratacus and his party to King Dumnoveros and then disappeared among the courtiers.

  “Welcome Prince Caratacus, your wife, Princess Rhian, and your allies,” King Dumnoveros said.

  “We are honored, Great King,” Caratacus answered formally.

  “It is mine,” the king replied. “We are grateful that you have come to aid us in our fight against our common foe, the Caledonians. But we will speak more of that later.” He turned to Venutios and Cartimandua. “My daughter, Cartimandua, and her husband, Prince Venutios.”

  Caratacus and Rhian gave them a slight bow. “Prince Venutios and Princess Cartimandua, my pleasure,” Caratacus said.

  Cartimandua’s alert, emerald eyes locked on Caratacus. A smile crossed her ample mouth and her eyelids dipped invitingly as she nodded to him.

  Venutios nodded, his face expressionless.

  Caratacus studied the younger man, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. Venutios’s jet-black hair was tied back with leather thongs, usually worn when hunting. His shoulders were strong and supple, outlined by his short-sleeved tunic. The youthful chieftain’s deep-set, chestnut eyes appeared to be intelligent but savage. He looked like a man who could make trouble. A thin scar crossed from the left side of his forehead, across the bridge of his thin nose, and disappeared along the right side of his jaw line.

  “I’m so pleased to see you, Cousin Caratacus, after all these years,” Cartimandua said. “We have much to talk about. Of course, if your wife,” she crinkled her nose, “doesn’t mind. Some women are so jealous.”

  Rhian gasped as did the rest of the court’s guests, the sound echoed through the chamber. She turned and looked at Caratacus, who frowned.

  Caratacus shook his head. “My wife is my closest companion and confidant, Cartimandua. She has no reason to be jealous of you or any other woman.”

  “My husband speaks the truth,” Rhian said and touched Caratacus’s arm.

  “These are our guests,” King Dumnoveros said. “Your rude behavior will not be tolerated, Daughter.”

  Venutios nodded to Rhian and then gestured toward Cartimandua. “Apologize, wife.”

  Cartimandua’s face flushed and she huffed. “Yes, you’re right. I apologize, Rhian, please forgive me. Sometimes I speak without thinking.”

  A momentary pause passed before Rhian said, “Of course.”

  “Prince Caratacus, my daughter, Cartimandua, has always had an independent streak,” the king said. “But that does not excuse her poor behavior.”

  Cartimandua gasped. “Father ...”

  “You heard me, Daughter,” the king said sharply.

  “I agree with the king,” Venutios said.

  Cartimandua seemed to squirm in her chair and turned her head away.

  “Cartimandua has apologized to my wife, and that is enough, Great King,” Caratacus said.

  Dumnoveros turned to his left. “I present Dana, my younger daughter.”

  Dana smiled demurely and nodded.

  “You may have heard that she was recently widowed,” the king said, “losing her husband to the plague.”

  “So I have. My condolences, Dana,” Caratacus said.

  “Thank you, Caratacus,” she answered in a meek voice.

  Caratacus had heard she was widowed the year before when her husband died in a smallpox epidemic that decimated the Brigantian Kingdom, killing many of the king’s best men. This had been the major reason Dumnoveros requested Cunobelinos’s warriors. Dana had been fortunate, not only in escaping death, but also its pockmarking blight.

  “Dinner will be served shortly,” the king said. “Prince Caratacus, you and Rhian are to join me upon the dais as honored guests. The rest of your party will be seated among the other guests. Please, join us now.”

  Rhian and Caratacus sat to the king’s left. Dana, who had been sitting on the same side, excused herself, stood, and mingled with the other members of the court.

  During dinner, Caratacus watched how Dana reacted with everyone. She floated from person to person saying kind words. She carried about her an aura of quiet strength, her head held high while telling stories in soft, confident tones and finding a kind word for everyone, including the attending slaves. More than once, the chief steward consulted with her about the dinner arrangements to which she offered advice. To Caratacus, Dana appeared to be an intelligent woman, not afraid to speak her mind. The tables were close enough so that Caratacus listened as Dana told a few noblemen what she thought of their opinions on various matters of state. But she did it in a manner offending no one. A peacemaker, Caratacus thought.

  After a moment, Caratacus realized he had been staring at Dana and a couple of times she turned in his direction. Each time she smiled briefly and moved on to the other guests. Why did I look at her like that?

  Caratacus had learned earlier that the young princess, as the king’s favorite daughter, had been taught to read and write Latin. Few men and almost no women were taught the letters. That explained Dana’s ability to converse intelligently with the king’s men.

  About midway through the meal, Caratacus asked Dumnoveros where he could relieve himself and asked to be excused. One of the king’s servants showed him to a wooden privy outside the Great Hall and left him to find his way back. Upon doing his duty, Caratacus returned and entered the hall’s s
hadowy recesses at the back of the court. He stopped when he overheard the voices of two women in conversation. Out of curiosity, he quietly moved forward staying in the shadows. In the dim light of a single candle he saw Cartimandua, who appeared quite animated in her gestures, and a soft-speaking Dana responding.

  “Trying to catch another husband, are we?” Cartimandua said.

  “What are you talking about, Sister?” Dana asked.

  “Oh, come now, let’s not be coy, I saw how you watched our cousin, Caratacus.”

  Dana shook her head, exhaling as if in disgust. “He is married to Rhian, and she seems very devoted to him.”

  That’s true, but what about Dana? Had she given me the eye as Cartimandua had accused? I thought she was only being polite.

  “You can tell by the way she looks at Caratacus,” Dana said, “which is more than I can say about you.”

  Cartimandua arched one of her thin eyebrows. “Oh, how would you know?”

  “I have eyes, Sister,” Dana replied, “Who are you sleeping with this time, one of father’s retainers?”

  A smirk crossed Cartimandua’s lips. “Jealous, aren’t you?”

  “Of what? I’m not the one making a fool of myself.” She paused. “I’ve heard … I’ve heard stories that you are not that good a lover.”

  Cartimandua narrowed her eyes and extended her long fingernails. “How dare—”

  Dana placed a hand to her mouth, but not quick enough to hide her smile.

  “Nobody will laugh when I become queen, especially you,” Cartimandua said.

  “Oh, what will you do, kill me?”

  Cartimandua glanced to the shadowy entrance leading to the Great Hall. “The thought has crossed my mind,” she said in a low, sinister voice.

  Dana gasped. “You wouldn’t! Your own sister?”

  “Why not, you’ll only make trouble for me.”

  Dana gestured with a hand. “You know I have no ambitions of being queen, I only want another husband and children.”

  “So you say.” Cartimandua paused and once again looked towards the hall entrance. “I’ve noticed how father’s councilors and clan chieftains hang onto your every word.”

  “About what? I just compliment and make them feel at ease in father’s presence, you know how stern he can be sometimes.”

  Cartimandua’s nostrils flared. “Rubbish, they’ll listen to you when father dies. They’ll vote to make you queen, but I won’t let that happen. That’s why you must go.”

  Dana shook her head. “May that day never arrive. If so, may I be far from your grasp.”

  “You simpering fool.” Cartimandua sniffed. “You are even more naive than I imagined.”

  “Sister, you are vile.” Dana turned and walked into the Great Hall.

  Neither woman seemed to realize that Caratacus had been close enough to have overheard their entire conversation. He didn’t like the revelations by Cartimandua. Indeed, if Cartimandua succeeded Dumnoveros on the throne, she might prove to be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps, more to the point, she might eventually ally with Rome. Caratacus waited until Cartimandua had left before returning to his place by Rhian.

  *

  Next to his wife, Caratacus looked about and noticed Cartimandua was still gone from the dining table. Probably bedding one of her lovers already. For a moment he mulled over the conversation he had overhead between her and Dana.

  Rhian turned to Caratacus. “Is there something wrong?” she whispered. “You have that strange look in your eyes you get when there might be trouble.”

  “You may be right,” he answered in a low voice. “I will tell you about it after the evening meal when we are alone.”

  After dinner the king invited Caratacus, Tog, Clud, and his lieutenants to join him, Venutios, the Druids, and his chieftains into another room to form plans for the campaign against the Caledonians.

  Before Rhian could object to being excluded, Caratacus shook his head and leaned toward her. “Never mind about the meeting, I have something more important in mind for you.”

  “Does it have something to do with the possible trouble you mentioned earlier?”

  “Aye, I couldn’t tell you at dinner, but on my way back from the privy, I overheard a very heated conversation between Cartimandua and Dana.”

  Rhian’s eyes widened.

  “I don’t have time to go into all the details, but Cartimandua threatened to kill Dana.”

  Rhian jolted, slightly opening her mouth.

  Caratacus half rose, glanced about, but no one seemed to notice. He whispered in Rhian’s ear, “I know this is a shock, but try to stay calm. I don’t want this getting out.”

  “All right, I will,” Rhian said as she took a few shallow breaths.

  “I promise to tell you everything I heard when we’re alone. Right now, I want you to speak to Dana.”

  “What about?”

  “Initially, anything to place her at ease. Then ask her about Cartimandua—learn anything you can.”

  “You think it will tie into her threat against Dana?”

  “It might. It could also determine the future of King Dumnoveros’s kingdom.” Caratacus hesitated. “When Cartimandua’s father dies, she wants to be the next ruler.”

  Rhian shook her head. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.” She looked past Caratacus’s shoulder. “Dana just took a seat by the wall. I’ll go to her and see what I can learn.”

  Caratacus lightly brushed her jaw line, stepped away, and followed the rest of the leaders into the king’s chamber. He knew Rhian was a resourceful woman. The question was, would Dana reveal to Rhian Cartimandua’s true intentions? The same answers she gave Dana? Or would she inform her of something ever more sinister?

  Chapter 21

  Caratacus, Clud, Tog, and his lieutenants gathered with King Dumnoveros, his clan leaders, and his Druid advisor around the oaken table in the stonewalled council chamber adjacent to the Great Hall. On the table stretched a long, sheepskin map depicting the Brigantian and Caledonian territories. Crude drawings suggested major landmarks.

  Surrounded by eighteen of his followers, Caratacus scanned the crowded room, briefly studying the faces of the Brigantian leaders. For a moment, he locked eyes with the young chieftain, Venutios, his dark eyes radiating defiance.

  “This is our land,” Venutios said, almost spitting out the words. He turned to Dumnoveros. “Prince Caratacus is here by your invitation, Great King. His army is much bigger than our own, but it still must come under your command.”

  Caratacus had heard that the king’s muscular son-in-law of twenty-four years rose to that position at the age of seventeen, upon his father’s death. He is still maturing, Caratacus thought. The temperamental, young man will eventually become a great warrior if he uses his head more and his dagger less. Strange how familiar those words sounded.

  A sneer crossed Venutios’s face as he glared at Caratacus and his men from across the table. He turned to King Dumnoveros standing next to him. “As chieftain of the Brigantian Uplands and kin to you, Great King, I claim the right to lead the armies against the Caledonians.”

  “Why?” Caratacus bellowed and pounded a fist on the table. “So that more of your sickly warriors can be slaughtered?”

  Venutios glared at Caratacus, his eyes full of venom. Although the room was cool, sweat rolled down the side of Venutios’s face, which became redder as if he were thinking. This son of a scorpion deserves a knife between his ribs.

  If he was a man, Caratacus thought, Venutios would admit he had been driven from the uplands by the invaders. But it was true, despite the ravages of epidemic, the young clan leader and his small force had fought a heroic, delaying action.

  Venutios stabbed a finger on the Caledonian part of the map. “Give me enough men, and the Caledonians will wish they’d never left their cliffs and goats!”

  Caratacus gestured toward the group. “If you had more warriors, you’d lead us like mindless sheep. To defeat those stinking shi
t eaters, we have to fight as an army: your warriors, the king’s, and mine.” He realized he had cast down an unspoken gauntlet between them. Venutios would never willingly withdraw his claim without spilling blood.

  “My men take orders only from me,” Venutios said, his voice like an angry bear.

  Caratacus stared across the table into his dark eyes, searching for any weakness should there be a fight. “And you will take orders from me,” Caratacus said, glaring at the young leader.

  “Who gave you the right to give orders to anyone?” Venutios asked coolly, balling up his fist.

  “Your king!” Dumnoveros said, raising a calloused hand and bringing it to his chest.

  Venutios twisted his mouth as he turned toward the grizzled ruler, but pointed a finger toward Caratacus. “But Great King, he’s a foreigner, he has no—”

  “Enough! He has the right if I command it.”

  “Aye, ’tis the king’s right!” shouted several clan chieftains.

  Dumnoveros motioned to Venutios from the head of the table. “Your forces are too weak. His are large and powerful.” He made a sweeping gesture with both hands in Caratacus’s direction. “More important … he has proven himself a worthy warrior.”

  Venutios winced, but remained silent. His mouth twisted into a crooked frown.

  “He is not a foreigner,” the king said. “You forget, he is my nephew and cousin of your wife, the Princess Cartimandua.”

  “As you say, Great King, but I have the ancient right to challenge him for command. I now claim that right!” Venutios flashed a dagger and spun toward Caratacus, who followed suit. The king, clan chieftains, and Caratacus’s followers quickly moved to the sides of the room along the stone walls and shouted support to the fighter they favored.