“As a loyal servant to your father, I do what I am told,” Decimus said with a bitter tinge to his voice. “Between the two of us, this cursed island should sink in the ocean along with its brutal warriors and sorcery. We should not be dealing with any of them.”
“Oh, I see. You are of the same mind as me,” Marcellus said, suspecting a falling-out between his father and Decimus. “Has something happened that I need to know about?”
Decimus pressed his lips together and glared straight ahead at the Roman encampment. “Let me just say that I now understand your father’s friendship to me solely depends on my services to elevate his political standing. If anything goes wrong here, it will be me who takes the blame.”
A sudden pain from his chest wound made Marcellus flinch, diverting his attention from the conversation. Grabbing the edge of the wagon side, he cursed, “Damn the gods! I can’t let father see me helpless like this.”
“Perhaps a good meal and some wine will put you in better spirits,” Decimus said with a lighter tone.
“I almost forgot how I missed Roman comforts.” Marcellus grimaced, trying to ease his discomfort by leaning on the wagon’s edge. He asked, “Is there a horse I can ride into camp? I would like to present myself as a nobleman, not a barnyard cat.”
Decimus cracked a smile and barked at a nearby cavalryman, “Give this man your horse.”
A lanky horseman climbed off his black-spotted gray pony that could not have been more than fourteen hands high. Marcellus gingerly crawled out of the wagon and lumbered to the pony. As he mounted, he again felt a sharp pain in his chest. For good measure, he cursed the gods again when he reined his horse close to the tribune.
Decimus sniffed and scrunched his nose. “It looks like you’ll need fresh clothes. You are starting to stink like piss and shit.”
Marcellus was not sure how to take the tribune’s comment. He decided to keep the conversation cordial to find out more about the possible disagreement between his father and Decimus.
Rubbing his bristly beard, Marcellus said casually, “I need a shave. Have any other envoys joined my father at the headquarters?”
“Senator Marcus Crassus Frugi is there.” Decimus’s smile turned downward into a grimace. “He has the same mind as your father regarding Britannia.”
“Which is?”
“Now is the right time for Rome to invade this god-forsaken island.”
The prospect of Catrin being slain in the invasion brought on a wave of pain and nausea in Marcellus. He said with a grated voice, “Invasion is a bad idea. The sooner we leave the better.”
“I’ve argued this exact point with your father,” Decimus grumbled. “His response is that I am here to serve him. He can as easily bring me down just as he raised me up.”
Lucius’s father’s harsh words to Decimus disquieted Marcellus. “Did you openly tell him that we should leave?”
“Yes, I confronted Lucius. I also learned from him that the emperor had the same mind as me,” Decimus said, creasing his brow. “Ask your father about the letter that Tiberius sent. Right now, I could use some of your support.”
Marcellus gave a bewildered look. “What support?”
Decimus shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t want any further troubles with your father.”
Without saying another word, Decimus abruptly kicked his heels into the horse’s side and galloped ahead of Marcellus to the encampment.
3
CHIMERA
A creature with wide-opened jaws and eyes that glowed like red embers bounded into the room. Twice the size of a timber wolf, the beast was not of this world.
When Marcellus and the troops reached the Roman encampment, the main tower’s sentry waved them through. At the center of camp, Lucius and Decimus were waiting outside the palatial tented headquarters surrounded by banners emblazoned with the gold image of Apollo in his chariot. Marcellus dismounted and embraced his father.
Lucius stiffly pulled away and said coldly, “Thank the gods, you are alive. Your mother would never forgive me if I left you dead in Britannia.” He then looked at Decimus. “I need to talk with you before I speak with my boy.”
Marcellus shot his father a seething glare. Boy! You still call me boy after what I’ve been through! Fuming, he followed his father into the receiving chamber, sparsely furnished with two tables, foldable stools, and multiple shelves. Behind the elongated table was a scarlet tapestry with an embroidered gold eagle.
Lucius pulled back the tapestry to reveal a smaller bedchamber. “You can clean up in here while I speak with Decimus.”
Marcellus avoided his father’s eyes as he entered the sleeping quarters, about half the size of the main chamber. There were two beds on each side, end tables, and corner shelves on which scrolls were piled high. He eyed a large copper bowl of water on one of the tables and took off his torn tunic to inspect the bandages. When he touched the pink-tinged linen over his chest wound, he winced from the pain and grumbled, “Son of a bitch!” He then rinsed the cloth in water and carefully lifted his bandage to wipe the swollen area.
With his appetite returning, Marcellus noticed a platter of cheese, bread, and berries that had been set on another table. He gobbled the food down and searched the room for fresh garments. His eyes landed on a corner shelf with a sundry of folded clothes, brushes, strigils, razors, and jars of cleansing oil. Rummaging through the shelf, he found a scarlet military tunic. As he slid the garment off of the shelf, a scroll dropped at his feet. He picked it up and looked at the broken wax seal. It had the intaglio portrait of Emperor Tiberius. It was a mystery as to why his father had placed such an important document with his personal effects. Upon further consideration, he wondered if the message had something to do with the discord between his father and Decimus. Curiosity aroused, he unrolled the parchment on the table and read:
Immediately cease all diplomatic negotiations in Britannia and return to Rome. The cohorts under the command of Tribune Decimus Flavius should report to the military fort at Gesoriacum, Gaul, for further assignment.
He wondered why his father and Senator Frugi were still discussing an invasion if the emperor had clearly recalled them. Defying the emperor was treasonous. The ramifications of his father disobeying an imperial mandate rattled in his head. Senators had been banished ... even executed for such acts. No wonder Decimus was upset.
A sudden movement of the tapestry divider captured Marcellus’s attention. He hastily rolled the parchment and tucked it under his sleeve. He winced when his father walked in.
Lucius regarded Marcellus for a moment and then said, “It looks like you found something to wear.”
Marcellus readjusted the sleeve to conceal the scroll. “Yes, but most of my belongings are still at King Amren’s villa.”
“I will have my body slave find you some other clothes.” Lucius rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “Tell me everything that happened to you when you were held hostage.”
Marcellus bristled. “No warm greetings … just an interrogation?”
“You expect a warm greeting after your antics,” Lucius sneered.
“Antics?”
“During my mediations with Amren,” Lucius said with a grated voice, “he confronted me with news that one of his warriors had found you naked with his youngest daughter. He accused you of raping and leaving her half-dead. Then he ranted that Apollo had cursed her with the falling sickness.”
After his ordeal with the Cantiaci warriors and their unwarranted accusations, Marcellus was in no mood to reasonably defend himself again with his father. He snapped, “That is a lie!”
Lucius creased his brow. “Did you seduce her to get the information I asked for?”
“No, I befriended her,” Marcellus answered sharply. “That is all it took to learn that Marrock is a debauched man whom you should not be dealing with.”
Lucius shot
a scathing glower at Marrock. “I deal with any barbarian who serves my ambition! Why did you help Catrin escape? It was my intention to capture her after you had been released.”
Marcellus blazed. “I thought the exchange was to calm the political fire between you and the Cantiaci? It sounds as if you never intended to honor your agreement with Queen Rhiannon.”
“Did she not betray us?” Lucius retorted. “Decimus described how a conflict broke out at the prisoner exchange when the queen’s warriors ambushed us. Even with this treachery, you assaulted a centurion, so Catrin could escape. You did this without any regard for the safety of our legionaries. The men accuse you of betraying them!”
“I betrayed no one,” Marcellus said, stepping closer to his father. “Priscus was trying to kill Catrin. She had no knowledge that her mother had planned the ambush.”
Lucius huffed. “Do you think I am an idiot to believe that? That Celtic tramp lured us into a trap!”
“If the queen had trusted you, none of this bloodshed would have occurred.”
Lucius grabbed Marcellus by the arm. “I bargained to save your life. After that, no one threatens my family and lives!”
Angered, Marcellus pulled away, but his father continued ranting, “That bitch queen, she wanted to butcher you, sacrifice you to her war goddesses. I swear that witch will pay dearly for threatening me and my boy, do you hear me Jupiter?”
“What do you plan to do?” Marcellus asked.
Lucius clenched his hands. “I want vengeance! I want that pompous king and all his family to suffer. They must die for threatening me and you!”
“The queen acted like any prey cornered by a predator,” Marcellus argued. “You would have done the same—defend your family any way you could.”
“You idiot, I had to grovel like a mangy dog to that mad bitch—an insect I should ground beneath my heels! Why did I do this? Let me tell you why.” Lucius stomped his foot. “To save your ungrateful arse!”
Marcellus knew then that his father was determined to stay in Britannia and destroy King Amren, despite the emperor’s orders. The rage in his father’s eyes reminded him of another incident in Rome. After his father had a heated dispute with a political rival, the aristocrat’s bloated body was found a few days later floating in the Tiber. At the time, Marcellus believed his father had no connection to this man’s death, but now he was not so sure. Before him was a three-headed chimera speaking from whichever head served him the best.
Desperate to thwart his father from going down a destructive path, Marcellus pulled the scroll out of his sleeve and waved it in front of him. “Tell me about this! How can you stay in Britannia when the emperor ordered you to return? You can’t ignore his mandate, so you can avenge King Amren.”
Lucius angrily grabbed for the scroll. “Where did you get that?”
Marcellus pulled it away from him. “It was in plain sight with your personal effects.”
“You impudent boy!” Lucius said through gritted teeth. “I brought you here so you could learn about dealing with foreign kings, but you threw it all away on a sorceress whore.”
Marcellus shoved his father in the chest. “She is not a sorceress! I owe her a debt for saving my life.”
Lucius lashed, “And you paid that debt by fucking her! Don’t think that you were her first. Marrock claims she bewitches men.”
Marcellus put his face within inches of his father. “Why does that monster’s opinion matter? The issue is Tiberius. If you defy him, you could be charged for treason.”
Eyes ablaze, Lucius slammed Marcellus into the table, knocking off scrolls and goblets all over the red-carpeted floor. He shouted, “You ungrateful bastard! You know nothing of my plan to convince Tiberius otherwise. Do not challenge me!”
Marcellus furiously raised his clenched hand. “Back off! Or I will lay you flat on the floor.”
Lucius acted first and threw a hammer punch into Marcellus’s chest, the pain from the blow ripping into his lungs. Gasping, Marcellus stumbled backward and landed hard on the floor, the scroll flying out of his hand. His father hastily picked the scroll up and placed it over a burning candle on the table. The edges of the parchment charred quickly and smoke filled the room. The fumes exacerbated the burning pain in Marcellus’s lungs. He pushed himself up and hacked until he spewed some bloody mucous.
A sudden blood-chilling growl from the adjacent chamber startled Marcellus. He turned toward the movement of the swaying tapestry. When large red-furred paws suddenly appeared underneath the fabric, he shuddered. The next instant, loud barks and snarls mixed with the clamor of footsteps and banging metal.
Marcellus sprung to a defensive stance, his fear overcoming his pain.
Lucius shouted, “What is going on?”
The paws disappeared beneath the tapestry and were replaced with leather-strapped boots shuffling back and forth. The emblazoned gold eagle on the crimson tapestry appeared to be flying as the fabric whipped back and forth.
A soldier yelled, “Jupiter’s balls!”
Another shrieked, “Look at the size of that wolf!”
Marcellus recognized Decimus’s voice. “Corner him … spear him now!”
When the creature’s red-furred muzzle squeezed under the tapestry, Lucius tapped Marcellus on the arm and handed him a dagger.
Marcellus scanned the room for a more deadly weapon.
Nothing.
He snapped his eyes at his father. “I need a spear.”
Lucius scrambled to retrieve a spear at the back.
A growl rumbled into the chamber as the tapestry shot up. A creature with wide-opened jaws and eyes that glowed like red embers bounded into the room. The massive beast was not of this world and twice the size of a timber wolf.
Panic tore into Marcellus when the mammoth wolf leapt at him as a red flame of fur. The next instant, he was under the beast’s heavy paws. Sharp pain again ripped to his lungs. Gasping for air, he almost passed out.
Then time slowed to a crawl when a powerful force entered him as a burning bolt through his arm. His hand had a will of its own, thrusting the dagger blade into the beast’s underbelly.
The wolf’s jaws snapped within inches of his face.
Staring into the creature’s glowing red eyes, Marcellus thought he was looking into the soul of a demon. His hand again stabbed the wolf’s underbelly and then stabbed one more time.
He heard Catrin shout in his mind. Get away now! It is Marrock. This was the second attacker that she had predicted would attempt to take his life—the Blood Wolf foretold in Rhan’s curse.
No time for him to ponder.
Just as the beast’s fangs lunged for his throat, the creature was hurled back as if caught in a whirlwind.
With new life springing into his legs, Marcellus bounced to his feet.
About ten feet from him was the wolf, appearing dazed, struggling to get up as two soldiers and Decimus surrounded it.
A soldier threw a javelin into the creature’s side. The direct hit did not stop the beast. It rose on its paws. Before any other man could throw another weapon, the wolf leapt up and disappeared into a vortex of multicolored flashes of light.
Bewildered, Marcellus asked the soldiers, “What just happened?”
He then looked up and saw a vision of Catrin floating over him like a translucent cloud. At that moment, he realized her second prophecy that he would escape Marrock in his shape-shifted wolf form had been fulfilled. He reached for her hand, but she faded into a cool mist.
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