Celtic Fire Part 21

He dipped his finger in the bowl a second time and lapped the froth with the tip of his tongue. This time the spoon did fall, on his head, but the blow was a mere tap.

"Take yourself away," Claudia said, "or dinner won't arrive at table this eve."

Cormac flashed her a grin and sauntered to the worktable. "I've plover eggs from the village to bring in," he said to Rhiannon. "I'm worrying they'll be crushed if I lift them from the cart. Come help me, la.s.s."

Rhiannon wiped her hands on a rag and followed him into the alley. The high walls on either side gave shelter from the worst of the rain, but the runoff from the slanting roof was nearly a deluge in itself.

Cormac climbed onto the wheel of the cart. "I've seen Edmyg," he said, his voice tight. "Pray that he doesna find yer brother."

Dread blossomed in Rhiannon's stomach. "What has happened?"

"Edmyg's son followed its mother yestereve."

Rhiannon sucked in a breath. "Dead?"

"Aye. The second part of Owein's curse has come to pa.s.s." He thrust a basket of eggs into her hands. Rhiannon took it automatically, clutching it to her chest with fingers gone suddenly numb.

" 'Tis not his fault!"

"Edmyg's not of that mind."

"He canna think Owein would harm a mother and babe."

Cormac leaned over the cart's rail, close enough that Rhiannon could smell the stale scent of last night's cervesia cervesia on his breath. "If ye were at yer man's side, perhaps he'd be seeing the truth of that. As it is, the chieftains gather for war and find their queen missing. There are some what are wondering if ye've rejected Edmyg." on his breath. "If ye were at yer man's side, perhaps he'd be seeing the truth of that. As it is, the chieftains gather for war and find their queen missing. There are some what are wondering if ye've rejected Edmyg."

Rhiannon lowered her gaze. It would not do for Cormac to know that in her heart she had done just that. " 'Twas Edmyg who bade me stay here."

"True enough, but 'tis also true ye could have been safely home by now, had ye done as he ordered." He set one large bony hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard. "Does Roman c.o.c.k please ye so much that ye forget the clan?"

Rhiannon nearly dropped the egg basket in her struggle to evade his grip. "Let me go. I'll not listen to your foul mouth."

Cormac's fingers tightened. "Think ye I care where ye take yer pleasure? I dinna fault ye for enjoying a c.o.c.k larger than Niall's sorry stump."

When Rhiannon did not reply, Cormac gave a harsh laugh. "I saw the Roman this morn. Besotted, he looked to be. He'll follow ye into the hills like a dog."

Rhiannon twisted again and this time Cormac's hand fell away. "In case ye had not noticed," she said, " 'tis raining. I'll nay be convincing any man to lie with me in the mud."

"Rain or no, the chieftains are gathering their warriors and there is much quarreling among them. Kynan is of a mind to abandon the attack if the Roman is not taken from the fort beforehand, and many side with him. It wants but three nights to the summer moon."

He squinted into the sky. "Edmyg says if ye deliver the Roman within that time, he'll nay seek Owein's life in payment for his son's."

"Great Zeus, Lucius. Can we not wait until the storm pa.s.ses?" Demetrius sent a look of disgruntlement at the cascade of mud flowing across the path.

Lucius s.h.i.+fted his shovel on his shoulder and strode through the dirty stream. "That happy event might not occur for a solid week. I must have my answer now." He shoved open the gate of the cemetery.

Demetrius gathered his tunic in one fist and lifted the embroidered hem clear of the ground before following. "Tell me again why we have embarked on this folly."

Lucius stole a glance at Aulus. The ghost stood on his own grave, leaning heavily on the monument. The last shreds of his tunic had fallen away, leaving him naked. Lucius's stomach twisted. His brother's skin was mottled with purple bruises and a harsh pattern of welts had risen on his back as if he'd been beaten long and cruelly.

"Luc?" Demetrius's sharp tone pulled Lucius back. "Did you hear me? Why do you suspect Aulus lies elsewhere?"

The ghost plodded to the north corner of the cemetery and looked to the hills, then turned and stretched one hand, palm upward, toward Lucius. "I cannot say," Lucius told Demetrius. "A hunch."

The physician snorted. "I've never known you to go to so much trouble on a whim. There is something you are not telling me."

Lucius replied with a thrust of his shovel into the dirt. "At least this cursed weather keeps the ground soft."

He dug, heaving sodden shovelfuls to one side. Rainwater rushed into the hole. He bent lower, boots sinking into the muck, and liberated another clod of earth. He stabbed at the dirt with fevered urgency, not stopping for breath until he'd sunk waist-deep in the hole.

"Your labor does not go unnoticed," Demetrius murmured. Lucius lifted his head. A cl.u.s.ter of Celts stood on the fringe of the village, peering at him through the rain. "They're welcome to their curiosity," he said. He shoved his spade into the earth yet again. This time the blade hit something other than mud.

He threw the tool aside and plunged his hands into the muck. Aulus's body had been cremated and his bones wrapped in linen. He hoped the bones would be enough to identify his brother.

"You need not lift it all." Demetrius crouched on the edge of the pit. "The lower half of the right legbone should be sufficient."

Lucius nodded. Aulus had broken his leg as a youth and Demetrius had splinted the injury. Lucius wrenched the remains of the skeleton's right limb upward. Drawing his dagger, he sliced through the knee joint as if he were butchering a stag. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it back. His need to be certain far outweighed his disgust.

He handed the leg bones to Demetrius, then set to the task of climbing the slippery walls of the grave. By the time he'd heaved himself out of the pit, Demetrius had finished his examination.

"Well?"

The physician lifted his eyebrows. "Your hunch is correct. These are not Aulus's remains." He rubbed the corner of his sodden mantle over the s.h.i.+nbone, then thrust it into Lucius's hands. "See?" he said, pointing. "Unmarred. If this were Aulus's leg, there would be a b.u.mp, right here, at the site of the break."

"You are sure."

"Yes."

Lucius closed his eyes and let out a sigh. When he looked up again, it was toward Aulus, who had moved from the gravesite and fallen in a crumpled heap against the cemetery wall. He twisted, trying to avoid an unseen boot or stick.

His lips parted. Lucius heard his brother's cry in his mind as clearly as if it had sounded in his ear.

Chapter Fifteen.

"Please, Gwenda, ye must help me."

"Nay. The Roman will be having my head if I do."

Rhiannon grasped the laundress's arm. "He'll not be knowing 'twas you, nor will any of the others. The kitchen is nearly deserted." It was the day of the month allotted for the slaves' use of the bathing rooms and everyone save the porters had gathered at the pool.

Gwenda s.h.i.+fted the bundle of soiled clothing in her arms. "I dinna know ... There's Cormac to be considering as well." She glanced about the storeroom as if expecting the dwarf to leap from behind a flank of boar's meat.

"Do ye know? About Cormac?"

Gwenda lowered her voice. "Aye. 'Tis my brother that carries his messages to Edmyg."

"He'll not know ye helped me." After a moment's hesitation, she touched the amber pendant at her throat. "I'll give ye this for your trouble."

"By Briga! Such a piece would feed my family for a year." Gwenda's eyes narrowed. "Where did ye come by it? If 'tis stolen, I want no part of it."

"Nay. 'Twas a gift." Rhiannon's hands shook as she drew the chain over her head. She couldn't shake the memory of Lucius's face as he'd placed it there. How hurt he would be to see her give it away! But if parting with a bit of gold and amber might save his life, she had little choice.

She had to leave, had to get to Owein's side. But she wouldn't forfeit Lucius's life to do it-couldn't let him face the clans and the betrayal of his own men if there were another path. If Lucius wouldn't leave Vindolanda, it was up to Rhiannon to stop the attack on the fort. She had a plan to do just that.

The warriors Edmyg gathered came to fight in her name. If she ordered their swords sheathed, she was not sure whether they would obey her or follow the man who was to be their king. But if she renounced Edmyg and chose another, less militant chieftain to be her consort, some would s.h.i.+ft their allegiance. If she chose a man with a steadier hand on his sword, the attack on the fort might be abandoned. But who? Her consort must be a chieftain who was a strong warrior and respected by many, but one who would not bow to Edmyg.

Kynan was the only man who fit that description. Rhiannon shuddered as she thought of the older warrior's mutilated face, but there was little choice. He was the only chieftain who dared to spit in Edmyg's face.

Yes. It would have to be Kynan, and even then Rhiannon was not so sure the attack on Vindolanda could be entirely avoided. Her people had borne the weight of Rome for far too long to give up their thirst for vengeance. But even if the clans didn't abandon the siege, her actions would cause a delay at the least. During that time, she would steal Aulus's head from the Druid circle and bury it, ending Lucius's torment. By the time the chieftains finished quarreling and staged their attack, Lucius and Marcus would be long gone.

The strategy was a good one. Rhiannon's kinsmen could fight amongst themselves for years without ceasing. They had done as much when Cartimandua renounced one king and took another. Her heart plummeted. Despite Madog's careful tutelage, she would repeat her grandmother's folly. Would her people end by hating her for it?

"Aye," Gwenda was saying. "I'll help ye leave the fort." She quickly divided her laundry and held one of the bundles out to Rhiannon.

Rhiannon dropped the chain over Gwenda's head and took the laundry in exchange. The woman shoved the amber pendant into the neckline of her tunic.

"We'd best be going," the laundress said in a whisper, "afore the women return from the baths."

Rhiannon nodded, not without a pang of regret. She'd not seen the inside of the bathing rooms, as Vetus was nearly always within, but the kitchen women spoke of the pool's heated waters in the most reverent of whispers.

She wished she could delay long enough to experience the bath's pleasures for herself, but there would be no better time to make her escape. Lucius had left the house several hours earlier. Even Cormac was gone. Claudia had sent him to one of the outlying farms in search of an herb he'd been unable to procure in the village. He'd been none too happy to receive the order, as the task took him far from the fort.

She had to act now or not at all.

"How will ye distract Dermot?" she asked Gwenda.

The woman chuckled. " 'Tis no problem I'll be having on that score. Just slip out and don' be stopping until ye turn the corner past the stables. I'll follow as soon as I'm able. Here," she said, unpinning her checkered cloak. "Take this."

Rhiannon drew the garment's hood over her head. "Will the gate sentries remark upon two laundresses leaving the fort when only one entered?"

"Nay. The guard changed at midday. The new ones will not be knowing I came alone." She stepped to the door. "Wait here a spell until ye see it's safe to pa.s.s."

Gwenda went into the kitchen, hips swaying, as Rhiannon peeked around the doorframe. Dermot sat near the alley door, back propped against the wall, his weight balanced on two legs of a stool. His eyes were closed.

"Good day to ye, Dermot." Gwenda's voice was a husky whisper.

Dermot's stool crashed to the floor as he leapt to his feet. "Gwenda." Heat flared in his blue eyes.

Gwenda smiled up at him. Dermot took the bundle of laundry from her arms and set it aside, then bent low for a kiss. Gwenda responded, wrapping her arms about the man's broad shoulders. He backed her up against the worktable and tugged the neck of her tunic down over one shoulder. His head dipped and Rhiannon heard the sound of suckling mingled with Gwenda's sigh of satisfaction. The laundress's fingers tangled in the stout man's blond hair, holding him close.

Rhiannon stood rooted to the spot. Gwenda opened her eyes. She sent Rhiannon a grin and a pointed glance at the alley door over the top of Dermot's head. Rhiannon drew a sharp breath, then went still. Dear Briga! Had Dermot heard her? No. He was oblivious to anything but Gwenda, at least for the moment.

Rhiannon crept toward the door, scarcely daring to breathe. How in the name of the Great Mother would she be able to open it unnoticed? Surely Dermot would hear the creaking hinges and feel the rush of moist air, no matter how intent he was on Gwenda's ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She sent the laundress a questioning look. Gwenda's eyes unglazed long enough for her to respond with a brief nod. She wriggled in Dermot's arms, coaxing him toward the storeroom where Rhiannon had stood but a moment before. Rhiannon eased open the latch as silently as she could and stepped into the alley.

The morning's downpour had eased to a sullen drizzle. Thank Briga, the narrow path was deserted. With luck, the garrison soldiers would be within their barracks until the rain stopped completely. She glanced to her left and caught sight of the wide road fronting the residence, then turned to the right and made her way along the wall of the stables.

Soft whinnies and snorts drifted from a bank of high windows. She crept to the corner and peeked around it. No one. She slipped into the intersecting alley, flattened her spine against the wall, and waited.

Gwenda arrived a few moments later, breathless and glowing, one breast all but spilling from her tunic. Rhiannon cast about for words to cover her embarra.s.sment, but the laundress just gave her a cheeky grin. "The others rave about Cormac, but I've no complaint with Dermot," she said. "My last babe was his."

Rhiannon followed Gwenda past the rear of Lucius's house and into another alley between the granaries. Only one barrier remained-the south gate. Once through, it would be an easy task to slip through the fort village and into the forest.

Gwenda traded bawdy jests with the sentries, introducing Rhiannon as her cousin visiting from a village to the south. Rhiannon forced a smile and a few suggestive comments to her lips. One soldier patted her behind as she pa.s.sed, but Rhiannon barely noticed the liberty in her haste to clear the gate. She drew a deep breath and murmured a prayer of thanks as the stout timber doors closed behind her.

"Ye'll stay in my home until nightfall," Gwenda said, drawing Rhiannon into the shelter of the nearest dwelling. "Ye don' want to be attracting notice."

Rhiannon shook her head. "Ye've done enough, Gwenda. I'll not be putting your family in danger. I'll be gone at once."

"The lookouts atop the wall might be seeing ye."

"They'll be thinking nothing of a village woman entering the forest." She thrust her bundle of laundry at Gwenda.

The laundress hesitated, then took the bundle and nodded. "Keep my cloak, then, and go swiftly. May Briga go with ye."

Rhiannon whispered a final word of thanks and slipped through the alley into the barley field beyond. The young plants, ankle-high and drooping with rain, soaked her skirt as she pa.s.sed. Though every instinct screamed for haste, she forced herself to go slowly. She could not afford to attract attention.

The path between the planting rows ended at the tree line, quite near a patch of ground strewn with high markers and encircled by a stone wall. A cemetery?

A dark shadow moved just beyond, in the trees. A s.h.i.+ver of dread went up Rhiannon's spine. Changing course, she picked her way across the rows and entered the forest by a separate path, head bent against the rain. She'd taken but two steps into the blessed shadows when a man stepped from behind an elm and clamped his fingers around her wrist.

Lucius wanted Rhiannon's terror.

Instead, he received her disdain. Her chin lifted and her spine stiffened. The hood of her checkered cloak fell to her shoulders. She looked past him, into the forest, as if his hand restraining her arm was but a momentary inconvenience.

He caught her chin with his free hand and forced her to meet his gaze. Her golden eyes, usually so expressive, showed not a trace of emotion. Neither fear, nor anger, nor even regret. Had she played him for a fool? Was it so easy for her to walk away after she'd opened her thighs to him?

His own emotions, in contrast, churned in a cauldron of conflict. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the one closest to the surface-anger-and clung to it.

"Lucius. Why are you here?"

His grip tightened on her wrist and the flare of pain he saw in her eyes brought satisfaction as well as guilt. "I might ask the same of you," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

She wrenched her chin from his grasp. "I am going home."