When Agrona noticed Cynwrig and Catrin approaching the fortress gate, she drew out of her ruminations and held up a hand.
“What do we have here?”
Cynwrig halted his horse and shifted Catrin’s head against his shoulders. “Princess Catrin. She burns with fever.”
“I can treat the princess in her bedchamber,” Agrona said. “Why is Marcellus on foot with a sword to his back?”
Cynwrig darted his eyes at the gathering spectators gawking at them with wide eyes. “I should first speak with the queen about what I found.”
Noticing the apprehensive grimace on Cynwrig’s face, Agrona surmised he had found Marcellus in a provocative position with Catrin. The aphrodisiacs of lavender and stag musk oil she had sprinkled on the wolf pelt must have done their magic. She pressed her lips together to hide her smirk.
“Where is Belinus?”
“Only the gods know,” Cynwrig said, lifting his eyes to the sky. “I couldn’t ask that idiot Roman about Belinus’s whereabouts. He is too stupid to understand our tongue. Thus, I brought him here for the queen to question.”
Agrona stepped closer and examined Catrin. The princess was limp, her eyes glazed and face ashen. She looked at Cynwrig. “I will follow you and calm the people’s fears about what has happened to the princess.” She glanced around at the growing number of villagers pressing on them. She smirked, thinking of ways to incite them further.
Following Cynwrig on foot, Agrona squeezed through the crushing throng anxiously asking what happened to the princess. She said with a fervid pitch, “Get back! Let us through. We must appease the gods! A curse has befallen our beloved princess.”
Most of the agitated villagers swarmed around Agrona and Cynwrig like mad bees at the royal courtyard where Trystan was waiting. By then, Catrin had regained consciousness and appeared shaken as Trystan helped her down. He placed an arm around Catrin and assisted her to the entrance where Queen Rhiannon and a servant greeted them.
With the clamor growing louder, Agrona turned around and saw some enraged men shoving Marcellus.
A soot-faced blacksmith bellowed, “What did you do to our princess?” He whacked a hammer into Marcellus’s back, making him scrunch over.
Angry voices of other men rumbled, “Roman scum! Dog! Swine!” Their fists pelted Marcellus in the front and back, finally knocking him to his knees.
As Agrona watched the increasingly hostile mob, she could not contain her sly smile. The rabble would certainly rip the Roman’s limbs off, if the queen’s guards did not put a stop to it.
Trystan slammed into Agrona’s shoulder as he shoved the mass back trying to reach Cynwrig still astride his horse. He shouted, “Stop anyone attempting to harm Marcellus.”
As directed, Cynwrig circled his horse around Marcellus and threatened the amassing crowd with a sword. Trystan threw fist-wielding men out of his way like empty sacks and ordered, “Get back! Get back to your tasks! We will handle this.”
When Trystan finally reached Marcellus, he gripped the Roman by the arm while extending the other to push anyone aside who dared challenged him. Agrona trailed Trystan and Marcellus through the crushing crowd, now fearing the out-of-control mob might harm her. She forced herself through the pressing mass and finally reached the Great Hall’s entrance where assembled guards with extended spears helped her through the doorway, then marched toward the crazed mob to stop them.
Inside, the queen met Agrona and Trystan, who had a grip on Marcellus’s arm. She snapped her eyes at Trystan.
“What is the commotion outside?”
“The villagers want to tear the Roman hostage apart for raping Catrin,” Trystan snarled.
“Raping Catrin?” Rhiannon repeated, eyebrows scrunching together. “Where is Belinus? I want a full report on what has happened.”
Trystan grunted, “Belinus was not with them.”
Rhiannon bristled. “What do you mean ‘not with them?’ Go find Belinus now!”
Trystan clicked his heels together. “I will get to the bottom of this.”
Rhiannon turned to Agrona. “Come with me. You need to treat Catrin.”
As Agrona strode alongside the queen down the corridor to the bedchambers, she inwardly chuckled from the people’s nasty reaction toward Marcellus. When she entered Mor’s bedchamber, Catrin was lying on the bed with a pillow beneath her head. Agrona flinched when she noted the burning glint in Catrin’s glare directed at her. She quietly observed the queen examine her daughter.
Rhiannon smiled thinly as she placed a hand over Catrin’s forehead. She asked, “What happened?”
Catrin garbled, “Vis … sion … fire … storm ...”
Rhiannon lifted Catrin up and gave her some water. Some color returned to Catrin’s face after she took some sips. She then mumbled, “Fire-breathing eagles.”
The queen looked at her with bewilderment. “Did Marcellus do anything to you?”
“He helped me,” Catrin rasped.
“Do you know where Belinus is?”
Catrin’s eyes lifted as if she knew, but she said, “I don’t know.”
A loud rap on the door captured everyone’s attention and they turned to find Cynwrig poking his head in. The queen waved him in. His belted sword banged against the doorjamb when he entered. He asked, “How is Catrin?”
Rhiannon gestured toward Catrin. “See for yourself.”
Cynwrig stepped to the bed and cracked a smile. “Look at you—a fierce warrior. Nothing keeps you down.”
The queen nudged Cynwrig’s arm. “Speak with me outside about what is happening.” She turned to Agrona. “Watch over Catrin while I handle my people outside. Later, we can discuss the healing rituals you will need to perform.”
Agrona bowed. “Yes, your grace.”
After the queen left with Cynwrig, Agrona leaned over the bed and observed that Catrin’s pupils were dilated and that her forehead was hot to the touch. When she noticed the amulet around the princess’s neck, Agrona lifted the statuette to inspect, but was stopped by a strong grip around her wrist that emitted a burning charge. She recoiled and was shocked to hear the rage in Catrin’s voice.
“I forbid you to touch that!”
Agrona stood and rubbed her sore wrist. She warily looked at Catrin. “Where did you get that amulet? It looks Roman.”
“Marcellus gave it to me as a gift,” Catrin replied.
Agrona sneered, “Did he give it to you so you would lay with him?”
Catrin abruptly sat up and pointed her to the door. “Get out of my sight. Now!”
Detecting the amber sheen in Catrin’s eyes, a sign of a clairvoyant possessed by a divine force, Agrona surmised the raven had already conveyed some of the mystical powers of the Ancient Druids to her, as foretold in the altered curse.
“Who are you?” Catrin asked sharply. “And why are you here?”
Agrona winced. Odd question. She kept her eyes fixed on Catrin and said, “You know who I am. I am Agrona, your father’s Druidess and spiritual advisor.”
Catrin’s forehead furrowed. “No. There is someone else behind your eyes.”
Unsettled by Catrin’s comment, Agrona nonetheless maintained a stone-cold demeanor. “You are hallucinating, my love. The Roman’s talisman has cast a spell on you. Let me have it so I can remove the curse.”
Catrin clasped the amulet. “I forbid you to take it. And, I plan to tell my mother who you truly are.”
Agrona knew then that the princess had somehow found out she was Rhan. Perturbed, she nonetheless maintained a steely facade. “My love, you are not yourself. That must be a demon talking inside you. Don’t worry. We will fix that.”
Catrin raised a fist. “I will strike you down, if you touch me.”
Apprehensive of Catrin’s unexpected hostility, Agrona backed away. She had to act quickly to shut the bitch up
. Hearing footsteps at the door, she opened it to find the red haired warrior, Ferrex, with something in his hand.
“Is the queen in here?” he inquired. “I want to show her the pelt I found at the Ancient Oak where we found Catrin and the Roman.”
Agrona gnarled her lips into a smile. “The queen will be here shortly. Set the pelt down, so you can help me strap Catrin down. I must give her a potion to expunge all her evil spirits.”
32
Exposed
Marcellus lifted his shoulders and said resoundingly, “She gave her consent. We pledged our love for one another before Mother Goddess.”
With his wrists tightly bound with leather straps, Marcellus waited on a straw bale in the horse stables. Trembling, he clenched his swollen hands to settle himself after the barrage of fists. Based on the pounding pain in his face and shoulders, bruising had already set in. The fury in the villagers’ eyes still shot shivers down his spine. They were out for blood, undoubtedly believing he had defiled their beloved princess.
Even now, he felt as if his conflicting emotions about Catrin were running a gauntlet. He thought he had accepted her mystical aura, but her strange behavior after they made love caught him off balance. Her ramblings of the white raven and Rhan’s curse disconcerted him. The bizarre interaction between Catrin and her raven completely unhinged him. The tribune’s warning that she was a sorceress tormented him.
Did our souls join, as she said, or did she bewitch me?
He looked at his shaky hands and muttered, “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get Catrin out of my heart?” With the sun setting, the darkening stall shrouded him in gloom. Not only was his life endangered, but Catrin had appeared deathly ill.
The sudden movement of a shadow startled Marcellus. He glanced up and glimpsed the blue lightning bolt on Cynwrig’s arm. The warrior grunted and gestured for him to get up.
Marcellus anticipated an inimical meeting with the queen. Putting on a fierce facade, he gave Cynwrig a ferocious scowl, which he immediately regretted when the barbarian, having the strength of Hercules, threw him against the wall like a spear.
Shaken, ears ringing, Marcellus found himself face down with a mouthful of straw seasoned with savory dung. He gagged on the stench, then wrenched his head up, and spat and spat until he ejected the foul-tasting grit. A strong hand smashed his face into the brownish muck again and yanked his head back by the hair to the point his neck cracked.
Cynwrig then put Marcellus into a headlock and squeezed his throat. Marcellus gasped and pounded his fists against the warrior’s metal-hard arm, but the pressure against his windpipe tightened. Fighting for breath, Marcellus kicked his legs out and twisted his body with all his might. Every muscle cramped as he pounded on Cynwrig’s arms to break the choke, but he weakened and darkness overtook him.
Marcellus awoke with the splash of cold water. Opening his eyes, Trystan and Cynwrig came into focus. The warriors gripped Marcellus’s shoulders and forced him to his feet. Foul-smelling water dripped into his eyes and he flinched from the burning sting. He felt his feet lift as one of the men body-slammed him on the hard dirt floor. Rough hands then gripped Marcellus by the shoulders and dragged him like an animal for butchering down the alleyway.
Fed up with his rough treatment, he dug his heels into the ground and demanded, “Let go of me! I can walk on my own.”
Trystan snarled, “Then stop resisting, dog!”
Marcellus nodded and clenched his jaw.
The warriors yanked him up and plopped him on his feet, so he could walk. With both men close behind, Marcellus staggered to the back of the structure and lumbered down the dimly-lit corridor past the bedchambers. Near the end of the hall, he confronted the one-eyed cat with a rat the size of a small dog in its mouth. He cautiously stepped around the hissing creature and entered the reception area where the queen was seated on her elevated throne. She asked brusquely, “What happened to my daughter?”
From the fiery glow on her face, Marcellus suspected she already knew about his delicate predicament with Catrin. He drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and answered with a steady voice, “She was stricken with the falling sickness.”
“Falling sickness,” Rhiannon repeated. “Explain.”
“Catrin had convulsions. Foam spewed from her mouth. When your guards discovered us, I was caring for her. Is she better?”
Rhiannon frowned. “As we speak, she burns with fever. Tell me exactly what happened before she was stricken.”
Marcellus rolled his neck to loosen the tension in his shoulders. “I was bathing in the river. Catrin was on shore, guarding me. For some reason, she was drawn into the forest. The next instant, she screamed. I was afraid she was caught unawares by a charging boar or some kind of predator. When I found her, a raven was on her shoulder. It looked as if it was casting a spell on her, so I pushed the thing off. Then she collapsed.”
“Why was Belinus not with you?” Rhiannon asked, raising a stern brow.
Marcellus hesitated, wondering how much she knew about Mor’s affair. “He left us earlier in the morning.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Was it because he met Mor there?”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure.”
Rhiannon turned her head and swore under her breath. She again looked at Marcellus. “Did Catrin prearrange this meeting between Mor and Belinus?”
Strange that I did not think of that. Marcellus answered, “I don’t know.”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes to the point of an arrow. “Did Catrin say anything to you about the marriage agreement with Cunobelin?”
Marcellus hesitated and regarded the queen’s hostile glare. “Yes, she said that the king has betrothed her to Adminius.”
“What was Catrin’s mood when she told you?”
“Angry.”
“How did you feel when she told you?”
Marcellus tensed. “To be frank, I felt sorry for her. Why don’t you get straight to the point and tell me what you plan to do with me.”
The queen called out, “Agrona, present yourself.”
Hearing footsteps to his back, Marcellus pivoted and saw Agrona walk out of the shadows and into the illumination of the torch light. Her wolf eyes appeared to glow under the wavering flame as she moved toward him. His heart shuddered when he saw the silvery wolf pelt in her arms, the brownish-red stain clearly visible.
Agrona slowly circled him and sniffed. “I smell Catrin on you,” she growled, then pressed the pelt against her nose. “I also smell your body fluids on the fur.”
Throat constricting, Marcellus rasped, “What are you implying?”
Agrona turned to the queen. “The warrior called Ferrex found this pelt. Remember, this is what I gave Catrin a few days ago at the family dinner. The blood on the fur is proof this Roman brutally ravaged Catrin.”
Enraged at the accusation, Marcellus lurched at Agrona, but Cynwrig gripped him by the arms to stop him. Fighting against Cynwrig’s restraints, Marcellus roared, “I would never do anything to hurt Catrin! That blood could have been left from any injured animal.”
Agrona again circled Marcellus like a wolf stalking its prey. “This is Catrin’s blood after you tore her maidenhood away like a wild beast.”
Rhiannon interjected. “Isn’t that why Cynwrig caught you naked with Catrin?”
Marcellus leveled his eyes at the queen. “As I said, I was bathing. In my haste to protect Catrin, I didn’t think to put my breeches on. Ask Cynwrig. She was fully dressed when he found us. If Catrin was here, she would corroborate my story.”
Agrona dropped the pelt at Marcellus’s feet. “Unfortunate for you, Catrin is out of her mind with fever.” A nasty smirk twisted on Agrona’s face as she opened her hand, revealing the leather-stringed Apollo amulet. “I found this around Catrin’s
neck. Is this yours?”
Marcellus stared at the amulet, wondering how Agrona got hold of it. “Yes, I gave it to Catrin as a gift of thanks for her hospitality.”
“I have been told your god Apollo can curse mortals with the falling sickness.” Agrona smiled grimly and rubbed the statuette’s marble surface. “Did you use this to bewitch Catrin and rape her like a crazed beast?”
Marcellus raged, “You mad woman! I gave this to Catrin to protect her!”
“Protect her from what? You?”
“Everything I have done with Catrin has been done out of love —” Marcellus cut off his words when the queen’s eyes blazed. His chest tightened as he watched Agrona slowly walk to the queen.
The Druidess turned and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Beware, the Roman’s patron god has put a spell on Catrin!”
“How can you be sure?” Rhiannon asked.
“The gods deliver their messages through me,” Agrona proclaimed. “They tell me Catrin will again be stricken. The words spewing from her mouth are from demonic forces insider her. I have strapped her down, chanted, and given her potions to expel these evil forces. Nothing has yet worked.”
Marcellus’s mind flashed back to what Catrin had told him about Rhan’s curse. He thundered, “This is not Apollo’s curse. Catrin is in danger from Rhan’s curse.”
In parallel, both women turned toward each other and said, “How do you know this?”
“Catrin told me,” Marcellus said. “She said there is a curse looming over your kingdom. I am being falsely blamed for this!”
Agrona stomped next to Marcellus. “You are lying! Apollo told you to say this, to cover up for what you did.” She then turned to Rhiannon and pointed to herself. “Let me take Catrin away from here. At my lair, I can cast her demons out. Then I can train her to use the raven’s powers as the king ordered.”
Rhiannon’s stare burned at Marcellus. “Did your god Apollo put a curse on my daughter?”
Marcellus bristled. “No!”
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