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Chapter 23

I was at work helping the servants unload some of the trade goods. Standing at the rear of the flat-roofed wagon one of the traders passed me a leather-wrapped bundle, far heavier than I might have expected for its size. Staggering a little, I delivered my burden to the courtyard where it was added to the others ranged along the outer wall of the villa. A good few of the young warriors gathered to watch. They stood around talking and nudging each other, but none offered to help. That they should stand idle and allow a reedy girl to struggle with an unwieldy burden told me everything I needed to know about their character.

On my third return to the villa, with another leather bundle, I approached the gate and I was halted by one of the other servants. He shouted something to his fellows in the wagon and then turned me around, directing me back to the wagon. I saw then that the parcel I carried was bound in a red leather strap different from the others. This bundle was quickly exchanged for another and then Gnaeus called to those in the wagon and the unpacking of goods concluded.

Having delivered this last load to the courtyard, it was placed in line with the others. Then, since no one told me otherwise, I retreated a few steps to watch as an undeniable sense of anticipation mounted among those gathered to watch the unloading. Clearly, everyone was waiting for something important, or at least diverting, to happen and while we waited the warband talked and laughed, their spirits high. But all the chatter and laughter ceased when King Ederyn and some of his subjects emerged and I got my first glimpse of the great man himself.

He was taller than his fellows, with heavy, broad-shoulders and a slightly thickening waist; his legs, however, were peculiarly thin—a certain sign, I’ve heard folk say, of spending too much time in the saddle. I don’t know, but it seems you see it often among horsemen: the strong upper torso, and the scrawny lower half. The build gives many an unmounted horseman an odd appearance—like puffed-up roosters strutting about the yard on their thin spindle shanks. His face was full and unlined, his eyes clear and deep-set; his hair was dark, long, curled; he wore no beard, but kept a luxurious moustache the ends of which wreathed his mouth.

Ederyn took his place before the neat row of bundled goods lined up against the wall, and Gnaeus and the other traders followed, ranging themselves either side of him. At Gnaeus’ direction, one of his fellows selected a bundle, brought it forth, and offered it to the chieftain. With a solemnity I thought excessive as it was unnecessary, Ederyn raised it and offered it to those looking on before slowly untying the leather binding strap. Laying the bundle at is feet, he bent and lifted the wrap and opened the package to reveal a collection of long, slender shafts of gleaming, razored steel: swords.

From the collection, Ederyn selected one, fit his hand to the hilt, and hefted it once or twice. Then he raised the blade high as if he would strike down an enemy and, with a swift, sweeping motion, brought it down. The sharp point struck the paving at his feet. Powdered rock made a little puff of smoke, accompanied by the clear, distinct note like that of a tuned bell. The blade neither shattered nor bent. Lifting the blade, Ederyn examined the tip. He brushed his thumb along the edge and a smile spread across his lips.

He then showed his thumb which displayed a single ruby drop of blood to gasps and cheers from those looking on. The excited warriors crowded around as more bundles were opened and more of these wondrous blades passed among them. Their delight and the noisy acclaim of the onlookers filled the courtyard with an audible delight bordering on rapture—so much so that a mere passer-by would have been forgiven thinking that a realm had been delivered from a major calamity or a marvelous victory achieved.

That this kinglet required such weapons, I could well understand. Had weapons like this been available to the legionaries protecting Esico and the others, my father might still be alive. Then again, maybe it was such a blade that killed them. Lawlessness, I thought ruefully, was everywhere descending over Britannia and men sought any advantage they could gain in the fight for survival.

Many of the warband already owned swords of one kind or another. This fact did not stop them making much over the weapons, however. Chattering like excited children over a new toy, they examined each and every one, practicing lethal thrusts and feints, and testing the blades against each other. I wonder that no one was stabbed.

Some of the villa’s serving folk appeared after awhile and set up a vat on a stanchion which they filled from leather buckets. The drink was beer dipped out in cups and bowls to be passed about and, since no one appeared to notice, I accepted a bowl, too—and why not? I had earned my share.

After a time, the regal host and his esteemed guests retired to the dining hall while the rest of us remained in the courtyard to enjoy the revel. Well, the sun had already passed midday when we arrived at the lake settlement, and by now it was lowering in the west, and smoke from the cooking fires began wafting through the courtyard. At the first whiff of roasting meat, I remembered I had not eaten since that morning and was now ravenous, and slightly light-headed from the sweet brown beer. I had no part in the revelry, so rather than sit on a bench in the corner, I went in search of the cookhouse to satisfy my curiosity about what kind of kitchens a place like this would keep.

I followed my nose and the thin smoke trail to an outbuilding set off a few paces from the main dwelling. Cut stone, like the villa, it was a squat, low-roofed affair, door a simple ox-hide covering; there were two very narrow slit wind holes covered with reed matting on either side of the entrance. A large fire pit had been built directly in front of the cookhouse where two male servants stood tending an iron spit on which the carcass of an entire pig roasted over a low flame of charcoal embers. The aroma was so delicious I almost swooned with hunger. Other servants, both male and female, busied themselves about the place, preparing what amounted to a feast in celebration of the arrival of the traders with their valuable cargo of weapons.

While I stood with watering mouth, watching the pig roast, a gray-haired fellow with a stick came out of the cookhouse and called orders to a couple of other servants. He saw me standing there, gave me a quick look and, recognizing a servant when he saw one, approached me, saying, “If you have come for the spiced wine, you’ll have to come back. It is not ready yet.”

He spoke good Latin loudly enough and with a lilting inflection. This took me aback somewhat. I had not expected to hear such learned tones in this remote place.

Before I could reply, he said, “Are you not the new bondmaid?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I am travelling with Gnaeus.”

He regarded me more closely. “That is very brave.”

Brave—did you say?”

He nodded. “By all accounts, the land north of the wall is fraught with enemies of all stripes, and Celyddon a most dangerous place.” He gave me a dismissive shrug and made to turn away. “At least, that is what they say.”

North of the wall? Did he mean the Wall of Hadrian? No one went beyond Britain’s northern boundary—at least no one with any good intent.

“I’m only going as far as Deva,” I called after him.

He looked me up and down, then said, “Was there something you wanted? No? Then I must return to my duties.”

He disappeared into the cookhouse and I sauntered back to the courtyard, pondering what he had said. The easy assumption that if I was with Gnaeus I must be travelling into enemy-infested northern territories was at the very least troubling. Yet, he had so effortlessly made that leap. All I could think was: Why? What did he know?

I arrived back in courtyard to find that long boards were being erected. Other servants were carting all manner jars and drinking vessels and platters and bowls of various sized into the dining hall. I followed them in to see a huge, barn-like room of white-washed walls and long boards on trestles arranged to form a hollow square with low benches being placed all around. The floor in the center of this square was a mosaic—made not of tesserae, but of smooth river pebbles of gray, black, and white. The designs were simple patterns with none of the images or symbols found, say, in a church or old basilica. At the far end of this hall, there was another, smaller fire pit and above it, a hole in the roof to carry away the smoke.

King Ederyn was hosting his guests in chairs around the fire pit. With him and the trading Triumvirate were three other warriors, three more stood around the perimeter. All were in jovial high spirits, making the hall echo with a gabble of voices. One of the young warriors at the fire pit saw me and beckoned me over. When I did not immediately heed his summons, he repeated it with a call of command. A finely-dressed, handsome fellow with long dark hair and a short-trimmed beard, I went to where he sat, approaching somewhat cautiously, as I did not know what he wanted of me and, with the din, unlikely to hear him in any case.

But, as I came near, he held out his mead bowl to me. I took this wordless gesture to mean that I was to refill the bowl for him. Glancing around quickly for another servant, I not see any close by. Nor, did I see a mead jar ready to hand. The fellow shoved the bowl at me again and mumbled something I did not catch. I looked back at him and shrugged.

The warrior tipped the bowl to show me it was empty and then thrust it at me once more. He pointed at the door and repeated what he’d said. I snatched the vessel from his hands and hurried back to the courtyard to find a mead jar. But could I find one? No, I could not. There were plenty of jars around, to be sure. Many were empty, and those that still had something in them contained beer. I went to one of the serving maids and asked for mead, but she just looked at me with a blank expression and went on pouring beer into the offered cups.

I turned to continue my search elsewhere and I felt a hard tap on my shoulder. The same haughty warrior stood behind me with a frown on his face. I guess he thought I was taking too long and had come looking for his bowl. I returned the empty vessel to him, and explained, “I think the mead is finished. I couldn’t find any more jars.”

He regarded me more closely. “You speak Latin.”

I did not catch this so I simply returned his gaze.

“Answer me, girl. I said you speak Latin.”

“I do, yes. Though, I am surprised you would understand it.” My reply was needlessly waspish, I admit, but his arrogance rankled and I was in no mood to exchange pleasantries with such a boorish lout.

Rather than be put off, however, a broad smile spread across his handsome face. “Do you know who I am?”

“No.” I gave my head a quick shake. “Should I?”

“I am King Ederyn’s son,” he said, “Cunomor.” He smiled. “They call me Cuno.”

“A fit name,” I suggested. “For a hearth hound.”

I should not have said this. His name, so far as I could work out, meant something like Big Dog; and I guess I thought to taunt him with it. He might well have given me a slap, and the blame would have been all mine. Instead, he put back his head and hooted. “‘Hearth hound,’ she says!” He ambled away in search of a mead jar, still laughing. “I like that!”

I hurried from the hall and joined the three servants guarding the merchandise at the wagons. Their company was far more preferable to me than any to be found inside the villa. We idled and talked, listening to the occasional gusts of laughter or jeering—which reached me as bursts of confused sound—and the day slowly closed around us. When at last the meal was ready we trooped back into the courtyard to get a little food for ourselves. The so-called celebration had of course become an unruly revel and everyone was deep into their cups—slaves and servants included. As for myself, I intended to keep my wits about me and saw no reason to join in this tedious debauchery. If this putative lord wanted to extoll the purchase of some weapons, what was that to me? It was none of my affair.

Oh, but it should have been. It should have been.

After I had eaten my fill of succulent roast pork served with a sort of mush made of honey-sweetened cabbage and apples—and, yes, enjoyed a small cup of beer—I retired to my place in the wagon where I curled up in my cloak and went to sleep. I rose early the next morning and, with the other servants, went down to the stream that ran along the back of the villa and took care of our necessaries. On my return, we waited for the Triumvirate to emerge from sleeping off last night’s excesses and set about rearranging the cargo in the wagons for the next leg of the journey.

The sun was well up by the time the traders appeared at the gate along with Ederyn and some few of his men who had come to see us on our way. Gnaeus and the king exchanged parting words, and the traders and warriors likewise. I recognized the dark young warrior I had spoken to the previous evening and caught him eyeing me, a sly smile curling his lips.

The lord of the villa and the traders made their farewells and Gnaeus gestured for us to depart. I went to the wagon and, as I started to climb up, I felt a firm grab my arm.

That is when my troubles began.


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