Love's Blazing Ecstasy (21 page)

There was  rumble of discontent. “No doubt our brothers in the south listened to the
Romans’ false words. They were butchered and the sacred places burned. So much for the Romans’ talk of peace,” Edan cried out. The knowledge that Wynne’s words were uttered out of her love for a Roman seemed to be the spark that fueled his ire.

Wynne fought to maintain her calm. “We are not prepared to fight. We have been at peace too long.”

“We are growing soft!” came the voice of the old warrior, angry at her words. “Someday this peace we wallow in will be the death of us all.” With a snort he walked to the outer circle of the council, leaving behind him an uproar of discussion.

Looking at her father, she begged him to intercede for her, but Adair merely nodded his head as if to tell her that she was doing well. Twelve flickering torches danced in the night as she stood by and watched the warriors in their talk. Finally one of the younger warriors spoke.

“Is it not true that the Romans will govern us as they do in the lands to the south?”

All eyes were upon Wynne, waiting eagerly for her answer. “You are right, Maddock,” she answered the red-haired warrior. “Our chieftain Cedric, will become an official of  the
Roman Empire, reporting to Rome.”

At her words turmoil broke out, shouts of anger that no Celt would ever agree to such a thing; threats to slit all the
Romans’ throats and hang their heads on the walls as the great ancestors had done. Wynne cursed herself for a fool for not weighing her words more carefully when so much depended upon this night and what was decided here. But all was not lost yet. If the vote was taken now, however, she knew well that the vote would be for war.

She was surprised when Cedric himself put up a hand to motion silence. He stood up from his place at the fire, tall, strong, red-gold hair gleaming in the firelight.

“I understand your feelings,” he said sternly, holding his head up with the dignity which befitted a leader, “but we must think carefully before we decide what to do and not be goaded on by our anger.” With powerful strides he walked toward the fire, and taking his sword, drew a rough map upon the heard ground. “The Romans now are the rulers of a vast empire. Even here in Britain they occupy nearly one-third of the lands.” He sliced at the map like one would an apple. “Here,” he said, pointing to the area north of Humber and Trent, west of Severn and Exe, “is the area where the Roman soldiers have their great fortresses, here at Eboracum and at Caerlcon. And here”—he drew a host of lines through the map—“are the roads which they have built like a web through our land.”

Wynne could see that the warriors were restless. A rumbling sounded through the night.

Cedric continued. “Wynne is right. We cannot win in our battle against the Romans. We are not prepared for war at this time. We have grown soft. Therefore I advise that we make peace with these would-be rulers of the world. There is much we can learn from them. And if they are as ruthless as some fear, we can use their own strategy against them. In the meantime, we can again make ourselves strong.”

Again the red-haired Maddock stood up. “No. We must not bend our necks to the
Roman yoke. We have been slaves to no men. I will not be one now!”

Each warrior took his turn to say his piece, some arguing against Wynne and Cedric, others speaking for peace. Long into the night the arguments raged. Looking over at her father, Wynne could see that he was wisely weighing every word before he took his turn. Finally that time came about.

“I have listened to all of your words,” he said. “I too have pride. I, like you, would not want to see us as vassals of the Roman Empire, but I feel that to declare war is folly…self-sacrifice. I propose to you that we listen to the words of the Roman soldiers before we decide what course of action to take. What harm is there in listening? I suggest that we put our trust in the honesty and honor of this tribune who rides upon us. Show him that we will talk peace with him, if that is his desire. Then, if we can come to no understanding, we will turn to warfare, but first we must listen.”

Wynne drew strength from  her father’s words, knowing that he was wise. When it was her turn again, she suggested that as a symbol of goodwill they lay down their arms, for no soldiers would make war upon unarmed people

“I will take back our answer to the centurion tomorrow at dusk,” she said. There was silence as the moment of voting drew near.

“Maddock, what is your vote?” Maddock, as Wynne
had suspected, stuck the point of his javelin in the ground. “Cedric.” His was a vote for peace. “Edan.” War. “Adair” – again peace. The next three warriors buried the points of their javelins in the earth. War.

Thirty-six warriors were to vote that night, three circles of twelve. When the count was taken, twelve were for war, twenty-four for peace.

So be it. My answer to Valerian is that the Celtic people, my people, agree to talk peace
, Wynne thought with relief. This should have made her content—it was the answer she had longed for, yet suddenly she was nearly overwhelmed by a vision of mayhem and slaughter.  It was a feeling so potent that it made her fall to her knees.

“No….” For one brief moment she was tempted to heed the warning of these bloody images, to caution the warriors. But she did not because logic and her trust of Valerian told her that no harm could come of seeking peace. She shook her head to clear away the distressing pictures.

“So, daughter, you have been granted your request for peace,” Adair said proudly. “No warrior could have done better.”

“Yes, I have, Father. Let me not live to regret it,” she answered, taking his hand and walking beside him as Cedric and Edan lifted up his chair and carried him back to his lodge.

Before daybreak Valerian was up and about, anxious for the Celtic campaign to be over. He prayed to all his gods that the answer Wynne would bring with her would be for peace.

The earth was covered with a mist which gave the land a magical appearance, as if they
had been transported to the land of the gods. Valerian had learned from soldiers in his camp who had been several years in this country, that it was often thus in this boggy land.

His men all seemed to be of good cheer, grateful for a chance to rest after their long, tedious journey.
They lounged around the water or in their tents, gambled with dice, told ribald stories, and those who were so inclined went hunting.  The countryside abounded with wild game, so they were well fed.

“So, centurion. I see that you have returned.”
Like some of the more productive soldiers, Burrus had been hunting and had two fat geese slung over his shoulder on a long stick.

“Yes, and I have much reason for optimism,” Valerian answered.

Burrus grinned knowingly at Valerian’s disheveled appearance,  the marks on his neck and scratches on his back, which told the young soldier not only that the mission had gone well but also that the handsome centurion had spent the hours away in the arms of a passionate woman.

“Then we are to have peace?”

“Tonight at dusk I will know for certain, but I feel in my heart that the answer will be peace.”

“I hope so.  I am tired of killing
.”  He handed the geese to the soldier who acted as the cook. “Unless it is for food.”

Together Valerian and Burrus made plans to ensure that Severus kept his word. They would seek him out just as soon as Valerian got his answer.

“We will ride southeast to meet his legion,” Valerian decided. “Prepare the men to break camp at dawn tomorrow. We will ride like the wind ahead of the foot soldiers so that we may intercept Severus in plenty of time to counsel with him.”

The day progressed so slowly that Valerian thought he would go mad. He longed to see Wynne again, not only to find out her people’s decision but also to feel again the rapture of their lovemaking. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman—beautiful, wise, brave, kind, and she had a passion which sparked his own desire. What a wife she would make, and he would wed her, for he wanted to spend his entire lifetime with
her. Valerian’s thoughts turned to Severus. Would he be disappointed to learn there would be peace? Even Severus would not command his men to attack unarmed men, and Valerian would make certain that he informed Severus of the peaceful intentions of the Celtic peoples in the presence of several of the other centurions so that no mistakes could be made as to orders.

Had Valerian been able to see the face of his tribune at that moment, he would not have felt so optimistic. The tribune and his soldiers were camped much closer then Valerian would have ever dreamed, only a mile or so from Valerian’s own camp, on the rid
ge of a hill. From where Severus now stood, he could see the distant figures of his centurion’s army and cursed Valerian under his breath.

“He thinks to strike first so that the glory will be his. No doubt that golden-haired harlot I saw him cavorting with is his spy and has told him the secrets which will help him to be victorious.” His beady eyes gleamed with his hatred for the dark-haired centurion. He had always had everything he wanted—a powerful senator for a fat
her, riches, good looks. It had always been so easy for Valerian; hadn’t he always gotten his way? Well, no more. Severus would not let the young upstart wrest this glory away from him, not when he, Severus Cicero, had been forced to work so hard to get where he was now, groveling before the rich and powerful in order to become a tribune.

What would be Valerian’s battle plan? Surprise, no doubt, for his small century would be outnumbered by the Celtic warriors, and they were ferocious fighters. Yet if they were taken unaware, before they had the chance to band together with other tribes, they would be vulnerable.

“At dawn. Valerian prepares to attack in the early hours of the dawn,” he said in triumph. “But I will have already won my victory by then.” He chuckled to himself.  It was all to be so easy. What better way to ensure victory than to strike down a warrior while he was at ease, attending to his dinner?

“At dusk. We will attack at the setting of the sun. We will slaughter them before they have a chance to arm themselves, then we will burn down the oak trees in their sacred groves so that there will be no place on this earth where those savages can hide.”

He smiled his toothy smile as he thought of the pleasure he would get from the sight of Valerian’s expression when the centurion learned how Severus Cicero had bested him.

“And then I will derive extreme pleasure from separating his handsome head from his shoulders,” he cried aloud, hugging his arms about his chest like a small boy. “I will put him to death for the traitor he is.”

With a frenzied urgency, the tribune made his way down the hill to his tent, his heart drumming in his breast. He must prepare his men for their evening onslaught—
his
victory!

The shadows of the afternoon were deepening as Wynne rode Tara through the forest. Looking up at the sky, she was alarmed by the commotion of the birds, squawking and flying to and fro as if something had disturbed their peace. She veered off her chosen path in order to investigate the clearing for any signs of danger, thinking perhaps the creatures of the sky sensed the presence of the darkness cult, but she could not find a trace of any humans near the area. Still, she had an uneasy feeling as she rode onward to her meeting with Valerian.

Approaching the cave, she
took pleasure in the sight of Sloan standing before the entrance, regal and proud. It had been so long since she had ridden him, and she realized now just how much she had missed him. Slipping from Tara’s back, she secured the mare tightly to a tree, fearful lest the animal stray, and ran to where the large black horse stood grazing at the grass in front of the cave.

“Sloan!” The animal raised his head and nickered in greeting. Wynne patted his head, then looked around
for Valerian. 

“He has missed you,” she heard a voice behind her say. Coming toward her from out of the forest, he held a bouquet of wildflowers towards her. “For you. Violets.”

“I love violets.” Smiling her thanks, she took the flowers and breathed deeply of their fragrance, touched by his gesture.

“They always remind me of you.” He took her hand and gently led her into the cave. “From your countenance, I feel  that the answer you have brought me is that there will be peace between our people.”

“Yes.” Taking his hand, she told him about the war council, giving him an abbreviated but accurate account of the happenings.

“I knew you would be successful.”

She flushed under the scrutiny of his eyes and at the memory of the passion they had shared the day before.  “I was not so certain.”

Bending forward, grasping her shoulders, he kissed her long and lingeringly, running his hands through her hair, whispering that she was and always would be his treasure.  When at last they broke away, they were both smiling.

“Tomorrow at the first rays of the sun my soldiers and I will ride out to meet Severus Cicero. Even he cannot make war when there is a truce.” He pulled off his armor, throwing it down on the ground beside his helmet which he had discarded earlier. “Tomorrow at dawn I will ride out and will be gone for several days, but I will come back for you.”