Apollo's Raven

by Linnea Tanner

  He pointed northward, where fog was rolling inland from the coast and obscuring their view. “The senator’s tent is located in the center of the encampment. I assume Amren is held in a cell near the back stables.”

  “How many soldiers guard the entrance?”

  “Last week, when I was here, five or six guards were checking merchants delivering supplies at the entrance. More guards were posted at towers around the encampment. I estimate about six hundred legionaries in the camp.”

  Rhiannon glanced at the darkening woods. “We’ll set up camp here tonight. No fire.”

  Trystan dismounted and helped her off the horse. Cynwrig took the reins of all the horses to hobble them at a nearby tree.

  After the long ride, Rhiannon’s legs were sore. She lumbered to the covering of tall grass to relieve herself. When she finished, she noticed honeysuckle vines nearby and ambled over to smell the sweet citric fragrance. As she whiffed the blossoms, a tap on her shoulder startled her. She turned to find Trystan with a big smile on his face and a handful of the trumpet-shaped flowers. He said, “I remember these are your favorite.”

  Rhiannon glanced around to confirm that Cynwrig was setting up camp at a distance from them. She took the flowers from Trystan and inhaled the sweet fragrance. She gave him a wistful smile. “When we were younger, life seemed simpler and full of joy. Now, I can only smell blood and rotting flesh if war breaks out. I regret sending the threatening message to Senator Antonius.”

  “You made the choice based on the threat presented,” Trystan said, gently touching her arm. “It was only a matter of time before Amren’s negotiations fell apart.”

  Rhiannon leaned closer. “Tell me again what Amren told you last week when you informed him about what happened to Catrin.”

  Trystan shifted his weight and looked down for a moment. “Amren took the news badly. I could tell by the way his eyes blazed that he would surely confront the senator about what Marcellus had done. He confided to me that he had grown to mistrust the senator. He called him a forked-tongue snake for secretly meeting with Marrock behind his back.”

  “Did I make the right decision about making Catrin go with Agrona?” Rhiannon asked, her heart sinking with remorse. “I was so angry. I wanted to disown her … banish her. I never thought I could ever feel that way, but there you have it. I did.”

  “Your decision is made. Leave it at that.” Trystan yanked some leaves from a birch tree and dropped them on the ground. “Right now, you need to keep your focus on gaining Amren’s release. Let him pass judgment on Catrin when he returns.”

  Rhiannon sighed ruefully. “I know you are right. Nevertheless, Catrin is my blood, and it tears at my heart that she may ultimately carry out Rhan’s original curse.”

  Trystan lifted her chin. “We don’t know that yet. Amren told me he wanted to inspect the dagger before making any conclusions that Catrin altered the curse. Leave it at that. There is nothing more we can do.”

  Rhiannon nodded with resignation. Her knotted stomach ripped a loud growl. She pressed a hand against her abdomen to stop the grumbling before Trystan gave her another scolding about not eating. Another gastric rumble soon followed.

  Trystan looked at her with concern. “You need to eat and regain your strength. I’ll stand guard tonight, so you can sleep and gather your wits before meeting the senator tomorrow.”

  “I am fine,” she said stiffly. “Salted pork strips won’t settle my stomach.” She clasped the bouquet of flowers tighter. “I’m worried about you. Are you sure you want to approach the senator alone at the break of dawn? His demand that we meet him in his quarters may be a trap.”

  Trystan adjusted the belted sword slung on his back. “That is why I will demand he meet you here. If he decides to strike at me, I am expendable. We cannot lose our queen.”

  Rhiannon paused, considering what he said. “What is your plan?”

  “I will present my fake credentials as the emperor’s courier to gain entry. After I am presented to the senator, I will then say who I am and demand he show me Amren before we talk further. Only after I confirm the king is alive will I tell him of your stipulation that you will only meet him outside the camp without any Roman guards. I will return after that. Wait for my whistle before you present yourself.”

  Rhiannon’s throat clutched with emotion. “What if … you don’t return?”

  “If I am not back by sunset, assume the worst,” Trystan replied sternly. “Leave immediately and prepare for war.”

  Misty-eyed, Rhiannon cautioned, “Be careful. I could not bear to lose you, too.”

  Trystan shot an arrogant grin. “I’ve been in far more dangerous situations. Cynwrig will stay and protect you. He can handle half the Roman army, while I take care of the rest.”

  “I can protect myself,” Rhiannon said, touching her sword’s hilt.

  “I have no doubt.” Trystan grinned. “Let’s get back before Cynwrig becomes suspicious about us. We can go over our plans and give him final instructions.”

  The ground fog dissipated under the red glow of the sunrise the next morning. Unlike the previous evening, Rhiannon could now clearly see wagons and chariots rolling on the gravel road between the hill fort of Camulodunon and the Roman encampment. She turned to Trystan and handed him the two rolled parchments. “Give these to the senator to press our demands.”

  Trystan tucked the scrolls under his belt. Clean shaven and hair freshly shorn, he embodied an imperial courier in his red-striped toga and military cloak. He mounted the king’s cherished black stallion and looked at Rhiannon and Cynwrig. “Make sure you wait for my signal before you present yourself. As for you, Cynwrig, make sure nothing happens to the queen or I’ll have your head.”

  Cynwrig gave an arrogant grin. “You need only worry about your head. You can be assured the queen is in most capable hands.”

  Trystan chuckled and reined his horse closer to Rhiannon. She stroked the stallion’s thick mane as she gazed at him. With a lingering dread that he might not return, she wanted to kiss him good-bye, but dare not with Cynwrig nearby. She instead stepped back and told Trystan, “May the gods protect you.”

  Trystan smiled at her and kneed the horse through the white-barked trees without looking back.

  Rhiannon and Cynwrig took cover behind some tall bushes as they watched Trystan descend the hillside. At the bottom, he merged into the current of several open wagons streaming to the Roman encampment.

  Rhiannon and Cynwrig then settled in. It would be a long day.

  Rhiannon spotted a windowless carriage rolling up the hillside. Next to the vehicle was a rider whose chest armor glinted from the gold light of the setting sun. She assumed he was a Roman officer. Her heart rattled when she did not see Trystan. She shifted her eyes to Cynwrig. “What do you think?”

  “From here, I can’t tell if Trystan is with them.” Cynwrig waved for her to stay put. “I’ll take a closer look.”

  “No. I am going with you,” she insisted.

  Cynwrig opened his mouth as if ready to argue, but she stubbornly arched a stern eyebrow. He grimaced and pointed to a gigantic oak in the pasture. “Move over there.”

  Staying close to Cynwrig, Rhiannon scurried out of the woods to the cover of the oak. She peeked around its gnarly trunk and studied the approaching riders and carriage. The vehicle appeared large enough to hold four to six soldiers. She turned to Cynwrig. “Do you think it is a trap?”

  Cynwrig shrugged. “Not sure. Let’s wait a little longer. I now see another rider beside the carriage.” He squinted. “I’m not sure if it is Trystan or not.”

  The next moments were heart-wrenching as Rhiannon listened to the squeaky, click-clacks of the wheels growing louder and louder until a man’s gruff voice shouted, “Whoa there!”

  She again peered around the tree, but the carriage blocked her vision of the riders. With the loud ch
atter of birds in the forest, she held her breath and listened for Trystan’s distinct partridge call. A warbler’s trill pierced the air—the signal for them to hide.

  Heart pounding, she rushed alongside Cynwrig to the cover of the hedgerow bordering the roadway. She cautiously spread the thorny stems of the bush apart. All she could see were shadows growing, then shrinking, around the carriage. When she glanced at Cynwrig, he brought a forefinger to his lips. “Shhh.” He drew a battle-ax from his belt. In turn, she unsheathed the sword at her side. Breathing quietly, she listened intently for Trystan’s signal.

  When the crunch of twigs could be heard nearby, they both turned their heads sideways toward the direction of the sound. A shadowy figure appeared behind some thick trees.

  Trystan or Roman soldier, she wondered and glanced around for movement of other soldiers.

  The forest was deathly still.

  The shadow stretched toward them, stopped in its tracks, and looked all around. Unable to discern who it was, she held her breath.

  A few heartbeats later, she heard the distinct scratchy call of a partridge. She exhaled the breath she had been holding when Trystan appeared through the trees under the sun’s fading light. He waved for Cynwrig and her to follow him deeper into the forest.

  In a grove of thick beech trees, they huddled together as Trystan discussed the next steps.

  “The senator has agreed to meet the queen in the carriage. Cynwrig, you stay put. The Romans don’t know you’re here. Give an owl hoot if you see anything suspicious while the queen and I speak with the senator.”

  Cynwrig nodded. The tattoo of the lightning bolt appeared to strike down his arm as he shifted the battle-ax in his hand.

  Rhiannon followed Trystan to the wooden-framed carriage where the tribune, whom she recognized as Decimus from their first meeting, opened the door. Stepping in, she noted the red-cushioned passenger seats that lined both sides of the lamp-lit coach. With the senator seated at the rear, she bent her head and seated herself on the front cushion. Trystan then pulled himself through the doorway and sat next to her. When the tribune lumbered in, the coach bounced as he struggled to sit in the narrow space next to the senator. Although the outside air was brisk, the windowless coach was stifling.

  Adjusting her eyes to the dim light, Rhiannon acknowledged the senator with a slight nod. “Greetings, Senator Antonius. Thank you for meeting me—”

  Lucius rudely interrupted. “Why did you refuse to meet me at my headquarters?”

  “I wanted to meet on neutral ground,” Rhiannon replied sharply. “I assume you read the scrolls.”

  Lucius’s stare pierced at Rhiannon. “I did and have met all your demands. Your commander here agreed that my tribune can stay with me.”

  Rhiannon met the senator’s steely-gray eyes. “Likewise, Trystan will stay with me. Did you verify whether the scroll we intercepted was written by you?”

  “No. It was not written by me,” Lucius said with a grated voice. “If you had shown this to Marcellus, he would have told you it was a fake.”

  “He did see it,” Rhiannon admitted. “I did not believe him when he said it was a forgery.”

  Lucius frowned. “What made you change your mind?”

  Rhiannon glanced at Trystan. “Trystan, beside me, arrived from your encampment after I had already ordered my courier to deliver my message to you. Trystan confirmed that my husband was free when he visited your encampment last week.”

  “Unfortunate, you did not wait for your commander’s return,” Lucius said. “It was only after I received your threat that the king was imprisoned. The young courier who delivered your message was beheaded.”

  Rhiannon winced and clenched her hands. She closely watched the senator when he turned to Decimus, as if seeking advice. The tribune arched an eyebrow and Lucius looked at her again. “Before we continue, I want proof Marcellus is not harmed.”

  “He is alive,” she declared. “I also want to see that my husband has not been harmed.”

  One of Lucius’s eyelids twitched closed, unnerving Rhiannon. “I can’t do that,” he said. “We risk discovery by Cunobelin if I allow that. Your commander with you saw the king today. He can vouch for his health.”

  Rhiannon turned to Trystan for a response. He grimaced. “My queen, the king yet lives.” She could tell by the tension in his voice that Amren had been harmed, making it even more urgent she negotiate the prisoner exchange. She regarded the senator’s face for any intimation of trickery. The sweat on his forehead made his skin sheen as he fiddled with the cuffs of his tunic.

  “We are both victims of unfortunate events,” Lucius said. “Someone stole my insignia ring which may have been used to seal the forged message. Most likely, it was a traitor in your inner circle.”

  Rhiannon leveled her eyes at the senator. “Tell me, how did this traitor get past your guards?”

  The tribune interjected. “I strictly monitor all visitors. I can assure you that only Cunobelin and his closest advisors meet with the senator.”

  “Is not Marrock one of Cunobelin’s advisors?” Rhiannon asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, yes …” Lucius said, his eyes flitting to the tribune. “I showed Marrock my signet ring. That was all.”

  The senator confirmed Rhiannon’s suspicions that Marrock had most likely forged the message. She added, “Marrock is versed in Latin. Did you ever consider that he might have stolen the ring and wrote the fake message?”

  Lucius leaned forward and said with a graveled voice, “Even though what you say may be true, I am deeply disturbed that you made no attempt to contact me before shackling my son and hurling your threat at me.” Lucius’s jaw clenched as he shifted back in his seat and said through gritted teeth, “Despite this, I am ready to take the next steps to get my son back. What do you propose?”

  Without any hesitation, Rhiannon rolled out her demands. “There must be utmost secrecy on where the prisoner exchange will take place. No word of what we say here gets back to Cunobelin or Marrock. Only a small contingency of your soldiers can escort the king. After the exchange is made, I will send you instructions for exchanging Vala for the Roman soldiers we captured.”

  “Agreed.” Lucius pressed his lips into a firm line. “but only on the condition your commander remains here as a guarantee that you will adhere to our agreement. Further, only your youngest daughter escorts Marcellus to the designated spot. No other warriors can be with her. After my son is released, Trystan will be released at the same time as the king.”

  Rhiannon glanced at Trystan for affirmation that he would stay. He lightly touched her arm and nodded. She took a deep breath and unfurled her next stipulations. “My commander agrees to stay, but I will not concede that only Catrin escorts Marcellus. A small number of my warriors will escort him instead. Further, you must give me written assurance that your emperor will drop his support of Marrock’s claims.”

  Lucius smiled thinly. “Only the emperor can make that decree, but I can speak on your behalf. As for Catrin, I was deeply disturbed that your husband accused Marcellus of raping her. I asked myself if this was the real reason that you threatened to butcher my son like an animal, this punishment done without a trial. Marcellus has the same signet ring as me, so the forged letter you presented me could have been written by anyone, including you.”

  The senator’s cold stare sent a shiver down Rhiannon’s spine. “What are you insinuating?”

  “I am not insinuating anything,” Lucius said, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon. “I demand only Catrin accompany Marcellus.”

  The queen knew then he would not budge from this condition, even at the risk of his son’s life. She sensed that beneath the senator’s scaly demeanor was a cold-blooded reptile that would sacrifice his own young to get his way. She had no other option now but to concede to his demand to save her husband’s life.

  She shot h
im a piercing stare. “I accept your condition. If anything goes wrong, I promise we will meet again.”

  40

  Senator’s Revenge

  “Senator, I am indebted to you, but what happens to me if the emperor finds out what we have done here?”

  Late that night, Lucius Antonius paced like a wild animal in his tented quarters, the image of the queen’s pontifical mien rattling in his brain. He gawked at the two scrolls in his hand and an uncontrollable rage sizzled through him. He hurled the parchments against the tapestry divider. His outburst then ignited into a firestorm. He lashed out on all the objects within sight, sweeping his arm across the writing table. Ink bottles, quills, and parchment flew off, landing with loud thuds on the red carpet. The black ink splattered all over the rug’s fibers.

  His eyes next focused on the wax tablets and scrolls set on the elongated table. Off they flew, one-by-one. His anger coiled so tight he was ready to snap. Shrieking and cursing, he rammed his shoulders into the solid table. The pointed edge spiked his shoulder and the stabbing pain forced him to his knees. He roared in frustration that his own furniture had brought him down in humiliation.

  Groaning loudly, Lucius felt powerful arms wrap around him and restrain him. Decimus’s commanding voice echoed in his ears. “What has caused this uproar?”

  How could Lucius explain the hurricane forces swelling inside him since he was a young man, at the time he was unjustly maligned and banished for his father’s sins? Nothing on this trip to Britannia had gone right. Everyone who Lucius believed he outwitted had outmaneuvered him. And now, he must meet the outrageous demands of a barbarian queen to save his son. Shaking with rage, Lucius glowered at Decimus. “How can I remain calm, when a woman, a woman spews orders at me as if I am a dog? I am the grandson of Mark Antony, a brutal general who made fodder out of worthless shit such as her. Yet here I am, groveling to this bitch, a beast that insults me and threatens to kill my son.”