by S C McGrath
“I hope you have chosen my opponent wisely. I can best nearly all of Eire’s warriors, including their chieftains.”
At that moment, the heavy interior door swung wide open and slammed against the adjoining wall. Fionn strode into the hall and faced Seán. “You will battle me, to the death.”

CHAPTER twenty-six

he emperor Domitian was seated on a cushioned chair in his private chambers attempting to read the latest reports regarding the construction of fortresses and military roads along the empire’s frontier, which roughly followed the Rhenus and Danubia rivers. Instead, his eyes kept returning to Agricola’s report from Britannia, lying on the table beside him. The pages of the report were curled and the ink smudged, having been handled and read repeatedly. Domitian finally set aside what he was holding and compulsively reached for Agricola’s report, but his hand stopped in midair, as if frozen. Then he grabbed the papers and flung them across the room. “Curse you, Agricola! I will not rest until I bury you!”
Domitian could not know that Deirdre and Keelin were watching him or that his innate antipathy for Agricola had been carefully tended and cultivated by the two young women. Keelin had been particularly effective with the thoughts she conveyed, emphasizing Agricola’s similarity to Domitian’s dead brother, Titus. The emperor had gone as far as denying reinforcements for Agricola but had yet to veto the invasion of Eire. Both Nuala and Deirdre had told Keelin on numerous occasions that, at this late date, Domitian was unlikely to take that decisive step. Keelin reluctantly agreed but would not openly admit defeat. She still regularly visited his dreams and she and Deirdre occasionally spied on him, relaying any valuable intelligence to Déaglán.
Breathing heavily, his face contorted with anger, Domitian stood up from his chair and paced restlessly around the room, eyeing the strewn pages of the report as though they were vipers. Finally, he stopped and surveyed the room more calmly. He picked up each page and placed it on top of the table. He then sat down in the chair and leaned back against its soft cushions. He sighed and, with reluctance, reached for the reports on the frontier and resumed reading them. Believing they would learn nothing today, Deirdre and Keelin were about to leave when there was a knock at the door and Longina—before her husband granted entrance—stepped into the room.
The emperor’s wife was undeniably attractive, having a sensuous, feline quality that many men found irresistible. She was not beautiful, not even pretty in a conventional sense, and yet few noticed. Longina’s magnetism and her ability to charm overshadowed the imperfections of her face. She could bewitch both men and women, captivating them with her laugh, her witty stories, and her undeniable zest for life. Even those seemingly impervious to her charms were often impressed with the sheer force of her appeal, sometimes being drawn in despite knowing of her insatiable ambition, her amoral selfishness.
Longina stood briefly at the threshold gazing at Domitian, one eyebrow raised in mild irritation, and then approached him, the silky fabric of her pale green gown draping her curves provocatively and fluttering with each step. Reaching her husband, Longina stopped and glanced distastefully at the report in his hands. “I had hoped I would find you resting after the evening meal. Instead you are reading one of those infernally incessant reports from the frontier. You have capable officers who are well rewarded to oversee such matters as logistics and tactics, leaving you to confer with your generals on broader, grander strategies. Why must you always muddle your mind with details rightly entrusted to officers in the field?”
“Spoken like the daughter of a great general,” Domitian responded. “I have often thought it a pity that your esteemed father relied on others to manage the details of his own estate, leaving you and your mother veritable paupers at his death. Yes, quite a pity. But no matter. I saved you from penury.” Domitian took one of Longina’s hands, kissing the back of it. He smiled rather unpleasantly and continued. “As it happens, I have been distracted from these scintillating reports by just such a strategic consideration as you would prefer I limit my thoughts to.”
As Domitian spoke, Longina’s mouth hardened almost imperceptibly. In an instant, however, her lips curved into a perfect smile, even as she pulled her hand from her husband’s grasp and sat on the footstool in front of him. “Pray, tell me what weighty concern is foremost on your mind.”
Domitian laughed, eyeing his wife not unkindly. “I fear that our legion’s strength on the frontier, both to the north and east, is inadequate, and my generals concur. The Dacian tribes in particular are troublesome. They have found new life and organization under Decebalus and threaten our garrisons in the east. We must mount a strike on them soon, before they have time to consolidate and strengthen their fledgling army. The question, of course, is where can we draw additional legions from? It is necessary to have seasoned men, those who have shown their ability on the battlefield. The obvious answer would be Agricola’s legions in Britannia.” In spite of Domitian’s condescending manner with Longina, both Deirdre and Keelin knew that he often shared his concerns with her, particularly on military matters.
“Agricola’s legions must still subdue the rebels in the highlands of Britannia,” said Longina with a hint of scorn. “And what of Hibernia? I have heard he plans to invade the island in early summer. Surely he cannot spare any of his legions, most particularly since you failed to send him the reinforcements he requested.”
“Britannia’s highland rebels are only annoyances, much like fleas on a dog. They do not threaten the empire’s hold of the island. In fact, most Britons seem quite amenable to our rule, having prospered by it. As for Hibernia, I find such an invasion a waste of good men. Agricola is launching the campaign without my express approval and with a legion that should rightfully be sent to the frontier. Even if his forces triumph, he has given me reason enough to recall him. I will then appoint another general to complete the conquest of Hibernia.” Domitian raised his hand to silence Longina, who threatened to interrupt. “If he should suffer a defeat . . .” He paused and smiled malevolently. “I will not only recall him but strip him of his command.”
“You need no reason, no excuse, to recall Agricola,” said Longina forcefully, not attempting to hide her disdain and anger. “Need I remind you who you are? You are emperor! Everyone must bow to your will!”
“For a woman of such keen intelligence and breeding, your lack of subtlety has always surprised me,” chided Domitian. “Absent in you is a certain refinement that I find very appealing in a woman. Can you not appreciate a more deft touch when wielding power? Will you never learn that it is rarely necessary to resort to such unseemly and abrupt demonstrations of authority? You often assail my sensibilities with such outbursts.”
Longina regarded her husband for several moments, her nostrils flaring slightly, her eyes predatory. Apparently coming to a decision, she replied, “Sometimes bold action is not only appropriate but necessary. However, I would agree that often a more subtle approach, one requiring cunning and patience, is far more effective to achieve one’s ends. A case in point would be the rather premature demise of your dear brother Titus.” At this, Domitian raised an eyebrow and Longina smiled with satisfaction. “Of course, I have heard the rumors of your unsuccessful attempt to rid yourself of him years ago, but it would have been indelicate of me to make mention of such a humiliation. Would you not agree? Instead, I decided to take the matter of your loathsome brother into my own hands. I fortunately had an ally within the ranks of Titus’s praetorian guards, someone I could trust without question. I waited patiently for my opportunity—”
“Titus died of an ague, having caught a chill on his way to our family villa in Sabini,” interrupted Domitian with a dismissive sweep of his arm. “We have only the gods to thank for his demise.” However, the look on his wife’s face gave him pause and he sank back in his chair, his impatience giving way to wary silence.
Pleased to have Domitian’s complete attention, Longina conti
nued. “Yes, the attending physician concluded that Titus had died of an ague and there was no evidence to the contrary. I know many whispered that somehow you had hastened Titus’s death but such was not the case. Nor were the gods responsible. It is I you may thank.”
“How is this possible? Titus did suffer an ague . . . my spies confirmed as much.”
“I have just told you that I was very patient. There was to be no hint of foul play. My trusted ally, who, I might add, was once a loyal officer of my father, had instructions to only deliver the fatal potion should Titus become ill with a natural affliction. I must admit that because of your brother’s strong constitution, the wait for such an eventuality was particularly long and tiresome. However, when Titus finally did fall ill, his affliction could not have been better suited to mimic the effects of the deadly poison, easily mixed with the physician’s healing elixir.” Longina had become so absorbed in her chilling tale that she failed to notice the dark look on her husband’s face. Expecting his admiration and appreciation, she was taken aback by Domitian’s cold, accusatory stare.
Domitian grasped one of Longina’s wrists, squeezing it painfully when she tried to pull away. “I would be pleased with your admission and attribute your murder of my brother only to your ravenous ambition and your dreams of being empress if it were not for that look of satisfied vengeance on your face. What have you not told me? Were your murderous plans prompted by something other than thoughts of power and grandeur?”
Longina instantly became contrite. “I am sorry for trying to deceive you. I forget how well you know me. I was prompted not so much by ambition but by a need to avenge your honor. I, better than anyone, know how Titus dishonored and disgraced you, threatened by your ability and promise. I hated him for his vile treatment of you and, yes, I wanted vengeance for every tortured look I saw on your face, knowing he was the cause.” As she spoke, Longina kissed Domitian’s hand and moved from the footstool onto his lap, pressing herself against him, meeting his eyes imploringly.
Domitian searched his wife’s face for any sign of duplicity. Suddenly, he smiled agreeably and encircled his hands around her slender neck. “I have always been captivated by you and cannot imagine my life without you. Even after all these years, you still have the ability to rouse me like no other woman can. I should hate to lose you, to send you away. However, know that I will do so if you give me cause.” Domitian smiled again and, removing his hands from Longina's throat, stroked her breasts, the silky material of her dress revealing the hardening of her nipples.
From their hidden space, Keelin turned to Deirdre and said silently, “Let us leave for your cottage before I become quite ill.” Deirdre nodded in agreement and they were gone.

Deirdre’s cottage in northern Eire was perched on a narrow ledge halfway down a rugged cliff that dropped precipitously into the sea. Below was a small cove, just large enough for a boat to dock in relative safety. Steps had been carved into the cliff’s granite face, leading to the cottage. At low tide a small spit of sand was revealed if the sea was calm. The cottage’s exterior was hewn of rock and hard wood, blending almost invisibly into its surroundings. Only upon entering the one-room cottage was Deirdre’s influence apparent. The room was lovely and comforting, and everything in it was beautifully crafted, from the bed, with its intricately carved frame and delicate lace and linen bedspread to the round table of highly burnished oak and the two chairs of fine yew wood. The place settings were of silver, etched with the weaving tendrils of the sacred thorn bush, upon which sat tiny birds or, more precisely, starlings.
The first night Keelin had stayed with Deirdre, a frigid wind and driving rain battered the cottage, and yet the room was pleasantly warm even before Deirdre had lit a fire in the hearth. Keelin had looked around, enchanted, as she removed her heavy Dagda cloak. The charming room seemed impervious to the brutal storm raging outside.
“How do you keep the damp sea air from seeping into every crevice? The room is wonderfully dry, without even a hint of dankness,” remarked Keelin. She had never liked the cold dreariness of Eire and imagined a land of warm, dry winds and clear skies. The land she often visited in her dreams.
“Knowing a little sorcery is one of the advantages of being a priestess, although I cannot wholly take credit for this cottage. It was my great-grandmother’s, and it was she who created this lovely refuge. It fell into disrepair after her death and not a soul visited it for years. My father brought me here when I was only ten years old, knowing that, like his grandmother, I had been touched by the gods, singled out as their messenger. The cottage was in ruins, yet there still emanated a dry warmth from its walls, even with the rain and the sea air invading its tattered roof and broken shutters. I fell instantly in love and visited the cottage often, engaging in the necessary repairs to make it habitable. When I became a priestess, I brought it back to its original splendor. I was told my great-grandmother kept even the exterior of the cottage pristine, though I prefer that it look uninviting, thus discouraging anyone who might be tempted to brave the treacherous steps to its door.”
Tonight, after leaving Domitian, Keelin hardly noticed the cottage’s inviting warmth. “Ugh!” Keelin grimaced as she tossed her cloak on the bed, then slumped onto one of the chairs. “I wish we had not stayed to hear all of that. I feel as if I need to bathe to wash off the stench of their souls.”
“They are a decidedly malignant pair, though I find Longina the more evil of the two,” responded Deirdre with an almost philosophical objectivity. “However, I am pleased we remained. Domitian’s words confirmed to us how successful we have been in influencing him. Although he will not veto the invasion, neither will he send reinforcements. Moreover, he will abandon the campaign and recall Agricola if the initial assault fails. Our warriors have only to defeat Agricola’s invading forces and Eire will be safe.” Deirdre had also removed her cloak and was busily putting some cheese and bread on the table, along with a fine wine from Campania.
Keelin eyed her friend irritably and frowned. “How will our warriors possibly defeat Agricola’s legion? So many will die and we cannot stop the bloodshed.”
“Never doubt the might of Eire’s warriors, Keelin,” said Deirdre with surprising vehemence. “They will fight as one with much more than justice on their side and will triumph. We—you, Nuala, and I—have done our part. Our influence as well as our spying have given Fionn the advantage of foresight, whereas Agricola will learn nothing from his spy or the trai—” She corrected herself. “Or from Seán.”
“Well, perhaps a victory is possible,” said Keelin, grudgingly. “Still, I find your cheerful optimism most annoying. You are far too . . . serene, given the circumstances.”
Deirdre smiled and poured the wine into two beautiful pewter cups. “Well, it would not do to have both of us ill-tempered. Now stop your scowling and let us eat.”
“I am not hungry. I think I will return home,” said Keelin, picking up her cloak.
“You may not be hungry but I am.” Deirdre sat and took a sip of the wine, then absently brushed a lock of her blonde hair away from her face before slicing a piece of bread and placing it on her plate.
Keelin reluctantly dropped her cloak back onto the bed and glanced at Deirdre, who looked as tired as she felt. Keelin had been so absorbed in her own thoughts and worries the last few months that she had not looked particularly closely at Deirdre. Always slender, Deirdre now looked almost gaunt, her dress no longer fitting to perfection. Her face was pale, almost translucent, with not a hint of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were as blue as always but without their appealing liveliness. Keelin had always believed that Deirdre was somehow immune to worry and anxiety and had, again and again, selfishly relied on her friend’s perpetual good humor and strength. How foolish she had been to imagine that Deirdre did not fear for Eire as much as she did.
Silently scolding herself, Keelin returned to the table. “In truth, I am hungry as well.”
At that moment, th
ere was a knock on the cottage door. Keelin opened it to find Nuala. Keelin stepped aside and the priestess entered the cottage, nodding a greeting to both young women but saying nothing.
“What a pleasant surprise,” said Deirdre. “Keelin and I were just sitting down to supper. Please join us.”
“No, I haven’t the time,” said Nuala, even as she removed her cloak and allowed Deirdre to hang it on a peg near the door.
Keelin looked uneasily at the priestess. “You have news?”
“Yes.” Nuala gazed at Keelin solemnly. “Fionn has ordered your father to gather his forces and march toward the invasion site. As you know, Niall has already assembled Eire’s northern forces and should arrive there within a fortnight.”
“What of Agricola?” Keelin felt a rush of dread run through her. She had been focusing all of her efforts on Domitian and had not visited Sasanach or seen Agricola for many weeks.
“Preparations for the invasion are nearly complete. Agricola is very thorough and it will be several weeks before he gives the final order to depart. By then, Eire’s forces will have taken up position and be at the ready.”
“The battle is upon us,” said Keelin, almost to herself.
“Yes, and therefore we have no time to brood or wish for what is naught,” said Nuala abruptly. “The field camps and infirmaries are now of utmost importance. Keelin, have you managed to gather all the medicines and instruments we will need?”
“Yes,” said Keelin, “and all the bandages and dressings as well.” She had purloined much of Eire’s needs from Roma hospitals and infirmaries, the Romhanach none the wiser.
“Your skills are limitless,” said Nuala with satisfaction. “As a thief you are both fearless and cunning. I applaud you.”
Keelin was taken aback. Nuala so rarely praised her. But the priestess had turned to Deirdre.
“What of the field camps? Will we have adequate food and supplies to support our warriors?”