“I only asked,” Kyna said apologetically. “Sometimes we regret what we have refused, or thrown away.”
They were called into the atrium, where the family altar was set up. Proudly, Quintus Drusus bestowed his own praenomen, or first name, upon his son. Gently he hung a beautiful carved gold bulla about the baby’s neck. The locket, held together by a wide spring, contained a powerful charm within the two halves that would protect its wearer until he became a man. With the dignity befitting the patriarch of a great family, Quintus Drusus intoned prayers to the gods, and to Mars in particular, for this was the month of Mars. He prayed that Quintus Drusus, the younger, would live a long and happy life. Then he sacrificed a lamb, newborn on the same day as his son, and two snow-white doves to honor the gods so that his prayers would be favorably received.
Once the religious ceremony was over, the celebration and feasting began. Each member of the Gaius Drusus family had brought the baby a crepundia. Crepundia were tiny toys made of gold or silver in the shapes of animals, fish, miniature swords, flowers, or tools, which were strung together upon a chain and hung about the little one’s neck to amuse him with their rattling and jingling. They were the traditional gifts brought to an infant’s purification and name day.
Quintus Drusus was expansive in his good humor. Sharing wine with his cousins Titus and Flavius, he teased them, “I hear it said that there is a certain slave girl at your father’s villa who ripens like a summer melon. Which one of you is responsible, eh?” He poked a playful finger in their direction and chuckled.
The twins flushed, and then laughed guiltily.
“We are not certain,” Flavius admitted. “As has been our habit from childhood, we shared.”
“Mother was quite angry with us. She says we are going to be matched and married before the summer is out lest we cause a scandal,” Titus told his older cousin. “The girl has recently miscarried, at any rate, and so we shall never know who the father was, though perhaps we would not have known anyway.”
“And Father says we are not to dip our buckets in any more wells, no matter how sweet the water,” Flavius added.
“And have your brides been chosen, cousins?” Quintus asked.
“Not yet,” Titus replied. “Father would go slightly farther afield than Corinium. He says it is time for fresh blood in the family. I think, perhaps, he is not pleased with the girls available to us here.”
“The selection is not particularly great,” Quintus observed. “I was fortunate in my darling Antonia. May the gods bring you both the same good fortune, my young cousins, and may I live to celebrate the name day of all of your children.” He raised his goblet and drank.
They, in turn, saluted him.
“And what of Cailin?” Quintus asked. “Is she to be matched with a husband soon? She grows more beautiful every day.” He looked across the room to where Cailin sat with his wife. “Had I not fallen in love with my Antonia on sight, I should have despaired at losing your lovely sister. Whoever she chooses will be a fortunate man.”
“There seems to be no man who attracts our sister,” Flavius said. “I wonder indeed if there is any man who will do so. She is sometimes strange in her ways, our sister. There is more Celt in her, we say, than Roman blood. What a pity if she were to die a virgin.”
“More wine, master?” A tall slave stood by Quintus’s elbow.
“Yes, Cato, thank you. And fill my cousins’ goblets, too,” he said jovially.
On Beltane night the bonfires blazed from every hill in the province. The Celtic celebration in honor of the new growing season was underway and shared by all. Class barriers seemed to fade as men and women, freeborn and slave, danced together and shared potent cups of honeyed mead around the fires.
Gaius Drusus Corinium had just finished making love to his wife in the privacy of their empty house when he thought he heard a noise. Arising, he went out into the atrium to investigate. He never saw the two intruders who came up behind him and strangled him swiftly.
Kyna did not realize the thump she heard was that of her husband’s body falling to the floor. She arose, and was but halfway across the bedchamber when the room was invaded by two men.
“I told you she was a beauty,” the taller said.
It was easy to divine their intent. Terrified, Kyna began to back away. “I am the daughter of Berikos, chief of the Dobunni,” she managed to say, although her throat was tight with fear.
The taller man grabbed Kyna, his mouth pressing against the mouth that had only just entertained her husband’s sweet kisses. Kyna fought her attacker like a lioness, clawing and spitting at him. Laughing, the man pushed her upon her marriage bed, falling atop her, his hands pushing up her sleep tunic. The other man was quickly at her head, silencing her screams with his hand. Kyna prayed to the gods for a quick death.
Brenna returned to the villa early. She had been chaperoning Cailin at the celebration, but her granddaughter did not really need her. There was no one who took Cailin’s fancy, and besides, the girl would not go off into the darkness with any man. She simply enjoyed the dancing and the singing.
Brenna stumbled over something in the dim atrium. Bending down, she recognized with shock the face of her son-in-law. It was blue, and he was dead. She began to shake. With great effort, she pulled herself to her feet, and then, heart pounding, she ran to her daughter’s bedchamber. Kyna lay naked, sprawled amid a tangle of bloody bedclothes. Brenna crumpled to the floor, not even realizing that she had been hit.
“The old woman was certainly easy,” Cato remarked nonchalantly.
“But the younger one was more fun,” his companion said. “What a good fight she gave us. The girl will be best of all, however. Let’s dice for who takes her maidenhead and who gets the leavings before we kill her.”
Titus and Flavius Drusus Corinium, coming home very drunk with honeyed mead, never saw their assassins. They were easily ambushed, quickly throttled, and then dragged along with their father’s body into their parents’ bedchamber, where Cailin would not stumble over them.
The two Gauls waited. The minutes slipped into an hour, and then another.
“Where the hell is that girl?” the shorter slave grumbled.
“We dare not wait any longer,” Cato said. He pointed a finger through the window. “The sky is already lightening with the false dawn. We must fire the house so that it seems like just another Beltane fire, and be gone from here before the servants return. The girl isn’t worth our getting caught. Do you think Quintus Drusus will save us if we do? A man who would murder his own stepsons so they could not inherit from him, and who would murder his cousin’s family to gain lands, is not a man who would help us in our hour of need. Indeed I suspect he would kill us too if he could. The gold he promised us is in a hiding place beneath the statue of Juno in the alcove. Get it, and let us be gone. I do not trust that Roman scum to give us several days’ lead. He’ll be after us by tomorrow. We’ll fool him, though. We’ll not take passage for Gaul, but Ireland. They’ll not suspect we’ve gone in that direction.”
