Celtic Fire(92)

She inched closer to Edmyg and the other men, keeping to the cover of the trees and avoiding the tents and brush shelters erected by the warriors who had come to attack Vindolanda. They counted in the hundreds—about equal, she thought, to the number of men in the fort. Even if the garrison were to prove loyal, Lucius faced a hard fight if the clansmen attacked as one.

That didn’t seem likely. At present the formidable force faced off not against a common enemy but against each other. How did Edmyg imagine he could defeat Rome if he couldn’t keep order within his own ranks?

She crept closer, scanning the stony expressions of her kinsmen as she descended the rocky slope. So many lads, so many old men! They might take Vindolanda if the garrison soldiers mutinied, but how did they hope to remove the conquerors permanently? For every Roman that fell, another would march from the south to take his place. Legionary soldiers, not auxiliary troops. If they fought with even half Lucius’s skill, her people would be slaughtered.

“Ye are a coward.” Edmyg hoisted his sword into the air as punctuation to his declaration. Rhiannon reached the bottom of the hill. She paused in the shelter of a broad oak and pulled herself onto the rise of a fallen limb.

“Ye’d best be watching yer words, lad,” Kynan said.

Rhiannon reached for a higher branch, hoisting herself upward to get a better view of the old warrior. He was hard with muscle, but lean where Edmyg was bulky. His graying hair and beard were braided in dirty strands. In his youth he might have been handsome, but now, with his nose cut away, most would call him no less than hideous. Despite his appearance—or perhaps because of it—Kynan had the respect of the clans. His reputation was that of a coolheaded warrior and shrewd chieftain. She could choose no one more suited to serve the Brigantes as king.

“We’ll ne’er be having a better chance to take the fort,” Edmyg said. He lifted his sword and angled the tip toward Kynan’s heart.

Kynan crossed his arms over his chest rather than drawing his own weapon. Edmyg’s gaze narrowed at the insult. Muttering snaked through the onlookers.

“I’ll nay act again on the advice of the misshapen brute ye call brother,” Kynan said.

“Cormac willna fail us.”

“As he didna fail us on the day of that ill-fated raid?” Kynan said. “I tell ye, Edmyg, I’ll not be risking what kin I have yet living on the word of such a creature. By rights, he should have been exposed at birth.”

Edmyg rose on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight subtly forward. The point of his sword darted upward and nicked the flesh at the base of Kynan’s throat. The warrior standing at Kynan’s right elbow unsheathed his sword. The older man waved him back.

“Will ye kill me, Edmyg, before our kin, for the sake of a plan destined to fail?”

“It willna fail. And even were the odds against us, we are honor-bound to see the attack to its end. Have ye forgotten that Rhiannon is held within the fort? Would ye be leaving her in Roman hands? She’ll be lost to us if ye turn coward now.”

Rhiannon stifled a gasp. Edmyg refused to aid her escape from Vindolanda—while he used her plight to rally the reluctant factions among the clans! An effective bit of strategy—no matter if Rhiannon delivered Lucius or not, Edmyg stood to gain from her capture. The subtlety of his thinking surprised her. Rhiannon never would have guessed Edmyg capable of it—his mind was as blunt and brutal as his manner. The scenario had the hallmarks of one of Cormac’s plots …

Dear Briga! Was Cormac the author of the scheme to use her as a whore? Did Edmyg even know of it?

“Tell me, Kynan,” Edmyg said. “Will we suffer our queen to be taken as a bed-slave?”

For the first time, the old warrior hesitated.

Edmyg stepped back and lowered his sword. “Rhiannon seeks the courage of her warriors! Who among ye will aid her?”

His warriors sent up an answering shout. Kynan’s men soon joined them. The old chieftain dropped his gaze, the slump of his shoulders signaling his defeat.

“We attack at the moon’s rise,” Edmyg shouted.

“Nay!” Rhiannon’s cry couldn’t pierce the ensuing uproar. She scrambled from the tree and into the throng, darting between the warriors until she stood panting at Edmyg’s side. He stared at her as if she were an apparition. Kynan’s expression was no less astonished.

Edmyg grabbed Rhiannon by the arm and hauled her aside. “What of Cormac?” he said in a low voice. “Has he brought the Roman to the circle?”

Rhiannon let out a gasp. “Ye knew. Ye bade me lie with another man.”

“Of course I did, woman. ’Twas our best hope of capturing the dog alive. Madog said—”