Celtic Fire (13 page)

Rhiannon chuckled. “Then what will you do, if not study?”

“Would you like to play a game?”

“What game?”

Marcus slid off his stool and moved to the cupboard. “I’m not allowed to go through the scrolls, but Magister Demetrius didn’t say anything about Uncle Aulus’s games.” He opened the cupboard’s tall doors and rummaged through the contents.

He extracted a wooden board and two leather pouches. “I knew there would be a Robbers board in there,” he said, returning to Rhiannon’s side. “Uncle Aulus taught me to play. It was his favorite.”

He frowned at the crowded table, then simply pushed his stool to one side and sat on the floor, setting the checkered square of wood in front of him. Rhiannon seated herself opposite him and leaned forward. “How do you play?”

Marcus upended the larger pouch, releasing a shower of black and white tiles. He took the black squares for himself and pushed the white ones toward Rhiannon. Then he fished around in the second pouch and drew out two round stone disks, one of each color.

“This is your leader, the
Dux,”
he said. “He’s in charge of your band of robbers. If you lose him, the game’s over.” He began placing his tiles on the board, one by one. Rhiannon did the same. As she set down her last token, Marcus broke into a wide grin.

Her men were surely doomed.

She was right—Marcus’s robbers made short work of hers in the first battle. Rhiannon lost a second round, but managed to take the third match.

“You learn far too quickly,” Marcus grumbled.

She laughed and leaned forward to ruffle his curls. “I have a good teacher.”

“Let’s see if you’re any good at Knucklebones.” He rummaged once more in the cupboard and returned with a pouch of small bones. “Sheep’s knuckles,” Marcus explained. He chose five and held them in one palm.

With a sharp motion, he tossed the bones in the air and tried to catch them on the back of the same hand. Three clattered to the floor, but the remaining two stuck.

“I can do better,” he said. He scooped up the bones and tried again.

Rhiannon fished more bones from the pouch and imitated Marcus’s toss. All five bounced off her knuckles and skittered under the table. Marcus giggled. Rhiannon retrieved the bones and tried again, sending the lad into a fit of laughter when her second attempt failed as miserably as the first.

He made a noise of superiority and tossed his own set. Rhiannon swatted at the bones in midtoss, knocking three across the room.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” Marcus said.

“I just did,” Rhiannon replied, tossing her own bones well out of Marcus’s reach.

The lad lunged for them, but Rhiannon still managed to catch one on the back of her hand. She threw him a triumphant look.

Marcus dove for the bone, slamming into Rhiannon with his full weight. They fell together in a heap on the Robbers board, scattering the tiles across the floor. Marcus scrambled to one side. Rhiannon hoisted herself onto her elbows, met his startled gaze, and burst into laughter.

Marcus hooted and dropped onto his back on the floor, arms flung wide. Rhiannon leaned back against a leg of the table, giggling like a lass.

“Clearly,” Marcus said, chortling, “I’m the winner.”

“No, let me try again.” She gathered five of the bones and tried again to catch them on the back of her hand. When they bounced off her knuckles, she dissolved once more into laughter. “Truly, Marcus. No one could succeed at this game!”

Marcus sat up and collected another handful. “Uncle Aulus could catch all five,” he said. “So can Father. I saw them playing once late at night.”

Rhiannon could scarcely imagine it. She readied her pieces for a third try. “You jest. I’m not so foolish as to believe your father excels in such a frivolous pastime.”

“Well, you should, because—”

“It is true,” a man’s voice said.

Rhiannon’s head snapped up. Lucius stood in the doorway—how long had he been there? Mud stained his bare legs and marred the shine of his armor. He’d yet to remove his helmet—the plumes of its crest brushed the door’s stone lintel. The side guards shaded his expression, but she felt his scrutiny with every fiber of her being.

“Father!” Marcus’s voice hit a high note.

Rhiannon scrambled to her feet, her fist closed tightly on her set of bones.

Marcus leaped up as well. His foot slipped on a heap of Robbers tiles, sending him skidding across the floor. He grabbed for the edge of the table, missed, and went sprawling atop it. A writing tablet skittered across the stone and crashed to the floor.

“Jupiter help me,” Lucius muttered.

Marcus shot him a fearful glance and dove under the table to retrieve the tablet.

“Marcus,” Lucius said.

Marcus jerked his head around and it hit the underside of the table with a crack. He sucked in a breath and emerged slowly, clutching the tablet like a lifeline. Rising to his feet, he placed it on the table with exaggerated care.

“Marcus, come to me,” Lucius commanded. Marcus stiffened as though he feared his father would run him through with his sword.

Rhiannon stepped between them. Lucius’s startled gaze focused on her. “Stand aside,” he said.

“No.” Behind her, Marcus gasped. She held out her palm and offered Lucius the knucklebones. “I would see you perform the feat of which you boast.”

His expression turned as dark as a thundercloud. “Very well.”

She dropped the bones into his palm and retreated to Marcus’s side. Lucius weighed the set in his hand. When he looked up, his expression was inscrutable. “What is learned as a child is seldom forgotten.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, he sent the bones aloft. His palm flipped downward. All five knucklebones landed, neatly balanced, on the back of his hand.

Marcus gave a gasp of delight. Lucius’s opposite palm closed over the bones. Retrieving a pouch from the floor, he slid the pieces inside and handed the bag to Marcus. “Put this room in order and return to your studies.”

The lad took the bag, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “At once, Father.”

Lucius turned to Rhiannon. “Come.”

She shot a sidelong glance at Marcus. “No. I’ll stay and help Marcus tidy the room.”

Marcus made a strangled sound. Rhiannon snorted. Did no one ever contradict Lucius? If not, it was time someone did.

Lucius fixed Rhiannon with a glare that would have caused even the most battle-hardened soldier to drop to his knees. And indeed, Rhiannon did drop to her knees, but not to cower. She began gathering the scattered Robbers pieces.

Lucius grasped her by the elbow and hauled her back to her feet. The game tiles she held clattered to the floor. “Come,” he repeated in a tone that brooked no defiance.

He propelled her out the door. When it had shut behind them, Rhiannon wrenched her arm from Lucius’s grip. “What are you about? You scared Marcus half to death.”

Lucius shot her a dark glance. “I only wish you were as easy to frighten. Why were you disturbing my son’s studies?”

“He sought me out.” She strode past him into the courtyard. The rain had lightened. Only a few stray drops stirred the puddles.

She stopped at the edge of the fountain. Lucius came to a halt behind her, not touching, but so close she could smell the musk of the day’s exertion on his skin. Warmth pooled low in her belly. He set one hand on her shoulder and an odd restlessness shot through her. Feigning nonchalance, she moved away, breaking the contact.

“The boy needs to attend his studies,” Lucius said.

“He needs a father more. Especially since he has lost his mother.” She sank down onto the stone bench and dabbled her fingertips in the water. A measure of the Great Mother’s calm flowed into her, enough that she dared a look into Lucius’s eyes.

She saw sorrow there, and regret, before his gaze shuttered. “Demetrius thought the journey north might turn Marcus’s mind from his mother’s death.” He bent and picked up a pebble that had strayed from the path to nestle in the dirt. “He was very attached to her.” He tossed the pebble from hand to hand, not meeting her gaze.

“Yet she lay with another man while you were at war. She died bearing his child.”

He started. The pebble glanced off his arm and plunked into the pool, splattering water over the edge. “Marcus told you that?”

“No. He’s far too innocent. He told me only that you’d been gone more than a year before the babe’s birth.”

“Another reason why I consented to bring Marcus to Britannia,” Lucius said. “Rome is a city built as much of gossip and rumor as it is of stone. Sooner or later Marcus would have realized the truth. I would rather his memory of Julia be unsullied, at least while he is young.”

“Even after she shamed you?”

Lucius shrugged. “I hadn’t visited my wife’s bed since before Marcus’s birth and Jupiter knows I was not celibate all that time. I could hardly expect Julia to comport herself like a Vestal in a city where bed partners change more frequently than the weather.” He met Rhiannon’s gaze. “But I did expect her to use whatever means necessary to avoid bearing a bastard.”

“Oh.” She kept her eyes fixed on the surface of the pool. “Did you not love her?”

He was silent for a time. Rhiannon’s breath grew shallow, though she tried to tell herself that his answer was of no matter to her.

“I loved her once,” he replied finally. “Or thought I did. Long ago, when I was young and blind with lust. Before I discovered she was a gilded box that didn’t contain the treasure I’d hoped for.” He shook his head, as if clearing the memory from his mind. “Julia was a good mother; I cannot fault her on that score. I know Marcus feels her loss.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to be gentle with him.”

“And encourage his weakness?” Lucius replied. “No. I think not. He’s better served by putting sentiment aside and applying his mind to Aristotle’s logic. I fear for his future if he does not. Every day he grows more like …”

“His mother?” Rhiannon ventured when Lucius fell silent.

“No,” he replied sharply. “Not like Julia. Like Aulus. My brother. Marcus cares more for tales of fancy than for the world before his eyes. Like the story of a Celt woman who ate a bad child and birthed a beautiful one from his bones.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. “Marcus told you that story?”

Lucius snorted. “He babbled incessantly of it on the road.”

“The story of the crone mother teaches that good is birthed from the bones of evil, even as day rises from night.”

“Evil brings only more of the same,” Lucius replied. “Marcus must learn that.”

“He’s yet a lad, and seeking his purpose. His sensitivity is a strength, not a failing. It will lead him to wisdom.”

“Or to disaster. My brother’s death proves it.”

A vivid image of Aulus’s death flashed through Rhiannon’s mind. “How so?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Lucius drew his dagger and tested its edge with his thumb, an unconscious gesture that raised the hairs on Rhiannon’s nape. “There’s a man residing in this house. Tribune Vetus. Perhaps you have seen him?”

“The officer who frequents the baths?”

Lucius gave a short, mirthless laugh. “None other. I came north believing Vetus had murdered my brother.” His fingers flexed on the dagger’s hilt.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

Lucius swiped his blade into the air and then to the side in one sleek motion, fighting an unseen enemy. “Vetus penned the report of my brother’s death. Aulus supposedly died while hunting for boar. A sport he abhorred. I suspected Tribune Vetus invented the story. I came north to discover why.” He pressed the tip of his dagger to his thumb, piercing his flesh. A single drop of crimson blood welled from the cut and dropped to the earth.

Rhiannon sucked in a breath. Could it be that Lucius was unaware of the true circumstances surrounding his brother’s death? But why would the tribune invent such a fiction? “What have you found out?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“So far, little.” Lucius resheathed his blade with a brutal motion and began to pace the gravel path. Stones crunched under his boots. “Aulus’s bones lie in the fort cemetery, yet all witnesses to his death have conveniently disappeared. Vetus is an indolent fool. If he betrayed my brother, I have yet to discover his motive. But the fact remains that someone is lying.” His dark eyes glittered. “If there is a man in this fort who knows the truth, I will find him.”

And if the truth is known only by a woman?
Rhiannon withdrew her finger from the pool and crossed her arms over her middle, feeling suddenly ill.

He stopped pacing, pausing in front of Rhiannon’s bench and meeting her gaze. “Justice will be served. When it is, I will leave this wretched island and return to Rome as a civilian. A seat in the Senate awaits me. I can no longer avoid the duty of occupying it.” His expression softened. “I’ll take you with me when I go, of course. I think I would enjoy showing you my homeland.”

Rome.
If the luxury of this house was any measure, the capital must hold wonders far beyond her dreams. Part of her longed to see such glory, but she knew such a thing would never come to pass. She refrained from saying as much to Lucius. It mattered little.

She would soon be gone.

At midday, Rhiannon renewed her search for Cormac. Surely he’d returned from the fort village by now. She would corner him in the storeroom and hear a plan of escape from his thick lips, even if it meant the entire household believed they coupled between the shelves.

She found him outside the rear entrance to the kitchens, maneuvering a heavily laden cart. It was the first time Rhiannon had seen the door unbarred. She looked past her brother-in-law’s stubby frame to the unfettered daylight beyond. Even the narrow alley between the house and the stables glowed with freedom.

“Have ye heard from Edmyg?” she asked, rescuing a delicate bundle of spring greens from his rough hands.

“Aye. He came to the village himself. I had words with him while Claudia fussed over a fisherman’s morning catch.” Cormac set his shoulders under a cask of
cervesia
and heaved it from the cart and into the kitchen. Bronwyn looked up from tending the oven fires and giggled. Claudia, an enormous Roman woman with strong beefy arms and swarthy skin, frowned at the girl.