by J. M. Hofer
“Lucia!” Camulos barked in disgust. “You are the wife of a Centurion, not a slave! Act like one!”
Anger boiled up in her heart, but she said nothing, knowing it would be best if they simply departed. She placated her temper by promising herself she would make him pay later.
She said her farewells to Elayn and then Seren, who whispered in her ear as they embraced, “Gethen knows the way home, Lucia. If you desire it, he will bring you back.”
Lucia pulled away and nodded, letting her know she had heard her.
***
Lucia and Camulos reached the moorlands by mid-day. Lucia loved being able to see for such far distances in all directions. With the wind whipping her hair back, she felt as if she were flying. The air was biting cold but she did not care, relishing the feeling of power and freedom. Camulos must have found her smile inviting, for he spoke to her for the first time since they had left. “I found the villa burned to the ground. I was sure I had lost you. I have ordered it re-built. Men are working on it right now. It will be bigger and more beautiful than before. You will be pleased.”
She was surprised he said nothing about his maps or the books in the library. His maps were his most prized possessions, and the books were hers.
“How was it that you were not there?” he asked, putting her on guard.
“We were warned there were invaders about, and fled before they found us,” she lied. “The clan you found me with is well-known to Aveta, and they took us in. News reached us that the villa had burned. Knowing we had no home to return to, they allowed us to stay on through the winter.”
“All of you? Aveta and Gwion as well?”
She nervously thought of a response. “We were together a short while, but then they left to rejoin family.”
“I see. Where?”
She needed to change the subject before he pried any further. She knew she was a terrible liar. “Husband, you went to war two years ago and then some. How is it you’ve not returned to me until now, and yet look younger than when you left?”
“That’s a long story, my love.”
“We have a long journey.” The question she really wanted an answer to was how he had managed to find her. No one but the Sisters and Talhaiarn knew I was with Bran’s people.
“That’s true,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “We were but a garrison of sixty men just north of Hadrian’s Wall,” he began. “The wall had always been fairly simple to defend—the might of the Empire against a few barbarians with spears—but our lady Rome had been shortening her skirts, calling many of her sons back home. When the hordes attacked in the night, we were completely outnumbered—ten to one. We managed to hold them off for a day or so, but we were given no rest. After three days, nearly all my men lay dead, as I would have been, if not for an old woman who found me nearly bled to death upon the battlefield. She looked like one of them. I expected her to carve my heart out and put me out of my damned misery, but, to my surprise, she spoke our tongue. She asked me if I were the Roman they called Camulos. Surprised, I told her yes. She asked me if I wanted to live. Again, I said yes. She said she could heal me, and that I would be stronger than I was before, if I agreed to help her in return someday. I agreed, of course.”
Camulos looked off toward the horizon and said nothing for a moment.
“And?” she finally prodded.
He continued with his story, though she found his tone reluctant. “The next thing I remember, I was being pulled from a huge vat of what seemed like warm milk by a beast of a man who tossed me upon the ground, naked and wet as a newborn. We were in some kind of grotto. The woman said she would find me when she needed me, and I would be able to repay her kindness as promised. She gave me my clothes and weapons, and told me to follow the sound of the ocean and it would lead me out. I did, and found myself on the edge of a cliff. The sea was battering against a small rocky beach several hundred feet below, clipped off at both ends by more cliffs. The only way for me to go was up. It took quite an effort—the rocks were wet with spray and moss, but the fates smiled upon me and I succeeded in making it to the top. I wandered for days, looking for a road or some kind of clue as to where I might be, but no feature of the landscape or horizon looked familiar. Eventually I was set upon by a tribe of Pictii, which I now look upon as a blessing, because it was then that I realized I was far north of the wall, deep within Caledonia. It was also then that I realized how strong I had become. My sword felt light in my hands, and I never grew tired – I fought the Picts continually, one by one, until they all lay dead at my feet. She indeed delivered what she promised, and more. I was very fortunate.”
Lucia’s anxiousness increased as she listened, slowly suspecting the identity of her husband’s healer. It had to have been her. Hadn’t it? Or are there others who command such power? Granted, he did not look or act like the cauldron-born, but he was certainly changed, and not for the better, she felt. “Husband, I fear for you,” she said after much consideration. “I am afraid you may have wagered with a very powerful sorceress. One who has the power to bring corpses back from the dead.”
She was alarmed to find a strange pride came over her as she said those words, for the blood of that powerful witch ran through her veins too. Cerridwen, the woman who could bring men back from the dead. The thrill shocked her and she recoiled from it.
Camulos smirked at her. “Lucia, please…those are but stories the peasants you have been living with tell their children around the fire to frighten them into obedience! Do you honestly expect me, a literate Roman citizen, to believe anyone has the power to bring back the dead? No. I will hear no more of this nonsense.”
The combination of his arrogance and ignorance overwhelmed Lucia. “You just told me she brought you back from the dead!” she said with disdain, feeling insulted and disregarded.
“Don’t be a stupid cow, Lucia! She merely healed my wounds, for which I am grateful! I would think you would be as well! She is the one who told me where I could find you, so you have her to thank for being spared a cold winter with a clan of pagans!”
Lucia reined Gethen to a stop. “Where to find me?” she asked warily. “A moment ago you said you returned to the villa and found it burned, and thought me dead! Now, you say this woman told you where to find me?”
Camulos did not reply, and Lucia grew ever more suspicious of him. “You’ve changed, husband, and not for the better!” she burst out angrily, unable to control her temper any longer. “I’d rather brave the winter with the pagans than follow a fool like you any further!”
She turned Gethen around abruptly and started back toward Bran’s village, but Camulos was next to her in seconds. The back of his hand flew against her face so hard she would have been knocked out of her saddle if her feet had not been secured in the stirrups. “Oh, I think not, wife,” he seethed menacingly. “You will follow me home.”
She was shocked by his violence, but her pride refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing it or seeing her tears. She glared back at him in defiance, resolving to create an opportunity for her to escape.
They traveled in silence for the rest of the day. Tears came later in the night, but not from his blow. They came because she had to suffer the death of her husband a second time—he was not the man she married. It grieved her deeply to see all the familiar contours of his face but feel nothing of his kind soul.
The next morning they traveled under the same heavy yoke of suffocating silence until she felt she would go mad from it. Is this to be my life now? The prospect was intolerable to her.
She could not go back to the clan now, for that was exactly what he would expect. After what had happened, she did not dare risk any more trouble, lest Aelhaearn banish her from ever returning. No. I must seek refuge elsewhere, in a place he’ll never find me—I must return to the Isle. It was her only hope. She could sneak away while he slept, but this meant she would need to get him to drop his guard. Traveling alone at night would be risky, but well worth it to esc
ape the life she saw herself fated for if she remained with him.
“Husband, forgive me,” she pleaded, managing to eke out some tears in an effort to appear as remorseful as possible. “I don’t know what came over me. I think seeing you after so much time has been trying on me.”
Camulos seemed appeased by her words, which she found encouraging. After making camp and eating a small meal, she rolled out some blankets and furs for them to sleep upon. He was quick to stretch out upon them and pull her down next to him, immediately pulling her robe up and groping her roughly underneath it. Though she dreaded his hands on her body and having him inside her, she pretended to enjoy it. Thankfully, it was over quickly, and soon he was sleeping deeply.
She waited patiently for the night to almost come to an end, knowing her chances of surviving the surrounding countryside increased the closer to dawn it was. When she felt the time was right, she mounted Gethen as silently as she could.
But Camulos was no fool. “Where do you think you’re going, woman?”
Lucia kicked Gethen and took off with her heart pounding like a war-drum in her chest, riding as fast as she dared through the forest, but Camulos was quick to give chase.
She tucked her head down into Gethen’s mane to avoid low-hanging limbs and branches, peeking up as often as she could to seek out open space. There, she knew Gethen had a good chance of outpacing the horse Camulos rode. She looked intently through the trees, every moment a terror, until they finally began to thin out and she saw her opportunity. She jabbed her heels into Gethen’s flanks with a yell, and he leapt forward into the open field.
“LUCIA!” Camulos bellowed. He was not far behind, and soon she was startled by a rope whizzing by her head, dangerously close to falling round her shoulders. She crushed her body even flatter against Gethen, whispering desperate prayers into his black mane. Great Mother! Open your arms! Protect us!
Slowly, the sounds of her pursuer faded away, until all she heard was the sound of her own labored breathing and Gethen’s strides. Still, she rode hard, wanting to put as much ground as possible between herself and the frightening man her husband had become. They eventually found their way back to the road leading north toward the lake. She slowed their pace, breathing deeply to calm herself. Only after they had traveled for the better part of an hour without incident did she let herself relax.
The night will soon be over, she thought, comforting herself. Colwyn would be up at first light. She would ask to borrow his boat and get food and water for Gethen.
Suddenly, she was shocked from her thoughts as if a lightning bolt had struck her. Gethen reacted as well, spooked into a full gallop. No! Not now! she thought fearfully. We’re so close! She knew there are cauldron-born about, for that feeling was now very familiar to her, but she sensed there was something far more menacing that now hunted them—something she had never felt before.
“Don’t stop, my love!” she pleaded to her dark companion, fear once again filling her chest. “Don’t stop!”
It was not long before she began to see something out of the corner of her eye in the moonlight, running alongside them in the long grass flanking the road. She looked over in dread to see the black form of a huge wolf moving at terrifying speed, its eyes glowing yellow in the night, and its muscular body bleeding where tree branches and bracken had ripped at its flesh as it raced through the forest.
Gethen must have felt the creature gaining on them, for he found new strength and blasted through the countryside. She flattened herself against him, gripping his body with her thighs.
Then, like a blessing, the shimmer of the lake appeared, albeit far in the distance, and she heard Elayn’s voice: You can call upon the water in times of need.
The lake! We must get to the lake! Poor Gethen was beginning to tire. She screamed in terror as the wolf gained on them, kicking him madly. “Don’t give up!” she cried. “We can’t stop!”
The wolf’s strides brought him ever closer and closer. She knew Gethen was too tired to increase his pace. She pulled out her dagger, poised for the inevitable.
The creature saw its opportunity and sprung, sinking its claws and teeth into Gethen’s flank. Hearing him cry out in pain brought out the fury of a mother bear in Lucia. She stabbed her dagger deep into the creature’s eye with a vicious plunge and yanked it back out again with a war cry. The wolf snarled in rage and fell off Gethen’s flank in a tumble of blackness, but, to her horror, quickly recovered and was soon in close pursuit again.
The wolf sprang again, this time sinking its fangs into her leg. Searing pain sent a fresh wave of adrenalin surging through her veins. She stabbed the animal in the throat, forcing it to release its bite. She looked in desperation toward the lake, now quite close, but Gethen’s strides had lost their power.
No doubt drawn to the smell of fresh blood, cauldron-born soon emerged, closing in from all sides, moving swiftly toward horse and rider like snakes through the tall grass. The pain in her leg was unbearable, but Lucia willed herself to stay conscious.
“We’re almost there! Almost there, just a bit further!” she pleaded in Gethen’s ear. Gethen seemed to understand, putting everything he could into reaching the lake until finally, thank the gods, they galloped into the water. She slid off his back, pulling the foot of her injured leg out of the stirrup with a cry of agony, and then pulled him by the reins into the water.
The cauldron-born stopped abruptly at the waterline, seething and pacing, but the wolf dove in undeterred. Gethen was so tired he could barely keep his head above the surface. In desperation, Lucia used every ounce of her mental strength to focus her mind and call upon the water, asking for the Great Mother’s protection.
Moments later, she felt a forceful current come up from beneath them and wrap around them. It carried them out toward the middle of the lake as if they were upon a raft in a rushing river, far away from their dark pursuer and the terrifying danger on the shore. She turned her efforts toward picturing the Isle, holding it in her mind’s eye with intense focus. She put her arms around Gethen’s neck and rested her head against him, enduring wave after wave of pain and looking up toward the moon, remembering the fateful vision she’d had only two full moons ago that had started this fateful journey.
She felt the cauldron-born departing, retreating to wherever they had come from. She could no longer feel her limbs, the icy water having taken all feeling from them, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. I must get us to the Isle soon, or we will both freeze to death.
With renewed focus she willed the shore to appear, supplicating the Great Mother, the guardians, her ancestors – anyone who would listen. Then, like a benediction, she felt land beneath her feet and looked up to see the shore. Sobbing in gratitude, she refused to blink for fear it would disappear. She hung onto Gethen’s neck for support as they stumbled out of the water, only daring to close her eyes when she could feel the solid ground against her cheek.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Prophecy of the Three Kings
Her grandmother’s face appeared above her in a moonlit dream, the sound of her voice floating toward her faintly, as if from some faraway place. “Lucia? Lucia! Can you hear me? Help me lift her—tell the others to come and care for the horse. Quickly!”
“I hear you,” she managed to say through the fog in her head. “Help Gethen...”
She felt herself being lifted onto a blanket and then up into the air, her body lying heavy in its center. She looked up at the sky and saw the moon still there, ever-present, faithfully gazing down on her. She kept her eyes on it as the Sisters carried her through the trees to the motherhouse, where they laid her down close to the fire. They removed her wet clothes and wrapped furs around her. She relaxed with a grateful sigh into waves of warmth. Yet again, I’ve been bested by the cold.
“Lucia?” said a familiar voice. Lucia’s eyes filled with tears as she recognized Aveta’s voice. She smiled and took her hand.
“Here, drink this.” Aveta lifted her head
.
She drank as much as she could manage from the cup held to her lips. Again, she thought of Gethen. “Gethen…please, we cannot let him die. He saved my life.”
“Don’t worry. Gwion is with him.”
A warm wave of relief washed over her.
“Lucia, where are the others? What happened?”
“They’re fine. I left alone.”
Aveta asked more questions, and Lucia did her best to answer, but with the increasing warmth she began to feel her leg. Soon, the pain became unbearable. “My leg!” She winced.
Aveta lifted the furs to examine it. “Gods! This bite is enormous! Lucia, damn the gods—what happened?”
“Wolf,” Lucia whispered weakly. “Huge. A wolf, that ran with the cauldron-born.”
“A wolf?” Lucia heard her grandmother say from across the room. Her face appeared by her side. “They say a giant black wolf pulled King Belenus from his mount, and with cauldron-born in pursuit as well—it is either the same creature that attacked you, or there are several.”
Lucia could not answer.
“She’s in a lot of pain, Mother,” Aveta observed, stroking her hair. “Perhaps we should let her rest.”
Lucia felt her grandmother’s delicate hand on her forehead. “Yes. Sleep, granddaughter. We will speak in the morning.”
Aveta finished dressing her wound and then lay down next to her. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Thank you, Great Mother—thank you for Aveta.
***
Early the next morning, Lucia awoke to immense aching and throbbing in her leg. She threw the furs aside to look at it. She was bleeding profusely through the bandages. “Aveta!”
Aveta was by the hearth in the center of the motherhouse stoking the fire. “Ah—good. You’re awake. We must change the dressing.”