Love's Blazing Ecstasy (35 page)

Leaning back she
enjoyed the pleasure of being free, if only for tonight, then tiring, she went to lay down beside Meghan, and fell asleep.

At first light Wynne opened her eyes, expecting to be surrounded by soldiers, but the gods were smiling upon her this day. In the distance she saw a flurry of activity—the soldiers were tearing down the tents and breaking camp. Why were they making ready to leave? she wondered.

Approaching a young soldier, she inquired as to the reason for their hasty departure.

“We make ready to travel to the southeast,” the freckled soldier told her. “To the city of Londinium.”

“Why?”

“I know not. I only heard that the Emperor Nero himself has commanded it. Last night at the banquet the tribune received the order that we must leave with the light of the sun.” He laughed. “It will be good to be in civilization again, where there is decent lodging in villas and a man can have a decent bath.”

“Londinium,” She repeated, feeling the name somehow boded well. Perhaps once she was there she could escape Severus and take Meghan with her.

And so, once again my life changes
, she thought.

Southeast Britain
- Londinium

“
Two souls with but a single thought,

Two hearts that beat as one.”

--Boëthius,
Consolations of Philosophy

Chapter Forty-Three

A blanket of snow covered the ground, shining in the light like sparkling jewels. Winter had come to
Britain, bringing with it a bitter cold.

Wynne stood in the atrium of the roman villa where she lived with Severus, gazing down at the mosaic floor that depicted Mars, the Roman god of war. She could not help thinking that the god looked fierce and unyielding, like the Romans who worshipped him.

The villa was not at all like anything she could ever have imagined, as different from the lodges she had lived in as night was from the day.  The lodges had been closer to the earth with their dirt floors and roofs of dried straw. Only in the cold of winter had her people kept inside their homes, preferring to spend their time outdoors mingling with nature.  The Romans, however, seemed to be overly fond of spending their time in idleness, cooped up in the brick boxes which made Wynne feel even more like a prisoner. A gabled roof shed rain and snow, and the multitude of windows let in whatever sunshine might break through the clouds.

The entire interior
of the villa had mosaic floors and Wynne could not understand why they did not want to keep their feet on the earth, which was soft, and yielding. Perhaps the only thing about the villa that she did like was the central heating. A hard black rock was mined from the surface of the southeast and used to warm these villas. Wynne had learned that this coal, as it was called, was burned like wood in stoves which were connected to hot-air conduits in the walls and floors.

The Romans’ baths, too, impressed her. In the corner of the room was a gigantic marble tub sunk deep into the ground like a small pool. It was large enough for six large Romans to enter at the same time.

These Romans are trying hard to become as gods
, she thought, trying to best the Goddess of the Waters and make their own lakes inside their villas. They were as wasteful in their use of water as they were in everything else they touched. Wynne’s people on the other hand, knew how precious the gift of the goddess was and used it sparingly, taking only sponge baths when they were not able to plunge into the depths of a lake. Besides, there was always the danger of taking a chill when the fires of the sky were sleeping their winter slumber.

At first Wynne had refused to bathe in these large Roman pools, but finding that she did not catch the chill and that the water was warm and soothing, she soon began to indulge in them frequently.

Wynne had been in this villa for two cycles of the moon, long days of boredom, for all Severus wished her to do was look beautiful and adorn his home. Fortunately for her, Severus was gone with his troops for the time being to a distant part of the land. He would most likely return soon, but Wynne did not fear him any longer. Since he had been ordered to Londinium by Nero, he had become a changed man. He had even neglected to punish Wynne for her interference at the banquet the night she had saved Meghan from ravishment.

Why? What frightened him?
She wondered, for she knew that only the base emotions—fear, greed, lust—motivated the man.

W
ynne missed seeing Meghan, for Burrus and the slave girl were housed far from Severus’ villa.  It had been Burrus’ choice, his way perhaps to atone for his lack of  courage the night of Meghan’s dancing by keeping her as far away from Severus now as possible. Wynne suspected that there was another reason as well; Burrus wanted Meghan all to himself.  She could only hope that the budding love she knew the two felt for each other would blossom into the kind of love that was sung about in Celtic legends.

Sighing, Wynne let her undergarment slip to the floor and pinned up her golden mass of hair. The water in the bath was perfect now, not too cold nor too hot. She liked this room with its murals of trees and flowers. When she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that she was back home again bathing in her lake. Reclining in the bath, letting the water wash over her, she felt tranquil and at peace.

A voice from the doorway startled her. Looking up she saw the face of the same messenger she had encountered at Eboracum, who had brought news of Valerian.

A slave girl ran in after him. “I told him you were at your bath and not to come in here,” she cried.

“It’s all right,” Wynne said, trying to placate the girl. “Just bring me my robe.”

The girl held up a cream-colored linen wrap and Wynne stepped out of the tub and drew the soft fabric around her in such a way that her body was continually shielded from the messenger’s sight.
  “Now, what is it?” she asked, turning to the flustered young man.

“I wish to see the tribune Severus,” he said, his eyes moving back and forth, hoping for another glimpse of Wynne’s lovely body. “I was certain you would know where he is.”

“He is not here,” she answered curtly, anxious to get back to her bath.

“I have a message for him. I must find him,” the young soldier stammered.

“He won’t be back tonight, nor the next,” she said with a scowl, piqued by the young man’s shifty manner and his ever-staring eyes. “What is the message you have to deliver? I will give it to him the moment he arrives.”

The young soldier was wary, as if wondering how loyal she was to Severus, then as if deciding that she must be held in some esteem if she had slaves at her beck and call, he relented. “Well…I was told to give the message only to Severus, but how can I when the tribune is not here?”  He shifted from foot to foot as he thought the matter out. “I don’t want to wait but then again I do not want to anger the tribune by giving this to the wrong person.”  He glanced warily at Wynne.

“Either tell me or be gone,” she said simply.

“It is the centurion…”

“Burrus?” For a moment she was afraid that something had happened to the young soldier.

“No, the other centurion.
Valerian Quillon Tullius. He has returned from Rome. The ship is even now in the harbor. The tribune wanted to know the moment we heard.”

Valerian.
Wynne turned away idly, as if this information were a matter of indifference to her.  But all the while her emotions were in turmoil.  Afraid that her face would reveal her tumultuous feelings she took a deep breath and forced herself to regain control. When she had composed herself, she turned around and faced the messenger. “When will he arrive in Londonium?”

“On the morrow. He is traveling with General Cassius Quintus himself,” he proclaimed.

The idea of seeing Valerian again so soon played turmoil with her senses, but the memory of his treachery hardened her heart.

This time when I see him I will be prepared for his lies, she thought bitterly when the messenger had gone. No more will I listen to his soft words. I know him for the dog that he is.

Her father’s face swam before her eyes. She remembered that he had been helpless to defend himself against the sword of the centurion and recalled the sight of the familiar sword stained with blood.  And Edan’s testimony!  What further proof did she need?

“Valerian,” she cried out, her voice choked with a confusion of grief and rage and thwarted love. She must avenge her father so that he could enter upon his new life with peace and contentment. Such was the Celtic law of life and death.

Valerian must die!
  It was a sentence she knew the Druids would have meted out had they been alive.  He who killed her father must likewise suffer death.  Let the others of her people avenge the Romans’ assault on their families by Severus and the other soldiers, she was the one who had to seek revenge for her father’s death.  It was her responsibility and her duty. Somehow she would have to find the courage. And yet, she felt a part of her die at the very thought of Valerian no longer walking the earth among the living.

From the deck of the roman galley, Valerian could see across the bay to Londinium. The city had recently risen to economic and military importance as a port on the Thames River and as a hub of radiating roads throughout the conquered territory. Valerian had no doubt that soon Londinium would be the Roman capital of Britain instead of Camulodunum.

Excitement rose within him as he looked at the city. Soon, very soon, Severus would pay for the atrocities he had committed.
There was nowhere he could hide.

The voyage to
Rome had been rough, but he had arrived safely and had been greeted warmly by his father, who had already received his message. Meghan had done well.

His father had greeted him with news of his family, which he was glad to receive, but another bit of news had interested but not surprised him. He had been betrothed to his cousin Marcia, a girl of fifteen. With Wynne dead, he had no reason to oppose the engagement and so planned to marry her upon his return to
Rome in a few months. He remembered her to be a pleasant dark-haired girl whose family influence was even more powerful than his own. With her he would raise a family and have a docile wife.

After family matters had been settled, Valerian had detailed to his father the events of the Celtic campaign under Severus. He had told his father all, including the slaughter of the unarmed tribesmen and his efforts to bring peace. It turned out that Severus was already being watched by
Rome, for it was not the first time he had displayed his cruelty and his ruthless ambition. But in sentencing Valerian to death, he had really overstepped his authority. Only a general was empowered with that power. It was obvious that Severus was establishing his own little empire in Britain, thus challenging the Emperor Nero himself. So Severus had been called to Londinium to await the arrival of Cassius Quintus, who brought with him a new order. A new tribune—Valerian Quillon Tullius—would take the place of Severus, who would return to Rome to be dealt with by Nero.

“Well, Valerian, we are nearly to
Britain,” a voice said behind him. Looking up, Valerian found himself staring into the eyes of his general, Cassius Quintus, a handsome man with silver-streaked dark hair. “Tell me, what did you think of these Celts?”

“I found them very much like any other  people,” he answered with a slight smile, remembering the spirited Wynne. Such fond memories. “The same fighting spirit and need for freedom. The Celts you will meet
these days in Londinium though, are Romanized. Some are even citizens of Rome, worshipping our gods and living in our villas. The world is getting smaller day by day.”

“Oh, no. I feel that there is always new territory to be had for the glory of Rome, lands across the many seas that we do not even know about yet,” Cassius Quintus answered thoughtfully, gazing out across the ocean. He turned again to Valerian. “When we arrive in Londinium, we will go to the villa of Severus. That will be your new home.”

“Severus will no doubt be livid,” Valerian said with a laugh, enjoying the thought of seeing the tribune’s face when he heard the news. “Will he take his slaves back with him to Rome?”

Cassius Quintus thought for a moment. “Ordinarily he would be entitled to keep all his property. In this situation, however, I would like to see all of Severus’ possessions, with the exception of his clothing and personal belongings, transferred to you, including his slaves, which will please you.”

“How so?”

“I have heard that his concubine is a rare beauty—a Celtic priestess, so the rumor goes—so you should benefit largely by my decree.”

“I am not particularly interested in his whore. One woman is as good as another, isn’t that right?” They both laughed at this, and Valerian felt a pang at the realization that without Wynne he really did feel this way. One woman would be the same as another—just a warm body to quench his desires and warm his bed.

“Perhaps in this instance that is not necessarily true. Severus was said to be obsessed with this woman.”