Eyes ablaze from the bonfires, King Amren reined his horse near Marcellus and told him in a commanding voice, “Marcellus Antonius, you are my guest. As a demonstration of my good faith, I have asked my people to treat you well. While I am gone, Queen Rhiannon will rule in my stead and see to your reasonable requests. My youngest, Catrin, will escort you wherever you go. Make no mistake! Make no attempt to escape. Don’t even think about overpowering my daughter. She is one of our best warriors.”
Marcellus nodded and warily stared at Catrin. She was donned in leather chest armor with plaid breeches, and a sword hung down her back. Her mien was steel-edged, her hair fiery red from the flames of the torches. Earlier, she displayed the sweetness of an innocent girl in her tight-fitting dress and golden hair cascading over her shoulders. He had even caught her biting her lips a couple of times. Yet now, she held her head with confidence and did not look at him. The only person who had shown him kindness was now distant.
Being among these strangely painted people suddenly overwhelmed him. The mixture of wine, ale, and who knows what else sloshing in his stomach, was rendering memories of his puking on the sea voyage. With a moment of lucidity, he questioned himself for getting so drunk and almost losing his head. If he was to carry out his father’s mandate, he couldn’t make such idiotic moves as challenging these warriors. He resolved to be more cautious during his stay as hostage.
Belinus then gripped Marcellus’s arm and said with contempt, “Roman, I have been ordered to take you to your quarters.”
The warrior’s acrid disposition added to Marcellus’s nauseated misery as they walked to the back of the royal residence. When they entered the torch lit corridor, the one-eyed striped cat, cowering in a dark corner, greeted them with a bone-chilling hiss.
Belinus then shoved Marcellus into the chamber and bolted the door, leaving him in total darkness. Trying to orient himself to the set-up of the room, Marcellus crawled on the cold, splintered floor. He bumped his head into a stone wall a couple times before touching a soft pelt on a bed. As he lay down, his head felt as if it were ready to spin off his neck.
Finally settling into the softness of the straw-mattress bed, he snuggled under the pelt to get warm. From the other room, he heard Belinus speaking to two women, one he recognized as Catrin. Soon after, the door opened and shut, and footsteps faded down the outside corridor.
With the night’s silence finally sinking in, Marcellus groaned from the wine clashing with the ale in his stomach.
15
Night Time Antics
“Take off your clothes,” she demanded, trying to pull herself together. “You will sleep here until daybreak. Tomorrow morning, I will fetch you some clean clothes.”
Alone in Mor’s candlelit bedchamber, Catrin shifted restlessly under her blankets. Not having to share the bed with her sister, she thought slumber would come easy with Mor gone most of the night with Belinus. Yet an ominous fire lingered inside her and foreboding thoughts crackled through her mind about what her father had said at the family meeting during the festivities. When he announced that Mor must be prepared to wed Cunobelin’s son after he renegotiated a matrimonial agreement, she wilted like a flower denied water. The burden of keeping Mor’s secret about Belinus weighed heavily on Catrin’s conscious. If Cunobelin found out, it could unravel the tenuous negotiations for peace between the powerful tribal kingdoms.
More troubling, her father instructed her on ways she could beguile Marcellus into revealing Roman’s schemes for their kingdom. Her stomach tossed with conflicting emotions about the striking Roman. How could she carry out her father’s directive when this young man made her heart race every time he gazed at her?
A loud moan from the next room disrupted Catrin’s thoughts. Retching noises were followed by a loud bang on the wall and a thud. Alarmed, she lurched out of bed and hurriedly wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She peeked out the door and confirmed the corridor was empty, the only movement from wavering torch flames. Then she heard loud gagging. A frosty breeze swirled around her, and she knew Marcellus was reaching out to her for help. She glanced up and down the hall again for guards. Seeing none, she scurried out of her room and found the door to the other chamber bolted.
An agonized moan from the room struck panic into Catrin’s racing heart that Marcellus was deathly ill. She struggled to draw the bolt back, her fingers stiff like ice as they slipped around the metal rod. She tightened her grip and yanked it harder and harder until the bolt clicked and the door opened. The rancid odor of vinegary wine assailed her nostrils when she looked into the chamber’s darkness. To see more clearly, she grabbed a torch from the corridor’s sconce to illuminate the room. She found Marcellus leaning over his knees on the floor, his white tunic besmeared with purplish-brown mush. A tinge of panic waved through her as she knelt beside him and wiped cold beads of sweat from his pallid forehead.
She said urgently, “Let me get you out of here and clean you in the next room.”
Marcellus nodded weakly.
She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and they lumbered into Mor’s bedchamber where she helped him lie down on the bed. The sickly odor permeating the room reinforced her need to clean him. She rinsed a cloth in the ceramic washbowl, but the thought of removing his clothes and seeing him naked gave her pause. What if Mor and Belinus returned early and caught them together? Would they tell the queen?
Catrin shook off the uneasiness; she could use Mor’s liaison with Belinus as an inducement to keep her sister’s mouth sealed. Besides, the queen was well aware of her role to glean information from Marcellus. With wet cloth in hand, she stepped over to Marcellus and grunted as she struggled to pull the tunic up his torso. The sudden grip of his hand startled her.
“What are you doing?” he asked sharply.
Warm blood rushed into her face and her voice shook when she answered, “Taking off your clothes.”
Marcellus’s eyes widened with dismay. “To do what?”
Catrin bit her lower lip. “Wash you.”
“I can do it,” he said, his fingers intertwining hers to coax the washcloth out of her hand.
Not letting go of the wet cloth, she stared at the reflection of the candle flame in his blue eyes. He finally yanked the wet cloth from her grasp, then staggered over to a bowl to rinse his face. Beaded water glistened on his olive skin as he dried himself with a towel. When he turned and his lips parted slightly, Catrin’s heart almost stopped when she imagined him holding her face between his hands as he pressed his luscious, thick lips on hers—the kiss so hard, it engulfed her body and soul. Feathery tingles fluttered in her stomach as he slowly approached her. She shyly looked down, her face in hot bloom. When she felt his hand on hers, she swallowed hard, anticipating her first kiss. Heart racing, she lifted her eyes and met his piercing gaze.
He smiled and said softly, “Is it possible to get some clean clothes?”
The unrequited moment sunk into Catrin’s belly like a glob of tar in water. Abashed, she muttered, “What? Tonight?”
Marcellus sniffed at his underarms. “I don’t know how much longer I can bear to wear these stinking garments.”
Rattled by her dashed expectations, Catrin muddled over her options. She could offer Marcellus her trousers, but they were too small. Her mother’s fury would surely ignite if she asked for the king’s breeches. The best choice was for him to sleep off his stupor. She bit her lower lip, hard.
“Take off your clothes,” she demanded, trying to pull herself together. “You will sleep here until daybreak. Tomorrow morning, I will fetch you some clean clothes.”
“Are you sure … about this?” Marcellus asked with a surprised look. “I could go back to my room.”
“The stench in the other room is not even fit for pigs to sleep in,” Catrin snorted. “It is easier I tend you here.”
Then to Catrin’s dismay, Marcellus unabashedl
y bared himself, first taking off his wine-stained tunic and undoing his loincloth. The room suddenly sweltered and Catrin could hardly breathe as she beheld the young Roman in all his glorious nakedness. He seemed unaware of her as he staggered to the bed and sat on the edge, lowering his head into folded arms.
Becoming flustered, breathing harder, she turned her back on him and rubbed her temple, trying to regain her wits. Think. Think. Think. Don’t let your emotions rule your head. He is built just like any other man.
Catrin shifted her eyes to the soiled garments on the floor and gingerly picked them up. She dashed into the other bedchamber that still reeked of sour wine. Pinching her nose with one hand, she dropped the stinking clothes on the floor with the others. When she returned to Mor’s bedchamber, she found Marcellus sprawled on the bed, openly displaying his manly attributes. He appeared asleep, his chest slowly rising and lowering. With his eyes closed, he appeared as harmless as a little boy. The temptation to give him a closer look overrode her father’s warning to beware of him.
Marcellus was more slender than most warriors from her village, but he nonetheless had broad shoulders and a muscular torso that tapered into an abdomen with a slight pouch. She quietly giggled. A line of dark hair wisped from his belly to his groin. Slowly moving her eyes over him, she noticed his legs were toned and bowed like hers. When she looked at his neck, she noticed what appeared to be an amulet around his neck. Curious, she lifted the marble figurine of a nude man armed with bow and arrow. She wondered if this was the sun god the Romans called Apollo. She recalled a Greek merchant’s tale about Apollo asking the northern people to hide his arrow in a winged temple. As a little girl, she had traveled east to what she believed was Apollo’s temple. The circular structure was built of massive stone columns supported with flat-rocked beams. Perhaps, the Apollo amulet protected Marcellus from evil spirits. Setting the figurine on his chest, she caught a waft of sour odor and noticed some residual wine stains on him.
She retrieved a linen cloth and poured some lavender-scented oil on it. Sitting on the bed’s edge, she gently wiped his forehead with the sweetly-fragranced cloth, but the sudden movement of his eyelids opening startled her.
She gasped and jerked up.
He gazed blankly at the ceiling and did not blink when she waved a hand over him. Presuming he was still in a wine-induced stupor, she resumed cleaning his neck, chest, and abdomen. When she reached his groin, her hand shook as she rubbed the remaining residue away. The only remaining task was to fragrance his skin with more lavender oil.
She covered his hips and legs with a fox-tail pelt to warm his cold skin, then dripped some oil on his torso and massaged the viscous fluid into his skin. The repetitive motion of her fingers moving over his chest mesmerized her. She could feel his strong heartbeats drum into her hands. In her mind’s eye, she was again dancing around him and capturing his heat, hot sweat beading on her forehead as she felt herself floating over his sexual fire.
Then a strong grip on her wrist pulled Catrin out of her muse, and she found Marcellus gaping at her with bewilderment.
“What are you doing?”
“I … I was … putting oil on you,” she stammered.
“It felt much more than that,” he said, narrowing an eye. “Are you planning to sleep with me tonight?”
Catrin could almost feel his eyes caressing her breasts. Though she ached with desire, the gigantic leap into a sexual encounter was not where she was ready to venture. “Th … that is not a good idea.”
“Then where will you sleep?”
Catrin jumped to her feet. “On the floor.”
Marcellus chuckled and sat up. “That does not seem fair that I take your bed while you sleep on the hard floor.”
“This is not my bed.”
“Whose bed is this?”
“My sister, Mor, but she and Belinus will not return until morning.”
Marcellus cocked an eyebrow. “Why is she with him? I thought she was betrothed to Cunobelin’s son.”
Catrin bit her lip, chastising herself for letting the secret out. She said sharply, “We should not talk about this.”
“All right. Let us then … discuss sleeping arrangements.” Marcellus curled his lips into a mischievous smile. “Why don’t you take half the bed while I sleep on the other half?”
Catrin wrestled with the suggestion. “Um … um … I should not sleep with you.”
“And if Mor were here, you would be sleeping with her, right?”
Catrin shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“Think of it this way,” Marcellus said, patting the straw mattress with an eager hand, “we must share this bed because no others are available.”
Catrin considered his argument for a moment. It did seem reasonable. The morning chill made her shiver. Still, she could not quite convince herself to be in bed with the young Roman who moments earlier she had wanted to kiss. She tore her eyes away.
After what seemed like an interminable period of awkward silence, Marcellus said, “Feel my arms. I have flesh bumps. Unless I get warm, I won’t be able to sleep.”
Catrin peeked at him. His skin did look bluer. “I can put a blanket on you.”
Marcellus shot her a playful grin. “That will help. But, I have a better idea, you can lie on top of the blanket if that would ease your mind about sleeping with me. Then you can snuggle up to me and get me warm. I promise not to do anything, except sleep.”
Catrin stared at the bleak, uninviting dark oak floor. Why should she sleep there? The night’s events had been out of her control. How could she have known that strong drink would make Marcellus so sick? She tried to reassure herself.
Commoners always invite overnight guests into their family beds.
Pursing her lips, she nodded reluctantly. “Agreed, only if I sleep on top of the covers and you face the other way.”
The color on Marcellus’s high-boned cheeks turned annoyingly rosier. “Agreed, hop right on.”
Catrin retrieved a woolen blanket from a corner shelf and covered Marcellus from neck to toe. The sight of his mouth breaking into an eager grin unnerved her. She waved him to turn over. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and rolled over. She draped a shawl around her shoulders, crawled into bed, and turned her back against his.
For several moments, Marcellus bumped against Catrin as he shifted restlessly. After awhile, he tapped her on the shoulders. “I’m still cold. Would you get a little closer?”
Catrin turned over and gave him an icy scowl. “How can that help?”
Marcellus gave an impish grin. “There is something special about a woman’s warmth. It is like a mother tucking a child into bed at night.”
“I am not your mother,” Catrin snapped.
“No, but I still long for your womanly touch.”
Exasperated, Catrin sighed. “All right, turn over.”
After Marcellus rolled to his side, she pressed her chest against his back. Reticent about the intimacy, she stiffened her arms. “Is that better?”
“Yes, much better,” Marcellus said. “Thank you for showing me so much kindness tonight.”
Swelling emotion lumped in Catrin’s throat. His genuine gratitude warmed her heart. As his breathing slowed, she felt more at ease and resituated herself, wrapping an arm around his waist and molding herself into the curve of his back. Pillowing her head against his shoulders, she had never felt this close to another human as she did with him. She inhaled the lavender scent and lightly stroked his soft hair. Relaxing, she drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt they were lovers in a past life.
A hard shake on her shoulders jarred Catrin out of her slumber. Opening her eyes, she was shocked to find her mother’s eyes soaring above her.
“What is going on here?”
Catrin quickly pushed herself up. “We are sleeping. Marcellus is sick. I brought him here �
� to tend him.”
Her mother shot a scathing frown. “Tending him in bed? Where is Mor?”
Catrin hopped from the bed to her feet. “I don’t know.”
The queen’s eyes hardened. “Is she off with Belinus?”
“Oh …” Catrin could feel her heartbeats pounding in her neck. Her eyes flitted to Marcellus, who was staggering to his feet. He mumbled, “Sorry for the trouble. Catrin was only trying to help. Just show me where I can sleep off the wine.”
The queen regarded Marcellus for a moment, then turned to the gray-haired servant beside her. “Take our guest to the room next to mine. The cold floor will make a nice companion for him. Tell Belinus to get over here now! As for Mor, she can sleep in my chambers.”
The servant humbly asked, “Where is Mor?”
The queen roared, “She is with Belinus! And keep your mouth shut at what you find.”
The servant bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Catrin’s stomach twisted so tight, she felt nauseated when she watched Marcellus clumsily wrap the blanket around his waist, drag himself out of bed, and follow the servant down the hall. After all his efforts to get her into bed, he would now be the one sleeping on the floor. Turning to her mother, Catrin began shivering under the queen’s cold stare.
“As for you, young maiden, we will speak at breakfast!”
16
Breakfast Interrogation
The conversation’s turn made Marcellus gag. Was the queen’s intent to glean more information about his family’s political connections to Tiberius?
Without a stitch of clothing on, Marcellus could not keep warm on the hard cold floor no matter how tightly he wrapped the wool blanket around him. On the other side of the thin wall that divided the royal bedchamber from his locked quarters was Queen Rhiannon. He heard her speak harshly in Celtic to a man and woman he believed were Belinus and Mor. From the tone of her voice, he surmised she was scolding them for their reckless affair. He knew this could jeopardize the nuptial pact being negotiated for Mor to wed Cunobelin’s son. Perhaps his father could use this information as leverage against Amren to demand more tribute in exchange for keeping the affair secret from Cunobelin. No wonder the queen’s attention had been diverted from him after she caught him in bed with Catrin. Although she had not said a word to him after finding them together, her eyes burned with fury.
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