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Chapter 33

“Your friends in Deva—are they anyone?”

Uncertain that I had heard Garan correctly, I asked him to repeat the question. He did, but I was none the wiser. “Anyone?” I wondered. “Of course, they are. Everyone is someone.”

He only shook his head and laughed.

“I don’t understand,” I confessed.

“Anyone important, I mean . . .” His voice trailed off as he considered what he was about to say.

“Say it,” I told him. “What are you asking?”

“I want to join the legion,” he said, as if this was some kind of secret. “And they say the Valeria Vitrix is the best. I need to find somebody important to put in a good word for me, so I can join. I’m old enough.”

“You want to be a legionary?” His assertion seemed odd to me. I regarded him more closely: square-jawed, trim, well-muscled, a goodly height—at least he was head and shoulders taller than me—with long, strong legs and a broad, sturdy back, he would not be out of place in a cohort. Still, I could not picture him in a helmet and lorica; he was not like any of the soldiers I had met.

“Don’t they need you here on the farm?”

“There’s always the farm,” he allowed, a note of resentment shading his tone. He jabbed at the path with the butt of his spear. “With my Da and uncle and brothers, we have more than enough hands to do the work. But the pay a soldier earns—we could use that, too. Especially now.”

“Why now—especially?”

“Not so long ago we could count on good trade and any number of markets to choose from. Now there’s only one market—”

“The one at Bryncadlys.”

“Aye,” he nodded, “and that one is piss poor. It used to be a right fair place, and folk came from all over to trade. But not anymore. There are a lot of thieves around now, too.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said, and told him about the rogues I’d met on the road. “They’d have taken me—if not for Ursa.”

“That brute dog of yours?” He cast a wary backward glance at my furry guardian as if she might be stalking him now.

“Yes, Ursa,” I said. “But she’s no brute?”

“She’s killer mean,” he allowed. “She snarled at me when I came out this morning.”

“She’s trained to watch over her own, and that’s me,” I said. “She’s not mean—just protective.”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “We could use a dog like that on the farm. Thieves tried to steal our pigs a month or so ago.” He laughed. “Middle of the night, it was—and the squealing woke us up and we chased ’em off.”

“Ursa would have had them on the ground before they knew what hit them,” I said.

Garan chuckled. “I’d like to see that!”

“No,” I told him, remembering the fright Lord Ederyn’s guard dogs had given me—not to mention the mess they’d made of the wild pig guts they cavorted in following the hunt. “No, believe me, you really wouldn’t.”

We talked like this awhile, growing easy in one another’s company. The sun rose higher and the miles receded behind us. Once or twice I glimpsed a lone hilltop settlement or steading tucked into a cleft in a valley, but mostly, I saw a land forlorn of folk—unlike the well-peopled southlands where a traveler would find not only farms and settlements, but villas and towns and civitas; where the roads were not disused and decrepit trails and beaten footpaths, but busy high ways of cobbled stone. Compared to the northern wastes and wilds, the south was heaving with humanity and roaring with life.

Out on the lonely track through the empty hills, was a region rich with timber in forests and groves, and seamed through with streams flowing with clean water along valley meadows grown thick with sweet green grass: everything any settlement would need . . . except people. Blessed with the folk to work it, I had no doubt the land would repay the effort a hundredfold or more. Little wonder barbarians of every stripe coveted this fair isle for themselves, and would kill to get it.

As the day slowly faded into a yellow-white haze around us, I wondered aloud where we might make our camp for the night. We had not met many travelers along the way—a farmer or two hurrying home from the field and one returning from Deva. Mounted on a mule, he was in a rush and, after exchanging a few words, rode on and soon disappeared from view. Aside from those, we seemed to have the entire province to ourselves.

“There is a place we stop sometimes,” Garan told me. He pointed to an outcrop of broken stone near where the trail passed some way ahead. “See there? Just under the shelter of those rocks.”

“That’s miles from here,” I complained. My feet were already aching and my legs growing weary.

“It’s not that far,” he insisted. “If we hurry we will be there before dark.”

At that, we stepped up our pace and arrived at the place he had indicated from the path: a clearing formed by a hollow beneath a towering stone overhang. Signs of previous camps were obvious: dried horse dung and the sodden ashes of fires, shards of broken jars, poles on which to stretch a cloth or skin for a roof, and a few bits of left-over firewood. Ursa ran around sniffing here and there, and then raced off into the bush on the trail of something she might catch for her supper.

Garan watched her go and I laughed to see the look on his face. “Ursa can look after herself, don’t worry. She’ll return when she’s caught a rabbit. Who knows? She might even bring back a deer.”

“Really?”

“No!” I hooted with a laugh. “What do you think?”

He shrugged, an embarrassed smile spreading across his open face. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if that dog fetched back a whole cow.”

That thought made me hungry. Besides a handful of seeds and berries gleaned from brambles, we had not stopped to eat all day. I was famished and told Garan I could eat that cow right now, hooves, horns, and hide. He said we did not have any beef. “But we have some salt pork and black bread. And Mam always puts in a little honey for the bread. We won’t be starving.”

We set about making a little camp for the night. After scraping together enough dry wood for a fire and spreading our cloaks, we hunkered down to warm ourselves by the fire, eat our simple meal, and watch the stars come out. Hungry as I was, I struggled to stay awake long enough to eat and I all but fell asleep with a crust of bread halfway to my mouth. Garan advised me to go lie down before I slumped into the fire. While he set about stoking up the blaze, I bade him a good night and crawled further under the overhanging ledge of rock where it was dry, and there was enough dried moss to make a pillow for my head. Wrapped in my cloak, I slept the deep and dreamless sleep of the righteous.

Our journey resumed as soon as we had washed in the brook and refilled the water jars. In the early light, the hills and valleys round about seemed new made—fairly gleaming with last night’s dew and the fast-fading mist. Everything looked clean and fresh and . . . oh, so empty. Garan and I might have been the only two people in the world, and that world was ours to make of it what we would.

The feeling, exhilarating as it was, did not last. Around midmorning, we saw traders returning from the market—four of them with pack mules piled with goods; three of the group carried spears and all wore brimless head coverings that looked more like woolsacks than hats. Upon seeing these fellow travelers, I was wary—not without good reason—but Garan thought they looked familiar. “I think I’ve seen them at Bryncadlys before. We should go meet them.”

Garan strode out, quickening his pace. “You go on ahead,” I called after him. “I’ll stay back with Ursa and join you later.”

With a hand to Ursa’s collar, I watched as Garan hurried to catch the traders; he hailed them and they paused, I suppose to exchange greetings, and then continued on. They passed me going back the way we had come but, aside from a nod of acknowledgement did not deign to notice me at all. I glanced up the road see Garan walking back, brow lowered, his mouth bent in a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I called as soon as he joined me.

“Bad news,” he said, his frown deepening to a scowl. “There’s been a raid at Bryncadlys. It was bad—eight, maybe ten people killed and several more injured.”

“Who did it?”

“They didn’t know.” He shook his head. “But the market is all smashed up. Burned. People are leaving town because it isn’t safe—at least until they can get soldiers to protect it.”

A pit formed in my stomach as I took this in. “So, what do we do now?”

“What do you want to do?” He waved a hand in the direction of the traders just then disappearing around a curve in the road. “Do you want to go back?”

I considered for a moment, then said, “No. I want to press on.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“Garan, you can’t. What about—”

He cut off my protest. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about this. We were meant to find someone you could travel with to Deva,” he said. “But if there’s no market, I’ll go with you.” He smiled and added, “It’s the only way.”

“No.” I held up a hand as if to dismiss the very notion. “I cannot allow it.”

Garan, bless him, actually laughed out loud. “Allow me?” He laughed again. “I don’t see how you can prevent me!”

“You’ll be missed at home. When you don’t return, your family will fear the worst.”

“I said I would take you there, not that I would stay there.” He paused, then added, “At least, not yet.”

This last part was said under his breath and he had to repeat it for me. “What do you mean not yet? What are you saying?”

“If I take you to Deva, then I can go to the garrison and speak to the commander there—”

“About joining the legion!” So, that was in his mind, and likely had been from the start.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “I can ask him myself and see if he will accept me.”

His plan, such as it was, became clear to me then. “You asked if my friends were anybody. . . .” I said, recalling what he had said before. “I did not tell you then, but . . . well, as it happens, my friend’s husband is the Legate of Deva.”

“Legate!” he cried, and stopped walking to give me an open-mouthed gape. “Now that is somebody! The Legate of Deva! With a recommendation from him, I would surely be accepted. A legate—that’s almost an emperor! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied lamely. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

Garan, shaking his head in amazement, could not contain his surprise. “If your friend is the Legate of Deva, what are you doing out here?” He flapped a hand at the empty hills around us. “You should be travelling with an armed escort—at the very least!”

“You make more of it than it is,” I told him flatly. “My father was a magistrate and knew him. That’s all.”

“What!” Garan stopped walking again. “Your father was a magistrate? How so? If my father was a magistrate, I would travel in a carriage and have servants to run after me. You wouldn’t catch me wandering around in the lonely hills with only a dog for company. What happened? Did you run away?”

“My father died.”

That shut him up—but only for as long as it took him to put the pieces together. “Oh,” he said, after a moment. “So, you’re on your own. And that’s why you’re going to Deva.”

“Yes, that is why I’m going to Deva,” I confessed. I could not bring myself to say more than that. We walked in silence for some time after that, each in a cloud of our own private thoughts, until our destination came into view.

I suppose I had imagined that Bryncadlys would be something like Caer Gwyn, but even that was a stretch. Although the settlement was nicely situated on a wide, flat place in a generous valley with a few trees and a nearby lake, it boasted but few houses, a single street, a church—and that was it. There were a few farms huddled close about, but not many and not large. The market itself was merely a few pens for livestock, a food stall or two, a storehouse, and several large leather tents. The recent raid had taken two more substantial timber buildings; they had been burned and were now nothing but charred posts and rooftrees on foundations of rubble stone.

The rough timber palisade that ringed a nearby hilltop to guard the road and travelers passing through the town, having failed to prevent the raid, still gave the place a modest air of security. There were still folk lingering about, some of them travelers who, like Garan and myself, were now having to make other plans. Ursa saw the people and, as we passed further into the town, she pressed against the side of my leg as if to reassure me with her presence.

Garan made for a place at the far end of the town where several wagons had drawn up. Once again, I stayed with Ursa and watched and, while the men in a tight group, head-to-head in deep discussion I passed my gaze around the town. Other than the burned buildings, no other sign of the raid was visible; the barbarians had struck, killed, looted, and disappeared, leaving only the smell of stale smoke and a much subdued atmosphere behind. When I looked around again, Garan was hastening back say that, like us, the traders had planned on attending the market. But, inasmuch as it would be some time before any meaningful trade would resume in this place, these disappointed merchants were considering whether to go on or go back to Deva instead.

“It makes good sense,” he said. “Though trading in the town is more controlled and there is a heavy tax, Deva is bigger and closer than any other market in the region—less than half a day from here.”

The words were hardly uttered when one of the men turned and raised an arm to summon Garan back; he hurried to rejoin the group, exchanged a word, and returned grinning. “It’s decided! They’re going on to Deva and we can go with them. They say they’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“No,” I shook my hear. “I want to go now.” It was approaching midday, and though it meant we would have to hurry if we were to reach Deva by nightfall, I had to try.

“If you’re sure . . .” Garan said.

“I am.”

“Then we should eat before we go.” Garan lifted his head and sniffed the air, then looked toward the food stall. “I wonder what they have over there?”

We soon found out; and, after a shared loaf and wedge of fresh soft cheese flavored with green herbs, a jar of small beer, and a few scrag ends of gristly meat begged for Ursa, we struck out on the road to begin the last leg of our journey.

Just knowing that by day’s end, I would be standing in Deva made the journey pass the quicker. As it was, once Bryncadlys was behind us, the clouds came down and the wind kicked up in fits and gusts, and the day closed over us in a dull mist. We walked through the night, holding our cloaks around us to keep out the chill. Once, Garan suggested we stop for the night, but the thought of sleeping in some damp wayside dell held no appeal—even if we could have found such a place in the dark.

The hill path was well-travelled and easy underfoot, so we kept going. Garan, bless him, tried to keep our spirits up by telling stories about the silly things he and his brothers got up to on the farm: from riding pigs to making beards out of wool at sheep-shearing time. I caught most of what he said, but mostly it was just the sound of his voice that kept my feet moving.

The night wore on. And then, just when I thought I would fall over from exhaustion, the sky began to lighten in the east, announcing the beginning of another day—and yet another hill before us. Drooping, numb with fatigue, I looked at that long rising slope and my heart quailed. “We should stop and rest,” said Garan, his voice a little croaky.

I shook my head. “If I stop now, I’ll never get up again,” I told him.

We kept going, more slowly now. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The sky continued to lighten and bright disk of the sun peeped above the horizon as we reached the top of the hill and paused to look down. And there it was: Deva Vitrix!



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