The Saxon Shore

"Hand me that towel."

She wrapped him warmly, drying the top of his head with soft, gentle movements, and then removed a small, circular box from a pocket in her robe. She twisted it open to reveal some kind of unguent, pale lilac in colour and smelling strangely familiar, then undid the wrappings of the towel and hoisted him again by his ankles, smearing a thin covering of the fragrant stuff over his buttocks and into the deep creases between them and around his groin.

"Lavender," she said, filling my mind instantly with recognition of the scent. "Replaces the stink for a while, and stops him from getting sores and rashes." Another, fresh, breechclout appeared in her hands as though by magic, and within moments the child was covered and securely wrapped again and I was holding him, moving to sit again on the three-legged stool by the fire. Gazing into the child's face, I was aware that Turga stood close by, gazing down at me. I looked up at her.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. I shrugged, smiling.

"That I've been foolish. I have learned more about infants in the past half hour than I have learned in all my life till now . . . And I was wondering how anything so small and helpless as this babe might ever grow to be a man, a warrior, and a king."

Turga said nothing at first, merely gazing at me with a speculative look that I could not define, and knowing she would speak when she was ready, I looked closely at her for the first time since meeting her earlier. She was a handsome woman, I decided, though large and somewhat coarse-featured, and I estimated her age as somewhere in the middle twenties. Large-breasted, as a wet nurse ought to be, and full-hipped, she had broad shoulders to support those breasts, and I knew her legs, beneath the long, plain homespun robe she wore, would be firm and muscular, heavy and strong. Her hair was dark brown but otherwise indeterminate in colour, and her eyes, evenly spaced and very slightly protuberant, were a pale, startling blue in the swarthiness of her weathered face. The pores on her nose were clearly visible from where I sat. As I examined her, trying not to stare too obviously, she pursed her lips and raised her hand to one breast. I saw the dark, wet discoloration of discharged milk beneath her finger.

"I need my stool. It's time for him to feed."

Flustered, I rose and she took the boy from me as she sat down. I did not know what to do then, whether to stay or to remain. She made the decision for me without embarrassment, adjusting the front of her gown and easing a swollen nipple out to where the boy could reach it. He needed no guide, and began to guzzle noisily. She leaned her head back slightly and closed her eyes and the skin of her face seemed to smooth itself as she drew a deep breath and then released it.

"When will we leave for Britain?"

"Soon now, before winter sets in." I was gazing at the suckling boy. "Athol will tell us when."

She opened her eyes again and looked up at me, cupping one hand protectively over the child's head. "The boy would do well here, with Athol's folk. Children are welcome here, and loved. Will he fare equally in this place you come from, this Camulod?"

I nodded, feeling a smile tugging at me. "Aye, he will, and better. . . So will you, Turga."

She nodded, her face expressionless. "So be it, then. We'll go. But bear one thing in mind, always. He may be yours, and may inherit all you have, but he is mine, as well, as I am his, and harm will come to him only after I am dead, for I'll kill, or die trying to kill, any who threaten him."

"Then I'll lie dead beside you, Turga, for I have sworn the same oath."

She looked at me, and for the first time, her lips twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Good," she said. "That's good. You do your part for him, and I will do mine, and he'll be well protected. And perhaps he will live to become the king you wish him to be."

I stooped and took her free hand, raising it to my lips, and she watched me quizzically, making no move to withdraw it. "I promise you, Turga, no matter what may transpire in the future, no matter where young Arthur's road may lead, you will go with him, under my protection, for as long as he and you may wish." She stared at me a moment longer, then nodded her head very slightly, accepting my promise, and returned her attention to the child at her breast. I turned and left quietly.

XVIII

I have a vision stamped into my mind, a memory that fills me even now with anxious helplessness, in which I see myself standing on the foredeck of what I came to know as Shelagh's Galley, my hands clutching the rail tightly as I look back to watch the distant shores of Athol's kingdom shrink into a narrow line of grey, like clouds edging the horizon. Behind me, I know without looking, Shelagh herself stands beside Donuil, sheltered in the bend of his arm beneath his cloak, while the others of my party stand, sit or lie here and there wherever they have found space. To my right, in the wide, middle part of the vessel, our horses are secured, tethered by headstalls to stout wooden rails that cross the deck from side to side. But in the thinking of these things, in the act of recalling them, they are eclipsed from my mind by the looming vision of the hawklike eyes of Shelagh, filling up my mind.

The wind had been fair and steady that day. Above my head, a great square sail bellied from the central mast, and at prow and stern on either side, four teams of Eirish oarsmen swept their oars, their efforts carefully timed to marry with the mighty, sweeping strokes of the vessel that towed us, Feargus's great galley. Astern of us, riding easily in our wake, Logan's galley breasted the waves, making easy progress, awaiting the moment when it would take up the strain of towing us, relieving Feargus and his crew. We seemed to fly over the water, which was calm beneath blue skies dotted with scattered clouds.

I kept my eyes fixed on the distant hills of Eire, grasping the handrail even more tightly as a shapeless dread that filled my chest sought to overwhelm me.

Angered at my own senseless feelings of foreboding, I jerked my gaze away and looked around to where Feargus's galley pointed its nose to sea. Feargus, I knew, had more valid cause for deep concern than I had; my fears were obscure and formless, his sharp and crisply limned. Feargus misliked to head straight out into the unknown sea, for once beyond sight of land he would have no way of knowing where he was, or whither he was moving. His galley was overmanned, as was its consort, crowded with half again as many rowers as either craft would need in the normal scheme of things, and depriving Athol's forces of much-needed strength at home.

Feargus was gambling heavily on speed and strength, and fortune, hoping to exploit to maximum advantage the unusually mild break we were enjoying from the normal weather patterns at this time of year. If the wind held and the seas stayed calm, and if his crews, aided by the extra men aboard, could maintain the astounding pace he would set both day and night, he hoped to bring us safely across the narrowest part of the open sea between his land and mine in two days and nights, despite the terrors of losing sight of land by which to steer.

Beyond Feargus's sail, lighting it brightly from behind so that the shapes of sail and mast were thrown into silhouette, the morning sun climbed steadily into the sky. The last of the gulls that had followed us from the river's mouth broke away, swooping low over the waves and turning towards the distant land, rapidly diminishing until it vanished. The sail above me shifted with a loud crack as the wind veered slightly and once more the eyes of Shelagh filled my mind.

A large crowd had assembled on the pier along the bank of the river estuary immediately before our departure. Athol was there, and Connor and another ten or so in the king's own party gathered to bid us farewell and a safe journey. The horses were aboard and secured, and our possessions stowed away beneath the temporary decking installed to hold our horses. My men had said their good-byes and filed aboard, four of them handling Quintus with great care, keeping his stretcher level as they transferred it aboard, lest he reinjure his fast-healing leg. The tide was high, and about to turn. I had bidden my last farewell to Athol and to Connor, and then climbed aboard, leaving Donuil and Shelagh and her father to make their parting with the king in their own way.

Once aboard, I made a swift inspection of our status and found it satisfactory. A pair of massive, solid-wooden thwarts had been mounted on the foredeck, hard by the pointed prow. Solidly braced and bolted at their base to the structural beams inside the ship, down near the waterline, they were well buttressed by two flanking beams braced against the prow. There was but one purpose for these new thwarts, added by Athol's shipbuilders in recent days: to hold the end of the cable tow that would join our vessel to our larger, faster escorts.

A sudden swell of noise attracted me to the side and I saw people running towards the king and his party from the shipyards that lined the edges of the riverbank. A crowd of people, all of them men. Curious, I scanned what I could see of the shipyards, searching for a reason for the exodus, but there was nothing to see. The shipyards, which we had not seen until the time arrived for us to leave, seemed peaceful, dotted along the water's edge with galleys in all stages of construction, most of them new-looking, of bright, unpainted wood. On our arrival from the south, we had emerged from the forest upstream from these yards, turning away from them to Athol's stronghold without ever suspecting their existence. I watched as the first runners swarmed onto the pier, thronging around the king. Something was wrong, I knew, but I felt no desire to leave the deck to find out what it was. And now the king and Donuil were arguing, the one peremptory, the other expostulating fiercely; their voices, raised, came to me muffled by distance and by other noises so that I could make out no words. Shelagh pulled Donuil's arm, tugging at him, willing him to go with her, and the king waved his arms in turn at Liam, bidding him depart quickly. The three turned and made their way towards the plank that led up to the deck, Donuil unwilling and with many a backward glance. The king hurried away, his retinue in train, and abruptly the wharf lay empty save for two hurrying figures who cast off the ropes that bound our galley to the land. Distant movement atop the walls of dirt and logs that surrounded the shipyards drew my eyes. There was great activity there now, and the smoke of fires being lit.

I heard shouting from behind, and from on board, and the deck beneath my feet heeled slightly as the tow rope tightened, water squirting from its straightening length, and our craft began to move out from the wharf, dragged by the nose so that it turned almost within its own short length. As soon as we had left the land, our Eirish oarsmen lowered their sweeps and there was a rush of feet and the creak of more ropes as the spar that supported the sail was hoisted to the masthead and secured. In the space of mere heartbeats, it appeared, we were progressing at great speed, the river mouth already far distant behind us. I saw a seaman leap up to the rail and gesture northward and as I looked where he was pointing, I was unsurprised to note the other sails that dotted the skyline. Brander had come home.

Donuil, Shelagh and Liam had remained apart from the rest of us after boarding, talking urgently among themselves, and only now did Donuil step away from them and come to stand close by my side.

"What was that about?" I asked. "You looked for a time there as though you would remain behind."

"Aye, and I still think that was my place, in spite of what my father and the others say."

"What has happened?" I knew, before he answered, what his words would be.

"We were attacked, in heavy force, at dawn. From the south, as we expected. Finn was in place, and met them before they could build up momentum. He was hard-set, but holding them before the stronghold. He will not retreat inside the walls as long as he has strength to keep them back from the gates." Donuil gestured now to where his brother's fleet grew closer in the north. "Now that Brander is here, his men should make the difference and may enable Finn to turn the marauders back."

"And what of Brian? Any news of him?"

"No, nothing yet. But Kerry's dead."

The day went dark about me and the shapeless fear leapt, sudden, newborn, to my throat.

"Kerry? How?" But deep within my entrails I knew how.

Donuil was shaking his head. "No one knows, but he was killed before the attack began, slain after he left the post where he and Finn had spent the night."

My guts were roiling and black shadows danced across my vision, for all at once I knew why Kerry's face had seemed familiar. My stomach heaved and I lurched to the side to vomit. Below my hanging head I watched the water surge along the planks that kept the ship dry and afloat. Donuil was close beside me, but I asked him to leave, and he rejoined Shelagh, behind me.

That remembrance, as I have said, fills me again with sharp anxiety and fear each time I think of it, to this day, despite the fact that I have long since come to terms with what it was that ailed me. It was another of my accursed dreams, of course, but it was the first to which I had opened myself completely, prepared to accept the strangeness of it all and to attempt some form of understanding of the experience.

That I could not initially accept it, however, that I constrained it uselessly and searingly within my soul for such a length of time before I faced it, was due to the shock of having seen Lord Caerlyle, the smiling Kerry, face to face without recalling anything at all, save an annoying sense of having met the man before. There had been no sign, no suspicion that I might have dreamed of him. The thought had occurred to me on one occasion, but I had searched my mind and dismissed the possibility. My memory had been blank.

I turned my back to the sea and watched Donuil and Shelagh murmuring together, and, my mind open now, the memory of my dream returned to me. For the first time in my life, I recalled a dream in detail, even though long months had passed since I had dreamed it. I felt the prickles of superstition as the flesh on my upper arms rose into gooseflesh. Determined, I stepped towards them, noting that Liam had moved to where Dedalus and Rufio lounged against the opposite rail. Donuil looked up as I approached.

"It didn't thunder last night, did it? There was no storm?"

He shook his head, his eyes widening in surprise that I should ask. He and I had spent much of the night together, preparing for departure.

I looked at Shelagh, who was watching me, half smiling. "Shelagh, I must talk with you. It is important." I glanced at Donuil. "Would you permit us to speak alone for a moment?"

Mystified, he shrugged his huge shoulders and moved away to join Liam and the others. I took Shelagh by the elbow, leading her to a space close by the prow, beside the tow rope, where we might speak without being overheard. Without demur or question she seated herself on a coil of rope, beneath the shelter of the vessel's side. I crouched beside her.

"Have you said anything to Donuil of what you and I discussed the night I came to your father's house?"

"You mean about the dreams? No, I have not. There has been no time even to think of that since then."

"You mean you would have, had you had the time?"

She brought her brows together, puzzled, but not frowning. "I might have, I think. He has the right to know the kind of woman he will wed. Why do you ask that now? You said this was important. Does it have to do with this curse?"

"Aye, Shelagh, it's important. I have had another dream. This time a dream of Kerry's death, and I believe I know the truth of it. But you are the only one who might believe me."

"Tell me," she said at once, her eyes level with mine. "Last night? You dreamed of this last night?"

"No, months ago. Do you recall my telling you how I often fail to recognise my dreams until they have come to pass?" She nodded. "Well, I saw Kerry killed in a dream I had long months ago, before I ever met or heard of him. I only recalled it this morning, moments ago."

"Dia! But you have met him since then! Why did you not speak before?"

"Because I didn't know him! Didn't recognise him. I had forgotten the dream, if I ever recalled it at all. I knew only that he looked familiar, but I could not think why and so I passed it off, thinking he resembled someone else from long ago . . . Until Donuil told me of his death, and then I knew at once."

"Dial" She said the word again, an incantation to some Eirish god. "Tell me about your dream. Why did you ask Donuil if it stormed last night? Did it storm in your dream?"

"Aye, thunder and flaring lightning of the kind to terrify, and a great wind, but no rain. I was in a forest, among great trees, and it was pitch dark, save when the lightning flared, as it did almost without respite. I stood in a glade, beneath a tree, and a man approached me, outlined moment to moment by the flickering glare so that he seemed to leap to where I waited. He smiled at me and I knew him . . . and I hated him. As he approached, his smile grew wider and he came right to my side, as though to greet me, and then the dagger in my hand knocked him backwards as it stabbed up, beneath his ribs. He fell against a tree root, striking his head against the huge bole, and his mouth was filled with blood, black in the lightning's glare as I bent over him to wipe my blade clean on his cloak. He tried to speak to me, but died as I stood up again . . ."

She hissed at me, impatient with my lengthy pause. "What are you saying? You killed him? You killed Lord Kerry?"

"No, Shelagh, I dreamed it! This was my dream, no more. Last night I worked with Donuil far into the night, and then we slept together, side by side on the same cot, among the others. I do not even know where Kerry was last night, or when he died."

She pulled her head back as though she had been slapped. "Then . . . what is this, this dream? It makes no sense!"

"They never do, I told you that. . ." I drew a short, deep breath. "But this one did, or does. This one was different. . . I have not told you everything." I paused, thinking, then continued. "As I stood there, above the body, the lightning flared again, throwing my shadow on the tree where he lay dead." I stopped, then spoke again before she could interrupt. "It was not my shadow."

"Not. . . How could you know that? A shadow is a shadow."

"I don't know how I knew, but I knew—and still know—that shadow was not mine!"

Her eyes grew wide, because she had guessed at the sequel. "Whose . . . whose was it, then?"

"I swear it was Mungo Rohan!" I jerked myself erect, straightening my knees convulsively as I heard her gasp, and leaned my back against the right side of the ship's high prow, spreading my hands and feet for balance. She remained seated, her head directly beneath the tow cable, gaping up at me as I continued speaking, my eyes staring seaward. "Shelagh, I know there is no sane, logical explanation for such knowledge. And even more than that, I am aware of the gravity of all I have said. I know that by my simple repetition of these words to more impulsive ears than yours, Mungo Rohan's life would end abruptly. I know all that." I looked back into her eyes. "But, Shelagh, I know it is pure truth. Somewhere, somehow, at the depths of my being, I am convinced. I recognised that shadow beyond doubt. It was not distorted, nor altered by the flickering of the heavenly fires. It was—I was, there in that grove—Mungo Rohan, as surely as I breathe."

As suddenly as I had arisen, I dropped back down, bracing myself with one hand as I perched beside her, so that her head as she sat now was above me. "Nor is that all I know, Shelagh, although the God I revere must be shaking His head about how such knowledge came into my ken. The thing was planned. I knew, in my dream, that Kerry would come by there. I waited for him, and I knew that he would be alone. The thought was in my mind as I dreamed. Kerry would come this way, alone, and he would die, and we would have our way. We, Shelagh, for I was not alone in having plotted this death. We would have our way!"

I could see from her eyes that she believed, and was afraid to ask, and so I told her.

"Finn was the remainder of that We. Finn and I would prevail. The enemy would fail and be repelled, but in the achievement, Athol would fall— one way or another—and the Gaels would seek another king among his clan. Cornath, the firstborn son, is safe in Caledonia; Connor is crippled, hence unfit; his next-born brother, Brander, is at sea, involved in the new colonies; and Fingael, next in line after Caerlyle, would claim the King's Corona with its golden acorn points. Donuil did not even enter my mind. Fingael would rule, but I, Mungo, would be supreme."

In the silence that followed, Shelagh's face was deathly pale, her eyes filled with pain and deep, though unwilling, belief. She rose to her feet, pulling herself erect with a firm, one-handed grip upon the rail in front of her, after which she remained standing, leaning her shoulders against the taut cable, gazing out to where Feargus's galley laboured ahead of us, dragging us through the waters. She had thrown back the hood of her large travelling cloak and the wind, spilling and gusting all around her as it swirled about the prow, caught at her hair and blew it every way, so that much of the time it obscured her face and I could not observe her expression. I held myself in patience, awaiting her decision. She had immersed herself completely in what I had told her, and I had utter faith that she would know what I should do next—a knowledge completely without reason or logic, but both of those had disappeared completely with the news of Kerry's death.

My own thoughts were chaotic and, I fear, far less concerned with Athol and his grief and danger than with myself and my own reputation. No matter what I did now, I was thinking, I would be ill-regarded once the word was spread that I had dreamed this thing and then put credence in my own imaginings, perhaps enough to cause the death of high-placed enemies. I had no doubts that I was not the only one who had noticed Fingael's plain distaste for me—or Mungo's, for that matter. Added to that, the rumours that had caused my brother Ambrose deep concern back at home in Britain would be strengthened immeasurably by this development, and I could see no way of avoiding that. The word would spread. Tales of scandalous doings and supernatural deeds knew no borders or boundaries. Sorcerer, men would call me, and they would retell the tales of Merlyn's strangeness, whispered since his youth. Worse than that, however, was the concern caused by my new knowledge of the penalties for such abilities among Athol's own people. Possession of the Sight earned banishment. It mattered nothing that the curse I bore was born in me without my wishing it, or that I would be happy to abjure it. I was accursed. The mere suspicion of such abilities as mine would place me beyond the bourne of ordinary men.

I must have made some sound of distress, because Shelagh swung to face me. "What?" she asked. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to be a cause of distraction to her. She looked away immediately, her eyes moving speculatively to where Donuil stood with his companions by the rail, farther along the deck.

"Donuil will know what to do," she murmured, almost to herself. "We must tell him, immediately."

"Tell him what, Shelagh? That I've had a bad dream? He wouldn't believe it. I wouldn't either, were I he."

"He will believe it, after I have talked to him." We were both looking at Donuil now and he glanced in our direction, as though aware of it. Shelagh beckoned to him. "Leave me alone with him for a while, Caius. I need to make him listen."

Donuil and I passed each other with a nod and I took up his place with Dedalus, Liam and Rufio, where the talk was of the death of Kerry, the morning's attack and the timely arrival of Brander from the north. Much of these speculations passed by me unheeded, since my mind was fastened on Donuil, Shelagh and the truth revealed to me.

After an interval that seemed like hours, I heard Shelagh call my name and I made my way back to where they stood by the prow. Donuil watched me approach, his open face troubled. Shelagh wasted no time, but it was to Donuil that she spoke first.

"Tell me, my love, would this man, Caius Merlyn Britannicus, ever lie to you, do you think?" The question clearly took Donuil unawares, because his eyes went wide and he blinked, but there was no hesitation in his denial.

"No! How can you even ask that, knowing what I have told you?"

"Because I want that knowledge freshly stated in your mind before you listen to what he will tell you next." Her eyes met mine. "I have told Donuil all about myself—my dreams, I mean—and he believes me, although the idea upsets him. I also told him of our talk the night he and my father went to search for Rud."

"You have such dreams, Cay?"

I nodded. "Aye, infrequently, but I do."

"And you believe their. . . power?" The word came to him with difficulty.

"Not fully, and not willingly, until today."

He frowned, and Shelagh interposed herself between us, pressing against him, snuggling under his arm beneath his cloak, pulling him with her into the narrow angle formed by the rigid bar of the tow cable and the right half of the prow itself, artfully distracting him before he could say whatever had occurred to him.

"I have told him nothing of today, Caius," she said, once they were settled there. "That's your task. Tell him now."

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying us attention, and then leaned towards both of them, resting one hand on the rail and the other on the cable, so that the three of us were curtained from the rest of the ship by the spread of my cloak. There is no privacy aboard a galley. Then, keeping my voice low, I repeated my tale to Donuil.

His face drained of colour as he listened, and his mouth changed into a tight-clamped, lipless line. When I had finished he did not even question me, but stared off, over my shoulder, fury smouldering in his eyes.

"The question is, what do we do now?" I added, seeing that he was not about to speak. "I could tell you about this, with Shelagh's help, but we can't tell the others, not about a dream, with nothing to back up my fears. They'd think me mad, or worse, a sorcerer or demon of some kind."

He glanced at me, his eyes empty. "I don't care what they think, we have to turn around; go back."

"How, Donuil? Think, man! Feargus is your father's man and won't heed you. He knows you didn't want to leave, and that Athol ordered you away. Feargus will not turn back. He has his duties clearly in his mind. If he turns back, he risks losing the weather and perhaps the chance to sail again. His task is to drop us in Britain and then make all speed up the coast to bring your father's galleys back, for he cannot afford to assume the other ships will win through Liam's forces safely. And anyway, what would you tell him? That your Outlander friend has had a dream in which your own brother, the Lord Finn—who might even now be a hero, dead or victorious in this morning's fight—has played ignobly, plotting to murder his own brother, and his father next? Feargus would throw me overboard before he would permit me thus to sow the seeds of rebellion! He could never believe such things from a stranger's dream. We must do something, I know that, but we cannot turn about."

Angry at my words, unwilling to listen, but unable to deny the truth in them, Donuil had turned away, freeing his arm from Shelagh's shoulders and showing me the breadth of his back as I spoke. Now, suddenly, I saw him straighten, his whole body tense and alert as he gazed towards Feargus's galley surging ahead of us. He turned again, his gaze, keen now, going over my shoulder to the line of land still edging the horizon to the west. Then he broke free, pulling my right hand free of the rail and rushing back partway towards the stern, where he leaned outward, peering down. Satisfied of something, he spun and came back to us, ignoring the curious stares of the others. When he reached us again, his eyes were glowing, alight with decision.

"The boat," he said, smiling ferociously at Shelagh. "It has a sail, and oars. We're still in sight of land. I can be back home by tonight, even alone, and I'll land in darkness, unseen."

"I'll come with you."

"That you will not!" he said. "I'll have my hands full, and I need my wits about me. I won't be able to do what I might have to do if I'm concerned about your safety." He raised a hand, stopping her angry retort before it could emerge. "My love, I'm not saying you could not help me . . . I am saying that if I have only myself to worry about, I'll be better off and more able to react however I must." He turned to me. "Take her to Camulod, Caius. I'll join you there come spring, or even sooner. The galleys they are building to carry Liam's animals will cross before then. If I'm successful, I'll come with them."

"And what if you fail?" The question, asked by Shelagh in a cold, dead voice, quelled even my chaotic thoughts.

Donuil stopped and looked at her, then smiled and reached with a cupped hand to caress her cheek. "I won't fail, my love. I can't. I have two sons to father, don't you remember?"

She stared at him, still angry, then smiled, slowly, a tremulous, trusting smile, and the moment hung there between them. I coughed, to break the spell.

"What will you do, once there?" I asked him. "You have no way of proving anything."

He reached beneath his cloak, loosening the blade of his long cavalry sword in its sheath. "I'll do whatever seems right at the time," he answered. "I'll confront Mungo first, though, to his face, alone, just him and me."

"That might not be wise. I think you had better tell your father first what you suspect."

"Hmm . . . Perhaps. . ." He hesitated. "Tell me, you said my brother's mouth was filled with blood in your dream, and you wiped your blade clean on his cloak. Did any splash on you?"

"Blood?" I stared at him, trying to remember. "I don't know, but then I didn't look down at myself. My eyes were all for the man I had killed."

"Then it might have? Blood might have stained your clothes?"

"Aye. There was blood in plenty. Some might have splashed on me. But. . ."

"But what?"

"I saw it only in the lightning, Donuil, and there was no storm last night."

"No, Cay, there was no storm, but there was murder done, and if my brother had red blood in him, it would have spilled, storm or calm, regardless. The whoreson Rohan might be stained, or might have taken off his bloodstained clothes. He might have hidden them, if he did, but he'll have had no time to burn them yet, not with MacNyalls attacking." His eyes moved from me to Shelagh and back. "If blood is there, I'll find it, and then I'll carve his fat carcass and feed it to my grasping brother Fingael." He looked around him again. "I have to leave. Each oar stroke sets more distance to reclaim." Exuding a confidence that I had never seen in him, he stooped and kissed Shelagh, a long, lingering embrace, and then he gripped my arm as though I were now the neophyte and he the commander. "Take care of her. I'll see you soon."

He spun and left us, adjusting his sword and armour as he strode to the stern, where he set two seamen to hauling in the rope securing the small, sail-equipped rowing boat the sailors used for everything too petty for the larger galley to achieve. As soon as the tiny vessel was alongside, he climbed over the side and leapt down into it, then cut the rope that tethered it to us. Free of its line, the boat responded instantly to the pull of the water, falling away behind us at a startling pace as Donuil fought, leaning into the tiller, to bring its nose around to meet the waves that threatened to engulf it. Everyone had watched his passage the length of the galley, but until he swung his leg over and dropped from sight into the boat, their interest had been mere curiosity. Now Dedalus and his group surrounded me and Shelagh.

"What's going on?" Dedalus asked for all of them. "Where's Donuil off to?"

I held up my hand, bidding him wait as we watched Logan's galley ship oars, the banks of sweeps rising to the vertical, the vessel ceasing all forward motion as Donuil's boat approached it. As he came close alongside, someone threw a line, and he secured it to his boat, so that the small vessel swung in under the larger's side. I could see Logan leaning over, shouting, but could not hear his words. Presently, I saw movement behind Logan, and four armed men swung themselves down, one after the other, to join Donuil. As soon as they were safe, he cast off again and the tide swept him behind the galley, out of our sight. Moments later, Logan's oars dipped again and his crew began to pull. By the time it had moved far enough to reveal Donuil's craft again, the little boat had hoisted sail and was scudding away towards the distant land. I turned then to the others.

"Donuil had to leave," I told them. "There was something he had to do, some business neglected in the heat of leaving." They stared at me as though I were twitting them.

"We had guessed he had to leave," Ded said.

"Well then," I smiled. "What more can I say?"

He shook his head, and his eyes flickered briefly towards Shelagh. "Well," he sighed, "it must be a matter of great import for Donuil. If such a matter had been mine to deal with, no matter who else thought it important, I would have set the world on end to save the doing of it for a better day. I'd have to be an older man than he before I'd tend to anything if it meant leaving my love on a ship bound for another land."

I relented slightly, for the sake of Shelagh, nodding my head in acquiescence. "Some information came into his possession, something I knew and he did not. . . something I told him with no anticipation of how he might react. He chose to leave and rejoin his father." That was as close to the truth as I could come without admitting to my dream and opening a full Pandora's box of troubles. I looked from face to face, seeing the friendship there and feeling guilty for my reticence.

"My friends, when I have decided how I should proceed henceforth, and when I have learned something of the outcome of Donuil's sudden departure, I will tell you what has occurred here today. But accept this: Donuil had no other recourse open to him, once he had heard what I told him. It would not be possible to turn the galleys back without losing time that might be vital to the survival of our friends in Athol's kingdom."

Ded had one more comment. He eyed me shrewdly. "Do you believe he took the proper course?"

I looked him in the eye. Did I, in fact, believe it? I nodded. "Yes, Ded. I do."

"So be it, then. I've not known you lacking in judgment in the past, so I won't look for it now." He looked now at Shelagh, and then back at me. Will you translate my words for the lady?" I nodded, and he turned again to Shelagh. "Lady, until your man returns, we—all of us—will be at your command, so call on any one of us without delay should there be anything you require . . . among us, we can handle anything. Your man may be a heathen and a giant, but he has earned our friendship and our trust." A growled chorus of assent from the others confirmed what he had said.

Shelagh had been staring at him, her head cocked to one side as she listened, and now as I translated what Dedalus had said, she blushed, a dark flood of red stealing over her face. She nodded graciously and whispered, "I thank you."

On that, the men turned as one and left us to ourselves, Shelagh, Liam and me.

The remainder of the voyage passed quickly and uneventfully, apart from a short visit from Feargus, who boarded us nimbly from the little boat that brought him from his galley as soon as Logan had taken the tow from him. He was much less angry than I had expected, listening to my explanation— the same one I had given to my own men—in silence. I his reaction afterwards was much akin to Ded's, too, save that Feargus accorded the good judgment in the affair to Donuil, who was, when all was said and done, he pointed out, the son of Athol Mac Iain and much like his father in his thinking. He spent some time with Liam and Shelagh after he had done speaking with me, and then returned to his own galley.

Thereafter, the weather and the wind both held, and the moon rode in a clear sky overhead throughout the night, so that we kept both our consorts in sight at all times. At dawn on the third day, dark clouds came rolling towards us from the west. The new day had already revealed the broken skyline of land directly in our path, however, and Feargus now had no fears of foundering. Logan was towing us again and heavy rain squalls were breaking around us by the time we drew near enough to the coast to begin looking for landmarks. Never having seen the coast of Britain from the sea before, except in leaving it, my men and I were useless to the lookouts, but Feargus and Logan both knew where we were, and soon we changed direction, speeding diagonally under full sail and oars to the south until we gained, and passed, a point of land that stretched out farther than any other. The massive inlet we found beyond it, we were told by those on board who knew, was really an outlet, the mouth of the estuary to the south of Cambria, which now lay directly on our left. The ruins of Glevum lay ahead of us, farther in, on the south bank.

We felt the change in motion as soon as we entered the estuary, and soon we noted the changed colours of the water beneath our vessel. None of us had been sick at sea, to the great surprise of our Eirish oarsmen who, I sensed, felt cheated because of that. Before the sun had risen halfway up the sky, we were sweeping along between the banks of a broad but rapidly narrowing river mouth, with sand flats and shoals on either side of the deep channel we followed. As we progressed, a low ground fog clung to the land on either side like smoke, obscuring our view, but the water ahead of us was clear of it. The wind died suddenly, blocked by the land around us, and four men hauled down the sail, so that, in the absence of wind and waves, the galley's hull hissed audibly through the water between strokes of the oars. And as we progressed, the fog receded, until the banks lay clear and open and the huddled buildings of a town emerged from the distance. Glevum.

A short time later, there came a shout from Logan's galley, and a series of hurried manoeuvres, and the heavy tow cable went slack and was thrown overboard by four more men. The loud clacking of a wooden winch came clearly afterwards, as Logan's crew hauled the bulky cable aboard.

We were in mid-stream, but now our oarsmen went to work again and brought us slowly towards the town that lined the bank, and we saw the very wharf from which we had stolen the barge, mere weeks before. All three ships came to rest a safe distance from attack, but none of us saw any signs of life. The desolate ruins seemed empty. Uneasy nonetheless, I had my bow strung and an arrow nocked as soon as we were within bowshot—my bowshot, which none other could match.

Feargus was first on the wharf, surrounded by his men, a number of whom he sent to scour the seemingly empty buildings. He stood there without moving, his arm extended to hold us away until the word came back that it was safe. As soon as he received it, he waved us in and set his men to finding ways to bridge the space between deck and dock for our horses.

It took close to two hours before we were unloaded and the little man turned to me with a sniff and a smile. "Well, Master Merlyn, you are home again, and so's Lord Donuil, safe in his own land."

"Aye, Feargus." I glanced to where Liam, Shelagh and some others stood with the woman Turga and the babe she held close to her. Young Arthur had reached the age at which he grew restive quickly in confining arms, and he was wriggling mightily. But Turga held him easily. I turned back to Feargus.

"Do you have time to walk with me awhile?" I saw him start to frown and pressed on. "I wish to speak to you of Donuil, and his departure, but it is for your ears alone. I could not speak of it aboard the galley, with so many about."

He nodded. "Aye, then. Let us walk."

"Good. I will not waste your time."

During the next quarter hour I told him my strange tale, holding back nothing in spite of my fear of his reaction. I had determined that since he was King Athol's most trusted associate, he had every right to know the reason for the strange defection of his chief's son. And so I told him of my dream, and of Donuil's reaction to hearing of it. Feargus listened closely, walking head downward, his hands clasped behind his back, and I could not see his face. When I had finished, he stopped and looked up at me, chewing a ragged end of his long moustache.

"One of your men told me the Druids had the raising of you?"

"Aye." This was half word, half laugh; he had surprised me. "Some of it, at least. My grandsire's people in the hills had Druids among them. Some of them were my teachers."

"Did you tell them aught of your Sight?"

"No. In those days I had not been aware of it."

"Aye, well, treat it with respect. It is a gift, and a curse, given to few men. Do not abuse it."

"Don't abuse it?" I was astonished. "Then you don't think I should be banished from the haunts of men?"

The look he flashed me was of pure scorn. "Old women's fancy, that! Punishment born of terror and the fear of the unknown; sorcery and the like. No man with a mind of his own can doubt the existence of the nether world. We talk of gods, which means we give credence to things other than natural. Your gift is not unnatural, Master Merlyn, merely unusual. Your visions come to you in sleep, do they not? Nothing is more natural or more needed than sleep." He grinned, sudden and wicked. "In the meantime, I'll be in Caledonia the day after tomorrow, and back home in Eire within the week following that. The Lord Donuil will not lack swords to do his bidding after that. When this is over, and the vermin plaguing us are sent back home licking their wounds, I'll bring Lord Donuil back to his Lady myself. You have my word on that."

As we stood on the wharf, watching them depart with Shelagh's empty galley in tow again, it did not cross my mind to doubt him. We watched them until they had shrunk to dots in the distance, and then I turned to Rufio and Dedalus with the word that we ourselves should prepare to leave— to discover that they, along with me, Liam, Quintus on his litter, the women and the child, were all who remained on the wharf. Farther along, on the stony road fronting the warehouses, our two trainees were working with the horses.

"Where are the others?"

"Searching the buildings for a pair of wheels. Quintus still cannot walk or ride, you know." Dedalus spoke without expression, but Rufio grinned at me and jibed, "That sounded insubordinate to me, Commander, now that we are back in Britain. Am I not right?"

"Yes, it was insolent, Centurion Rufio. But then, it was Dedalus who spoke, was it not? We have to consider the source from which the matter springs." I turned away smiling and moved to Quintus, who lay watching me, his back propped against a bundle of saddle blankets.

"How are you feeling, Quint?"

He smiled and touched his hand to the thigh beneath his covers. "I'll mend, Commander. I doubt if even Lucanus could have bettered the work done on this leg by the boys. It's clean, it's sound, it's all sewn up, and healing rapidly. I don't know who it was that choked me and half-killed me, but I'm glad he did, whoever it was. I'd hate to have been conscious when this bone was set. I saw it when they hauled me from the sea."

"Aye—" I was interrupted by a shout from along the wharf, and watched Benedict and Cyrus approach, pulling a two-wheeled cart. Even from a distance it looked agued, rocking from side to side alarmingly. As they drew closer, the reason became clear. The thing was ancient, with high, ungainly and badly warped wheels lacking a large number of spokes. The others began to appear, drawn by the noise, all of them empty-handed, and the chorus of cheers and jeers grew louder as the crowd around the sad old cart grew.

Quintus had been gazing at all this in alarm and as the small procession reached us he called out to Cyrus. "Hey, I can't ride in that! The thing will fall apart and I'll be thrown out and break my leg again."

"Well, walk then, ingrate! In all this town there's only one conveyance, and we are worn out finding it for you, and you would turn up your nose at it?" Cyrus was delighted with his find and his infectious gaiety encouraged the spontaneous good feelings of returning home. I called them to order and we began inspecting the cart. Benedict, who was something of a carpenter, offered some quick, monosyllabic suggestions of how to improve and strengthen the frame and sides, but there was nothing to be done about the wheels, he said emphatically in the crude way common to soldiers everywhere. I told him to do the best he could, and he began issuing orders, so that by mid-afternoon the cart had been much improved, even its shaky wheels strengthened by struts of planking from a dismantled door, placed hexagonally around the decrepit rims and fastened into place with horseshoe nails, then reinforced with cross-braces. We piled Quintus, Liam, the women and the child into the body of the cart with as much extra baggage as the contraption would hold, hitched our most placid horse between the shafts, and made our way from Glevum to the southeast, towards the leper colony of Mordechai Emancipatus.