Love's Blazing Ecstasy (16 page)

He awoke the next morning to the sound of rain against his tent. “We cannot stay here,” he declared to Burrus. “Tell the men to make ready for travel.”

“Travel? Surely you cannot be serious,” his friend responded with surprise. He made it clear to Valerian that it didn’t seem to him as if they could travel in such a torrent. The sky was echoing with the noise of thunder and flashes of light that Burrus referred to as “Jupiter’s wrath” on the world below.

Putting his hand on the young soldier’s shoulder, Valerian opened up to him.  “You are a man that I feel I can trust,” he said, watching as Burrus nodded. “I requested that our soldiers be given leave to travel ahead of the legion so that I can try to bring about peace between us and one of the tribal chieftains of the Parisi. I am weary of this bloodshed.” Quickly he told Burrus all that had transpired with Severus.

The young soldier looked doubtful. “Do you think you can trust Severus?” It was no secret that Severus was power-hungry, but was he honorable? Within the legion, there were already rumblings that he was a man to be
greatly feared.

“No, I’m not, but I had no other choice if I am to avoid further bloodshed.” He confided in Burrus that before now Severus had been goaded on by killing and thus gaining the attention of Nero but that Severus had seemed to temper his bloodlust of late. “Perhaps Nero has ordered him to stop the bloodshed here because there are problems in
Rome.”

Burrus nodded.  “It’s possible. That would explain his sudden change of heart.”

“Perchance Nero has ordered a halt to this warfare, fearing that Severus will climb to power and threaten his throne.” Valerian took an urn of rainwater and poured it into a bowl, splashing the water on his face. Burrus handed him a woolen cloth to dry his eyes. “If Nero has commanded peace, then I have no doubt that Severus will claim the reward if I am successful, but I do not care. The only thing I seek is peace.”

“Peace,” Burrus intoned, as if the word was sacred. “But will Severus himself keep that peace? Will the chieftains accept
Roman ways?”

“I must try.” Valerian was deep in thought as he donned his laena, the large rectangular cloak of thick soft wool, and drew it over his head. It would offer some protection from the gale.

Burrus groaned. “Well, if we are to win this peace of yours, we cannot stand here talking all day.  Sun or rain—that is the life of a soldier.”

“Let us move on.” Valerian signaled to his men that they were breaking camp and that they would be on the march again. He could see the scowls of the soldiers and hear their muttering, but he knew that no one would dare defy him.

The journey soon became perilous as they were forced to wade in mud up to the ankles. Valerian walked beside Sloan, guiding the horse through the blinding sheets of rain. As he walked, he pulled his cloak tightly around him to keep from being soaked to the skin. As they turned northward, trudging over the high rolling ground where the rain was turning the hillside into a waterfall. Valerian heard some of the men say, “He is crazy!  We should go back.  He is as bad as Severus.”

“Why go back when we can go forward, closer to our destination?” Valerian responded stubbornly. As he walked onward, his thoughts were of Wynne, wondering what she was doing at this very moment.

Wynne sat at the hearth in Tyrone’s lodge, holding Llewellyn on her knee. She enjoyed her visits with her cousin’s family; the babe always delighted her and Isolde was a good companion. She had also resolved to spend as little time in Brenna’s company as possible. “Do you hear that, Llewellyn—that sound on the roof.  It’s raining.”  She laughed as the baby looked towards the ceiling, babbling happily.  “I think he likes the sound…and the rain…..”

“Well I don’t. How I hate this dampness. It cuts through to the very bones.”

“Ah, yes, I keep forgetting how very
old
you are. A whole two years older than I. Yet already the affliction of the bones affects you?”

Isolde snorted in reply, running her hand
through her hair, which was now a cluster of tight ringlets framing her face. “I just prefer the warmth of the sun, that’s all.”

Just then Isolde’s other two children—
Selma and Farrell—came running up to their cousin. Whenever it rained Wynne treated them to songs and stories because they couldn’t go outside. Taking her baby from Wynne’s arms for his feeding, Isolde sat to listen as Wynne began.

“How about the story of the bull and the cranes?” she asked. The children nestled about her, sitting at her feet as she began the story which told of the symbolic meaning of the bull as the power of the spirit. “What do the three cranes stand for?”

“Intelligence,” Farrell answered, his eyes bright as he pointed to his head. 

“That’s right,” Wynne said. “The first crane stood on the head of Tarvos Trigaranos.
‘I am wisdom,’ the crane said, “the wisdom of the gods.’” As she told the story, she used a different pitch of voice for all the cranes, much to the children’s delight. “The third crane said, ‘I am the knowledge of man.’ The second crane also spoke to the bull, saying, ‘I am the interpreter of knowledge and of wisdom. I make it possible for the gods to understand man and for man to communicate with the gods. Without knowledge there can be no wisdom, and without wisdom all our knowledge is lost to us.’”

Kneeling down, Wynne smoothed the dirt of the floor with her hand, picking up a stick and
drawing a picture for the children, of a bull standing near a tree with the three cranes on him—two on his back and one on his head.

“What does the tree signify?” she asked.

“It is the tree of life,” Selma replied, eyeing her brother as if to say that he was not the only intelligent one in the family.

“Yes, that’s right. The tree of life gave immortality to Tarvos Trigaranos. He was very powerful, begetting many ancestors. But he was so puffed up with his own importance that he forgot to thank the tree for giving him the breath of life, and without life itself, no power on earth is of any use.”

Isolde finished feeding her baby, put the sleeping infant down in its bed, and came to Wynne’s side so that she could hear the story more clearly.

“For his transgression the gods ordered the three cranes to attach themselves to the bull for all eternity as a reminder to us, his children, of the blessing of life which we have been given. And to make certain that we keep in tune with nature and these sacred spirits. The cranes symbolize our contact with these blessed ones, our link with the gods.”

Wynne finished her story and smiled at the children. “Now it is time for your nap,” she said, taking them over to their bedshelves. When she returned, her cousin put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for taking time with them.”  There was a long drawn out moment of silence as both thought of the unspoken words—that Wynne had made a choice not to marry Edan or any other member of the tribe and so would never have children of her own. “You are so talented in storytelling. You should have been a Druid.”

Wynne’s eyes took on a faraway look.  “I have dreamed often of that calling, but our tribe does not admit women to the priesthood as other tribes do. Besides, my heart is elsewhere now.”

“You are still thinking of your
Roman,” Isolde stated sympathetically.

“Yes,” Wynne admitted.  For just a moment it was as if Valerian were in the room with them.

“I feel in my heart that you will see him again.  You have given up so much because of your affection for him.  Surely such devotion will be rewarded.” Isolde returned to her weaving and Wynne walked to the doorway to stare out at the rain. Why did she suddenly feel so fearful, as if something terrible were about to occur? Was it the rain?

Usually the rain soothes me,
Wynne thought.
The sound of the rain tapping on the straw roof is so pleasing. But today I want suddenly  to banish the rain, to call upon the goddess of the wind to blow it to the four corners of the earth
.  Stepping outside to let the cool rain fall upon her, she nearly collided with Tyrone, who strode through the door with an angry frown on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, shutting the door behind them as he entered the lodge.

“It’s our captive—the one you call the giant. He is dead!”

“Dead?” Wynne cocked her head so that she could see into his eyes. “Who…? Why….? How did he die?” Surely it had not been by the hand of one of her people, for the judgment had spared him.  “Did he kill himself?”

“No. We found him this morning with a knife in his back.  In his
back
!”

“I hate his kind, and yet to die in such a way….”

“Only a coward would seek to take a life in such a manner.”

Wynne nervously paced the room, her hands trembling. “So it is not ended!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps now we will never know the power behind the force of darkness which threatens us.” Worse yet, it was beginning to look as if someone within the tribe was in league with the dark ones.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wynne stood outside in the sunshine, welcoming its warmth. It had rained for three days and nights. Her father said it was an omen, but now all the rain was gone, leaving only the fragrant breath of the
earth goddess in the air. Wynne filled her lungs with the fresh air, then turned her attentions once again to the antics of the young horse she was training.

“Good girl, Tara. You learn quickly,” she praised, giving the animal its reward of a bit of chopped apple, which the animal took gently from her hand. Wynne was growing fond of
Tara and appreciated the gentleness and grace of the white horse, so different from the powerful and strong Sloan. Tara promised to be the envy of the tribe, just as Sloan had been, for her nimbleness and speed made her impossible to surpass, and when she was on the horse’s back, Wynne felt as if she were racing with the wind.

Gently stroking the animal’s mane, Wynn spoke softly into
Tara’s ear. “Shall we ride again?” It was as if the horse understood for Tara moved closer, enabling Wynne to climb on her back. Round and round the clearing they galloped, giving Wynne the feeling of freedom that had not been hers for a long while.

When at long last she reined in the horse and slid off her back, she heard her father’s voice say in praise, “Good work, daughter. You have done well with the filly.”

“I fear it is Tara who has done the work. I have simply guided her,” she answered with a smile, coming to her father’s side.

“You are a blessing, Wynne,” Adair said, taking her hand in his and pressing tightly in his usual gesture of affection. “You have brought me so much happiness
.  But I worry.”

“Worry?” She assumed he was concerned about the threat from the rogue Celtic tribe.

“If…if…anything were to happen to me….you would have no one to protect…”

She quickly silenced him.  “Don’t speak of such things. I can’t bear to think such thoughts…”

“I must! I am growing older.  At the next full moon I will be one and forty. Therefore I must speak of such things so that you will be prepared.” Together they walked to where a large rock lay embedded in the ground and sat down. “Death is just a pause in the cycle of life, but still I would so hate to leave you.”

Wynne put his large strong hand up to her face, caressing it with her cheek. “I love you so, Father. I could not endure life without you.”

Adair stiffened and pulled his hand away.  “You could and you would!”  He grasped her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes.  “You are a strong woman. I could not love you more if you were a son. But life can be difficult for women.”

“Not for me. I….”

He silenced her. “You have been protected.  But were anything to happen to me your life would change.”  He sighed and she could tell that he was thinking of her determination not to marry Edan. “I would have less cause to worry if you had your own hearth.”

“Father…..”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way it is between you and Brenna.  I am not blind.  And the ill will between the two of you compromises your future.”

Wynne started to speak, but again he silenced her.

“I know whose fault it is. Brenna has been a good wife to me, but she doesn’t have a mother’s heart. She has never stopped being jealous of you. But her sharp tongue has not gone unnoticed by me. If I do not intervene more often, it is because I know that you can fight for yourself. As I said, you are strong. However, if I were gone, Brenna would then be the head of the household, though not of the hearth, and I fear that she would cause you a great deal of sorrow.” He reached up to stroke Wynne’s silky hair in a gesture she remembered well from her  childhood. “Would that you had married Edan….” Seeing her frown he closed his eyes. “Ah, but I will speak no more about it.”

Rising quickly to his feet he offered her a challenge. “Shall we see just how well you have trained that white filly? Are you of a mind to race me?  To that tree far off in the distance and back?”

With a laugh Wynne sprang onto Tara’s back and issued her own challenge as she looked back at him. “To the clearing at the edge of the forest and back,” she shouted. It was the area where she had raced Tara again and again, thus it held a reassuring familiarity.