Chapter 21
The next morning Addas and I went to the crossroads hoping to see anyone passing on the Deva road. The plan was to simply waylay likely travelers and induce them, one way or another, to take me with them. Thankfully, the rain had moved on and the day, though overcast, remained dry. We watched and waited through the morning—taking it in turns to sit on the stone waymarker—few travelers appeared at all and none going to Deva. Later on, as the day wore on, traffic on the road increased and our hopes rose. In groups and gaggles they trooped by—some coming to the market, others moving on to local places—all of them going the wrong way.
Dispirited, we dragged ourselves back to Docilla and Julian’s house. Though the good woman had insisted I could not go on my way alone and refused to let me leave until I had a suitable escort, I was feeling ever more guilty for imposing on her generosity and on Addas, who must have had duties he was neglecting. Nevertheless, I was glad to sit down at her supper table once more. She tried to cheer me up, saying, “Well, the market is tomorrow, so there will be plenty of folk around. You’ll find someone travelling on to Deva, never fear.”
So, the next morning, we hied ourselves once more to the crossroads to find the market already in full cry. Like markets everywhere, people had come from miles around with something trade or barter: cream, butter, eggs, hard and soft cheese of various kinds; smoked and dried meat and fish; grain and beans; raw wool and woven goods, metal utensils, pottery, wooden objects, tools, and all such things. In all, it was a goodly market much as would find anywhere in the south.
We moved here and there, searching among the various merchants, asking if any would be heading toward Deva or returning there when the day was over.
Though we spoke to nearly every merchant and traveler, we found no one either going to, or from Deva. Weary of all the asking, I treated Addas to a midday meal of apple beer, flat bread, and little spiced sausages from one of the vendors and we sat down to eat and devise another plan. “I’ll take you there myself,” he declared, stuffing a sausage into his mouth. “I got you here and I can take you the rest of the way.”
“What?” Did I hear that correctly? “No. You have duties, responsibilities—”
“None so important as this,” he countered.
“What about Heddwyn and Flori?” I asked. “They’ll worry what has happened to you.”
“I’ll explain when I get home,” he said lightly. “They’ll understand.”
I stared at him doubtfully. “You are kind to offer, Addas, but you cannot possibly take me to Deva. We’ll just have to find another way.”
Well, he would not be put off. Convinced that he had undertaken this charge, he would see it through to the end. The more he talked about it, the more I warmed to the idea. I hit upon a possible solution. “Could we hire a wagon do you think?”
He shrugged. “If we had money enough.”
“I have money,” I told him, and explained about Augustus giving me his purse. “But where could we find a wagon and driver?”
“We can ask at the fortress,” he suggested. “They’ll know—and maybe we can beg a soldier to go with us.”
The more we talked, the more it seemed like a good and practical solution. We were still discussing this when Addas nudged me with an elbow and directed my attention to three wagons just then passing by. These were covered wagons: two with leather stretched over hoops, and one with a sort of raised flat roof that slanted from front to back. The arrival of these vehicles caused an immediate sensation among the market goers and many went flocking to the wagons before they had even rolled to a stop beside the road just beyond the market.
“Merchants from the south,” Addas said with a nod of recognition.
“Do you know them?”
“Not these ones, but others like them come through Aberdyfi often enough.”
“Are they going to Deva, do you think?”
“There’s one quick way to find out.” He jumped up and headed off. “We’ll ask them.”
“What about our plan?” I called after him, but got no reply.
We sidled up and Addas made conversation. We learned that, as he surmised, they were indeed traders from the south—from Durovernum, they said, wherever that is—and there were four of them with five servants, all men. They were on their way to the far northern reaches, making one last trip before winter rendered travel impossible in the snow-bound fastness of the high hills and mountains. There were few enough outposts up there, but good business to be done for any bold enough to accept the perils and risk. And, more to the point, they would be passing through Deva before returning by way of Mamucuim and Eboracum.
These merchants, I decided, were bold enough for the risks of the road and more: rough men for rough trade in rougher places. In attitude and appearance they were a far cry from the affable Drustan and his shipboard friends. They wore their hair long and tightly braided, and two of them had the blue tribal markings etched into the skin of their faces and hands. They were dressed in heavy tunics and short trousers with tall leather boots and overlarge cloaks woven in distinctive stripes and checks. They each carried weapons. Three wore the short-bladed gladius of the legion strapped to their hips, but one had the long, thin blade of old-fashioned Celtic design. In all, they looked like the clan chieftains who sometimes ventured into town from whatever godforsaken hinterland they ruled.
The leader of the group was a man named Gnaeus. When asked, he told us that he made this particular journey twice a year, sometimes more if demand was strong; mostly, he travelled in the company of the same three merchants of his group. They called themselves the Triumvirate—although there were four of them. I don’t think they knew what the word really meant at all. They spoke little and most often tersely, their Latin crude and mixed with various local words and phrases picked up, no doubt, in the different provinces they travelled trough.
Not the friendliest fellow I’d ever met, but perhaps that brutish exterior was the greater part of their protection on the road: a thorny shell to ward off any unwanted interest or intrusion. Then again, I considered, maybe they were every bit as uncouth and uncultured as they looked.
However it was, Addas made bold to present the appeal on my behalf. Though I did not catch all of it, I gathered he explained about my father’s death and my ill-fortuned abandonment in Aberdyfi—though, strictly speaking, I was not deserted, merely misplaced, but his telling made the tale better and it amounted to much the same thing in the end: I was stranded. In any event, I let him his say and stood there, looking lost and confused, I expect—feeling like it, anyway—and Gnaeus passed a critical eye me over from head to toe as if being asked to buy a stray sheep.
“Deva, you say?” He gave a knowing nod. “Aye, that’s one of ours.”
“And she could travel with you?” he asked. “You’d take her along and see her safely to her friends?”
Gnaeus made a face which I imagined was him considering the proposition as presented. “No,” he said with gruff finality. “Not interested.”
I’d seen enough. I tugged on Addas’ sleeve and backed away. He thanked the trader for his time and we returned to the waymarker to wait for another opportunity to present itself.
None did. So, as the day drew to a close and the market began to thin out, we decided to go back to Dorcilla and discuss how best to hire a wagon. We started back and as I passed a vendor selling candles and herbs, I decided to buy a little gift for our hostess to repay her kindness. Addas thought this a good idea and said he would go to the tavern and buy a jar of beer to take back. We agreed that I would meet him there. I chose an fine new candle of yellow beeswax and a hank of fragrant lavender woven into a tidy braid to hang above a door.
I withdrew my purse and counted out the coins and thanked the merchant. I was just turning away with my purchase when my arm was seized in a tight grip and I was yanked roughly an arm thrown around my neck. “You’re coming with me,” growled a harsh voice in my ear, and the purse snatched from my hands.
The force and ferocity of his assault rendered it useless to resist, and I was quickly marched back to the rough traders we had spoken to earlier. Gnaeus was waiting and gave his partner a nod and I was swept bodily off my feet and shoved into one of the leather-covered wagons and bales of furs and bundles of goods were heaped on top of me—so many and so heavy that it was all I could do to draw breath, let along cry for help.
Half-suffocated, I heard a muffled shout from somewhere outside. The wagon lurched off with a jolt, leaving Caer Gwyn, Addas, and my best-laid plans behind.