To Love Again

Chapter 1

“Oh, Gaius, how could you!” Kyna Benigna asked her husband irritably. She was a tall, handsome woman of pure Celtic descent. Her dark red hair was woven in a series of intricate braids about her head. "I cannot believe you sent to Rome seeking a husband for Cailin. She will be furious with you when she finds out." Kyna Benigna's long, soft yellow wool tunic swung gracefully as she paced the hall.

"It is time for her to marry," Gaius Drusus Corinium defended himself, "and there is no one here who seems to suit her."

"Cailin will be just fourteen next month, Gaius," his wife reminded him. "This is not the time of the Julians, when little girls were married off the moment their flow began! And as for finding no young man to suit her, I am not surprised by that. You adore your daughter, and she you. You have kept her so close she has not really had a chance to meet suitable young men. Even if she did, none would match her darling father, Gaius. Cailin has but to socialize like a normal young girl, and she will find the young man of her dreams."

"That is impossible now, and you know it," Gaius Drusus Corinium told her. "It is a dangerous world in which we live, Kyna. When was the last time we dared venture the road to Corinium? There are bandits everywhere. Only by remaining within the safety of our own estate are we relatively safe. Besides, the town is not what it once was. I think if someone will buy it, I shall sell our house there. We have not lived there since the first year of our marriage, and it has been closed up since my parents died three years ago."

"Perhaps you are right, Gaius. Yes, I think we should sell the house. Whomever Cailin marries one day, she will want to remain here in the country. She has never liked the town. Now tell me. Who is this young man who will come from Rome? Will he stay in Britain, or will he want to return to his own homeland? Have you considered that, my husband?"

"He is a younger son of our family in Rome, my dear."

Kyna Benigna shook her head again. "Your family has not been back to Rome in over two centuries, Gaius. I will allow that the two branches of the family have never lost touch, but your dealings have been on a business level, not a personal one. We know nothing of these people you propose to give your daughter to, Gaius. How could you even consider such a thing? Cailin will not like it, I warn you. You will not twist her about your little finger in this matter."

"The Roman branch of our family have always treated us honorably, Kyna," Gaius said. "They are yet of good character. I have chosen to give this younger son an opportunity because, like the younger son who was my ancestor, he has more to gain by remaining in Britain than by returning to Rome. Cailin shall have Hilltop Villa and its lands for her dowry that she may remain near us. It will all work out quite well. I have done the right thing, Kyna, I assure you," he concluded.

"What is this young man's name, Gaius?" she asked him, not at all certain that he was right.

"Quintus Drusus," he told her. "He is the youngest son of my cousin, Manius Drusus, who is the head of the Drusus family in Rome. Manius had four sons and two daughters by his first wife. This boy is one of two sons and a daughter produced by Manius's second wife. The mother dotes on him, Manius writes, but she is willing to let him go because here in Britain he will be a respected man with lands of his own."

"And what if Cailin does not like him, Gaius?" Kyna Benigna demanded. "You have not considered that, have you? Will not your cousins in Rome be offended if you send their son back home to them after they have sent him here to us with such high hopes?"

"Certainly Cailin will like him," Gaius insisted, with perhaps a bit more assurance than he was feeling.

"I will not allow you to force her to the marriage bed if she is not content to make this match," Kyna Benigna said fiercely; and Gaius Drusus Corinium was reminded suddenly of why he had fallen in love with this daughter of a hill country Dobunni chieftain, instead of another girl from a Romano-British family. Kyna was every bit as strong as she was beautiful, and their daughter was like her.

"If she truly cannot be happy with him, Kyna," he promised, "I will not force Cailin. You know I adore her. If Quintus displeases her, I will give the boy some land, and I will find him a proper wife. He will still be far better off than if he had remained in Rome with his family. Are you satisfied now?" He smiled at her.

"I am," she murmured, the sound more like a cat's purr.

He has the most winning smile, she thought, remembering the first time she had seen him. She had been fourteen, Cailin's age. He had come to her father's village with his father to barter for the fine brooches her people made. She had fallen in love then and there. She quickly learned he was a childless widower, and seemingly in no hurry to remarry. His father, however, was quite desperate that he do so.

Gaius Drusus Corinium was the last of a long line of a family of Roman Britons. His elder brother, Flavius, had died in Gaul with the legions when he was eighteen. His sister, Drusilla, had perished in childbirth at sixteen. His first wife had died after half a dozen miscarriages.

Kyna, the daughter of Berikos, knew she had found the only man with whom she could be happy. Shamelessly she set about to entrap him.

To her surprise, it took little effort. Gaius Drusus Corinium was as hot-blooded as the Celtic girl herself. His proper first wife had bored him. So had all the eligible women and girls who had attempted to entice him after Albinia's tragic death. Once Kyna had gotten him to notice her, he could scarce take his eyes from her. She was as slender as a sapling, but her high, full young breasts spoke of delights he dared not even contemplate. She mocked him silently with her sapphire-blue eyes and a toss of her long red hair, flirting mischievously with him until he could bear no more. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life, and so he told his father.

Kyna was beautiful, strong, healthy, and intelligent. Her blood mixed with theirs could but strengthen their family. Titus Drusus Corinium was as relieved as he was delighted.

Berikos, chieftain of the hill Dobunni, was not. "We have never mixed our blood with that of the Romans, as so many other tribes have," he said grimly. "I will barter with you, Titus Drusus Corinium, but I will not give your son my daughter for a wife." His blue eyes were as cold as stone.

"I am every bit as much a Briton as you are," Titus told him indignantly. "My family have lived in this land for three centuries. Our blood has been mixed with that of the Catuvellauni, the Iceni, even as your family has mixed its blood with those and other tribes."

“But never with the Romans,” came the stubborn reply.

"The legions are long gone, Berikos. We live as one people now. Let my son, Gaius, have your daughter Kyna to wife. She wants him every bit as much as he wants her."

"Is this so?" Berikos demanded of his daughter, his long mustache quivering furiously. This was the child of his heart. Her betrayal of their proud heritage was painful.

"It is," she answered defiantly. "I will have Gaius Drusus Corinium for my husband, and no other."

"Very well," Berikos replied angrily, "but know that if you take this man for your mate, you do so without my blessing. I will never look upon your face again. You will be as one dead to me," he told her harshly, hoping his words would frighten her into changing her mind.

"So be it, my father," Kyna said with equal firmness.

She had left her Dobunni village that day and had never looked back. Though she missed the freedom of her hill country, her inlaws were loving and kind to her. Julia, her mother-in-law, had wisely insisted the marriage be postponed six months so that Kyna could learn more civilized ways. Then, a year after their marriage was celebrated, she and Gaius had left the house in Corinium for the family villa some fifteen miles from town. She was not yet with child, and it was thought the serenity of the countryside would aid the young couple in their attempts. Sure enough, when Kyna was in her seventeenth year, their twin sons, Titus and Flavius, were born. Cailin came two years later. After that there were no more children, but Kyna and Gaius did not care. The three the gods had blessed them with were healthy, strong, beautiful, and intelligent, even as their mother was.

Berikos, however, had never forgiven Kyna for her marriage. She sent him word of the birth of her sons, and another message when Cailin had been born, but true to his word, the Dobunni chieftain behaved as if she did not exist. Kyna's mother, however, came from their village after Cailin's birth. She immediately announced that she would remain with her daughter and son-in-law. Her name was Brenna, and she was Berikos's third wife. Kyna was her only child.

“He does not need me. He has the others," was all Brenna would say by way of explanation. So she had stayed, appreciating perhaps even more than her daughter the civilized ways of the Romanized Britons.

The villa in which Brenna now lived with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren was small but comfortable. Its porticoed entrance with four white marble pillars was impressive in direct contrast to the informal, charming atrium it led to. The atrium was planted with Damascus roses, which had a longer blooming season than most, due mainly to their sheltered location. In the atrium's center was a little square pool in which water lilies grew in season and small colored fishes lived year-round. The villa contained five bedchambers, a library for Gaius Drusus, a kitchen, and a round dining room with beautiful plaster walls decorated with paintings of the gods' adventures among the mortals. The two best features of the house, as far as Brenna was concerned, were the tiled baths and the hypocaust system that heated the villa in the damp, chilly weather. Beyond the entrance there was nothing grand about the house, which was constructed mostly of wood with a red tile roof, but it was a warm and cozy dwelling, and its residents were happy.

They had been a close family, and if Kyna had one regret, it was that her in-laws insisted upon remaining in Corinium. They liked the town with all its bustle, and Titus had his place on the council. For them life at the villa was dull. As the years passed, and the roads became more dangerous to travel, their visits grew less frequent.

Although neither Kyna nor her husband remembered the days when the legions had overflowed their homeland, keeping Britain's four provinces and their roads inviolate, their elders did. Julia bemoaned the legions' loss, for without them civil authority outside the towns was hard to maintain. A plea to Rome several years after the withdrawal of the armies had been answered curtly by the emperor. The Britons would have to fend for themselves. Rome had troubles of its own.

Then suddenly, three years ago, Gaius and Kyna had been sent word that Julia was ill. Gaius had taken a party of armed men and hurried to Corinium. His mother had died the day after his arrival. To his surprise and even deeper sorrow, his father, unable to cope with the loss of the wife who had been with him for most of his adult life, pined away, dying less than a week later. Gaius had seen to their burial. Then he had returned home, and the remaining family had drawn in even closer.

Now, Kyna Benigna left her husband to his accounts and hurried off to find her mother. Brenna was in the herb garden transplanting young plants into the warm spring soil.

"Gaius has sent to his family in Rome for a husband for Cailin," Kyna said without any preamble.

Brenna climbed slowly to her feet, brushing the dirt from her blue tunic as she did so. She was an older version of her daughter, but her braids were prematurely snow-white, providing a startling contrast to her bright blue eyes. "What in the name of all the gods possessed him to do a silly thing like that?" she said. "Cailin will certainly accept no husband unless she herself does the choosing. I am surprised that Gaius could be so foolish. Did he not consult with you beforehand, Kyna?"

Kyna laughed ruefully. "Gaius rarely consults with me when he plans to do something he knows I will disapprove of, Mother."

Brenna shook her head. "Aye," she answered. "It is the way of men. Then we women are left to repair the damage done, and to clean up the mess. Men, I fear, are worse than children. Children know no better. Men do, and yet they will have their way. When are we to expect this proposed bridegroom?”

Kyna clapped a hand to her mouth. "I was so distressed by Gaius's news that I forgot to ask him. It must be soon, or he wouldn't have said anything. Cailin's birthday is in a few weeks. Perhaps Quintus Drusus will arrive by then. I expect that Gaius has been dealing in this perfidy since last summer. He knows the young man's name, and even his history." Her blue eyes grew angry. "Indeed, I am beginning to suspect this plot was hatched some time ago!"

"We will have to tell Cailin," Brenna said. "She should be aware of her father's actions. I know Gaius will not force her to marry this Quintus if she does not like him. That is not his way, Kyna. He is a just man."

"Aye, he is," Kyna admitted. "He has agreed that if Cailin refuses his choice, he will find Quintus Drusus another wife, and give him some land. Still, I wonder, Mother, will these Roman relations be content if their son marries another girl when they have been promised our daughter? There are no young girls of our acquaintance whose families can equal or even come near Cailin's dowry. Times are very hard, Mother. Only my husband's prudence has allowed Cailin the advantages of an heiress's wealth."

Brenna took her daughter's hand in hers and patted it comfortingly. "Let us not seek out difficulties, or see them where none yet exist," she said wisely. "Perhaps this Quintus Drusus will be the perfect husband for Cailin."

“Husband? What is this talk of a husband, Grandmother?"

The two older women started guiltily and, swinging about, came face to face with the main object of their discussion, a tall, slender young girl with wide violet-colored eyes and an unruly mop of auburn curls.

"Mother? Grandmother? Who is Quintus Drusus?” Cailin demanded. "I want no husband chosen for me; nor am I yet even ready to wed."

"Then you had best tell your father that, my daughter," Kyna said bluntly. Although she had worried about broaching this problem with Cailin, it was not her way to beat about the bush. Plain speech was best, particularly in a difficult situation like this. "Your father has sent to his family in Rome for a prospective husband for you. He thinks it is time you were married. Quintus Drusus is the young man's name, and he is, I surmise, expected at any minute."

"I will certainly not marry this Quintus Drusus," Cailin said, with stony finality in her tone. "How could Father do such a thing? Why should I be married off before Flavius and Titus, or has he sent to Rome for brides to wed my brothers too? If he has, he will find they are no more eager than I am!"

Brenna could not help but laugh. "There is far more Celt than Roman in you, my child," she said, chuckling. "Do not worry about this Quintus Drusus. Your father has said if you do not like him, you do not have to have him; but perhaps he will turn out to be the man of your dreams, Cailin. It is possible."

"I cannot imagine why Father thinks I need a husband," Cailin grumbled. "It is too ridiculous to even contemplate. I would much rather stay at home with my family. If I marry, then I must take charge of a household and have babies. I am not ready for all of that. I have had little enough freedom to do anything I really find interesting, for I am deemed too young, but suddenly I am old enough to wed. How absurd! Poor Antonia Porcius was married two years ago when she was just fourteen. Now look at her! She has two babies. She has grown fat, and she always looks tired. Is that what Father thinks will make me happy? And as for Antonia's husband, well! I hear he has taken a very pretty Egyptian slave girl to his bed. That shall not happen to me, I assure you. When the time comes, I will choose my own husband, and he will never stray from my side, or I will kill him!''

"Cailin!" Kyna reproved her. "Where did you ever hear such salacious gossip about Antonia Porcius? I am surprised at your repeating it."

"Ohh, Mother, everyone knows. Antonia complains about her husband at every turn. She feels put upon, and she very well may be, though I think it her own fault. The last time I saw her at the Saturnalia, she was unable to stop talking about all her woes. She pinned me in a corner for close to an hour chattering.

"It's all her father's fault, you know. He chose a husband for her. How smug she was at the time, too! She loved lording it over us other girls when we met at the festivals. Sextus Scipio was so handsome, she bragged. Handsomer than any husbands we'd ever get. Why, there wasn't a man in all of Britain as handsome as he was. He was rich, too. Richer than any husbands we'd ever get. By the gods, how she carried on! She's still carrying on, I fear, but now 'tis a different tune she sings. Well, that's not for me! I will pick my own husband. He will be a man of character, and of honor."

Brenna nodded. "Then you will choose wisely when the time comes, my child."

"Like I chose," Kyna said softly, and her companions smiled in their agreement.

When they came together that evening for their meal, Cailin teased her father. "I hear you have sent to Rome for a very special birthday gift for me, Father," she said. Her large violet eyes twinkled with humor. She had had the afternoon to cool her temper. Now Cailin thought it very funny that her father believed her ready to marry. She had only begun her moon cycles a few months ago.

Gaius Drusus flushed nervously and eyed his daughter. "You are not angry?" Cailin had a fierce temper. Even he could be cowed by it. Her Celtic blood was far hotter than that of her twin brothers.

"I am not ready for marriage," Cailin said, looking her father directly in the eye.

"Marriage? Cailin?" Her brother Flavius hooted with laughter.

"The gods pity the poor fellow," said his twin, Titus. "Who is this sacrificial offering on the altar of matrimony to be?"

"He comes from Rome," Cailin told them. "One Quintus Drusus, by name. I believe he is escorting the maidens chosen to be your wives, dear brothers. Yes, I am certain he is. We're to have a triple wedding. 'Twill save our parents a fortune in these hard times. Now, what did Mother say the brides' names were? Majesta and Octavia? No, I think it was Horatia and Lavinia."

The two sixteen-year-olds paled, only realizing it was a jest when their entire family burst out laughing. Their relief was comical.

"You see, Father," Cailin said. "The thought of anyone choosing their spouses is abhorrent to my brothers. It is even more abhorrent to me. Is there no way you can stop this Quintus Drusus from coming? His trip will be a wasted one. I will not marry him."

"Quintus Drusus will be here in two days' time," Gaius said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Two days!" Kyna glared at her husband, outraged. "You did not tell me until this man was but two days from our villa? Ohh, Gaius! This is really too intolerable of you! Every servant is needed in the fields for the spring planting. I have no time to prepare for an unexpected guest from Rome." She glowered fiercely at him.

"He is family," Gaius replied weakly. "Besides, our home is always pristine, Kyna. You well know it."

"The guest chamber must be cleaned and aired. It hasn't been used in months. The mice always take up residence there when it is shut up. The bed needs a new mattress. The old one is filled with lumps. Do you know how long it takes to make a new mattress, Gaius? No, of course you do not!"

"Let him have the old mattress, Mother," Cailin said. "He will leave all the quicker if he is uncomfortable."

"He will not leave," Gaius Drusus said, recovering his equilibrium, and his dignity as head of this household. "I have promised his father that Quintus will have a future in Britain. There is nothing for him in Rome. My cousin, Manius, begged me to find a place for the boy. I have given my word, Kyna."

"You did not approach him first with this silly scheme to marry Cailin off?" she demanded. She was beginning to see the issue in a different light now.

"No. Manius Drusus wrote to me two years ago," said Gaius. "Quintus is the youngest of his children. If he had been a girl it would have been easier, for they could have married off a girl with a modest dowry; but he is not a girl. There is simply no place for Quintus in Rome. The sons of Manius's first marriage are all grown with children of their own. Manius parceled off his lands to them as each married. His daughters were well dowered, and wed as well.

"Then, after having been widowed for several years, he suddenly fell in love. His new wife, Livia, bore him first a daughter, and Manius was rich enough that there was enough for her dowry. Then Livia bore Manius a son. My cousin determined that the boy would inherit their house in Rome. His wife agreed that there must be no more children, but…"

Kyna laughed. "Cousin Manius dipped his wick one final time, and Quintus was born of their indiscretion," she finished for her husband.

He nodded. "Aye. My cousin hoped to make another small fortune for this last child, but you know, Kyna, how bad Rome's economy has been over these past years. The government is constantly spending more than it has to spend. The legions must be paid. Taxes have risen threefold. The coinage is so debased now as to be worth nothing. My cousin could but support his family. There was nothing to give young Quintus. So, Manius Drusus appealed to me to help him. He offered Quintus as a husband for our daughter. It seemed to me a good idea at the time."

"It was not," his wife said dryly, "and you really should have discussed it with me first."

"I will not marry this Quintus Drusus," Cailin said again.

"You have already told us that several times, my daughter," Kyna said soothingly. "I am certain that your father accepts your decision in this matter, even as I do. The problem remains, however, of what we must do. Quintus Drusus has traveled hundreds of leagues from Rome to come to a new and better life. We cannot send him back to his old one. Your father's honor-indeed, the honor of the whole family, is involved." She furrowed her brow for a moment, and then she brightened. "Gaius, I believe I may have the answer. How old is Quintus Drusus?"

"Twenty-one," he told her.

"We will tell him that we have decided Cailin is too young to marry at this time," Kyna said. "We will imply his father misunderstood you. That all you offered was to give Quintus a start in Britain. If Cailin eventually fell in love with him, then a marriage could certainly take place. You did not actually make a marriage contract with Manius Drusus, Gaius, did you?" She looked anxiously at her husband.

"Nay, I did not."

"Then we will have no problems," Kyna said, relieved. "We will give young Quintus that little villa with its lands by the river, the one you purchased several years ago from the estate of Septimus Agricola. It's fertile and has a fine apple orchard. We'll supply him with slaves, and with hard work he can make it quite prosperous."

Gaius Drusus smiled for the first time that day. "It is the perfect solution," he agreed with her. "I could not manage without you, my dear, I fear."

"Indeed, Gaius, I am most certainly of the same opinion," Kyna replied.

The rest of the family laughed.

When they had recovered from their mirth, Cailin said, "But do not make a new mattress, Mother. We want Quintus Drusus gone from this house as quickly as possible, remember."

There was more laughter. This time Gaius Drusus joined in, relieved that a potentially difficult situation had been resolved by his beautiful, clever wife. He had not made a mistake all those years ago when he had married Kyna, the daughter of Berikos.

Two days later, exactly as predicted, Quintus Drusus arrived at the villa of his cousin. He came astride a fine red-brown stallion that his father had gifted him with when he departed Rome. Quintus Drusus's sharp black eyes took in the rich, newly turned soil of his cousin's farmland; the well-pruned trees in the orchards; the fine repair of the buildings; the good health of the slaves who were working outdoors in the spring sunlight. He was well-pleased by what he saw, for he had not been overly happy with the plans his father had made for him.

"You have no choice but to go to Britain," his father had told him angrily when he had protested the decision. His mother, Livia, was weeping softly. "There is nothing for you here in Rome, Quintus. Everything I have is distributed among your siblings. You know this is to be true. It is unfortunate that you are my youngest child, and I can offer you neither land nor monies.

"Gaius Drusus Corinium is a very wealthy man with much land in Britain. Though he has two sons, he will dower his only daughter very well. She will have lands, a villa, gold! It can all be yours, my son, but you must pay the price for it, and the price is that you exile yourself from Rome. You must remain in Britain, work those lands you receive. If you do, you will be happy and comfortable all your days. Britain is most fertile, I have been told. It will be a good life, I promise you, Quintus," his father had finished.

He had obeyed his parents, although he was not happy with the decision they had made for him. Britain was at the end of the earth, and its climate was foul. Everyone knew that. Still, he could not stay in Rome, at least not right now. Armilla Cicero was becoming most demanding. She had told him last night that she was pregnant, and that they would have to marry. Her father was very powerful; Quintus Drusus knew that he could make life most uncomfortable for any man he thought had made his daughter unhappy. It was better to leave Rome.

Armilla would have an abortion, as she had had on a number of occasions. He was not the first man she had cast her nets for, nor would he be the last. It was really quite a shame, Quintus thought, for Senator Cicero was a wealthy man, but his two other sons-in-law lived unhappily beneath his thumb. That was not the kind of life Quintus Drusus envisioned for himself. He would be his own man.

Nor, it occurred to him as he approached the villa of his cousin, Gaius Drusus Corinium, did he have in mind a lifetime spent farming in Britain. Still, for now there was nothing else he could do. Eventually he would think of a plan, and he would be gone, back to Rome, with a pocket full of gold coin that would keep him comfortable all of his days.

He saw a handful of people come out of the villa to greet him, and forced a smile upon his extremely handsome face. The man, tall, with dark brown hair and light eyes, was like no Drusus he had ever seen, but was obviously his cousin Gaius. The woman, tall, with a fine, high bosom and dark red hair, must be his cousin's wife. The older woman with white hair was her mother, no doubt. His father had told him that their cousin Gaius's Celtic mother-in-law lived with them. The two almost-grown boys were images of their father. They were sixteen; close to manhood really. And there was a girl.

Quintus Drusus was close enough now to see her quite clearly. She was tall like the rest of her family, taller, he thought irritably, than he was himself. He did not like tall women. Her hair was a rich auburn, a long, curly mass of untidy ringlets that suggested an untamed nature. She was very fair of skin with excellent features; straight nose, large eyes, a rosebud of a mouth. She was actually one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen, but he disliked her on sight.

"Welcome to Britain, Quintus Drusus," Gaius said as the young man drew his horse to a stop before them and dismounted.

"I thank you, cousin," Quintus Drusus replied, and then politely greeted each of the others as they were introduced. To his amazement, he sensed that his proposed bride disliked him even as he did her. Still, a man did not have to like a woman to wed her, and get a proper number of children on her. Cailin Drusus was a wealthy young woman who represented his future. He didn't intend to let her get away.

For the next few days he waited for his cousin, Gaius, to broach the matter of the marriage contract and set a wedding date. Cailin avoided him as if he were a carrier of the plague. Finally, after ten days, Gaius took him aside one morning.

"I promised your father that because of the bonds of blood binding our two families," the older man began, "I would give you the opportunity to make a new life for yourself here in Britain. I have therefore signed over to you a fine villa and farm with a producing orchard by the river. It has all been done quite legally and filed properly with the magistrate in Corinium. You will have the slaves you need to work your lands. You should do quite well, Quintus."

"But I know nothing about farming!" Quintus Drusus burst out.

Gaius smiled. "I am aware of that, my boy. How could a fine fellow like yourself, brought up in Rome, know anything about the land? But we will teach you, and help you to learn."

Quintus Drusus told himself he must not lose his temper. Perhaps he could sell this farm and its villa and escape back to Rome. But Gaius's next words dashed all his hopes in that direction.

"I bought the river farm from the estate of old Septimus Agricola several years back. It has lain fallow since then. I was fortunate to get it cheap from the heirs who live in Glevum. Property values are down even further now for those wishing to sell, but they are an excellent value for those wishing to buy."

There was no quick escape, then, Quintus Drusus thought gloomily, but once his marriage to Cailin was settled, they would at least be monied. "When," he asked his cousin, "do you propose to celebrate the marriage between your daughter and myself?"

"Marriage? Between you and Cailin?" Gaius Drusus wore a puzzled face.

"My father said there would be a marriage between your daughter and myself, cousin. I thought I came to Britain to be a bridegroom, to unite our two branches of the family once again." Quintus Drusus's handsome face showed his barely restrained anger.

"I am so sorry, Quintus. Your father must have misunderstood me, my boy," Gaius said. "I but offered you an opportunity here in Britain where there was none for you in Rome. I felt it my duty because of our blood ties. Now if you and Cailin should fall in love one day, I should certainly not object to your marrying my daughter, but there was no contract for a marriage enacted between our two families. I regret your confusion." He smiled warmly, and patted the younger man's arm. "Cailin is still just half grown. If I were you, my boy, I should seek a strong, healthy woman from amongst our neighbors' daughters. We are celebrating the festival of manhood, the Liberalia, for our twin sons in a few days. Many of our neighbors and their families will be attending. It will be a good time for you to look over the local maidens. You are a good catch, Quintus. Remember, you are a man of property now!"

No marriage. No marriage. The words burned in his brain. Quintus Drusus had not been privy to the correspondence between his father and his cousin Gaius, but he had been quite certain his father believed a marriage was to take place between himself and Cailin Drusus. Had his father misunderstood? He was not a young man by any means, being some twenty years older than Gaius Drusus.

Or had his father known all along that there would be no marriage? Had Manius Drusus tricked him into leaving Rome because Gaius was willing to offer him lands of his own? Did Manius Drusus dangle a rich marriage before his youngest child because he knew that he would not go otherwise? It was the only explanation Quintus Drusus could come up with. His cousin Gaius seemed an honest man in all respects. Not at all like that sly old Roman fox, his father.

Quintus Drusus almost groaned aloud with frustration, running a hand through his black hair. He was marooned at the end of the earth in Britain. He was to be a farmer. He shuddered with distaste, seeing a long, dull life filled with goats and chickens stretching ahead of him. There would be no more glorious gladiatorial battles at the Colosseum to watch; or chariot racing along the Appian Way. No summers on Capri, with its warm blue waters and endless sunshine, or visits to some of the most incredible brothels in the world, with their magnificent women who catered to all tastes.

Perhaps if he could get that little bitch Cailin to fall in love with him… No. That would take a miracle. He did not believe in miracles. Miracles were for religious fanatics like the Christians. Cailin Drusus had made her dislike plain from the moment they laid eyes on one another. She was barely civil when they were in the presence of their elders, and ignored him when they found themselves alone. He certainly did not want a wife as outspoken and unbridled as this girl was. Women with Celtic blood seemed to be that way. His cousin's wife and mother-in-law were also outspoken and independent.

Quintus Drusus made an effort to swallow his disappointment. He was alone in a strange land, hundreds of leagues from Rome. He needed the goodwill and the influence of Gaius Drusus and his family. He had nothing, not even the means to return home. If he could not have Cailin, and the fat dowry her father would undoubtedly settle on her one day, there would be another girl with another fat dowry. He now needed Cailin's friendship, and the friendship of her mother, Kyna, if he was to find a rich wife.

Quintus's young cousins, Flavius and Titus, would be celebrating their sixteenth birthdays on the twentieth of March. The Liberalia fell on March 17. The manhood ceremony was always celebrated on the festival nearest a boy's birthday-although which birthday was up to the discretion of the parents.

On that special day, a boy put aside the red-edged toga of his childhood, receiving in its place the white toga of manhood. Here in Britain it would be a mostly symbolic affair, for the men did not normally wear togas. The climate was too harsh, as Quintus had discovered. He had quickly adopted the warm, light wool tunic and cross-gartered braccos of the Romano-Britons.

Still, the old customs of the Roman family were kept, if for no other reason than they made wonderful excuses to get together with one's neighbors. It was at these gatherings that matches were made, as well as arrangements to crossbreed livestock. They gave friends a chance to meet once again, for unnecessary travel on a regular basis was simply no longer possible. Each party setting out for the villa of Gaius Drusus Corinium made burnt offerings and prayers to their gods that they would arrive safely, and return home in safety.

On the morning of the Liberalia, Quintus Drusus said to Kyna in Cailin's presence, "You will have to introduce me to all the eligible women and maidens today, my lady. Now that my cousin Gaius has so generously made me a man of property, I will be seeking a wife to share my good fortune with me. I rely on your wisdom in this matter, even as I would rely on my own sweet mother, Livia."

"I am certain," Kyna told him, "that such a handsome young man as yourself will have no trouble finding a wife." She turned to her daughter. "What think you, Cailin? Who would best please our cousin? There are so many pretty girls among our acquaintances ready to wed."

Cailin looked at her cousin. "You will want a wife with a good dowry, will you not, Quintus? Or will you simply settle for virtue," she said wickedly. "No, I do not think you will settle for just virtue."

He forced a laugh. "You are too clever by far, little cousin. With such a sharp tongue, I wonder if you will ever find a husband for yourself. A man likes a little honey with his speech."

"There will be honey aplenty for the right man," Cailin said pertly, smiling with false sweetness at him.

Earlier that morning Titus and Flavius had removed the golden bullae that they had worn around their necks since their twin births. The bullae, amulets for protection against evil, were then laid upon the altar of the family gods. A sacrifice was made, and the bullae were hung up, never to be worn again unless their owners found themselves in danger of the envy of their fellow men, or of the gods.

The twins next dressed themselves in white tunics, which, according to custom, their father carefully adjusted. Since they descended from the noble class, the tunics donned by Titus and Flavius Drusus had two wide crimson stripes. Finally, over each of their tunics was draped the snow-white toga virilis, the garment of a man considered grown.

Had they lived in Rome, a procession consisting of family, friends, freedmen, and slaves would have wound its way in joyful parade to the Forum, where the names of the two sons of Gaius Drusus would have been added to the list of citizens. It had been the custom since the time of the emperor Aurelian that all births be registered within thirty days in Rome, or with the official provincial authorities; but only when a boy formally became a man was his name entered in the rolls as a citizen. It was a proud moment. The names of Titus and Flavius Drusus Corinium would be entered in the list kept in the town of Corinium, and an offering would be made to the god Liber at that time.

Just as their neighbors and friends began to arrive for the family celebration, Cailin took her brothers aside. "Cousin Quintus would like us to introduce him to prospective wives," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I think we should help him. He will be gone all the sooner. I can barely remain civil in his presence."

"Why do you dislike him so, Cailin?" Flavius asked her. "He has done nothing to you. Once Father told him there would be no marriage between you, you should have felt more at ease. Instead you take every opportunity to snipe at him. I do not understand."

"He seems a good fellow to me," Titus agreed with his twin. "His manners are flawless, and he rides well. I think Father was correct when he told Quintus that you were too young for marriage."

"I am not too young for marriage should the right man come along," Cailin responded. "As for Quintus Drusus, there is something about him that my voice within warns me of, but I know not what it is. I simply think he is a danger to us all. The sooner he is gone to the river villa and settled with a wife, the happier I will be! Now, what girls do you feel would suit him? Think! You two know every eligible, respectable, and not so respectable maiden for miles around."

They laughed in unison, rolling their eyes at one another, for if there was one thing Cailin's brothers liked, it was the ladies-so much so that Gaius Drusus was declaring his sons men in order to find them wives and marry them off before they caused a scandal by impregnating some man's daughter or, worse, being caught debauching some man's wife.

"There is Barbara Julius," Flavius said thoughtfully. "She is a handsome girl with nice big breasts. Good for babies."

"And Elysia Octavius, or Nona Claudius," Titus volunteered.

Cailin nodded. "Yes, they would all be suitable. I like none of them so well that I would warn them off our cousin, Quintus."

The families from the surrounding estates were arriving. The twins made their suggestions to their mother, and Kyna dutifully made the proper introductions. Quintus Drusus's handsome face, coupled with his lands, made him more than eligible.

"He needs three arms," Cailin said dryly to her grandmother, "for Barbara, Nona, and Elysia will certainly end up in a cat fight trying to hold on to him. Will I have to simper like that to gain a man's attention and devotion? It's disgusting!"

Brenna chuckled. "They are simply flirting with Quintus," she said. "One of them must gain ascendancy over the others if they are to capture your cousin's heart. Men and women have flirted for centuries. Someday a man will come along who appeals to you so strongly that you will flirt with him, my Cailin. Trust me in that."

Perhaps, Cailin thought, but she still felt that the three girls being dangled before Quintus were silly creatures. She wandered through the crowd of her neighbors filling the gardens of the villa. No one was paying a great deal of attention to her, for this was not her day, but rather her brothers'. Cailin could smell spring in the air at long last. The ground was warm again, and the breeze mild, even if the day was not as bright as they might have wished. Then she saw Antonia Porcius, but before she might turn in another direction, Antonia was hailing her noisily, and there was no avoiding her.

"How are you, Antonia?" Cailin inquired politely, bracing for the flood of words to come, for Antonia Porcius could not answer the simplest query without going into great detail.

"I have divorced Sextus," Antonia announced dramatically.

"What?" Cailin was astounded. This was the first she had heard of it.

Antonia put her arm through Cailin's and said in confidential tones, "Well, actually, he ran away with that little Egyptian slave girl of mine. Father was furious. He said I must not remain married to Sextus Scipio under those circumstances. Then he granted me a divorce!" She giggled. "Sometimes having the chief magistrate of Corinium for a father isn't such a bad thing. I got everything, of course, because Sextus wronged me publicly. Father says no honest magistrate would allow a good wife and her children to suffer under those circumstances. If Sextus ever comes back, he will find he has come back to nothing, but I hear they took flight for Gaul. Imagine! He said he was in love with her! How silly of him."

Her blue eyes narrowed a moment. "I hear your cousin has come from Rome, and that your father has given him the old Agricola estate. I hear that he is divinely handsome. My estates match those lands, you know. My father wanted to buy them for me, but your father got to the heirs in Glevum first. What is his name? Your cousin's, I mean. Will you introduce me, Cailin? The gossip is that he is looking for a wife. A rich woman such as myself would not be a bad match now, would it?" She giggled again. "Wouldn't it be nice if we were cousins, Cailin? I've always liked you, you know. You don't say cruel things about me to the other girls behind my back. I think you must be the only friend I have, Cailin Drusus!"

Cailin was astounded. They were hardly friends; at seventeen, Antonia was her senior, and had rarely given her the time of day. Until today.

Why, the silly cow, Cailin thought. She really wants to meet Quintus! I suppose snatching him from beneath the noses of the others would give her a double victory of sorts. She would best those who spoke unkindly of her, and she would prove to the world that she was still a very desirable woman; that Sextus Scipio was a cad, and a fool.

"How kind you are, dear Antonia," Cailin heard herself saying as her mind raced with delicious possibilities. Antonia might be plump, but she was more than just pretty. By marrying her, Quintus would gain a wife rich in both lands and money. She was her father's only child, and she would inherit everything he owned one day.

She was also foolish, and selfish. Sextus Scipio must have been absolutely miserable with her to have left everything his family had built up over the last few hundred years. Antonia Porcius certainly deserved her cousin, and most assuredly Quintus Drusus deserved the daughter of the chief magistrate of Corinium.

"Of course I will introduce you to my cousin Quintus, Antonia. You must promise me, however, that you will not swoon," Cailin teased her companion. "He is as handsome as a god, I vow! I only wish he found me attractive, but alas, he does not. It would be exciting indeed if you and I became cousins." She pulled Antonia about and said, "Come along now! My mother has already begun introducing him to every eligible girl in the province. You do not want them to steal a march on you. But I think, mayhap, when Quintus sees you, dear Antonia, both your lives will change. Ohh, wouldn't it be wonderful!"

Quintus Drusus was very much in his element, surrounded by attractive, nubile girls who were all fawning over him. He saw Cai-lin's approach with a plump little blond, but he waited until she spoke to him before acknowledging her.

"Cousin Quintus, this is my good friend, Antonia Porcius." Cailin pulled the simpering woman forward. "Antonia, this is my big cousin from Rome. I'm certain that you two have much in common. Antonia is the only child of the chief magistrate in Corinium, Quintus."

Well, well, well, he thought. Little cousin Cailin is being most helpful indeed. I wonder what mischief she is up to now? Yet, he was curious. She had quite clearly signaled him that the blond girl was the daughter of a powerful man, and an heiress to boot. He couldn't understand why Cailin would want to do him a favor. She had made no secret of her dislike of him since they had first laid eyes upon one another. Her candidate for his hand must have a flaw of some sorts. Then he gazed into Antonia's limpid blue eyes, and decided whatever that flaw was, he would certainly enjoy ferreting it out.

His hand went to his heart, and he said, "The sight of you, my lady Antonia, gives me comprehension at long last of why Britain's women are so famed for their beauty. I prostrate myself at your feet."

Antonia's mouth made a small round O of delight, while the other girls pressing in on Quintus Drusus gaped with surprise. Then the handsome young Roman took Antonia Porcius by the arm and requested that she show him the gardens. The couple walked slowly from the group, seemingly enraptured by each other's company, while those left behind stared in amazement.

"Is there madness in your family, Cailin Drusus?" Nona Claudius asked, her tone one of a young lady most put out.

"Whatever possessed you to introduce Antonia Porcius to such an eligible man?" demanded Barbara Julius.

"And whatever does he see in her?" Elysia Octavius wondered aloud. "We are younger and prettier by far."

"I did not mean to distress you," Cailin said innocently. "I simply felt sorry for poor Antonia. I just learned that she is divorced. Sextus, her husband, ran off with a slave girl. I but sought to cheer her up by introducing her to my cousin. I certainly never thought he would be attracted to her. She is older than all of us, and you are correct, Elysia, when you observed that we are all prettier." Cailin shrugged. "There is no accounting for men's taste in women. Perhaps Quintus will quickly become bored with her and come back to you all."

"If your villa were not the most remote of all of our homes from Corinium, Cailin, you would have known about Antonia's divorce," Barbara told her irritably. "Frankly, none of us blames poor Sextus Scipio. Antonia is selfish beyond bearing. Whatever she sees and desires, she must have. Sextus claimed he was being driven to poverty by her. If he denied her anything, her father would upbraid him. She is not a good mother, and she is cruel to her slaves, my father says. Ohh, she is sweet and charming when she gets her own way, but when she doesn't, beware! She wanted Sextus Scipio because he was the most handsome and the richest man about. Once she had lured him into her trap, however, she became once more what she really is, a spoilt little bitch. You should really warn your cousin."

"I hear," Nona Claudius said, lowering her voice so the other girls were forced to lean forward, "that although Antonia got her husband's estate, his goods, and chattel, that Sextus Scipio and his little mistress escaped with much gold and other coin. My father was his banker, you know. He says that Sextus Scipio had been transferring funds abroad for months now. Antonia's not telling anyone that. She's put it right from her mind. The thought of her husband getting away to live happily ever after in comfort is frankly more than she can bear."

"She is obviously casting her nets for a new husband," Barbara said in annoyed tones, "and once again it is the most handsome man in the province. I suppose he is rich, too. I don't know why Antonia has all the luck!"

"He's not rich at all," Cailin told them, hoping to frighten them off and further Antonia's cause. "He is the youngest son of my father's cousin in Rome. It is a very big family. There was nothing left for poor Quintus. Father felt sorry for him, and asked his cousin Manius to send Quintus to us. Then he gave him the river villa along with all its lands. Of course, he will loan him slaves to work the lands and keep the orchard, but my cousin Quintus has very little but his handsome face to recommend him."

"Antonia's lands match those of the river villa," Nona said. "When your gorgeous cousin learns that, he will be even more intrigued by her. Antonia's a rich woman. Frankly, Quintus Drusus would be a fool not to have her. There is no hope for us, I fear."

"Do you really think so?" Cailin said. "Oh, dear!"

Brenna joined her granddaughter as the other girls drifted away. "You scheme like a Druid, Cailin Drusus," she murmured.

"The sooner he is married off," Cailin said, "the safer I will be. Thanks be to the gods that he did not like me on sight. There is something about him, Grandmother. I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel Quintus Drusus is a danger to me, to us all. I hope he weds Antonia Porcius for her wealth, and her connections. I will not be content until he is gone from our home." She looked into Brenna's kindly face. "You do not think me foolish to feel so strongly?"

"No," Brenna said. "I have always said you were more Celt than your brothers. The voice within calls to you, warns you about Quintus Drusus. Listen to it, my child. That voice will never play you false. It is when we do not listen to that voice that we make errors in judgment. Always trust your instincts, Cailin," her grandmother counseled.

Chapter 2

With so many lovely girls in the province to choose from, why on earth did Quintus marry Antonia Porcius?" Kyna wondered aloud to her husband and family.

Their cousin's very lavish wedding had been celebrated the morning prior in Corinium. They were now traveling back to their own villa, which was some eighteen miles from the town; a good day's travel. Gaius and his sons were astride their horses. The three women rode in an open cart. They journeyed with a large party of families from nearby villas. The neighbors had banded together to employ a strong troop of men-at-arms for their protection along the road.

"Antonia is a very attractive woman," Gaius answered his wife.

"That is not what I mean," Kyna said sharply, "and you well know it, Gaius! Quintus might have chosen a virgin of good family. Instead he decided upon a divorced woman with two children, and a father who cannot let his daughter be. Anthony Porcius will not be an easy father-in-law, as poor Sextus Scipio found to his dismay."

"Come now, my dear," Gaius Drusus told her, "you know as well as I do that Quintus fixed his sights on Antonia for several reasons. She is rich. Her lands match the lands I gave him. There is little mystery to it, Kyna. Quintus was promised land and a wife if he came to Britain. Of course, I had intended that wife to be Cailin; but since Cailin would not have him-and indeed, if I must be honest, she and Quintus would have been a bad match- Quintus chose wisely in Antonia. He is strong enough to control her. It will be a good marriage."

"I thought they made a most handsome couple," Cailin ventured.

Her mother laughed. "You would have thought Quintus and Hecate made a good couple if it would save you from marrying him, my daughter. Now what will you do for a mate?"

"When the right man comes along, Mother, I shall know it," Cailin replied confidently.

"Why is it," Flavius asked, "that Antonia and Quintus chose you to be one of their witnesses, little sister?"

Cailin smiled with false sweetness. "Why, Flavius, did you not know? I introduced our cousin Quintus to my dear friend Antonia. I suppose they believe that having played Cupid, I am responsible, in part, for the great happiness they have found in each other."

"Cailin!" her mother exclaimed. "You introduced Quintus and Antonia to each other? You never told me this before. I wondered how they met that day."

"Did I not mention it, Mother? I suppose it slipped my mind because I thought it of no import," Cailin answered. "Yes, I did introduce them. It was at the Liberalia, when my brothers became men."

"You plot like a Druid!" her mother said.

"Grandmother said the same thing," Cailin admitted mischievously.

"I certainly did," Brenna agreed. "Of your three whelps, she is most like a Dobunni Celt. Berikos would approve of her."

"Mother," Cailin asked, "why did Berikos disapprove of your marriage to Father?" She never thought of her mother's paternal parent as Grandfather. He was rarely mentioned in her household, and she had never even once laid eyes on him. He was as big a mystery to Cailin as she would have been to him.

"My father is a proud man," Kyna said. "Perhaps overproud. The Dobunni were once members of the powerful Catuvellauni Celts. A son of their great ruler Commius, one Tincommius by name, brought a group of followers to this region many years ago. They became the Dobunni. Your grandfather descends from Tincommius. He is proud of his line, and prouder yet of the fact that none of his family until me ever married into the Roman race. He has always hated the Romans, although for no real reason that he ever shared with any of us.

"When I saw your father, and fell in love with him, Berikos was quite displeased with me. He had already chosen a husband for me, a man named Carvilius. But I would not have Carvilius. I would only have your father, and so Berikos disowned me. I had shamed him. I had shamed the Dobunni."

"He is a fool, and ever was," Brenna muttered. "When word was brought to him of the twins' births, a smile split his face for the briefest moment, and then he grew somber, saying, 'I have no daughter.' His other wives, Ceara, Bryna, and that little fool Maeve, were all preening and bragging over their grandchildren, but with my one child exiled, I was forbidden to say a word. Indeed, what could I have said? I hadn't ever even seen the boys."

"But," Cailin questioned Brenna, "if Berikos had three other wives, and other children, why was he so angry at Mother for having followed her heart? Didn't he want her to be happy?"

"Berikos has sired ten sons on his other wives, but my child was his only daughter. Kyna was her father's favorite, which is why he let her go, and why he could never forgive her for turning her back on her heritage," Brenna sadly explained.

"When you were born, however, I told Berikos that if he could not forgive your mother for marrying a Romano-Briton, I must leave the tribe to be with my daughter. He had other grandchildren, but I had only your mother's children. It was not fair that he rob me of a place by my daughter's fire, or the right to dandle my grandchildren upon my knee. That was fourteen years ago. I have never regretted my decision. I am far happier with my daughter and her family than I ever was with Berikos, and his killing pride."

Kyna took her mother's hand in hers and squeezed it hard as the two women smiled at each other. Then Brenna reached out with her other hand and patted Cailin's cheek lovingly.

Quintus's marriage had been celebrated on the Kalends of June. To everyone's surprise, including his own, he was a most proficient manager of his estates, including his wife's vast portion. The river villa he deemed in too poor repair, and had it demolished. The fields belonging to the estate now bloomed with ripening grain. The orchards thrived. Quintus, comfortable in his wife's lavish villa, put on weight. His devotion to Antonia was astounding. Though it was his right to take any slave who caught his fancy to his bed, he did not do so. His stepsons feared and respected him, as should the children of any respectable man. His slaves found nothing to gossip about their master. And as for Antonia, by early autumn she was pregnant.

"It is astounding," Gaius said to his wife. "Poor Honoria Porcius in all her years of marriage could get but one child; but her daughter ripens like a melon each time a husband comes through the door. Well, I must admit that Cailin's matchmaking was a good thing. My cousin Manius should be most grateful to me for his son's luck."

Quintus Drusus, however, was not quite the man he seemed. His good fortune had but given him an appetite for more. The civil government was crumbling with the towns themselves. He could see that soon there would be no central government left. When that happened, it would be the rich and the powerful who controlled Britain. Quintus Drusus had decided that he would be the richest and most powerful man in Corinium and the surrounding countryside when that time came. He looked covetously at the estates of his cousin, Gaius Drusus Corinium.

Antonia had been recently chattering to him about possible matches to be made for his cousins, Titus and Flavius. They were already disporting themselves among the slave girls in their father's house. The rumor was that one of them-and no one was certain which, for they were identical in features-had gotten a young slave girl with child. Their marriages could quickly mean children; another generation of heirs to the estate of Gaius Drusus Corinium.

And then there was Cailin. Her parents would soon be seeking a husband for her. She would also celebrate a birthday in the spring. At fifteen she was certainly more than old enough to marry. A powerful husband allied with his cousin Gaius-the thought did not please Quintus Drusus. He wanted the lands belonging to his benefactor, and the quicker he got them, the fewer complications he would have to deal with. The only question remaining in his mind was how to attain his goal without being caught.

Gaius and his family would have to be disposed of, but how was he to do it? He must not be suspected himself. No. He would be the greatest mourner at the funerals of Gaius Drusus Corinium and his family- and the only one left to inherit his cousin’s estates. Quintus smiled to himself. In the end he would have far more wealth than any of his brothers in Rome. He thought of how he had resisted the idea of coming to Britain, yet had he not come, he would have lost the greatest opportunity of his life.

"You look so happy, my love," Antonia said, smiling at him as they lay abed.

"How could I not be happy, my dear," Quintus Drusus answered his wife. "I have you, and so much else." He reached out and touched her swelling belly. "He is the first of a great house, Antonia."

"Oh, yes!" she agreed, catching his hand and kissing it.

Antonia's sons, he thought, as he tenderly caressed his adoring wife. They were young, and so fragile. The merest whisper of disease could take them. It really seemed a shame that the sons of Sextus Scipio should one day have anything of his. But of course, Antonia would not allow them to be disinherited. Though she was not the best of mothers, she did dote on her children. Still, anything might happen, Quintus Drusus considered. Anything.

Quintus Drusus's son was born on the Kalends of March, exactly nine months to the day his mother had married his father. The infant was a large, healthy child. Antonia's joy at the birth of her child was short-lived, however, for the next morning, the two little boys born of her marriage to Sextus Scipio were discovered drowned in the atrium fish pond. The two slave women assigned to watch over the children were found together in most compromising circumstances; naked, entwined in a lascivious embrace, and drunk. There was no defense for their crime. Both were strangled and buried before the fateful day was over. Antonia was hysterical with grief.

"I shall call him Posthumous in honor of his brothers," Antonia declared dramatically, large tears running down her cheeks as she gazed upon her day-old son. "How tragic that he shall never know them.”

"He shall be called Quintus Drusus, the younger," her husband told her, slipping two heavy gold bracelets on her arm as he gave her a quick kiss. "You must not distress yourself further, my dear. Your milk will not come in if you do. I will not have my son suckling on the teats of some slave woman. They are not as healthy as a child's own mater. My own mother, Livia, always believed that. She nursed my brother, my sister, and myself most faithfully until we were past four." He reached out, and slipping a hand beneath one of her breasts, said with soft menace, "Do not cheat my son, Antonia, of what is his right. The sons of Sextus Scipio were innocents, and as such are now with the gods. You can do nothing for them, my dear. Let it go, and tend to the living child the gods have so graciously given us." Leaning over, he kissed her lips again.

The nursemaid took the infant from Antonia. She lay the child at her master's feet. Quintus Drusus took up the swaddled bundle in his arms, thereby acknowledging the boy as his own true offspring. This formal symbolic recognition meant the newborn was admitted to his Roman family with all its rights and privileges. Nine days after his birth, Quintus Drusus, the younger, would be officially named amid much familial celebration.

"You will remember what I have said, my dear, won't you?" Quintus Drusus asked his wife as he handed his son to the waiting nursemaid and arose from her bedside. "Our child must be your first consideration."

Antonia nodded, her blue eyes wide with surprise. This was a side of her husband she had never seen, and she was suddenly afraid. Quintus had always been so indulgent of her. Now, it would seem, he was putting their son ahead of her.

He smiled down at her. "I am pleased with you, Antonia. It has been a terrible time for you, but you have been brave. You are a fit mother for my children."

He left her bedchamber and made his way to his library. The house was quiet now, without his stepsons running about. In a way, it was sad, but in a few years' time the villa would ring again with the laughter and shouts of children. His children. A single lamp burned upon the table as he entered his private sanctuary, shutting the door firmly behind him. Only the gravest emergency would cause anyone to disturb him once that door was closed. He had quickly trained the servants after his marriage to Antonia that this room was his sanctum sanctorum. No one came in but at his invitation.

"You did very well," he told the two men who now stepped from the shadows within the room.

"It was easy, master," the taller of the two answered him. "Those two nursemaids was easy pickin's. A little drugged wine, a little fucking, a little more wine, a little more-"

"Yes, yes!" Quintus Drusus said impatiently. "The picture you paint is quite clear. Tell me of the boys. They gave you no trouble? They did not cry out? I want no witnesses coming forward later on."

"We throttled them in their beds as they slept, master. Then we placed their bodies in the atrium pond. No one saw us, I guarantee you. It was the middle of the night, and all slept. We made that pretty tableau for everyone to find before we done the children. Quite a wicked pair, those girls looked," the tall man continued. He sniggered lewdly.

"You promised us our freedom," the other man said to Quintus Drusus. "When will you give us our freedom? We have done as you bid us."

"I told you that there were two tasks you must perform for me," Quintus Drusus answered him. "This was but the first."

"What is the second? We want our freedom!" the tall man declared.

"You are impatient, Cato," Quintus Drusus said, noting his look of distaste. It amused Quintus Drusus to give his slaves dignified, elegant-sounding identities. "In nine days' time," he continued, "my son will be formally named, and a ceremony of purification will be performed. It is a family event to be celebrated within the home. My father-in-law will come from Corinium; my cousin Gaius and his family from their nearby villa. It is my cousin and his family that I want you to study well.

"There is a Celtic festival in May. I remember it from last year. Gaius Drusus allows his slaves their freedom that night from sunset until the following dawn. I intend to pursue the same custom. On that night you will eliminate my cousin and his family. As an extra incentive, you may steal my cousin's gold from a certain hiding place I shall reveal to you when the time comes. In the ensuing uproar it will take several days for me to discover that those two new slaves from Gaul that I recently purchased are gone. Do you understand me?" He stared coldly at the pair, wondering if there was a way he could eliminate them as well and save himself the possibility of ever being discovered. No. He would have to rely on these two. If he was any judge of men, they would flee as fast as they could back across the sea to Gaul.

"Beltane," Cato said.

"Beltane?" Quintus Drusus looked puzzled.

"The Celtic festival you mentioned. It is celebrated the first day of May, master. There is no other spring festival of note."

"How appropriate," Quintus Drusus said with a brief smile. "I married my wife on the Kalends of June. Our son was born on the Kalends of March. Now on the Kalends of May I shall achieve the beginnings of my destiny. I do believe that the number one is a lucky one for me." He looked at the two Gauls. "I will dim the lamp a moment. Go out by the garden exit, and behave yourselves. Both of you! You must have easy access to the house when my cousin and his family are here. If you have been causing difficulties, the majordomo will send you to the fields. You are of no use to me in the fields."

In the morning, Quintus Drusus sent messengers to his father-in-law in Corinium, bidding him come, and to his cousin Gaius, inviting him and his family to the new Drusus's name day and purification. It was not until they arrived for the celebration that Gaius Drusus Corinium and his family learned of the deaths of Antonia's two older sons.

"Ohh, my dear," Kyna said, kissing the young woman on both cheeks, "I am so terribly sorry. Why did you not send for me? My mother and I would have come. Cailin too. It is not good for a woman to be by herself in a time of such great sorrow."

"There was no need," Antonia said softly. "My little ones are safe with the gods. Quintus has assured me of it. There is nothing I can do for them. I must think of the baby. Quintus will not have a slave woman nursing him. I cannot distress myself lest my milk cease. That would displease Quintus very much, and he is so good to me."

"She is mesmerized by him," Cailin said in disgust.

"She is in love with him," Kyna answered.

"I think it very convenient that Sextus Scipio's two sons are now gone," Cailin noted quietly.

Kyna was truly shocked. "Cailin! What are you saying? Surely you are not accusing Quintus Drusus of some unnatural act? He loved those two little boys and was a good stepfather to them both."

"I accuse no one of anything, Mother," Cailin said. "I have merely observed the convenient departure of Antonia's little boys. You must admit that it can but suit Quintus that only his own child is left alive to inherit one day all he has gained."

"Why, when you speak of Quintus," Kyna asked her daughter, "are your thoughts always so dark, Cailin?"

The girl shook her head. "I do not know," she answered honestly. "My voice within warns me against him, calls to me of some nameless danger, yet I know not what. I thought when he married Antonia, these feelings would evaporate, but they have not. If anything, they have grown stronger each time I am in Quintus's presence."

"Are you jealous, perhaps, of Quintus's marriage?" Kyna probed. "Is it possible that you regret your decision not to wed him?"

"Are you mad, Mother?" The look of distaste on Cailin's beautiful face told Kyna that she was definitely on the wrong track.

"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."

Brenna lay quietly, absorbing his words. She prayed they would not realize she was still alive. When they had gone, she would somehow escape to warn Cailin of the carnage. She stifled a groan, almost biting through her lip with the effort. Her head hurt fearfully. She suspected she had lost a great deal of blood, but if the gods would just grant her the power to remain alive long enough to avenge Kyna and the rest of her family, she would never again ask them for anything.

Brenna smelled the smoke of the burning bed and the gauze window hangings. Heard footsteps moving away from her. Saw the two pairs of boots as the murderers went out the door, leaving it ajar in their haste. She did not move. She needed to be certain that the two men had gone.

Soon the bedchamber began to fill with thick smoke. Gasping, her lungs burning with the acrid smell, Brenna realized that she could no longer lie where she was. Slowly, painfully, her head spinning dizzily, she crawled toward the open door and out into the atrium. There was no furniture to burn here as in the other rooms. Although the atrium was filling quickly with thick, black smoke, she knew her way to the door. Nausea almost overwhelmed her, and using a pillar for balance, she retched, racked by dry spasms, but she pulled herself to her feet. With an iron will Brenna stumbled across the atrium to the main entrance of the house. Pulling on the door handle, she staggered out into the cool, damp night air and collapsed several feet from the villa.

There was no one in sight. The assailants had gone. Brenna gulped in the clean air, noisily cleansing her lungs of the foul-smelling smoke. Above her a full moon beamed down placidly on the scene of the slaughter. She had to find Cailin!

Instead, Cailin found her. She came running down the lane, her long hair flying, but seeing her grandmother on the ground, the girl stopped and knelt down.

"Grandmother! The house is on fire! What has happened? Where are Mother and Father? My brothers?" She grasped the older woman by her arms, pulling her up. Brenna groaned. "Ohh! You are hurt, Grandmother! Why is there nobody to help? Why are the slaves not back from their celebrations?"

"Come away, my child! We must get away from the villa! We are in mortal danger! Help me! Hurry!" Brenna told her.

"The family?" Cailin repeated, already knowing in her heart the answer her grandmother would give.

"Dead. All of them. Come now, and help me. We are not safe here, Cailin. You must believe me, my precious one," Brenna said, sobbing.

"Why can't we wait for the slaves to return? We must inform the authorities," Cailin said desperately.

Brenna looked into her granddaughter's face. "I have no time to explain this to you now. You must trust me if you wish to live a long life. Come now, and help me. I am weak from loss of blood, and we have a ways to go before we are safe."

Cailin felt frightened. "Where are we going, Grandmother?"

"There is only one place we can go, my child. To the Dobunni. To your grandfather, Berikos. Only he can keep us safe from this evil." Grasping her granddaughter's arm, Brenna began to walk. " 'Tis but a few miles, although you did not know that, did you? Your whole life you have lived but a few miles from Berikos, and you did not know it." Then Brenna fell silent, realizing that she needed her strength if she was to get them to their destination alive. Berikos must know what had happened. Then, if the gods willed it, she would die. But Berikos must know.

"I do not know the way," Cailin whimpered. "Can you show me the way, Grandmother?"

The old woman nodded, but said nothing more.

They left the beaten path, and Brenna led her granddaughter up one hill and then down another. They made their way through a small, dense wood with only the light of the bright moon to show them the way. The night was silent, for the creatures belonging to it had long ceased their songs. Here and there a bird would trill nervously, certain that the bright white light signaled the dawn. Occasionally they would rest, but Brenna dared not stop for long. She did not fear pursuit, but rather she feared her own mortality. They crossed a large grassy meadow where deer were grazing in the early light, and then entered a second wood. Above them the sky was visibly lightening. They had been traveling for some time now, and Cailin had the feeling that they were moving up.

"How much farther is it, Grandmother?" Cailin asked after they had been walking for several hours, mostly uphill. She was weary from the unaccustomed exercise. She could only imagine how the older woman must feel. It had been a long time since Brenna had walked such a distance, and certainly never in such a precarious state of health.

"Not far, my child. Your grandfather's village is on the other side of this wood."

The forest began to thin out, and the sky was bright with color as they exited from the trees. Before them rose a small hill, and atop it was the Dobunni village. Suddenly a young man appeared before them. He had obviously been on watch, and was surprised to see someone out so early. Then his face lit with slow recognition.

"Brenna! Is it really you?"

"It is I," Corio," Brenna answered him, and her knees buckled beneath her.

"Help me, sir!" Cailin cried, attempting to keep her grandmother in an upright position, but it was futile.

Corio, after his initial amazement at seeing Brenna, jumped forward and caught the fainting woman up in his arms. "Follow me," he told Cailin, and without so much as a backward glance at her, he ran up the hill.

Cailin hurried behind him, her face creased with concern. Her curiosity was strong, however, and she noted that the hill was ringed with three stone walls. Behind the third wall, they entered into the village. Corio made directly for the largest house, and Cailin followed him through its entrance into a big hall. A woman, fully six feet tall and dressed in a deep blue tunic, came forward. She glanced briefly at Cailin, gave a start of recognition, then looked at the burden Corio carried.

"It is Brenna, Grandmother, and she is injured," Corio said.

"Put her there, boy, on the bench by the fire pit," the older woman commanded. "Then go and fetch my medicines." She looked at Cailin. "Are you squeamish, or can you help?"

"Tell me what you would have me do," Cailin answered.

"I am Ceara, Berikos's first wife," the tall woman said. "You are Kyna's daughter, are you not? You look like her, yet there is something a bit different about you."

"Yes, I am Kyna's daughter. My name is Cailin." The girl's eyes filled with tears. "Will Grandmother die?" she asked.

"I do not know yet," Ceara answered honestly. "What happened?"

Cailin shook her head. "I do not know. I came home from the Beltane festival. The house was ablaze, and Grandmother had collapsed outside. She says my family is dead, but I know nothing more. She was insistent we come here. She would not even allow me to inform the authorities, or wait for the slaves to return from their holiday."

"Berikos!" Brenna's voice rasped harshly. " I must speak with Berikos!" She struggled to rise from the bench where she lay.

"You must lie quietly, Brenna," Ceara told her. "I will send for Berikos, but if you persist in this behavior, you will not live to tell him whatever it is you must tell him. Rest now."

"Ceara! What is this I hear? Brenna has returned?" Another woman, not quite as tall as Ceara, but taller than Cailin, joined them. She had the prettiest, sweetest face that Cailin could ever remember having seen. There was something familiar about it, and yet Cailin could not place it. That face was now puckered with distress as she bent over the half-conscious woman. Her blue eyes filled with tears. "Brenna! It really is you! Ohh, I never thought to see you again!"

"Maeve," Brenna said softly, but Cailin heard the affection in her grandmother's tone. "You are still a fool, I see."

Maeve bent down and kissed the injured woman's brow. "And you are still stubborn and filled with pride, my sister."

"Sister?" Cailin looked at Ceara.

"Maeve is your grandmother's younger sister. Did you not know that, child? No, I see you did not."

"Why does Grandmother call her a fool?" Cailin wondered, realizing that Maeve's familiar face was a slightly younger version of Brenna's.

"Your grandmother and Berikos were not a good match," Ceara said honestly. "They married in haste born of their overwhelming lust for each other. By the time they realized it, your grandmother was with child. Several years later your grandfather found himself truly in love with Maeve, and she with him. Brenna was appalled. She feared history would repeat itself, and she adored her sister, who is five years younger. She pleaded with Maeve not to wed Berikos, but Maeve refused to listen. Brenna called her a fool, and has referred to her as such ever since, despite the fact the marriage between Maeve and Berikos was a successful one." Ceara turned to the other woman. "Go and fetch Berikos, Maeve. He is at her house."

Corio returned with his grandmother's medicine basket, and Ceara began the task of examining Brenna's wound. She cut away some of Brenna's thick white hair, shaking her head at the size of the wound. This was far more serious than anything she had ever seen. Brenna's hair was severely matted with all the blood she had lost. The skull bone itself was open and had a large chip missing from it. Ceara wasn't even certain she could close the wound. Nature would have to do the job. As gently as she could, she cleaned the wound with wine, wincing when Brenna groaned. She sprinkled one of her healing powders generously over it, and then bandaged it with clean, dried moss. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

The girl had stood by her side, handing her what she needed, and never flinching once. Her presence seemed to soothe Brenna. Frankly, Ceara thought that only rest, time, and the will of the gods could make a difference now.

Corio had gone from the hall for a time and now returned, a small bowl in his hand. He gave it to his grandmother. "I thought that perhaps you would want this for Brenna," he said.

She smiled up at him approvingly. "Aye, 'tis just the thing. Here, Brenna, drink this. It will give you strength. Help her to sit up a bit, Cailin," Ceara ordered.

Cailin sat on the bench behind her grandmother and gently propped the older woman up. "What is she drinking?" she asked, noting that Brenna sipped the reddish liquid almost eagerly. "It is cattle's blood," Ceara answered. "It is nourishing, and will help Brenna to rebuild her own blood." Ceara held back a smile at Cailin's look of distaste. At least the girl hadn't fainted.

"Ceara!" A deep voice thundered. "What is going on? Is what Maeve tells me true?"

Cailin looked up. A tall man with snow-white hair and matching twin mustaches had entered the hall. He was garbed in a dark green wool tunic embroidered with gold threads at the neck and sleeves. Around his neck was the most magnificent gold torque, worked with green enamel, that Cailin had ever seen. He strode directly up to the bench where Brenna lay and looked down.

"Hail, Berikos," Brenna said mockingly.

"So, you are back," Berikos said grimly. "To what do we owe this honor, Brenna? I thought never to see you again."

"Nor I you. You have grown old, Berikos," Brenna said. "I should not be here at all were it not for Cailin. I would have died in the forest safe in Nodens' care rather than come to you, were it not for our grandchild. I am here for her, Berikos, not for myself."

"We have no grandchild in common," he answered.

"Berikos!" Ceara's voice was sharp. "Do not persist in your stubborn folly over this matter. Kyna is dead."

A sharp look of sorrow swept over the old man's face and then was gone. "How?" he demanded, his voice impersonal, the pain forced back to where none could see it.

"Last night," Brenna began, "I went with Cailin to the Beltane fire, but I grew tired and returned home early. In the atrium of the villa I stumbled over the dead body of our son-in-law, Gaius Drusus. I ran to Kyna's bedchamber. She was dead upon her bed, ravaged and beaten to death. I never even felt the blow that felled me. When I regained my senses, I saw the bodies of Gaius and our two grandsons, Titus and Flavius, near me. The murderers were waiting for Cailin."

"Quintus Drusus!" Cailin cried, her face as white as milk.

"Aye, child, your voice within did not fail you." Brenna looked to Berikos and continued her horrific tale.

"What of your vaunted Roman magistrate at Corinium?" Berikos asked her scathingly when she had finished. "Is there no longer any Roman justice?"

"The chief magistrate in Corinium is Quintus Drusus's father-in-law," Brenna said. "What chance would Cailin have against him?"

"What is it you want of me, then, Brenna?"

"I want your protection, Berikos, though it galls me to ask it. I want your protection for Cailin, and for me. The slaves were still away from the villa when all of this happened. No one knows that we two alone have survived, nor must they ever know. Cailin is your granddaughter, and you cannot refuse me this request. I do not know if I will survive this attack. I am wounded, and my lungs yet ache with the smoke I inhaled. It took all my strength to bring Cailin here to you."

Berikos was grimly silent.

"You will both have the protection of the tribe," Ceara said finally. When her husband glared at her, she said, "Brenna is still your wife, Berikos; the mother of your only daughter. Cailin is your granddaughter. Blood! You cannot refuse them shelter or protection under our laws, or have you forgotten those laws in your ancient lust for Brigit?"

"I will accept your hospitality only as long as my grandmother lives," Cailin said angrily. "When she has passed through the door of Death into the next life, I will make my own way in the world. I do not know you, Berikos of the Dobunni, and I do not need you"

A small winterly smile touched the corners of the old man's lips. With cold blue eyes he observed Cailin seriously for the first time since he had entered the hall. "Brave words, little mongrel bitch," he said, "but I wonder how well your soft Roman ways have prepared you for survival in this hard world."

"I am not afraid," Cailin told him defiantly, "and I am able to learn. I would also remind you that I am a Briton, Berikos. I was born here, as were my parents and my grandparents on both sides for generations before me. I have been raised to respect my elders, but do not try my patience, or you will find you cannot hide behind the wall of your many years."

Berikos raised his hand to her, but lowered it quickly, surprised by the venom he saw in her gaze. She was not as tall as a Dobunni, but neither was she tiny. She reminded him of Kyna in many ways, but her spirit was certainly that of her grandmother. That spirit was what had attracted him to Brenna in the first place. Unfortunately, he had not been able to live with it, and Brenna would not be tamed. He suspected this girl was very much the same. Cailin. His granddaughter. She would be a thorn in his side, he believed, but he had no choice but to grant her his protection and the shelter of his hall.

"You may stay," he said, and turning abruptly, walked away from them.

Brenna sagged against Cailin. "I am weary," she said.

"Corio," Ceara commanded, "take Brenna to the empty sleeping space by the south fire pit. It will be nice and warm there. Go with her, child. When you have settled her, come back. I will feed you. You must be hungry after your journey and the shock of all that has happened."

The young man gently lifted Brenna and moved her swiftly across the hall. Carefully, he lay her in the sleeping space. Cailin covered her grandmother with a lambskin, tucking it about her shoulders. She sighed deeply, a worried look on her face, but Brenna did not see. She was already asleep.

Cailin started at a touch on her arm. Turning, she looked into Corio's face for the first time. He was a pleasant-looking man with mild blue eyes.

"Come, and my grandmother will feed us. New bread is always best eaten warm. We are cousins, are we not? My father is Eppilus, Ceara's youngest son. I am only the first of your relations that you will meet. Your mother had ten brothers, all of whom are alive, and most have children, and in some cases grandchildren, of their own. You will not be lonely here."

Cailin looked to Brenna. She was pale, but her breathing was steady and even. The girl turned away and followed the young man back to where Ceara was busy preparing the morning meal. The big woman ladled cooked barley cereal into two fresh trenchers of bread, and handed them to the couple.

"There are spoons on the table, if you are dainty," Corio told her. "Come and sit down." He wolfed down a bite of his bread and cereal.

They sat, and Ceara plunked two goblets down before them. "Watered wine," she said, and then, there being no one else in the hall, she joined them. "You remind me of your mother, and yet you do not look quite as she looked at your age. Was she happy with your father?"

"Oh, yes!" Cailin said. "We were a happy family!" Abruptly, the enormity of the tragedy engulfed her. Only yesterday Kyna, her father, and her brothers were alive. There had been no warning at all of their demise-not that it would have been any easier to bear if there had been, but to have survived the murderous slaughter of her family only by chance was more than she could bear. Why should she live when they were all gone?

It was the very first Beltane festival that she had been allowed to stay at unchaperoned. Brenna had given Cailin her head that night, and once on her own, Cailin had begun to see things in a new light. All the young men had wanted to dance with her, and she danced about the leaping fires until almost dawn. She had not been ready to slip away into the darkness with any man yet, but drank her first cupful of honeyed mead and felt wonderful afterward. Cailin thought to return home with her brothers, but they had gone off much earlier, into the darkness with two maidens. She had not seen them again. Only when the false dawn began to lighten the skies, and the music finally stopped, did she wend her way back to the villa, to discover that death had been there before her.

Now, Cailin grew pale and shoved the trencher away from her. The very thought of food was nauseating.

Ceara divined the trouble immediately. "It is the will of the gods," she said quietly. "Sometimes they are kind, and sometimes they are cruel, and sometimes in being kind, unkind. You and Brenna are alive this day because your journey in this world is not yet done. Would you dare to question the wisdom of the gods, Cailin Drusus?"

"Yes!" Cailin cried. "Why should I live when my family does not? What could my brothers have possibly accomplished in this life that rendered their existence no longer necessary in this world? They were just seventeen!"

"I cannot answer you, child," Ceara said honestly. "All I can tell you is that everything happens when it is supposed to happen. What is death? It is but the doorway between this life and the next. We need not fear it. When your time comes, Cailin, those you love who have gone before you will be waiting on the Isles of the Blest for you. Until then it is your duty to the gods who created you to live out your destiny as they have planned you to live it out. You can, of course, whine, and despair about the unfairness of it all, but why would you so futilely waste the precious time allotted to you?"

"Am I not allowed to mourn then?" Cailin asked bitterly.

"Mourn the manner in which they met their ends," Ceara said, "but do not mourn them. They have gone on to a far better place. Now eat your breakfast, Cailin Drusus. You need your strength if you are to care for Brenna."

"Do not treat me as if I were a mindless child, lady," Cailin said.

"Then do not behave like a child," Ceara replied with a small smile, rising from her place at the board. "From the look of you, you are a girl full grown, and we are not idle people. You will be expected to earn your keep, which will leave you little time for feeling sorry for yourself." She turned from Cailin and began to serve breakfast to the others who were now entering the hall.

"Do not let my grandmother's bark fool you," Corio said with a grin as Cailin glared fiercely at Ceara's back. "She is noted for her soft heart. She only seeks to prevent you from hurting yourself."

"She has an odd way of showing it," Cailin muttered darkly.

"Would you like me to tell you about the family?" Corio asked in an attempt to distract her. When she nodded, he began, "Although our grandfather has sired ten sons, only three live in this village: my father Eppilus, and my uncles Lugotorix and Segovax, they are Bryna's sons. The others, and their families, are scattered about the other hill-fort villages belonging to the hill Dobunni. Our grandfather has five wives."

"I thought he had only four," Cailin interrupted.

"Four living, but he had a total of five. Bryna went to the Isles of the Blest some years back. Then Berikos married a woman named Brigit two years ago. She is not a Dobunni. She is a Catuvellauni. Our grandfather makes a fool of himself over her. She is not much older than you are, Cailin, but she is wicked beyond belief. My grandmother is chief of Berikos's women, but if Brigit decides to oppose Ceara's decisions, Berikos supports Brigit. It is very wrong of him, but it amuses him to encourage her in favor of his other women. Fortunately, Brigit is content to allow my grandmother and Maeve their responsibilities regarding the household. Such is not her forte. She prefers to spend her days in her own house, perfuming and preparing herself for my grandfather's pleasure. When she ventures out, she is accompanied by two serving girls who almost anticipate her every desire. They say she holds our grandfather by means of enchantment and secret potions."

Three tall men, one with dark hair, the other two with hair like Cailin's, came to sit down next to them.

"Mother says you are Kyna's daughter," the dark-haired man said. "Are you our sister's child, my pretty girl? I am Eppilus, the father of this handsome young scamp, and youngest son of Ceara and Berikos."

"Yes, I am the daughter of Kyna and Gaius Drusus. My name is Cailin," she replied quietly.

"I am Lugotorix," said one of the auburn-haired men, "and this is my twin brother, Segovax. We are the sons of Bryna and Berikos."

"My brothers, Titus and Flavius, were also twins," Cailin said, and then to her great mortification, tears began to slide down her face. Desperately she attempted to scrub them away.

The three older men looked away, giving the girl time to compose herself as Corio put a shy arm about his cousin's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was almost the undoing of Cailin, but she somehow managed to find humor in her situation. Poor, good Corio was making an attempt to soothe her, while in reality his kindness was close to sending her into a fit of hysterics. She needed to weep and to grieve for her family, but not now. Not here. It would have to be later, when she could find a private place where no one else would see her tears. Cailin drew a deep, calming breath.

"I am all right now," she said, removing Corio's protective arm.

Her three uncles met her steady gaze with admiration, and Eppilus said, "You still wear your bulla, I see."

"I am not married," Cailin told them.

"Inside your bulla there is a small bit of stag's horn, and a flat droplet of amber within which is a perfectly preserved tiny flower," Eppilus told her. "Am I not right, Cailin?"

"How did you know what my amulet contains?" she asked, surprised. "I thought that my mother and I were the only ones to know. Not even my grandmother knows what is within my bulla. It is blessed."

"Aye, but not by any of your phony Roman deities," he replied. "The stag's horn is consecrated to Cernunnos, our god of the Hunt. The amber is a bit of Danu, the Earth Mother, touched by Lugh, the Sun; the flower caught within it signifies fertility, or Macha, who is our goddess of both Life and Death." He smiled at her. "Your mother's brothers sent you this protection before you were even born. I believe it has kept you safe so that you might one day come to us."

"I nevet knew," Cailin said softly. "My mother said little about her life before she wed my father. I think the only way she could not hurt missing the ones she loved was to put them from her entirely."

Eppilus smiled. "How well you knew her, Cailin. Such wisdom in one so young is to be admired. I bid you welcome to your mother's family. I imagine that my father did not. He has never been able to forgive Kyna for marrying Gaius Drusus, and that prideful attitude has cost him so much. He loved your mother greatly, you know. She was his joy."

"Why does he hate Romans, or anything touched by their culture? Few real Romans have been in this land for years now. My father's family has intermarried with Britons for so long that there is little if anything Roman left in us. Only my original ancestor was a pure Roman. His sons married Dobunni girls just as my father did."

"Our father," said Lugotorix, "is a man very much enmeshed in the past. Britain's past. The past glories of the Dobunni. A past that began to fade and change with the arrival centuries ago of the Romans. Our history is not a written one, Cailin Drusus. It is a spoken history, and Berikos can recite that history like a bard. Ceara, who is closest to him in age, remembers Berikos as a young boy. He was always consumed by our people and their past. He knew that he would one day rule us, and he secretly longed to restore the Dobunni to their former glory. When the legions left, Ceara said he wept with joy, but in the years since, little has happened to change Britain.

"Still, he saw the disintegration of the towns built by the Romans, and of the form of government that they left in place here. Vortigern, who calls himself King of the Britons, has never really consolidated the tribes. He is old now, and has no real power over the Dobunni, or any of the other Celts. To Berikos, your mother's marriage to your father was a great betrayal. He had planned to match her with a warrior named Carvilius. Our father hoped that Carvilius would help him regain all the Dobunni territory lost to the Romans over the years, but it was not to be. Kyna loved Gaius Drusus, and our father's dream was shattered."

"I know nothing at all about my mother's people. I will need to learn more if I am to understand," Cailin said slowly. "My grandmother says we cannot go back to my home. She says my cousin, Quintus Drusus, will kill me simply for my father's lands. I must become a Dobunni, Uncles. Is such a thing possible, I wonder?"

"You are Kyna's daughter," Eppilus answered her. "You are already a Dobunni."

I ₁ 1 I

Chapter 3

The village in which Cailin now found herself was the main village of the hill Dobunni Celts. It was a hill fort, typical of Celtic villages in Britain. There were fifteen houses within the walls, her grandfather's being the largest. All the dwellings but Berikos's were built of wood, with walls of mud and wattle, and had thatched roofs. The chieftain's house was stone with a thatched roof. There were ten other villages belonging to the hill Dobunni, but each had only eight houses apiece.

While the houses were comfortable, they were a far cry from the villa in which Cailin had been raised. The villa's floors had been made of marble or mosaic. The floor in her grandfather's hall was stone, while in the other Dobunni houses they were hard-packed dirt. The walls in the villa had been plaster, painted and decorated. Cailin had to admit to herself that the mud and wattle walls, while certainly not beautiful, kept out the rain and the cold. That was, after all, the true purpose of a wall. In her father's villa she had her own small bedchamber. In her grandfather's house she shared a comfortable sleeping space with Brenna. It was built into the wall and, Cailin thought, quite cozy.

"You are not at all spoilt," Ceara noted as Cailin shelled peas for her one afternoon. "I would have thought that being raised as you were, with slaves around you, you would know little and complain much."

"I was taught," Cailin told her, "that in the early days of Rome, women-even of the highest social order-were industrious and knowledgeable in the domestic arts. They personally oversaw their households. Although my father's family has lived in Britain for hundreds of years, those values were retained. My mother taught me how to cook, weave, and sew, among other things. I will be a good wife one day, Ceara."

Ceara smiled. "Yes, I think you will. But who will be your husband, Cailin Drusus? I am surprised you are not already married."

"There is no one who pleased me, Ceara," Cailin said. "My father tried once to match me, but I would not have it. I will choose my own husband when the right time comes. For now, I need to be free to nurse my grandmother and earn my keep. There is much I do not know."

Ceara was silent. At the Lugh festival, after the harvest had been brought in, there would be a great gathering of all the hill Dobunni. Perhaps there would be a young man there who would please Cailin. She was fifteen, close to being past marriageable age. Ceara, however, knew all the young men in the various villages. She could not think of one who might be right.

Cailin would need a husband before the year was out. Brenna would not live much longer than that. Although she had not seemed injured by the fire at the villa, her lungs had probably been seared by the heat and the smoke of the blaze. She had never regained her strength. The least effort was far too strenuous for her. She spent most of her time sitting or sleeping. Walking, even a short distance, taxed her, so that Corio would now carry Brenna from one place to another so she might remain a participant in their family life. If Cailin did not see her grandmother fading away, Ceara and Maeve did.

Daily life in Berikos's village revolved around cultivation of the fields and care of the livestock. The land belonged to the tribe in common, but ownership of stock separated the social classes. Berikos had a large herd of short-horned cattle that were used for milk, meat, and sometimes were sold. He owned sheep that grew wool of an excellent quality. Each man in his family had at least two horses, but Berikos had a herd. He possessed hens, geese, and ducks, and he kept pigs. Celtic salt pork was famed throughout the western world, and the Dobunni exported it on a regular basis. Berikos also raised hunting dogs of which he was inordinately proud.

Cailin learned to work in Ceara's vegetable garden. This was a type of labor her family had left to their slaves, but although she was distressed by the condition of her hands after several days' labor, Cailin learned from her cousin Nuala, Corio's little sister, that a cream of rendered sheep fat and Mary's gold would cure rough hands, or any part of her skin needing attention.

Nuala, who was almost fourteen, took Cailin with her when she watched over the sheep. Cailin enjoyed those hours out upon the green hillsides. Nuala told her all she needed to know about her Dobunni family, and Cailin in turn shared her life before her family's murders with Nuala. She was the first real friend Cailin had ever had. She was far kinder than the Romano-Briton girls Cailin had grown up with, and a great deal more fun-loving. Taller than Cailin, she had wonderful long dark hair, and bright blue eyes.

Cailin rarely saw her grandfather, and counted it a blessing. He spent his nights with his young wife Brigit, in her house. Brigit, however, did not cook to suit the old man, so he took his meals in his own hall. Cailin avoided Berikos for Brenna's sake, but he had not forgotten her.

"Is she useless as all Roman women?" he asked Ceara one day.

"Kyna taught her to cook, weave, and sew," Ceara answered him. "She does them well. That joint you are gnawing on with such satisfaction was cooked by Cailin."

"Hmmmmm," the old man replied.

"And she tends my vegetable garden for me, Berikos. My bones are almost as old as yours are. I do not like getting up and down, weeding, hoeing, transplanting. Cailin does it all for me now. She learns quickly. Nuala has been taking her out to help tend the sheep. Cailin nurses Brenna, too. Kyna raised her well. She is a good girl, but we must find a husband for her. Brenna will not live much longer, and after her death, Cailin will feel that she has no one."

"She has us," Berikos said harshly.

"It will not be enough," Ceara told him.

"Well," the Dobunni chieftain said, "at least she is earning her keep, if you are to be believed, Ceara."

"I am not the wife who is prone to lying to you, Berikos," Ceara said sharply. "You must look to your Catuvellauni for lies."

"Why can you not get on with Brigit?" he grumbled at her.

"Because she has no respect for me, or for Maeve. She takes advantage of you, Berikos, and you let her. She calls to your dark side, and encourages it so that you do things you would have never done before you married her. She is wicked, and far too ambitious for a hill Dobunni chieftain's wife. But why do I waste words on you? You do not want to hear them. I have never lied to you, Berikos. Cailin is a good girl," Ceara finished quietly.

In mid-June the spelt, a species of early wheat, was harvested. In late July the einkorn, a single-grained variety of wheat, was harvested along with barley, rye, and millet. The grain to be kept for seed or barter was put in stone subterranean silos, closed with clay seals. The grain for everyday use was stored in the barns. The hay was cut and set out to dry upon wooden racks.

Nuala and Cailin collected leaves of woad, carefully filling their rush baskets with the greenery; when processed, it made a marvelous blue dye for which the Celts were famous. They also dug madder root, which yielded an excellent red dye. When the two were mixed together, a royal-purple resulted, which was very much in demand. The colors would eventually be used on garments made from the flax and hemp that were also being harvested.

August first was the feast of the great Celtic sun god Lugh. It was marked all over Britain by a general military truce between the tribes. The main harvest done, there would be a great gathering of all the hill Dobunni, with games, races, music, and poetry recitals. Cailin was familiar with the festival. In Corinium there had been a fair at Lugh's feast.

She wondered if she would ever see the town again. Shortly after her family's deaths, her uncles Eppilus and Lugotorax had made a trip to Corinium to learn what was being said about the deaths of Gaius Drusus and his family. Stopping at the main tavern, they mentioned to the tavern keeper the burned-out villa they had seen some miles from town.

"It appears to have been a recent fire," Eppilus said casually.

"Was anyone hurt?" Lugotorax asked.

The tavern keeper, a gossipy soul with little business this sunny day, took a deep breath and replied, " 'Twas a great tragedy. The villa belonged to Gaius Drusus Corinium. It had been in his family since the time of the Emperor Claudius, hundreds of years ago. Nice people. A very respectable family indeed. There were three children, I'm told. Two boys and a girl. And the wife's mother, too. All dead now. The villa caught fire Beltane last, and the whole family perished."

"Is the land for sale, then?" Eppilus inquired politely.

"No," said the tavern keeper. "What was bad luck for Gaius Drusus Corinium was good luck for his cousin, Quintus Drusus. That young man came from Rome just a couple of years ago. Married the daughter of the chief magistrate here in Corinium, a rich woman in her own right. Now he's inherited the lands belonging to Gaius Drusus Corinium. Well, you know what they say, my friends. The rich get richer, eh?"

As they journeyed back to their village, Eppilus said, "I'd like to lie in wait one dark night for this Quintus Drusus, and slit his greedy throat for him. Murdering the family was bad enough, but you know what Brenna told us they did to our sister Kyna before she died."

"Killing Quintus Drusus won't bring our sister and her family back among the living," Lugotorax answered his brother. "We have to think of Cailin now. Ceara says Brenna will not live much longer. We must find a good husband for our niece."

"Perhaps at Lugh," Eppilus replied thoughtfully, "when all the hill Dobunni are gathered. Are there any among our brothers' sons whom you think would suit the girl? Whoever he is, he must be a man of property. Whatever Father may feel, Cailin is our blood."

A troupe of strange, dark people in colorful garb, traveling in three closed wagons, arrived at Berikos's village the evening before Lugh. Because of the season, they were warmly welcomed and invited to remain for the festivities.

"Gypsies," Nuala said wisely. "They are very good with horses, and some even have a gift for prophecy, 'tis said."

Indeed, the next morning as the celebrations began, one wrinkled old woman among the Gypsies set herself up beneath a striped awning and offered to tell fortunes for barter.

"Ohh!" Nuala said excitedly, "let us have our fortunes told, Cailin! I want to know if I shall have a handsome young husband with an unquenchable thirst for my flesh." At Cailin's shocked look, Nuala giggled mischievously. "Celts speak frankly," she told her cousin.

"I have nothing to offer the old woman," Cailin said. "If it were not for your grandmother, I should have nothing but the tunic I came in when I arrived here. Why, the only jewelry I possess are the garnets in my ears and the gold and enamel brooch I was wearing on Beltane. You go, Nuala, and get your fortune told. I will listen."

"Give her a pot of that salve I taught you to make," Nuala said. "It will be more than enough, I promise. We'll go in together, but I'll go first, and give her this bronze and enamel pin. It's really generous, but I don't like it any longer."

The two cousins approached the awning. The old woman beneath it was certainly an ancient-looking creature. Her black eyes surveyed them as they came. She resembled a turtle sunning itself upon a rock in the early spring, Cailin thought.

"Come! Come, my pretties," she greeted them, cackling. "Do you want old Granny to tell you the future?" She smiled a toothless grin at them.

Nuala held out the pin, and the old woman took it, looking it over carefully, nodding with pleasure.

"No one does finer enamel work than you Celts," she said admiringly. "Give me your hand, girl. I will see what life has in store for you, eh?" Chortling, she took Nuala's hand and looked deeply into the palm. "Ahhhh!" she said, and then she looked again. "Yes! Yes!"

"What is it?" Nuala cried. "What do you see, old woman?"

"A strong, handsome man, my girl, and not just one. You will be wife to two men. You will have many children, and grandchildren. Aye! You will live a long life, my girl. It will not always be an easy life, but you will not be unhappy." The Gypsy dropped Nuala's hand.

"Two husbands?" Nuala looked nonplussed, and then she giggled. "Well, if one is not enough, I shall be happy to have another. And many children, you say? You are certain?"

The old woman nodded vigorously.

"Well," Nuala said, "it's a good fate, and I will be happy with it. What better for a girl than marriage and children?" She pulled Cailin forward. "Now, tell my cousin her future! It must be at least as good as mine is. Give her the salve, Cailin!" Nuala finished impatiently.

Cailin handed the small stone pot of salve to the Gypsy, who took the girl's palm and peered into it.

"You have but recently cheated death," the fortune-teller said. "You will cheat it more than once, girl, before your time here is done." She looked into Cailin's face, and Cailin shivered. The Gypsy looked down into her hand again. "I see a man; no, more than one." She shook her head. "Golden towers. Aiiii, there is too much confusion here! I cannot see what I need to see." She loosed Cailin's hand. "I cannot divine further for you, my child. I am sorry. Take back your salve."

"No," Cailin replied. "Keep it if you can but tell me one thing, old woman. Will I lose a loved one to death soon?"

The Gypsy took Cailin's hand again and said, "You have lost several loved ones recently, my child, and yes, the last tie binding you to your old life will soon be severed by death. I am sorry for you."

"Do not be," Cailin told her. "You have but confirmed what my own voice within tells me. May your gods protect you." She turned away, Nuala in her wake.

The younger girl's face was worried. "It is Brenna, isn't it?" Nuala asked.

Cailin nodded. "I try to put a good face on it for her sake," she said. "Everyone pretends in my presence that they do not notice, but we all know, even Grandmother. She has been with me my entire life. She saved me from death and brought me to safety. I want so much for her to grow well and live many more years, but she will not, Nuala. She is dying a little bit each day, and for all my love, there is nothing I can do to help her."

Nuala put a comforting arm about her cousin's shoulder and squeezed her. "Death is but the doorway between this life and the next, Cailin. You know that, so why do you already grieve before Brenna has even taken the first step through that doorway?"

"I grieve because I cannot take that step yet, Nuala. I will remain alone on this side of the door while my family lives on the other side of that door. I miss my parents, and my brothers!"

There was simply nothing Nuala could say that would comfort Cailin, and so she remained silent. She had all her family yet about her. She could only barely imagine what it must be like to be without one's family, and that small imagining came close to making her weep. Attempting to change the subject, she suggested, "Let us go and watch the footraces. My brother Corio is very swift. All the young men from the other villages will unwisely try to beat him."

"And they will not?" Cailin asked with a small smile. Nuala's love for her brother bordered on worship.

"No one can beat Corio," Nuala insisted proudly.

"I can!" came a young voice, and the cousins turned to see a handsome young man with dark hair pulled back by a leather thong.

"Bodvoc the Boastful," Nuala mocked him. "You could not best my brother at Lugh last. Why would you think you can best him now?"

"Because I am faster this year than last," Bodvoc said, "and when I win the race, Nuala, you will reward me with a kiss."

"I most certainly will not!" Nuala said indignantly, blushing, but Cailin noticed her protest was not really as vigorous as she wanted it to seem.

Bodvoc grinned engagingly. "Yes, you will," he said, and then went off to join the other young men preparing to race.

"Who is he?" Cailin asked.

"Bodvoc. His father is Carvilius, headman of one of our grandfather's villages. Your mother was to have married Carvilius, but when she chose your father instead, he married a Catuvellauni woman. Bodvoc is the last of their children."

"Bodvoc likes you, Nuala," Cailin teased her younger cousin.

Nuala giggled. "Well," she allowed, "he is handsome."

"And has, I suspect," Cailin told her, "an unquenchable thirst for your flesh. Could it be he is the first of your husbands?"

"Ohh, don't tell anyone the Gypsy said I will have two husbands," Nuala begged Cailin. "No man will want to take a chance on me if he thinks by doing so it will shorten his life. Then I will die an old maid!"

"I won't tell," Cailin promised Nuala, "but let us go watch the race, and see if you will indeed owe Bodvoc a kiss."

No one believed that Corio could be beaten, but to everyone's surprise, Bodvoc finished a full length ahead of the champion this time. Dressed only in a pair of leather briefs, his muscular chest wet with his exertion, he strode over to a very surprised Nuala.

"You owe me a kiss, Nuala of the blue, blue eyes," he said softly. And a slow smile lit his handsome features.

"Why would I kiss a man who's bested my favorite brother?" she asked him a trifle breathlessly, feeling just a little bit weak in the region of her knees. He was so … so gorgeous!

Bodvoc did not argue with her. Instead he reached out, and pulling Nuala against his body, he bent to kiss her. Nuala sighed deeply and sagged against him for a long moment as her lips softened beneath his. She almost fell when he gently released her from his embrace and set her back. Her pale skin flushed a deeper hue as about her the racers, including her own brother, chuckled with amusement.

"Nuala?" Cailin spoke low.

The sound of her cousin's voice galvanized Nuala into action. Rearing back, she hit Bodvoc with all her might. "I did not say you might kiss me, you sweaty oaf!" she shouted, and ran from him, her dark hair flying.

"She loves me!" Bodvoc exulted, and turned to Corio. "Tell your father that I want Nuala for my wife," he said, then ran off after the fleeing girl.

The crowd was dispersing. Cailin looked at Corio. "Will she have him?"

"Nuala has liked Bodvoc for several years, and she's fourteen now. More than old enough to be a wife. It's a good match. He's eighteen, and strong. They'll make beautiful babies, Cailin. Now we must find a husband for you, too, cousin. I don't suppose you would consider me for a mate; would you?" For a small moment an almost hopeful look entered his eyes, and Cailin realized to her surprise that her cousin Corio harbored feelings for her that, if encouraged, could grow into love.

"Oh, Corio," she said, and touched his arm. "I love you, but my love is like that of a sister for a brother. I do not think it will ever be anything more." She hugged him. "I think at this time in my life I need a friend more than a husband. Be my friend."

"The most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and she wants to be my friend," said Corio mournfully. "I have surely displeased the gods that they would visit such a burden upon me."

"You are a rogue, dearest cousin," Cailin laughed, "and I do not feel one bit sorry for you. Your path is strewn with broken hearts."

That evening Cailin got a little more insight into her Dobunni heritage when her grandfather stood before a huge audience in his hall and recited the history of their Celtic tribe. Next to him a young harper stood playing, his music alternately sweet and wild, depending upon the portion of the tale being recited at the time. Ceara and Maeve bustled about the hall, seeing to the comfort of their guests; but at the high board, Berikos's youngest wife, Brigit, sat proudly on display.

In the three months she had lived among the Dobunni, Cailin had seen Brigit rarely, and she had never spoken with her. Brigit was beautiful, in a cold way, with her skin as flawless as marble, her icy silver eyes, her black, black hair. She held herself aloof, believing that her aged husband's protection was all she needed.

"And when he dies, does she wonder what will become of her?" Ceara demanded bitterly one day.

"She will find another foolish old man," Maeve said matter-of-factly. "No young man would have her, as she obviously lacks a heart. But an old man can be gulled into thinking he will be the envy of all for possessing a fair young wife."

In the days that followed the celebration of Lugh, the final harvest was completed. The apples and pears were gathered from the orchards. The fields were plowed once again, and the winter wheat planted. Cailin dug carrots, turnips, and onions for cold storage.

"Leave the cabbage," Ceara said, "until there is danger of a hard frost. It's better in the garden. But pick all the lentils that are left, child. I want to dry them out and store them myself."

"Look after Cailin when I am gone," Brenna said to Ceara one afternoon. "Everything she has ever known is gone from her. She is brave, but I have heard her weeping at night in our sleeping space when she thinks I am asleep and cannot hear. Her pain is very great."

"Why not Maeve?" Ceara asked. "She is your sister."

"Maeve is ever a fool over Berikos," Brenna said, "and besides, Cailin has taken to you, Ceara. She will give Maeve honor, but it is you she trusts and is learning to love. Promise me you will look after her, dear old friend. My time is growing shorter with every passing hour, but I cannot go easily unless I know Cailin has a friend and a protector in you."

"When you have passed through the door," Ceara promised her, "I will watch over Cailin as I would one of my own granddaughters. I swear by Lugh, Danu, and Macha. You may rest easy in my word."

"I know I can," Brenna said, her relief obvious.

Brenna died on the eve of Samain, six months after incurring her injuries. She went quickly to sleep, but did not awaken the following morning. Cailin, in the company of Ceara and Maeve, washed the body and dressed it for burial. As refugees, Cailin and her grandmother had possessed little, but decorated pots, bronze vessels for food and drink, small bits of jewelry, furs, cloth, and other things considered necessary to a woman began to appear by the body in order that she be buried properly, as befitted a Dobunni chieftain's wife.

Brenna was interred several hours before sunset, when the Samain feasting would begin. The harper played a liltingly sad tune as the mourners followed the body. Berikos accompanied his estranged wife to her final resting place along with the rest of the family. Even Brigit was among the official mourners. As always, she sought to divert the focus of Berikos's attention to herself.

"Could she not have waited until the new year was begun before dying?" she whined at her husband.

"It seems appropriate to me that Brenna chose this last day of the year to end her existence here and walk through the door," Berikos answered his wife sharply.

"There will be a pall over the feasting tonight," Brigit said.

Ceara saw it coming, but she was powerless to stop it.

Cailin turned and placed herself directly in front of Brigit, making it impossible for her to move forward. "How dare you speak with such disrespect at my grandmother's funeral?" she demanded. "Is this how the Catuvellauni raise their daughters to behave? My grandmother was a woman of virtue and kindness. She was held in esteem by all who knew her. All you care about is yourself and your selfish needs!"

"Who is this… this girl?" Brigit said angrily to her husband.

"My granddaughter, Cailin," he said. "Brenna's grandchild."

"Ohh, the mongrel bitch," Brigit sneered, and there were gasps.

"I am no mongrel," Cailin said proudly. "I am a Briton. Do not think your blood so pure, Brigit of the Catuvellauni. The legions, I am told, plowed many a furrow amongst the women of your tribe. Your Roman nose gives you away. I am surprised my grandfather did not notice it, but he is so overcome with his lust for you that he sees nothing except a pair of full breasts and firm buttocks."

"Are you going to let her speak to me that way, Berikos?" Brigit demanded, her cheeks red with her outrage.

"She is right, Brigit. You are disrespectful of the dead, and I am overcome with my lust for you," Berikos replied with some humor.

"She should be beaten!" Brigit insisted.

"Are you brave enough to try, Catuvellauni woman?" Cailin retorted. "No, you are not! You hide behind my grandfather's authority, and snivel at him when you do not get your own way. We all know you for what you are-the plaything of a foolish old man whose lust has made him a laughingstock. What will you do when Berikos walks through the door himself, Brigit of the Catuvellauni? Will you seek out another old man to entice with your youth and your pretty face? You will not be young forever!"

Berikos's face now darkened with anger. "Be silent, Cailin!" he ordered her. "I thought that we had come to bury Brenna this day, but I hear her voice coming from your mouth, excoriating me as she was ever wont to do. You speak of respect, but where is your respect for Brenna that you would disrupt her burial in such a manner? Now, be quiet, girl! I do not want to hear another word from your mouth this day."

Cailin glared at him defiantly, but she said nothing more. Brigit, however, burst into tears and ran from them, her two serving women chasing in her wake.

Berikos groaned. "The gods only know what that will cost me," he grumbled to Ceara and Maeve. "Perhaps I should beat the girl."

"Cailin's anger is but a reflection of her pain, Berikos," Ceara said wisely. "Remember that only six moon spans ago her entire family was cruelly wiped out by treachery. Only Brenna survived, and Cailin lived for Brenna. She has nursed her devotedly."

"My sister was all Cailin believed she had left," Maeve chimed in. "Now Brenna is gone, too. Cailin is overwhelmed with her loneliness. Kyna was a good wife and mother. Her family was a close one."

"Aye," Ceara said. "Think, Berikos. How would you feel if everyone you loved and held dear was no longer here, and you were the only one left? Cailin will never be able to replace those she has lost, but we must help her to make peace with herself and begin a new life."

"The girl has to learn to hold her tongue," Berikos replied, his ego still stinging at his granddaughter's harsh words. "You had best teach her some Dobunni manners. The next time I will beat her," he threatened. He looked over to where the grieving girl now stood, some distance from them, by Brenna's grave. Then Berikos walked away from his two wives, heading to his hall, where the Samain feasting would soon start.

Ceara shook her head in despair. "They are so alike," she said. "Cailin may be outspoken like Brenna, but she is every bit as stubborn as Berikos. They will clash again you may be certain."

"And Brigit will be seeking some sort of revenge," Maeve fretted. "She is not used to being insulted in public, nor is she used to having Berikos not come to her defense at the merest slight."

That evening, Ceara kept Cailin busy helping with the Samain feast. Brigit, in the place of honor by her husband's side, had dressed herself with special care. Her scarlet tunic dress was embroidered with gold at the neck and sleeves. About her slender neck was a delicate gold torque, filigreed and inlaid with red enamel. Pearls hung from her ears, and she wore her long black hair unbound, held only with a gold-and-pearl band about her high forehead.

She watched her enemy and contemplated her vengeance. Nothing she had thought of so far was quite right. The time was obviously not right now, but when it came, she would certainly know it. In the meantime she would bind Berikos even closer to her so he would acquiesce to whatever she desired when the moment for her revenge was at hand.

Berikos, in an effort to mend fences with his young wife, told her, "I will share a secret with you, Brigit." He leaned close to her, and his head spun with the intoxicating fragrance she wore.

"Tell me," she said, her red lips pouting seductively, "and then I shall tell you a secret in return, my dear lord."

"I have sent to the Saxons for a warrior to come and teach our men what they have forgotten about fighting. If all goes as I hope it will, we may begin taking back the Dobunni lands stolen by the Romans next summer. With the legions long gone and certain not to return, all that are left of the Romans are farmers and fat merchants. We will destroy them. They think the Celtic tribes have grown into lap dogs, but we will show them otherwise, Brigit. We will regain what is ours with sword and fire! Our success will encourage the others to take their lands back as well. Britain will be ours once more. It will be like the old days, my beauty. Now, what have you to tell me?"

"Do you remember the Gypsies that came on Lugh? Well, one of my serving women learned a secret from them that will give you pleasure such as you have never dreamed of, my lord." Her voice was breathy, and his heart beat faster with his excitement. "It has taken me all this time to learn the technique to perfection, but I have finally mastered it. Tonight, I shall show you. Do not drink to excess, Berikos, or my efforts will be wasted upon you." She licked her lips suggestively.

He shoved his goblet aside. "Let us go now," he said.

"But if you leave," she protested faintly, "the feasting must be done. It is early yet, Berikos. Let us wait a bit longer, I beg you."

"The Samain fires are long burned out," he replied. "My fire for you, however, blazes hot, Brigit, my wife."

"Bank your fire for a little time, my lord." She smiled winningly. "Will it all not be the better for the waiting?" She kissed him hard on his lips.

"As my granddaughter so forcefully reminded me this afternoon," Berikos said grimly, "I am no longer a young man." He stood up, pulling Brigit with him. "Come! The night grows older as quickly as do I."

They left the hall, and Ceara smiled bitterly. "Brigit reminds us once again that it is she who guides the old stallion leading this herd."

"I wonder what she did to get him to go so early?" Maeve said.

"Some suggestion of lustful games, you may be sure," Ceara said. "He always had a large appetite for women's flesh. His appetite is obviously still large, but can it overcome his age?"

"You sound jealous," Maeve said, astounded.

"Aren't you?" Ceara replied. "I may be considered an old woman by virtue of my years, but why should my desires not rise as hot as Berikos's desires? I would not mind if he visited my bed now and then. He was always a good lover."

"Aye," Maeve agreed, "he was. Now that we are older, no one admires us, or asks Berikos's permission to share our beds. It is lonely."

"Remember when we were younger," Ceara said, "Berikos was so proud of how other men desired his wives when they came to visit. It always gave him great pleasure to extend his hospitality to our beds. And he had his share of the visiting women as well. Do you remember the time when those three chiefs of neighboring tribes arrived to discuss an alliance, and they admired us?"

Maeve laughed at the memory. "Aye! They had come alone so others would not know of their coming. Berikos was forced to parcel us out, and then he was left without a bedmate that night. Brenna was almost ready to have Kyna, and so she could not be with him. The only other women available were all related to him. Ohh, it seems so long ago!"

"It was," Ceara said. "The old ways are dying, and men are not so ready to share their women now as they were then. It is too bad, isn't it? The right precautions kept one safe from unwanted pregnancy, but a child from an honorable man was considered a blessing. I must admit to enjoying the variety offered on those rare occasions."

The days were growing shorter with the approach of winter. The sun did not rise until late, and set by what would have been mid-afternoon in the summer. Ceara and Maeve decided to visit their sons and grandchildren in two of the other villages before the snows set in. As they would be going to the village where Bodvoc lived with his family, Nuala decided to accompany her grandmother.

"You just want to go so you can share a bed space with him," Cailin teased her cousin. "You are sure to have a big belly by the time you two are wed on Beltane next." Beltane was a traditional time for weddings among the Celtic tribes.

"If I have a big belly when we are finally married, no one would be more pleased than Bodvoc and his family. It would show them I am a fertile field, and that Bodvoc's seed is strong. There is no shame in it among our peoples, Cailin. Is it not the same for the Britons, then? Your blood is so intermingled that I thought you would follow many of the same customs as do the Dobunni."

"We follow many customs belonging to the Celtic peoples, Nuala," Cailin said, "but among the Romans, a maiden goes to her marriage bed a virgin. That custom seems to have continued among the Britons."

"What a pity," Nuala remarked. "How can you please your husband if you know nothing of what is involved in lovemaking?" Then her blue eyes grew wide with sudden awareness. "You have never been with a man, Cailin, have you?" she said in shocked tones. "Not even Corio? Ohh, when I return from visiting Bodvoc, I shall have to remedy this gap in your education, dear cousin. It is all very well to be able to read, but a woman must know far more than that to please a man in bed."

"I don't think I want a man in my bed just yet," Cailin ventured.

"You are going to be sixteen in the spring, cousin," Nuala said. "I will teach you everything you need to know, and then we will find a nice man for you to practice on. Bodvoc would be perfect!"

"But you are to marry Bodvoc!" Cailin squeaked nervously.

"I'm not jealous. After all, you don't love him. He's a marvelous lover, Cailin. Just perfect for a first experience! I'm certain he would be happy to oblige us in this matter."

"I do not know if I can do such a thing, Nuala. I have not grown up as freely as you have. These are not my ways," Cailin said.

"We do not hold that lovemaking between two consenting parties is wrong, Cailin," Nuala explained. "There is nothing evil about giving and receiving pleasure. Your mother was certainly no virgin when she wed your father." She patted her obviously distressed relative. "We will speak on this when I return from my visit to Carvilius's village."

Cailin's mother had never told her these things. Brenna had never told her these things. While many girls her age and younger had spoken of the mysterious ways of love, Cailin had never been particularly curious about it. There had been no man who attracted her enough to rouse her interest. While she had grown in height and breadth, and her chest had sprouted round little breasts two years ago, she had never considered life as a grown woman one day. Now it appeared that she must.

Ceara and Maeve were hardly subtle in their quest for a husband for her. Their reasoning was sound. She needed a protector. Berikos barely tolerated her, and given the chance, would have been rid of her by now. She no longer had any family. Oh, Ceara and Maeve looked after her, but what would happen to her when they were not here?

"Stay away from your grandfather while we are gone," Ceara warned Cailin in the morning of her departure. "Brigit has yet to attempt any revenge against you, but she will try, particularly if there is no one here to defend you. Are you sure you do not want to come with us, my child? You would be most welcome."

Cailin shook her head. "You are good to ask me, but I need to be alone with myself, and my thoughts. There has been no time for that since I came here. I will keep from Berikos's sight, I promise you, Ceara. I do not want him to disown me as he did my mother. At least she had my father to go to, but I have no one."

"Be certain the slaves have his meals prepared on time, and that they are hot. You will have no trouble with him then. His stomach, and his manroot, are the center of his life these days. You take care of the stomach, and Brigit will see to the other," Ceara told her wryly.

Cailin laughed. "If Berikos heard you, he would say it sounded like Brenna talking, I am certain. Do not fear, I will oversee the slaves properly."

For two days all went well, and then in mid-morning of the third day, Brigit came into the hall, looking agitated. "Where is Ceara?" she demanded of Cailin, who was alone at her loom, weaving.

"Gone two days ago to visit her sons," Cailin answered politely. "Did you not know it, lady?"

"Know? How could I know? Who tells me anything?" Brigit complained. "Then Maeve! Find Maeve!" she demanded excitedly.

"Maeve has gone visiting as well," Cailin replied.

"The gods! What am I to do?" Brigit cried.

Cailin swallowed hard. Brigit seemed genuinely disturbed, and although they were scarcely friends, Cailin heard herself ask, "Can I help you in some way, lady?"

Brigit's blue eyes narrowed and she observed Cailin thoughtfully. "Can you cook?" she finally said. "Can you prepare a small feast for tonight? Berikos has an important guest arriving. We must extend him our best hospitality." She flushed, and then admitted, "I cannot cook, at least not well enough to prepare the kind of meal that must be served."

"I am a good cook, and with the slaves to do my bidding, I can prepare a meal worthy of an important guest, lady," Cailin told her.

"Then do it!" Brigit commanded her ungraciously. "And it had better be good, mongrel, or this time I will see your grandfather has you beaten for your insolence. There is no one here to defend you now." She turned and hurried from the hall, her yellow skirts thrashing.

"I should have gone with Ceara and Maeve," Cailin muttered. "Then she would have been in the soup, and what would Berikos have thought of his beautiful young wife then, the ungrateful bitch! Well, I shall do it because Ceara would want me to, and she is good to me."

Cailin hurried off to the cook house, which was located just behind the hall. There she instructed the servants in the preparation of a thick pottage with lentils and lamb, while upon the open spit a side of beef was to be slowly roasted. There would be cabbage, and turnip, and onions braised in the coals of the fire. Fresh loaves were baked that afternoon, which would be served with butter and cheese. Cailin polished a dozen apples to a bright shine and piled them artistically in a burnished brass bowl. Taking them into the hall to place them upon the high board she complimented the young slave girl who had just finished polishing the board with beeswax. The huge table was Ceara's pride and joy. She reveled in the fact that in other halls the high boards were worn and pockmarked by knives and goblets. In her hall, the high board glowed and shone like new.

The slave girl brought heavy brass candle holders. "The mistress always uses these for important guests," she told Cailin.

Cailin thanked her and set them on the table, taking the large fat candles from the serving wench and placing them carefully on the iron spikes that held them. She stood back and smiled to herself. The high board looked as if Ceara had set it herself. Berikos would have no cause for complaint.

It was then that Cailin realized that someone was staring at her. She turned and, looking down the hall, saw a great, tall man standing there. His look, even from a distance, was bold.

"Who is that?" she asked the slave.

"It is your grandfather's guest," the girl whispered. "The Saxon."

Cailin turned and stepped down from the dais. She walked with measured steps toward the man. "May I be of service to you, sir?" she asked politely, not even stopping to think he might not speak Latin.

"I would ask permission to sit by your fire, lady," the answer came. "The day is chill, and I have had a long journey."

"Indeed, come by the fire," Cailin replied. "I will fetch you a goblet of wine, unless, of course, you would prefer ale."

"Wine, thank you, lady. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing? I would give no offense in this hall."

"I am Cailin Drusus, a granddaughter of Berikos, the chieftain of the hill Dobunni. I apologize for your poor welcome, but the lady Ceara, who is mistress here, is away visiting her grandchildren before the winter snows come. We did not know you were expected, or she would have never gone. Has your horse been stabled properly, sir?" Cailin poured some wine into a silver goblet decorated with dark green agates, and handed it to the huge Saxon. She had never seen such a big man before. He was even larger than the Celtic men she knew. His garb was most colorful: red braccos cross-gartered in deep blue and gold, and a deep blue tunic from which his chest threatened to burst forth with every breath.

"Thank you, lady; my horse has been taken care of by your grandfather's servants." He drained the goblet and handed it back to her with a dazzling smile. His teeth were large, white, and amazingly even.

"More?" she inquired politely. He had shoulder-length yellow hair. She had never seen hair naturally that color before.

"Nay, it is enough for now. I thank you." Dazzling blue eyes, the blue of a summer's sky, looked into hers.

Cailin blushed. This man was having the oddest effect on her.

"My name is Wulf Ironfist," he told her.

"It is a ferocious-sounding name, sir," she answered.

He grinned boyishly. "I gained it as a mere stripling because I could crack nuts with one blow of my fist," he told her, chuckling. "Later, however, my name took on a different meaning when I joined Caesar's legions in the Rhineland, where I was born."

"That is why you speak our tongue!" Cailin burst out, and then she blushed again. "I am too forward," she said ruefully.

"Nay," he said. "You are blunt, honest. There is no crime in that, Cailin Drusus. I like it."

Her cheeks warmed at the sound of her name on his lips, but her curiosity was greater than her shyness. "How came you to Britain?" she asked.

"I was told there is opportunity in Britain. Land! There is little unclaimed land left in my homeland. I spent ten years with the legions, and now I would settle down to farm my own land and raise my children."

"You are wed, then?"

"Nay. First the land, and then a wife, or two," he told her in practical tones.

Cailin smiled shyly at Wulf Ironfist. She thought the Saxon quite the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then, remembering her duties, she said, "You must excuse me, sir. With the lady Ceara gone, the kitchens are in my charge. My grandfather is very fussy about his meals, and he likes them piping hot. Stay by the fire and make yourself comfortable. I will send for Berikos to let him know that you have arrived."

"My thanks for your kindness and hospitality, lady."

Cailin hurried from the hall, and directed the first male servant she saw to go and fetch his master. Then she returned to the kitchens to oversee the final preparations for dinner, requesting that pitchers of wine, ale, and honeyed mead be made ready for the evening's meal. She tasted the pottage, and directed the cook to add a bit more garlic. The beef sizzled and spat over the fire. It smelled wonderful.

"I sent a man down to the stream to look in the fish trap, little mistress," the cook told her. "He found two fine fat perch. I've stuffed them with scallions and parsley, and baked them in the coals. Better to have too much than too little. I'm told the Saxon is a giant of a man, and he's had a long ride. He'll have a good appetite for his supper, I'm thinking."

"Will there be enough, Orna?" Cailin fretted. "Berikos will be angry if he thinks we've slighted his guest. I've never had to prepare for a person of importance before. I don't want to shame Ceara, or the Dobunni."

"There, there, little mistress," the ruddy-cheeked cook soothed the girl. "You've done well. A nice thick pottage, beef, fish, vegetables, bread, cheese, and apples. 'Tis a very good meal."

"Have we a ham?" Cailin wondered aloud, and when the plump Orna nodded vigorously, Cailin said, "Then let us serve it as well, and boil up a dozen or more eggs. And pears! I'll put pears with the apples. Oh, please be sure there is plenty of bread, Orna."

"I will see to it," Orna said. "Now go and put on your prettiest gown, little mistress. You are far more beautiful than the Catuvellauni woman. You must sit at the high board with your grandfather in the lady Ceara's place tonight. Hurry along now!"

Chapter 4

Cailin left the cook house and walked back to the hall. She hadn't thought about joining her grandfather and his guest. She had taken to eating in the cook house since Ceara and Maeve had left. Brigit would not like it at all if she showed up this evening, but then Brigit could go to Hades, Cailin decided. Orna was right. She must take Ceara's place. Cailin hurried to her sleeping space to change clothes. To her surprise, there was a small basin filled with warmed water awaiting her. She smiled. The servants were certainly united in their dislike of Brigit, and obviously determined that she should outshine Berikos's young wife.

Cailin drew off her tunic dress and set it aside. Opening her small chest, she drew out her best gown. It was a beautiful light wool garment that had been dyed with a mixture of woad and madder. The rich purple color was stunning. There were gold and silver threads embroidered at the simple round neckline and on the cuffs of the sleeves. Ceara had given it to her at Lugh, and Cailin had never worn it. She bathed carefully, using a small sliver of soap scented with woodbine. When she had stored the tunic she had worn all day in the chest, she slipped the purple garment over her linen camisa. Corio had made her a pearwood comb. Cailin smiled as she drew it through the tangle of her thick russet curls. A simple fillet of freshwater pearls and chips of purple quartz decorated her head; Maeve's Lugh gift to her.

Hearing her grandfather's voice, Cailin hurried from her sleeping space and signaled the waiting servants to begin serving the meal. She took her place at the high board, nodding politely to Berikos, who bobbed his head slightly in her direction. When Brigit opened her mouth to voice what Cailin was certain would be a complaint about her presence, Berikos glowered fiercely at his wife, and Brigit's mouth snapped shut before she uttered a single word. Cailin bit her lip to keep back her laughter. She knew it was not that Berikos had grown any softer toward her, but that the old man was wise enough to realize that Brigit could not direct the servants to his satisfaction. Cailin, he knew from Ceara, could.

Brigit sat between her husband and their guest. She gushed and flirted with Wulf Ironfist in what she believed was a successful effort to win him over to Berikos's plans for the region. The young Saxon was polite, and more than slightly amazed by his host's wife. He had heard the Celts were a hospitable people, but a man's wife was a man's wife. Every now and then his gaze would stray to Cailin, silent on the other side of Berikos. Her only words were directed to the servants, and she managed them well, he saw. She would make some man a good wife one day, if she was not already wed, and he somehow did not think she was. There was an innocence about her that indicated she was yet a maid.

Brigit noticed that the handsome Saxon's attention was drawn to her husband's granddaughter. A wicked plan began to form in her mind. She had so patiently bided her time these last weeks, waiting for the right moment to have the perfect revenge upon Cailin Drusus. Now she believed she had found that moment. Cailin had embarrassed her publicly before the whole village, and what was worse, Berikos had refused to discipline the wench. How those two old crows, Ceara and Maeve, had gloated over it, protecting Cailin from her wrath, but now they were out of the way. Unobtrusively Brigit filled and refilled her husband's goblet, first with a rich red wine, and then with honeyed mead. Berikos had a strong head for liquor, but in recent years his tolerance had been lower than in his youth.

The steaming hot pottage was put upon the table along with the beef, ham, and fish. Platters of vegetables, cheese, and bread followed. In a burst of generosity, Berikos nodded his approval to his grandchild. The assembled ate and drank, the Saxon matching the old man goblet for goblet until finally the food was cleared away and the discussion of business began in earnest.

"If I train your young men and lead them, Berikos, what will you give me in return for my services?" Wulf Ironfist asked. "After ten years with the legions, I can teach your Celts to fight like Romans. The Romans have the best army in the world. My knowledge is valuable. I must have equal value in return."

"What do you want?" growled the old man.

"Land," was the simple reply. "I have had my fill of war, but I will do this for you if you give me land for my own."

"No," said Berikos. "No land! I would drive all Romans and other foreigners from Britain, and have it belong to our people again as it once did. Why else would I begin such an endeavor in my old age?"

"The only foreigners here in Britain now are we Saxons," came Wulf Ironfist's amused reply. "The true Romans departed years ago, and those you call Romans are in reality Britons, Berikos. Their blood has been intermingled with that of you Celts for so many generations that they are no longer alien. If you would make yourself king of this region, I will help you in exchange for land, and I will pledge you my fealty; but the idea that you can drive everyone from Britain but those of pure Celtic blood is a foolish and impossible task."

"But if I am successful," Berikos insisted, "more tribes-the Catuvellauni, the Iceni, the Silures, and others-will join me." In his enthusiasm he knocked his goblet over, but Brigit quickly righted it and refilled it. Berikos drank it down.

"No, they will not. They, too, are used to peace now," the Saxon said. "They want nothing more than to pursue their daily lives. You are living in another century, Berikos. Times have changed; are changing even as we sit talking this night. Now we Saxons are coming into Britain. In another fifty years our descendants will be native-born as well. One day there will come another people after us, and they will also overwhelm and intermingle with Britain's inhabitants until they, too, become native-born. This is the way of the world: One tribe overcoming another, mingling with its blood, to become a different people. You must accept it, for you cannot change it, Berikos, any more than you can change the phases of the moon, or the seasons. I will train your Celts in the military arts so that you may become the strongest warlord in this area, if you will, in exchange, give me my own lands to farm. Perhaps I will even find a wife or two among your women. It is a fair offer, Berikos."

Berikos said nothing at first in reply to the young Saxon. He sat silently pondering, not really willing to give up his dream. Until now no one but Ceara had dared to tell him that his proposed plans for the region were impossible. Once he would not have needed to send for a Saxon warrior to teach his men to fight, for the Celts had been famed for their battle prowess. But in his time he had seen the men of his tribe grown soft with good living. They were content to farm the land and keep their cattle and sheep. This was what Rome had done to them. It had taken the heart from them.

In Eire, he heard, the Celts were still real men. They lived to do battle with an enemy. Perhaps he should have sent to the Irish for a battle-hardened warrior to reeducate the Dobunni in the ways of war. He reached for his goblet again and swallowed down the honeyed mead Brigit had poured for him. It was potent, burning as it reached his belly. He was feeling tired, and confused by the younger man's words. His Catuvellauni in-laws were nearer to the Saxon shore of southeast Britain. He had arranged for them to find him a respected military man from among the Saxons, and Wulf Ironfist had come highly recommended. Still, Berikos could not be content with what the Saxon had told him.

Brigit leaned over and whispered softly in her husband's ear, "We can win the Saxon over to our side if we are patient, my lord," she murmured. "Let us offer him Celtic hospitality as of old. We will send a beautiful woman to his sleeping space to warm his bed, to give him a night's sport. Not a real Dobunni woman, but your granddaughter, Cailin Drusus. We must not allow one of our women to mingle her juices with the Saxon's. Cailin is not really one of us, is she, Berikos?"

He shook his head, and murmured low to her, "But what sport can the little mongrel bitch give him, Brigit? She is an untutored virgin."

"All the better reason to give her to the Saxon. First-night rights are considered a special privilege among all tribes. You honor the Saxon by giving him those rights with one he will consider to be of your own blood."

Berikos looked craftily at the young girl next to him. She certainly was beautiful, he thought grudgingly. Her coloring was unique and had a certain provocativeness to it. It was past time she lost her virginity. They would have to find her a husband soon, and she would need to know how to please a man. No man wanted a bride who was frightened, or clumsy in bed. He turned back to Wulf Ironfist. "We have spoken enough on this matter tonight, my young friend. I do not know if I agree with you, but you have given me pause for thought. I am not so old that I cannot change if I must. Let us speak on this again on the morrow. It is our custom to honor a guest by giving him one of our women to warm his bed. I will give you my granddaughter, Cailin. She will share her sleeping space with you this night, will you not, girl?"

If he had struck her, Cailin could not have been more surprised. Then she saw Brigit smiling broadly at her, and Cailin knew instantly who had put the old man up to this mischief. Her instinct was to refuse and flee the hall. What Berikos was asking of her was unthinkable. But then as reason quickly overcame her overwrought emotions, Cailin realized that to refuse would not only enrage Berikos, but embarrass him, and the Dobunni as well. She had never felt more alone in her entire life. The smirking Brigit had certainly enacted a fine revenge. She knew that the Romano-Britons kept their daughters virgins until marriage, unlike the Celts. Yet whatever husband they found for her would be a Celt. He would not consider her lost virginity a deficit. She had no other choice.

"Well, girl?" the old man snarled threateningly.

"As you will, Berikos," she answered him, looking directly into the old man's eyes until he turned away. She had never been more frightened in all her life, but she would not give Brigit the satisfaction of knowing it.

"Good, good," he muttered, then turned to his wife. "It is time for us to retire, Brigit. Bid our guest good night. I will join you shortly at your house."

Brigit arose from the table all smiles. "Good night, Wulf Ironfist. May your pleasures be great, and many," she tittered. "I will await your coming with eagerness, my lord," she told Berikos, and then with another bright smile, Brigit hurried from the hall.

"Go to your bed space now, Cailin," her grandfather ordered her. "Wulf Ironfist and I will have a final cup of mead together while you await his coming."

Cailin stood up and moved slowly from the high board. She said no word of farewell to Berikos, and certainly none was necessary for the handsome Saxon who sat with him. Berikos would surely direct the young man to her sleeping space when the time came. She frankly wasn't certain what kind of protocol was involved in such an arrangement. It was better she remain silent.

Reaching her sleeping space, Cailin opened her little storage chest, removed her gown, and stored it neatly away with her little jeweled fillet. Should she remove her camisa? She honestly did not know. She had never in her whole life seen her parents abed together. She knew absolutely nothing of what would transpire between herself and Wulf Ironfist. No mother in her culture would discuss such serious matters with her daughter until she was ready to marry. As Cailin had never settled upon a husband, there had been no talk about the intimacies shared by a man and a woman. Her twin brothers had been as protective of her as were their parents.

It would be best, Cailin finally decided, to err on the side of caution, lest she be considered wanton. She slowly slipped off the soft felt slippers she wore in the house, and putting them in the chest, too, she closed it. Then she climbed into the sleeping space, which was set into the stone walls of the building.

The mattress was newly made, filled with a mixture of sweet hay, lavender, heather, and rose petals. The inner covering of the mattress was a close-woven linen, but the outer cover was a finer, soft linen fabric of a natural hue. There was a beautiful coverlet of red fox, which kept her warm in the coldest, dampest weather In a small niche above her head a little stone oil lamp burned, illuminating the sleeping space. Cailin considered dimming it, but decided to leave it burning for the present. It cast a comforting golden light over everything, and she needed all the courage she could muster to face whatever lay ahead.

Wulf Ironfist was shown to the sleeping space by a servant. Sitting upon the small chest, he pulled his boots off and set them neatly aside. Then he stood and removed his tunic and braccos. The servant girl, who had hidden in the shadows that she might see him nude, almost swooned at the sight. Never in all her life had she seen such a man! He had broad, broad shoulders and a wide back. When he turned to stretch, the serving wench was treated to the sight of well-muscled arms and a smooth bronzed chest. His legs were like tree trunks, massive and well-shaped, covered with a golden down. Her wide eyes slid down the tantalizing torso following his treasure trail, and her mouth formed a small O of worshipful admiration. Silently the girl backed away, envying the fortunate young mistress who would certainly be well-pleasured by the Saxon's passion this night.

Wulf Ironfist undid the thong holding his hair back, and the blond mass fell forward, touching his shoulders. The glow of the light in the bed space was welcoming. Reaching out, he pulled the fur coverlet aside and climbed in. For a brief moment he thought he was alone, for Cailin was pressed against the far wall of the enclosure, her back to him, and at first he did not see her. Although he had earlier thought her demeanor a pleasingly modest one, he had expected a warmer welcome to her bed. Was she teasing him? Or was she merely shy? Rolling onto his side to face her, he reached out and pushed the delightful tangle of her curls aside to bare her neck. Then, leaning forward, he kissed the slender column warmly.

"Your skin is like silk," he told her admiringly, and he stroked the back of her neck gently.

Cailin, who had shivered just slightly at the touch of his lips on her flesh, now shuddered hard at his touch.

Wulf Ironfist was not an insensitive man. He could see that the girl was holding herself stiffly. Then he realized that she was also still wearing her camisa. An uncomfortable thought crept into his head, but he pushed it away for the moment. He needed to know more. "You have not removed your camisa," he said quietly. "Let me help you now."

"I did not know if I should," came the muffled reply, and she seemed to move even farther away from him, although he knew it impossible given the dimensions of the bed space.

"I have been told that Celtic girls celebrate the Mother goddess," he replied, reaching down to slide the camisa up and off her cringing figure. Rolling over, he tossed the garment upon the chest and turned back to the girl. The line of her back was beautiful, and her skin was exquisitely fair. He touched her shoulder with gentle fingers, and she started violently. "Do you not wish to share your sleeping space with me, Cailin Drusus?" he asked quietly. "I have been told this is a common custom among your people. What is the matter?"

"For an unmarried maiden to share a sleeping space with a man is not how I was raised, Wulf Ironfist, but I am bound to obey the wishes of my grandfather. Just a few months ago I foolishly told Berikos that when my grandmother stepped through the door from this life to the next, I would leave the Dobunni; that I could take care of myself. But the truth of the matter is that I cannot fend for myself no matter how much I would wish to do so. Therefore I must obey when Berikos commands. He is not particularly fond of me as it is." Her young voice trembled slightly at the last.

"You are not a Dobunni?" What mischief was this? Wulf wondered.

"My mother, the child of his third wife, was Berikos's only daughter," Cailin said. "Her name was Kyna. My grandfather loved her dearly, I am told, but he disowned her when she married my father, whose family descends from a Roman tribune. I liked what you said to my grandfather this evening about us all being Britons. Unfortunately, Berikos doesn't see it that way."

Cailin went on to tell Wulf Ironfist how she had come to Berikos's village, and of her grandmother's death just a few weeks prior. "I am not unhappy here among my mother's people. They are kind and good to me. But my grandfather will not forgive me the slight amount of Roman blood that flows in my veins," she finished.

"The lady Brigit does not like you," Wulf noted astutely.

"No, she does not. It was she who suggested this arrangement, but then it is customary for the Dobunni to offer an important visitor a bedmate for the night. Brigit thinks to kill two birds with one stone. She can revenge herself on me, and she hopes to influence you to aid my grandfather, which will gain her greater favor with him."

"What do you think of his plans for Britain?" Wulf Ironfist asked Cailin. He had liked this beautiful, and obviously intelligent girl from the first moment he had seen her this afternoon with her bowl of brightly polished apples. He did not want to hurt her.

"I think you are right, sir, and that Berikos deludes himself," Cailin said honestly. "Will you help him?"

"Turn around, Cailin Drusus, and look at me. It is difficult speaking to your back," he replied, and there was just a hint of laughter in his deep voice as he cajoled her gently.

"I cannot," Cailin admitted. "You are naked, are you not? I have never seen a man naked… completely naked," she amended, remembering the wrestlers who had entertained at her brothers' Liberalia feast.

"I will keep my half of the furs wrapped tightly about my body," he promised her. "Only my arms, shoulders, and head will be visible to you. And you must be as tightly wrapped for your own comfort. I would not embarrass you, Cailin Drusus, but I would like to see your lovely face when we speak. It is very dim in this sleeping space. I feel as if I am speaking to some disembodied creature," he teased.

She thought a long moment, and then said, "Very well, but do not look too closely at me. I cannot help being shy, sir. This is all quite new to me, though not quite as frightening as I earlier thought." Cailin rolled over carefully, clutching the furs to her chest. He smiled encouragingly down at her, and she blushed to the roots of her auburn hair. "Will you help Berikos?" she repeated, struggling not to burst into tears, for her fear had suddenly-returned at the sight of him, and her heart was pounding.

For a quick moment he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were like wet violets. Then her lashes swiftly lowered, brushing her pale cheeks like dark, dancing butterflies. "Berikos, it would seem, is not willing to meet my price," Wulf Ironfist answered her.

"Land," Cailin said, and suddenly she had a marvelous idea. "I will meet your price, sir," she told him, "and in exchange I will ask but two things of you. You will find, I believe, that mine is the better bargain."

"You will give me land for training and leading the Dobunni?" he said, quite confused by her offer.

Cailin laughed. "No. You are correct about the Dobunni's chances of restoring the Celtic tribes to their former prominent position; there is no chance. But I would be revenged upon the man who engineered the murders of my family, and would have killed me but for happenstance. The lands of the Drusus Corinium family are mine by right as the sole, surviving member of that family. Alone I can do nothing to claim my rights. My cousin, Quintus Drusus, would find some way to kill me to hold on to what he has stolen. But you could kill Quintus Drusus for me, Wulf Ironfist. And if you wed with me beforehand, then my lands would become yours, would they not? It is a far better opportunity than my grandfather can give you," Cailin concluded, surprised at her own daring in even suggesting such a thing. Perhaps she was learning how to survive without the Dobunni after all.

"Are your lands fertile? Is there sufficient water?" he asked, amazed that he was even considering her proposition, but then why shouldn't he? He wanted lands of his own, and he would need a wife. The girl's idea was a perfect solution to both their problems.

"Our lands are fertile," she assured him, "and there is plenty of water. There are good fields for grain, and other fields for grazing cattle and sheep. There are orchards, too. My family's villa is gone, but we can build another dwelling, sir. The slaves belonging to my father will also be mine. Berikos will have to give us a generous bridal gift as well. Ceara and Maeve will see that it is a good portion."

Wulf Ironfist needed no time to consider. Her offer was an excellent one, and only a fool would refuse it. "I will do it," he told her. "We will wed, and then I will regain your lands for you, Cailin Drusus. I will even aid that old reprobate, your grandfather, somewhat. We will be forced to winter here. During the next few months I will train any young Dobunni who wishes to learn the arts of war. The final test of their skills will be when we retake your lands from your wicked cousin. Then Berikos may have them. If you are right about these people, they will not follow him any farther than the boundaries of their own fields." He looked hard at her. "You are clever, lambkin." Reaching out, he tipped her face up and touched his lips briefly to hers. "We will not tell your grandfather of our plans, though. I will tell him only that I want you for my wife."

"He will not refuse you that," she said, feeling a flush suffuse her whole body at the touch of his mouth on hers. "Indeed, both he and Brigit will think it fitting that the mongrel bitch, as they like to call me, has mated with a foreigner, as they call you Saxons."

"We have not mated yet," he said softly, his gaze direct.

"We have not wed yet," she countered quickly, her heart skipping a beat.

"We cannot insult your grandfather, lambkin, nor will he believe me overcome by my hot passion for you if we do not do what is expected of us tonight." He tangled his big hand in her hair, cupping her head. "I like the color of your hair, and the charming confusion of your curls, Cailin. Saxon girls have straight, blond hair. They wear it in two plaits, and it is often cropped to their skulls when they wed, to show their subservience to their husbands. I could not do that to your sweet curls, so it is fortunate you are a Briton and not a Saxon," he finished with a smile at her. Gently, but firmly, he pulled her head back, exposing the line of her throat. Then pushing her onto her back, he pressed slow, hot kisses on her milky flesh.

Cailin clutched her furs desperately to her breasts. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she should do anything. Suddenly his blue eyes were staring deeply into hers. She found she could not look away. She was growing warm again, she thought irrationally, longing to toss off the coverlet, but not daring to do so.

Wulf Ironfist was absolutely certain of the answer he would receive to the question he now asked her. "Are you a virgin, lambkin?" Of course she was a virgin. Her face mirrored her confusion, as she alternated between fear of the unknown and curiosity.

"Yes," she said low. "I'm sorry I won't be able to give you pleasure. I just don't know what to do."

"I like it that you are a virgin," he told her tenderly, "and I will teach you everything you should know to please us both." He pressed a handful of curls to his lips for a moment.

"I don't even know how to kiss," she said dejectedly.

"It is an easily learned art," he assured her seriously, but his blue eyes were dancing with amusement. "In many it is instinctive. When I kiss you, just kiss back. Let your heart guide you. I will instruct you in certain refinements later on." Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, and after a moment of hesitation Cailin kissed him back. "That is very good," he praised her. "Let us try again."

This time his kiss was firmer, and she felt her lips give way slightly beneath his. She gasped faintly as the very tip of his tongue brushed sensuously and lightly over her mouth. The sensation caused her head to whirl dizzily. Cailin put her arms about him to steady herself, for she felt as if she were falling.

He released her lips and buried his head in her hair. "You taste delicious, lambkin, and you smell delicious. I never met a girl who smelled as good as you do. Why is that?" He now looked down into her eyes, and Cailin colored once more. "Will you always blush when I look at you?" he asked her softly. "You are so fair!"

"Your praise is extravagant, I think, sir," she answered him, and then realizing that her arms were about him, she unwrapped herself from him, but he protested her actions.

"I like that you held on to me, lambkin. I think for all your maidenly fears, you know me to be a man who can be trusted. I am not a man who scatters compliments like raindrops. When I offer you praises, it is because you deserve them, Cailin Drusus. You are beautiful. I have never known such a beautiful woman. I will be proud to have you for my wife, and I will be jealous of any man who looks at you, lambkin. We are going to make fine, strong children together."

"How?" she boldly asked him, surprising them both.

He grinned boyishly. "So you are curious, are you? Then we must continue with our lessons." Reaching out, he began to draw back the fox coverlet.

Cailin cried out softly, attempting to stop him, but he would not be stayed. The look of awe upon his handsome face, however, when he gazed upon her nudity for the first time, gave Cailin a tiny glimpse of the power a woman holds over a man. He did not touch her at first. Rather, his eyes drank in her smooth, fair flesh; her small round breasts; the graceful curve of her waist; her slender, but well-fleshed thighs; the tightly bunched curls upon her Venus mont.

He smiled, almost to himself, and touched her there with a single finger. "These curls match those upon your head," he said.

She watched him wide-eyed, silent.

Then he said, "Remove my half of the coverlet, lambkin."

She pulled the furs back, and caught her breath at the sight. He had called her beautiful, and yet it was he who was beautiful. He had the body of a god, surely. Everything was in proportion; perfect, perfect proportion. There was nothing that surprised her but for the appendage between his legs. She stared at it curiously, touching it gingerly with a finger even as he had touched her. "What is it?" she asked him. "What use does it serve for you? I do not have one."

Wulf Ironfist swallowed hard. Her curiosity was almost detached. "Nay, you do not have one, but your brothers did. Did you never see theirs?"

"What is it?" she repeated.

"It is called a manroot."

"And my brothers had them, too? No, I never saw them. My parents believed in modesty. They said a great many of Rome's problems today stemmed from a lack of morals. They did not believe we should be ashamed of our bodies, but they also did not believe that we should flaunt them lewdly. What does your manroot do?"

"It is the means through which my seed will flow into your womb, lambkin. Encouraged, my manroot will grow large, and hard. I will sheath it within you, releasing my seed. The act will give us both pleasure."

"Where will you sheath it? Show me," she demanded.

He bent and kissed her once more, and as he did so, he took a single finger and, pushing gently between her nether lips, touched the entry to her woman's passage. "There," he told her, lifting his mouth from hers.

"Ohhh!" she answered. That single light touch had not simply startled her. It was as if something had burst in her midsection. Tiny tremors of sensation pulsed throughout her entire being.

"We have a ways to go before that," he told her, removing the invasive digit. "I will answer all your questions later, lambkin, but perhaps it would be better if we did not talk so much right now."

"Why do you call me 'lambkin'?" she persisted nervously.

"Because you are an innocent little lamb, with your big purple eyes and your naughty russet curls; and I am the wolf who is going to eat you up," he responded. Then his mouth pressed down hard on hers. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to be patient. But her nearness was driving him wild with longing. He needed to get on with it, and if the truth be known, the longer he waited, the harder it was going to be on Cailin. Her lips softened beneath his, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly.

At first she tried to elude the tongue seeking hers, but he would not let her. She could taste the honeyed mead on his breath, and it excited her. Tentatively her tongue sought his out; joining it in an exquisite dance that gratified both their senses. Her arms tightened about him once again, drawing him half over her, her young breasts pushing up to meet his smooth chest.

Pulling away, he took her heart-shaped face in his hands and covered her face with kisses. His lips trailed once again down her straining throat, moving into the valley between her breasts. When she cried out softly, he soothed her. "No, lambkin, do not be afraid."

Her breasts felt as if they were swelling beneath his kisses. When he cupped one in his hand and tenderly fondled it, her cry was one of relief. She had wanted him to touch her there. She wanted him to keep touching her there. Her heart was beating so violently that she thought it would come through her chest, but his touch was far more compelling now than her fears.

Wulf bent and kissed the young breasts in his charge. His tongue began to tentatively lick at her nipples, first one, and then the other, teasing the soft flesh into tight, hard spear points of tingling sensation. Cailin's breath sounded ragged in his ears as he finally closed his mouth over her left nipple and began to suckle strongly. "Pleasure," he heard her half sob as he moved to her other nipple, offering it the same erotic homage he had offered its sister.

Cailin watched him through half-closed eyes as he worshiped her body. She felt weak with unfamiliar longing, but in her heart she felt stronger than ever before. She realized suddenly that he had swung himself over her, as bending forward he caressed and kissed her torso. Thrusting from his body was… was… his manroot! But it was suddenly enormous. It could not possibly fit within her young body. He would tear her apart! "You are too big!" she cried, her voice genuinely frightened, her palms against his chest, pressing away. "Please don't! I do not want to do this thing now!" She arched, struggling against him.

He groaned. It was a desperate sound. "Let me fit just the tip of it in your passage, lambkin, and you will see it will be ail right."

"Just the tip?" she quavered.

He nodded. Gently he guided himself with a hand. She was wonderfully moist with her excitement, and he easily fitted himself into her waiting passage. The heat of her flesh welcomed him as she closed tightly about the tip of his manroot. Wulf wondered how long he was going to be able to maintain his control. She was simply delicious. What madness had made him propose such foolishness? He wanted to bury himself as deeply within her as he could. He took a deep breath. "There," he crooned to her. "That is not so terrible, is it, my lambkin?"

The invasion was a tender one. She felt it most distinctly. The tip of him was stretching her, but it did not really hurt her.

He kissed her lips softly and murmured against them, "If you will let me come just a bit farther, I will give you sweet pleasure." When she did not answer him, he began to press his advantage forward, moving with delicate, quick strokes within her, while continuing to kiss her mouth, her face, her neck.

Cailin closed her eyes and allowed him his will. Although the feeling was new, it was not altogether unpleasant. In fact she was beginning to grow quite warm, and when she felt her body start to move in rhythm with his, she was surprised, but she could not refrain from the motion. Indeed, as she moved with him she began to find herself overcome with a sensation of overpowering sweetness. It was as if a hundred butterflies were caught within her body. Cailin suddenly took Wulf Ironfist's face between her hands and kissed him passionately for the first time.

He had watched the changing expressions on her face. It was like watching a clear sky turn stormy. "Can you feel the pleasure beginning, my lambkin?" he whispered to her. "Is it good? Let me complete what we have started. I long to possess you completely!"

"Yes!" It was clearly said.

She felt his muscled thighs pinion her firmly. He began to piston her with quicker strokes of his manhood. Faster, and faster, and faster, and then a sharp burning pain overwhelmed her as her maidenhead shattered before the onslaught of his weapon. The pain swept up her torso, filling her achingly as he sheathed himself completely within her with a triumphant cry. Cailin gasped as the fire filled her belly. Her nails clawed at his straining back. She would have screamed in her terrified agony had he not covered her mouth with his own at the precise moment he deflowered her.

He had hurt her! He hadn't even warned her of this torture! Of course he hadn't. He knew full well she would have not allowed him the liberty of her body had she known of this horrendous pain. She hated him! She would never forgive him. She… she… she was suddenly aware of a new and absolutely delicious sensation sweeping over her. The pain had vanished as rapidly as it had come. Nothing remained but warm, sweet pleasure. Wulf was moving again upon her, and the honeyed fire pouring through her veins was akin to nothing she had ever experienced before.

"Ohhhh!" she half sobbed as he released her lips. "Oh!" There was a hot tightness building inside her. "What is happening to me?" she moaned desperately as she felt her body beginning to spiral out of control. She was soaring! It was wonderful! She didn't want it to stop! Up. Up. Up. She could go on forever like this. Then the sensation climaxed, bursting like a thousand shooting stars inside both her body and her brain. "Ohhhhh!" she cried, overwhelmed by the pleasure, and disappointed as she felt the deli-ciousness melting away as quickly as it had come upon her.

"No!" Cailin said, and then she opened her eyes and looked into his. "More!" she demanded.

Wulf Ironfist burst out laughing, but there was no mockery in the sound. It was the laughter of a happy and relieved man. He smoothed her hair from her face and rolled off of her, kissing the tip of her nose as he did so. Then propping himself up against the wall of the bed space, he looked down into her face and said, "I hope you gained as much pleasure from our passion as I did, lambkin." Then he drew her into the safety of his strong arms.

Cailin nodded, turning her head to look up at him. Her euphoria was abating slightly, but she was not unhappy. "After the pain it was wonderful," she told him shyly.

"There is only pain the first time," he promised. "We shall make fine children. The gods have been kind to us, Cailin Drusus. We are well-mated and well-matched, I think."

"Your seed is fierce," she said, blushing with the remembrance of how she felt it flooding her with sharp bursts. "Perhaps even now we have begun our first son, Wulf Ironfist," she finished as they slipped beneath the coverlet again.

He lay his great blond head upon her breasts, and was pleased when she cradled him as protectively as he had her. He had come to the Dobunni seeking land. The gods, in their wisdom, had given him Cailin, and a brand new future.

"If we were in your world," he said, "and I had asked your father for you, and he had consented, how would our marriage be celebrated?"

"The ceremony would begin at my father's villa," Cailin told him. "The house would be decorated with flowers, if there were any, and boughs of greenery, finely spun colored wool, and tapestries. The omens would be taken in the hour of the false dawn, and being auspicious, the guests would begin arriving even before the sunrise. They would come from all the neighboring villas, and from the town of Corinium, too.

"The bride and the groom would come to the atrium, and the ceremony would begin. We would be brought together by a happily married matron who would be our pronuba. She would join our hands before ten formal witnesses, although actually all our guests would be present."

"Why ten?" he asked her.

"Ten for the ten original patrician families of Rome," she answered him, and then continued, "I would then say the ancient words of my consent to our marriage. 'When-and where-you are Gaius, I then-and there-am Gaia.' We would then move to the left of the family altar and face it, sitting on stools covered with the skin of sheep sacrificed for the occasion. My father would then offer a cake of spelt to Jupiter. We would eat the cake, while my father prayed aloud to Juno, who is Goddess of Marriage. He would pray to Nodens, and to other gods of the land, both Roman and Celtic. Afterward we would be considered truly wed. There are other forms of the marriage ceremony, but this was the one always used by my family.

"My parents would then host a great feast which would last the entire day. At the end of it pieces of our wedding cake would be distributed to our guests for luck. Then I would be formally escorted to my husband's home. You would seize me from the shelter of my mother's arms, and I would take my place in the procession. We would be led by torch bearers, and musicians, and anyone along the way might join in the parade. Indeed, this procession was considered the final stamp of validity to a marriage in the old days.

"It is customary for a bride to be attended by three young boys whose parents are both living. Two would walk next to me and hold my hands, while the third would go before me carrying a branch of hawthorn. Behind me would be carried a spindle and distaff. I would have three coins of silver; one I would offer to the gods of the Crossroads, the second I would give to you, representing my dowry, and the third I would offer to your household gods."

"And would I do nothing except stride proudly along?" he said.

"Oh, no," Cailin told him. "You would scatter sesame cakes, nuts, and other sweetmeats among the bystanders. When we reached your house, I would decorate the door posts with colored wool, and anoint the door with precious oils. Then you would lift me up and carry me across the threshold. It is considered bad luck if a bride's foot should slip while entering her new home."

"I would not let you slip," he promised, and lifting his head up, he kissed her lips. "Is that all?"

"No," Cailin said with a little laugh. "There is more. As you carried me into the house, I would repeat the same words I had said to you at our marriage ceremony. Then the door would be closed to the crowds outside."

"And we would be alone at last!" Wulf Ironfist said.

"No," Cailin answered, giggling. "We would have certain invited guests with us. You would put me upon my feet and offer me fire and water as a token of the life we would share, and as symbols of my duty in our home. There would be wood and kindling already set in the hearth, which I would light with the marriage torch. Then I would toss the torch among our guests. It is considered very lucky to gain possession of a marriage torch."

"Then our guests would go home, and we would finally be alone," he said. "Am I right, Cailin Drusus?"

She chuckled. "No."

"No?" he said in exaggerated tones of outrage.

"I would have to recite a prayer first," she said.

"A long prayer?" He pretended to look aggrieved.

"Not too long," she replied, "and afterward the pronuba would lead me to our marriage couch, which would be placed in the center of the atrium on the first night of our marriage. It would always remain in its original position as a symbol of our union."

" 'Tis a long day for a bride and groom," he said.

"How do the Saxons celebrate their marriages?" she asked him.

"A man buys his wife," Wulf Ironfist replied. "Of course he usually makes certain first that the maid is of a similar frame of mind. Then he approaches her family-through an intermediary, of course-to see what and how much they will take for the girl. Then the offer is formally made. Perhaps it is accepted, or perhaps a little more dickering goes on. Once the bride price is agreed upon and exchanged, a feast is held, and afterward the happy couple go home-without their guests, I might add," he concluded.

Then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Say your words to me, Cailin Drusus." His voice was soft, his tone caressing, his manhood beginning to stir once again. "Say your words to me, lambkin. I will be a good husband to you, I swear by all the gods, both yours and mine."

"When-and where-you are Gaius, I then-and there-am Gaia," Cailin told him. How odd, she thought. I waited all my life for the right man to say those words to, but never did I think to say them, stark naked, in a bed space in a Dobunni village to a Saxon. Still, Cailin decided she was fortunate. She sensed that Wulf Ironfist was an honorable and a good man. She needed his protection, for without her family she had no one. Ceara and Maeve did the best they could for her, but they had gone away, and she had found herself at the mercy of Berikos and his vicious Catuvellauni wife. It would not happen again. Then she heard the Saxon's voice, strong and sure, and she looked into his blue eyes.

"I, Wulf Ironfist, son of Orm, take you, Cailin Drusus, for my wife. I will provide for you, and protect you. This I swear by the great god Woden, and by the god Thor, my patron."

"I will be a good wife to you," Cailin promised him.

"I know," he told her. Then he chuckled. "I wonder what your grandfather, and that witch Brigit, will think of this turn of events?"

"He will ask payment of you for me, I am certain. Give him nothing!" Cailin said. "He deserves nothing."

"That for which we pay nothing is worth nothing, lambkin," Wulf told her. "I value you above all women. I will give him a fair price of which you need not be ashamed."

"You are too good," she said. "How can I repay you for your kindness to me? You might have had a night's sport, and then sent me away. If you had, however, I know I ought not have been shamed, for it is the Dobunni way, but I would have been shamed in my heart nevertheless."

A slow, mischievous grin lit his strong, handsome features. "I know just how you may begin your repayment, lambkin," he said, and he brought her hand to his manroot, which was again in a state of eager readiness. "I intend to exact full payment, lambkin, not just this night, but in the nights to come."

Her young face took on a seductive look he had not seen before. "It is fair, my husband," she agreed. "You will hear no complaint from me in this matter. My family always taught me to repay my debts." Then she pulled his face back to hers, her lips ready and eager for his kisses.

Chapter 6

Berikos looked at his guest. "You slept well?" he asked. "You have reconsidered our conversation of yesterday?"

"Your granddaughter is a charming companion," Wulf Ironfist replied, and gulped down a draught of brown ale. "I am honored to have had her first-night rights, Berikos. You have made it plain how much you desire my aid, but I, in turn, still believe your idea is doomed to failure. You cannot turn back time. No one ever has, my friend."

"I will meet your price," Berikos said desperately.

"Land?" The Saxon raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Berikos nodded bleakly.

"You would make a bad neighbor, feeling as you do," Wulf told the old man. "I would never really be able to trust you… unless…"

"Unless what?" Berikos pounced upon the small thread of hope.

"Assign me a portion of land for security now. When I have trained your men, I will exchange it with another Celt living on the Saxon shore," Wulf Ironfist said. "I will have my land, and the land you give me will belong to another of your race. Perhaps not of your own tribe, but you Celts can work that out amongst you."

Berikos nodded. "Aye, we can, and when the day comes when we drive your people back to the Rhineland, you cannot complain to me, can you? I will have kept my part of our bargain. Good! I agree!"

"Not quite so quickly, my friend," Wulf Ironfist said. "I want one other thing of you. I think you are most apt to keep your bargain with me if we are related by blood. Your granddaughter pleases me. I need a wife. Her mixed blood disturbs you, but it does not disturb me. I will pay you a fair bride price for her if you will give me your consent."

"Under our laws, she must give her consent, too, Wulf Ironfist. If she does, I will be glad to accept a bride price for her," Berikos answered, "although I should not. You will be doing me a favor by taking Cailin off my hands. My wife Ceara has been nagging me to find her a husband. What will you give me for her?"

The Saxon tossed his companion a coin. It flashed and glittered as it flew through the air. Berikos's fist closed about it. His eyes widened. He bit the coin as hard as he could, his look one of surprise.

"Gold? This is a gold coin, Wulf Ironfist. One girl is hardly worth an entire gold coin," Berikos said slowly. He wanted the Saxon's gold, but his conscience would never leave him in peace if he weren't honest. "Besides, the wench has not yet given her consent to the match."

"She has given her consent," the younger man told him. "It is a fair price, for it will ensure that you will not take my life when my use to you is over and done with, Berikos of the Dobunni."

The old man chuckled. "You do not trust anyone, Wulf Ironfist, do you? Well, you are wise not to, for no one can be completely trusted in this world. Very well, I accept your terms, and the girl is now your wife. You may think it a poor bargain when she shows you the rough side of her tongue, but I will not take her back." He spit in his right hand and held it out to the Saxon, who, spitting in his own right hand, clasped Berikos's outstretched palm in a firm grip.

"Agreed, Berikos, but I will not regret the bargain, I assure you. Cailin will make me a good wife. Her mother taught her well the duties a woman has to her husband and house."

"Aye," the old man responded softly, "Kyna was a good girl."

"Good morning, and was your night filled with many pleasures?" Brigit tittered, entering the hall. Her sky-blue tunic dress with its silver embroidery floated about her gracefully as she came, smiling falsely.

"Indeed, lady, my night was a very good one," Wulf Ironfist answered.

"Wulf has agreed to aid us," Berikos said, pleased. He explained to his young wife the land transaction involved. "And," he concluded, "I have given him Cailin as a wife."

"You have done what?" Brigit's eyes widened with shock. This was not at all the way she planned it. She had intended only for the Saxon to roughly violate Cailin and break her spirit. She wanted the girl shamed, and hurt.

"Wulf asked me for Cailin's hand," Berikos repeated. "Her tainted blood does not bother him. My granddaughter has agreed." He held up the coin, saying, "Wulf has given me this for the wench's bride price. It is gold. Your father was content to accept a silver piece and a breeding pair of hunting dogs for you, Brigit."

Brigit's eyes glittered at the sight of the gold, and Wulf thought that Berikos would not have his granddaughter's bride price for very long if Brigit had her way. The woman's mouth was sullen, however, and she finally said, "Is there no food in this hall that we might break our fast? Cailin is derelict in her duties, or has her marriage gone to her head? A good wife should have the morning meal ready at a respectable hour. I hope Ceara returns soon."

"Perhaps if you did not sleep half the morning away, Brigit," Cailin said as she entered the hall, "you would find the meal ready. Berikos and my husband ate hours ago. If you go to the cook house, however, they may give you something if you tell them I said to do so." She smiled brightly at the woman. "I must be about my duties. A runner arrived this morning from Carvilius's hill fort. Ceara and Maeve are expected before sunset. We will eat as soon as they arrive. Do try to be on time, lady." She turned to her grandfather. "Is the bargain made between my husband and you, Berikos?"

"It is," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly. The girl was tough, and refused to be beaten. He'd give her that. "Speak more gently to my lady wife in future, mongrel," he warned her. "She is deserving of respect."

"Only if she earns it, Berikos," Cailin shot back, and turning on her heel, left them.

"There!" Berikos crowed. "You have seen the rough edge of her tongue now, Wulf Ironfist, but it is too late! She is your wife."

"The barb was not directed at me, Berikos. I like a woman who speaks her mind. I will only beat her if she defies me," he answered.

Ceara, Maeve, and Nuala arrived even as the mid-afternoon winter sunset was turning the sky glorious shades of red, orange, gold, and dark purple. One cold bright star hung over Berikos's hill fort, as if guiding them to the warm safety within. Nuala was excited to be home, and hugged her cousin tightly while her elders removed the cloaks.

Before they might hear it elsewhere, Berikos told his two older wives of Cailin's marriage. Both were clearly horrified, and equally furious at Brigit's part in the matter.

"She did it to be cruel," Maeve cried in a rare show of anger before her husband. "You were filled with wine and mead, I've not a doubt, and went along with the bitch's mischief! Oh, shame, Berikos!"

"You do not have to accept him as a husband, my child," Ceara said, her calm tones belying her outrage. "There is no shame among our peoples if a woman samples pleasure with several men. If she learns to give equal pleasure, it but enhances her reputation as a possible wife. You can withdraw your consent, Cailin, if you wish. Berikos can return the Saxon's gold piece. It can be done honorably."

"I do not wish to withdraw my consent, Ceara," Cailin said calmly. "Wulf Ironfist is a good man. I am content to be his wife. There is no other to whom I am attracted. Have you not been nagging me about marrying, lady?" she teased.

"But when he has finished his work here," Ceara wailed, "he will take you away to the Saxon shore, and we will never see you again!"

"Good riddance, I say!" Brigit sneered.

Ceara rounded on her. "Shut your mouth, bitch! I should have killed you when I first laid eyes upon you. You are nothing but trouble!" Then she turned on her husband. "I have honored you my entire life, Berikos," she began. "I have defended your decisions even when I knew them to be wrong. I stood silently by when you disowned your only daughter, and never said a word in Kyna's defense when I should have. I gritted my teeth when you would not allow us to share the joy of the births of Brenna's grandchildren, and I stood by silently again when Brenna left us to be with Kyna and her family.

"You are a foolish old man, Berikos! You wish to restore the Dobunni to greatness. What greatness? We never had any greatness! We are a simple clan. If you try to drive the Britons from their lands, they will fight back to defend these lands they have farmed for the last few hundred years. You will not succeed in this mad scheme even if I cannot prevent you from pursuing it; but I will not let Brenna's only surviving grandchild leave us! You will give this Saxon the lands you promised him, and they will remain here. Unless, of course," she concluded, "you wish to spend your days alone without Maeve and me."

Berikos was flabbergasted. In all the years they had been married, Ceara had never spoken so harshly to him, privately or in public. He had also never seen her so angry. "What do you mean without Maeve and you?" was all he could think of to say. He did not even rail at her for her overly frank speech.

"We will leave you, Berikos," Ceara said grimly. "We will go to other villages and live with our sons. But you need not fear. I am certain Brigit will keep your house, and nurse you tenderly when you grow sickly, and see that your food is cooked to your liking. Does she even know how you like your meals prepared? Probably not, but I am sure that you will tell her."

"There is no need for that," Berikos grumbled nervously.

Ceara cocked a bushy eyebrow quizzically. "Indeed?" she said.

"We will make some accommodation, lady, I swear it," Berikos promised the angry woman. "There is no need for rashness."

"We will see, old man," Ceara answered him in dark tones.

Cailin looked up at her husband, her eyes twinkling with their conspiracy. They had agreed within the cozy closeness of their bed space early that morning that no mention would be made of her lands until they were ready to make their move. They would not press Berikos to keep his bargain. When the time came, they would retake the property belonging to the Drusus Corinium family.

The word was passed among the Dobunni villages that any wishing to relearn the ancient arts of war were to come to Berikos's village, where they would be housed, fed, and taught in exchange for their service. Several wooden barracks were built within the walls of the hill fort for the prospective warriors. One hundred fifty young men, ranging in age from thirteen to eighteen, came. Berikos was disappointed with the small number. He had honestly believed there would be more.

"What did you expect?" Ceara said to him. "There are only a thousand of us. Many of the young men are already married, and do not choose to leave their families. Why should they?"

"What of honor?" Berikos said, outraged by her words.

Maeve chuckled. "Honor has little hope of keeping a man warm on a cold winter's night. And what woman wants to spend her winter alone, or with only her children, or great with child, and no man to comfort her?"

"This is what the Romans have done to us!" Berikos said grimly.

"The Romans did nothing to us we did not allow to be done," Ceara told him matter-of-factly. "Besides, what sensible people do not prefer peace to war?"

"Our people," Berikos said. "Our people who came out of the darkness, and across the plains and the oceans to Britain, Eire, Cymry, Gaul, and Armorica. Our Celtic race!"

"When will you accept the fact that that time is past, Berikos?" Ceara said quietly to her husband. She put a comforting hand upon his arm, but he shook it off.

"No! It cannot be. It will come again!" he insisted.

"Then train your warriors, you stubborn old man," she said irritably. "When the spring comes, we will see what happens."

The winter came with its cold winds, icy rains, and snow. Wulf Ironfist worked with his recruits, taking them on daylong marches in all kinds of weather with fifty-pound packs of equipment upon their backs. When they complained at first, he said coldly, "Rome's legions carry more. Perhaps that is why you are no longer masters of your own land. You prefer drinking and telling outrageous tales to military training." The young Dobunni gritted their teeth and complained no more. The clang of swords rang in the clear air of the hill fort, along with the thunk of the javelin meeting its target as the warriors-to-be honed their battle and survival skills.

Yet as harsh a taskmaster as Wulf Ironfist was in training his men, he was a completely different man with his wife. Ceara and Maeve both agreed that the Saxon, though he would be a fierce opponent upon the battlefield, was a gentle soul with Cailin and with the children of the hill fort who followed him admiringly, begging for his favor. More often than not he would take two of the littlest ones up in his arms and walk through the village carrying them as he went about his business. There was not a child who did not adore him, nor a young girl who did not try to attract his attention. After all, there was nothing limiting Wulf Ironfist to only one wife. The maidens, however, were doomed to disappointment, for the Saxon had no time for anyone or anything but Cailin and his duty.

Cailin was content with her life. She had an attractive husband who was kind and regularly made passionate love to her. It seemed to be enough, particularly as she quickly found herself with child. She realized that her parents had had a different sort of relationship, than she had with Wulf Ironfist, but she did not understand what that relationship had been.

Cailin's swelling belly pleased her husband. Here was proof of his virility for the Dobunni. Berikos was not pleased. Now he would never get rid of the Saxon. If Ceara and Maeve were determined that he and Cailin stay before this, they would be implacable now. Berikos sighed to himself. What difference would one damned Saxon make anyway? And there was always the chance Wulf would be killed in battle.

Cailin enjoyed the long, dark winter nights spent in Wulf's arms. Once she divulged her condition to him, he was more careful of her, but no less vigorous a lover. He liked cuddling her spoon-fashion, his big roughened hands cupping her round, little breasts, which were swelling now with her condition. Her nipples, always sensitive, became even more so with each passing day.

"What a little wanton you have become," he said to her one night as he sheathed his great weapon gently in her passage from behind so that his weight would not harm the child. He fondled her bosom, wickedly teasing the hard buds of her nipples. He then slipped his hands down, grasping her about the hips, drawing her firmly against his belly. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of her neck, nuzzled at the marks, and then placed a kiss on the flesh.

Cailin squirmed against him. "Are wives not allowed to be wanton, my husband? Ohhhhh," she squealed softly as he probed her more deeply, and her hips began to rotate just slightly against him.

Wulf groaned. He had never known any woman to have the effect on him that Cailin did. She roused him quicker, and brought him on quicker. He wasn't certain that he liked it, but he certainly did not dislike it. Unable to help himself, he began to pump her, her little staccato cries of pleasure only increasing his own.

Cailin thought dizzily that she should be used to him by now, but each time he took her, the excitement built and built until she could scarcely bear it, it was so achingly sweet. He seemed to grow and swell within her until finally they would both burst with pleasure, and yet the afterglow was delicious as well. Even now when the child moved within her she enjoyed his attentions. "Ahhhhhhh!" she sighed at last.

"Soon we must cease this," he told her reluctantly.

"Why?" she asked him.

"I fear I might hurt the child," he replied.

"Will you take another woman?" she asked, and he heard the edge of jealousy in her voice, which pleased him inordinately.

He was silent a long moment. "Would you mind if I did?" he asked, affecting a nonchalant air.

Now it was Cailin's turn to be silent for a time. Would she mind? And if she did, why would she mind? "Yes," she finally answered him. "I would mind it if you took another woman to your bed. But do not ask me why, because I do not understand it. I just would!"

"Then I will not," he told her. "If I cannot keep my desires in check like a man, then I am no better than a green boy. Besides, I have seen the difficulties your grandfather has with more than one wife. I think I should just as soon avoid such difficulties, although I do not promise I will always feel so, lambkin."

Cailin found herself smiling at his words. There would be no other wives if she could help it. One wife was more than enough for any man, even a magnificent, marvelous man like Wulf Ironfist. She would always be more than enough woman for him. Then a thought struck her. Why did it matter to her? Was it possible she cared for him? Was his thoughtfulness a sign he might care for her? Cailin slid into a contented slumber, her last waking memory that of her husband's deep sleepy breath humming against her ear. It was a comfortable feeling.

Several days later, on a bright April morning, Wulf Ironfist put his plan to regain his wife's property into effect. Assembling the young warriors he had spent the winter months training, he asked them, "How would you like to demonstrate your skills to me by helping me take a villa owned by a Roman called Quintus Drusus?"

The young men looked distinctly uncomfortable. Then Corio, Cailin's cousin, said, "Most of the lads want to return to their villages, Wulf. The planting is already under way, and their families need them. You never really expected that they would form an army for Berikos and carry out his foolish plans, did you?"

Wulf Ironfist laughed. "No, Corio, I did not. However, Quintus Drusus is the fellow who murdered Cailin's family, and was responsible for Brenna's death. I promised Cailin when I wed her that I would regain her family's lands for her, and for our children."

Corio's blue eyes widened, and then he grinned. "So that is why you have never pressed grandfather about the lands he promised you! You knew all along that you would have Cailin's property."

"I will only have it if you and the lads will help me to retake it, and mete out justice to this Quintus Drusus," Wulf Ironfist said honestly. "I cannot do it without your help, Corio."

Corio turned to the other young men. " 'Twill only take a few days of our time," he told them. "We will right a wrong, and Cailin can go home again to raise her children, to give honor to her dead family, to live in peace as we would live." He looked to his companions, and when each head among them nodded in assent, he turned back to Wulf Ironfist, saying, "We'll do it!"

"Get a good night's rest, then, my lads," the Saxon told them. "We leave in the morning." Then he dismissed them, but Corio touched his arm, obviously wishing to speak further with him as the others hurried off in all different directions. "What is it, Corio?"

"I must tell you something, Wulf," the younger man said. "It's about my grandfather, but you must keep what I reveal secret for now."

"I agree," Wulf said.

Corio did not dissemble, but came right to the point. "The men have had a clandestine meeting. As you know, Berikos lives in the past-a past he was not even a part of, which makes it even odder. As he grows older, this determination of his to drive all the Romans from Britain grows and eats at him. Brigit encourages him in it. We have no wish to join him in his folly, but while he is our chief we must give him obedience. However, we have the option of replacing him with another. My father, Eppilus, has been chosen to lead the hill Dobunni. Berikos can retire with honor and spend his days amusing himself in whatever manner he chooses."

"When will this happen?" Wulf Ironfist asked.

"Just before Beltane," Corio answered him. "We will retake Cailin's lands, and then we will return to help the others depose my grandfather."

"I think it a wise decision that has been made," Wulf said. "Some men in power grow old, and their wisdom but increases along with their age. Their judgment remains sound, and good. Others, however, lose their sense of proportion with the passing years. Berikos is one of these, I fear. Your people will never truly have peace as long as he is your ruler. I understand your desire for peace. I have seen enough war to last me a lifetime. I will not fight again except in defense of my lands and my family. There is no other reason for it."

"I have lived my entire life here among these hills," Corio replied. "The farthest I have ever been away is to the town of Corinium. It is a wondrous place, with its paved streets, its shops and pottery works, the theaters and the arena. Still, I could not have lived there, Wulf. It is too noisy, too busy, too dirty; and there are, I am told, places even larger than Corinium, even here in this land. They say there is a huge town in the southeast called Londinium. Two roads from Corinium lead to it if one rides far enough, but I never have had the desire to follow either of those roads.

"I have heard your stories of the battles you fought in Gaul and in the Rhineland. They did not fill me with excitement like they did some of the lads. They frightened me, and Celts are not supposed to fear anything. Like you, I can see no reason for fighting except to keep one's lands and one's family from harm. The majority of us feel this way, and so Berikos must go. He will not be happy, but he will have no choice but to accept the will of the Dobunni."

"Brigit certainly will not be happy," Wulf noted. "You had best beware her. She is a wicked woman, and will not hesitate to do a bad turn to those she thinks have betrayed her, or Berikos."

"You do not have to tell me about Brigit," Corio said quietly. "When she first came to our hill fort as my grandfather's bride, she tried to seduce me. She has never forgiven me for repulsing her. I am not the only man she has approached, either. It would be one thing if Berikos offered her, but he has not. He is very proud of her, and jealous of any man who looks her way. You are right when you say she will not be happy. To be a chieftain's wife gives her a certain rank, but to be simply the wife of an old man does not." Corio smiled. "I think I shall enjoy her discomfort, and I shall not be the only person who revels in her downfall. Few like her."

"She thought to do Cailin a bad turn when she encouraged Berikos to put her in my bed the night I first came here," Wulf said. "She knew that the Dobunni ways were not Cailin's customs, and hoped to shame and degrade her by using me as her weapon."

"I know," Corio said softly. "Had it not turned out as it did, I would have strangled Brigit with my own two hands."

Wulf Ironfist looked intently at the younger man. For a brief moment he saw something in Corio's face that he had never seen there, but it was quickly gone. "You care for Cailin," he said.

"I offered to make her my wife shortly after she came here, but she did not love me, at least as a man. She said she felt for me as she had her brothers." He grinned wryly. "Now what man in love with a girl wants to hear that he reminds her of her kin? You do not remind her of her brothers, I will wager. Do you love her? I know you are good to her, but one day that will not be enough for Cailin. She is more Celt than Roman. She needs to be loved, not simply made love to."

The big Saxon thought carefully. He had not considered loving Cailin. The kind of love that Corio was speaking of was a luxury between men and women. A man sought a wife who would be a good breeder, a good helper, and perhaps if he were fortunate, a good friend. Love. He turned the word over in his brain as if he could examine it. Did he love her? He knew he wanted to be with her whenever he was not about his duties. Not just to make love to her, but to be with her; to see her smile aimed in his direction; to smell her fresh fragrance; to talk with and nestle with her on a chilly night. He thought of the mixed feelings he had had of late when other men looked admiringly at his pregnant wife. He was proud, yet he was a little jealous, too. He considered what life would be without her, and found he could not even imagine such a thing now. The realization stunned him, and he heard himself say to Corio, "Yes, I do love her," and the mad thing was that as the words rang in the springtime air, he knew in his deepest heart of hearts that it was true!

"Good," Corio said with a smile. "I am glad you love her, because Cailin loves you."

Corio's declaration surprised Wulf Ironfist. "She does?" he said. "She has never told me so, even in the heat of passion. How is it you know she loves me? Has she said it to you?"

He shook his head. "No, Wulf, but I see it in her face each time you pass by; in her eyes as they follow you about the hall; in the way she smiles so proudly when you are praised in her presence. These are all signs of her feelings for you, but because she was so sheltered by her family, she is not aware yet of what these feelings within her mean. She will be one day, but in the meantime you must not hide your feelings from her."

"I told her I would not take another woman, even when she and I could not love for the sake of the coming child. It seemed to please her very much," Wulf Ironfist told Corio.

Corio laughed. "You see!" he said triumphantly. "She is jealous, and that, my friend, is the sure sign of a woman in love."

The two men walked, still conversing, into the hall. Cailin was seated by her loom weaving cloth. She looked up, and a welcoming smile turned her mouth up prettily. "Wulf! Corio." She arose. "Are you hungry, or thirsty? May I get you something?"

"We leave tomorrow for your villa," Wulf began.

"I am coming with you," Cailin said.

"You cannot," he told her. "This is man's work."

"Neither my father's lands nor my cousin's are defended. There was never any need for that kind of defense. You will meet with no resistance, I promise you. Quintus Drusus will protest, but even his father-in-law, the chief magistrate of Corinium, will not deny me what is rightfully mine."

"You will not be safe," Wulf Ironfist said, "unless I kill this Quintus Drusus. Remember, he had no mercy upon your family."

"I will never forget his treachery as long as I live," Cailin replied. "Of course you must kill him, but not in such a way that the magistrate can charge you with his murder. My son must have his father."

"And my son's mother must remain here where she will be safe," Wulf countered with what he thought was sound logic.

"If I do not go with you, then how will they know I am alive? I want Quintus to see me, and know that I have come not just to reclaim what is rightfully mine, but to expose his wickedness to the world."

"You cannot ride a horse, Cailin," Corio said.

"There is little to riding pillion behind my husband," Cailin replied. "My belly is not that big yet. The child is not due until after the harvest. I must be there. It is my right to see justice served!"

"Very well," her husband answered, "but we leave before dawn, Cailin. If we meet with any resistance, you must get down and hide. Will you promise me that, lambkin?"

"Yes," she said, and then she smiled almost cruelly. "It will be very frightening to see a large party of armed warriors coming from the forest and across the fields. It has been over a hundred years since such a thing has occurred, and certainly not in the memory of anyone living hereabouts now. You will strike terror into all who see you." She looked at the two men. "Does Berikos know of your plans?"

They shook their heads.

"We will only tell him we are taking the men on a practice march," Wulf said. "He doesn't have to know any more than that."

"No," Cailin agreed. "He does not. He grows stranger as each day passes, and spends all his time with Brigit. We only see him for meals in the early morning and at night. Frankly, I prefer it."

Her two companions said nothing. Berikos's overthrow was not Cailin's business. It would happen soon enough.

It was dank and chilly as they arose in the dark of the night to dress for their departure. Wulf handed his wife a pair of braccos.

"Corio gave them to me to give you," he said. "They are lined in rabbit fur, and big enough for your belly."

Cailin was delighted to have the garment. She made a belt from a length of ribbon to hold up the braccos, and then slipped her camisa and tunic dress on over them. Her boots were fur-lined as well, and absorbed the chill from her feet even as she slid into them. She ran the pearwood comb through her hair and, taking up her cloak, silently followed her husband outside, where Corio and the others were already waiting upon their own animals.

Wulf Ironfist mounted his horse, then reached down and pulled Cailin up behind him. She put her arms about his waist, and they were off. There was a waning moon that gave them scant light, and the forest was particularly dark, but with each foot forward that they traveled, the sky above them faded from pitch-black to gray-black, and finally to an overcast gray as they crossed the great meadow Cailin remembered from her journey to the Dobunni hill fort almost a year ago. Birds chirped cheerily as they passed through the second wood and then over the hills that led to the home Cailin had once known.

On the crest of the final hill they stopped, and looking down Cailin could see the ruins of her family's home. They looked undisturbed; the rubble uncleared, although the surrounding fields were plowed and the trees in the orchards appeared to be well-pruned. "Take me to the villa," she said softly. "It is early yet, and there is no one about to give the alarm."

Wulf Ironfist led his warriors down the hill. They stopped before the ruined building, and Cailin clambered down from the horse's back. For a long moment she stood just staring, and then she entered. Carefully she picked her way through the atrium, stepping over the fallen timbers that lay strewn across what had once been a magnificent stone floor inlaid with mosaic designs. Wulf, Corio, and several of the other men followed her.

Reaching her parents' bedchamber, Cailin moved into the space. Nothing was recognizable-nothing except the bleached bones, and the four skulls that lay at various angles upon the floor. "It is my family," Cailin said, tears springing to her eyes. "He did not even have the decency to bury them with honor." As the tears slipped down her face, she continued, "See, there. That is my mother, Kyna, upon the bed, all burnt but for a few large bones, and her skull which lies in what was once a place of loving refuge for her. And there, in a row, lie my father and brothers. My father's skull would be the largest, I imagine." She knelt and touched one of the smaller skulls. "This is Titus. I can tell, for one of his front teeth his chipped. I hit him with a ball when I was little, and did the damage. I did not mean to, but after that I could always tell my brothers apart. And this is Flavius. They were so handsome and so full of life the last time I saw them."

She suddenly felt very old, but nonetheless pulled herself to her feet. "Let us go now. When we have secured my lands, we will return to bury my family with the dignity that they deserve." She turned and walked back through the ruins, out into the morning.

Corio shook his head. "She is Celt," he said admiringly.

"You breed strong women," Wulf Ironfist replied. The men rejoined Cailin. "Where does Quintus Drusus have his lair?" the Saxon asked his wife.

"I will lead you," Cailin answered him in a strong, cold voice.

The slaves in the fields belonging to Quintus Drusus saw the armed and mounted party of Dobunni coming. They quailed at the terrible sight and froze where they stood. The Dobunni paid them no heed. There was, Wulf assured them, no true sport in killing unarmed slaves. When they reached the magnificent, spacious villa belonging to Cailin's cousin, they brought their horses to a stop. The slaves raking the gravel driveway had melted away before them. As prearranged, fifty of the men remained mounted before the villa's entrance. Cailin, Wulf, Corio, and the hundred other men entered the house unannounced.

"Wh-Wh-What is this? You cannot enter here!" the majordomo cried, running forward as if he might stop them.

"We have already entered," Wulf Ironfist said in a severe voice. "Fetch your master immediately, or would you prefer to be skewered upon my sword, you fat insect?"

"This is the house of the magistrate's daughter," the majordomo squeaked, desperately striving to do his duty.

"If the magistrate is in residence, then fetch him also," Wulf ordered the man, and he prodded his plump midsection with the tip of his sword. "I am growing impatient," he growled.

Giving a small cry of horror as the sword point cut through the fabric of his tunic, the majordomo turned and fled; the laughter of the Dobunni causing his ears to redden as he went.

"From Antioch to Britain they are all alike, these upper servants," Wulf noted. "Pompous, and filled with their own importance."

As they stood in silence waiting, the Dobunni snuck looks about the atrium, for most of them had never been in so fine a house. Then suddenly Quintus Drusus entered the room. From her place behind her husband Cailin peeked at her cousin. He had put on weight since she had last seen him, and was almost fat. He was still handsome, however, but his eyes were now openly hard, and his mouth a trifle sullen.

"How dare you enter my home unannounced and uninvited, you savages," he blustered at them, but Quintus Drusus knew as he spoke the words he could not have stopped these men. "What do you want? State your business with me, if indeed you have any business with me, and then get out!"

Wulf Ironfist took the measure of the man before him and could see that he was soft. This was no warrior; just a carrion creature who allowed others to do the killing for him, and then moved in to take the largest portion of the spoils. The Saxon moved just slightly to one side, allowing Cailin to step forward.

"Hail, Quintus Drusus," she said, enjoying immensely his look of amazement which was quickly followed by one of fury.

"You are dead," he said.

"Nay, I am very much alive, cousin. I have returned to claim what is rightfully mine, and to see that justice is done," she told him. "I will show you no more mercy than you showed my family!"

"What is this? What is this?" Anthony Porcius entered the atrium, followed by his daughter.

It was Antonia who saw Cailin first, and she gasped with surprise. "Cailin Drusus! How can this be? You surely died in that tragic fire almost a year ago! But I can see you did not. Where have you been? And why are you wearing those dreadful clothes?"

Cailin nodded to Antonia, but her words were for Anthony Porcius. "Chief magistrate of Corinium, I claim justice from you."

"You will have it, Cailin Drusus," the magistrate answered solemnly, "but tell me, child, how is it you survived that terrible fire, and why is it you have not revealed yourself until now?"

"For reasons I will never understand," Cailin told him, "the gods spared me death in the conflagration that destroyed my home. I had stayed late at the Beltane celebrations. When I arrived back at the villa, it was in flames, and my grandmother Brenna was collapsed outside. She insisted we flee, saying the danger to our lives was great. We walked the rest of the night, until at dawn we reached the hill fort of my grandfather, Berikos, chieftain of the hill Dobunni. It was there that she told us what had happened."

"What had happened?" Quintus Drusus demanded edgily.

"You piece of Roman filth!" Cailin cried angrily. "You are an embarrassment to the name of Drusus. You murdered my family, and you dare to play the innocent? I pray the gods strike you down before me, Quintus Drusus!"

Cailin looked again to the magistrate. "My cousin arranged for two Gauls he owned to gain their freedom by doing his heinous bidding. They gained entry to the villa, killed my parents and my brothers, and felled Brenna with a single blow. Unbeknownst to them, it did not kill her. She lay waiting until she could make her escape. She overheard these Gauls bragging about how well they had carried out their master's bidding-first by murdering his two little stepsons and making it appear as if the nursemaids had been negligent. The murder of my family was to complete their service to Quintus Drusus. They even knew where my father kept his gold, and they looted it before fleeing.

"I, too, was to be killed, but it grew late. The Gauls feared exposure and execution if they did not soon flee, so they fired my home and departed. My grandmother escaped, crawling through the flames and smoke. We fled to my grandfather, fearing that if my cousin learned of our survival, he would seek to finish the task he had started. Brenna never recovered; she died at Samain. Now I have returned, Anthony Porcius. I claim what is rightfully mine as the sole surviving member of the Drusus Corinium family. I am a married woman now, and my child will be born after the harvest. I want my lands back. I want this murderer punished," Cailin concluded.

It was a great deal to absorb. Anthony Porcius had never liked Quintus Drusus, but he had swallowed his own feelings for he had not liked Sextus Scipio, either. He had assumed that as a doting father it was his nature to dislike Antonia's husbands. He realized now that perhaps he had been right all along, and his daughter was incapable of choosing a good man. Now Cailin was accusing her cousin of not only the murder of her family, but of his two little grandsons as well. It was horrifying, but in his heart of hearts he believed it to be true. Quintus was a cold, hard man. Still, Anthony Porcius was a chief magistrate. Everything he did must be done exactly according to the letter of the law.

He drew a deep breath. "I can, of course, return the land to you, Cailin Drusus. It is indeed yours by right of inheritance, and you have a husband to work and protect it. As for your accusations against Quintus Drusus, what proof can you give me other than this story your grandmother told?"

Cailin looked bleakly at him and said, "Once my mother told me that before she married my father, while she was living with my grandparents in Corinium, you fell in love with her. She, however, loved my father, but when she turned you away, it was with gentleness, for she respected you. If there is any pity in your heart, Anthony Porcius, help me avenge her death. Do you know what my cousin's Gauls did to her? They raped and beat her until they killed her. My grandmother said her last glimpse of her daughter was her bloodied and battered face and body. She was once a very beautiful woman. This murderer that your daughter has wed has not even had the kindness to bury her bones or those of the rest of my family. They lie where they were killed, while Quintus Drusus tills our fields with our slaves. Is this the Roman justice of our ancestors?"

The magistrate looked as if he would cry. She was telling the truth; in his very heart and soul the part of him that was Celtic knew it; but he could not help her. "The law, Cailin Drusus, requires proof. You have no proof but the words of a dying old woman. It is not enough. I would help you if I could, but I cannot. There is no proof."

Cailin burst into tears. "Have I survived everything, and come to you for justice, only to be denied? Must I live the rest of my days knowing that Quintus Drusus continues on in comfort when my family is dead and gone?" She wiped her tears away with the heel of her palm, and then her moment of weakness passed. She looked at her cousin. "You know what you did, Quintus Drusus. Do not rest easy feeling that you have escaped punishment. If you are wise, you will never close your eyes in sleep again. I will see you punished if it is the last thing I ever do, you murderer!"

"You have gone mad, or else your natural grief has addled your wits, Cailin, my dear," Quintus said in a bored and superior tone. He hated losing his cousin's lands after all his hard work, but he would correct that. He just needed time, and since his father-in-law maintained that a lack of hard evidence made it impossible to prosecute him, he would have that time.

"Well," Antonia said, "now that is settled, may I offer you wine?" She smiled brightly, as if she had heard nothing of what had transpired.

"Nothing is settled until your husband pays for his crimes," Cailin said coldly. "By the gods, Antonia, do you not realize what Quintus has done? Not just to me, but to you as well!"

"Quintus is a good husband to me, Cailin," Antonia said primly.

"Quintus is a heartless bastard!" Cailin snapped. "Before he murdered my family, he had his Gauls murder the sons you birthed by Sextus Scipio. They were innocent children!"

"My sons drowned in the atrium pond because their licentious nursemaids were negligent," Antonia replied, but her voice quavered with the secret doubts she had always harbored about the incident.

"Your husband's Gauls throttled your children in their beds, and then placed their lifeless bodies in the atrium pool," Cailin told the woman bluntly, cruelly.

"It isn't true!" Antonia began to sob.

"It is true!" Cailin said harshly. "Does it hurt you to know what Quintus did? Perhaps then you will understand some of what I feel, Antonia."

"Quintus! Tell me it isn't so," Antonia wept. "Tell me!"

"Yes, cousin," Cailin mocked him. "Tell her the truth, if indeed you even know how to tell it. Have you ever told the truth in your whole life? Tell your wife, the mother of your only son, that you did not arrange to have her sons from her first marriage disposed of; and then tell her that you did not have those same Gauls murder my family in order that you would inherit my father's lands. Tell her, Quintus! Tell her the truth, if you dare-but you do not, do you? You are a coward!"

Quintus Drusus's face was contorted with terrifying fury. "And you are a bitch, Cailin Drusus!" he hissed at her. "Who among the gods hates me so that he protected you from death that night when I had arranged for everything to be ended so neatly?"

Cailin threw herself at her cousin and raked her nails down his handsome face. " I will kill you myself!" she screamed at him, teeth bared.

Quintus Drusus raised his hands to strike out at her, but suddenly his arms were grasped and pinioned hard behind him. Panic rose in his chest as he saw the huge Saxon warrior push Cailin firmly behind him. Quintus Drusus knew from the look upon the man's face that he was going to die. "Noooooo!" he howled, struggling desperately to free himself from the iron grip holding him.

Wulf Ironfist slid his sword from its sheath. It was a two-edged blade, thirty-three inches in length, made of finely forged steel, with an almost round point. Grasping the weapon firmly by its pommel, the Saxon thrust it straight into Quintus Drusus's heart, twisting the blade just slightly in order to sever the arteries. His blue eyes never left those of his panicked victim. His look was pitiless. The undisguised terror he saw in return was small payment for all the misery and heartache Quintus Drusus had caused those about him, especially Cailin. When life had fled the Roman's eyes, Wulf pulled his blade from the dead man's chest and wiped it clean on Quintus's toga. Corio then allowed the body to fall to the floor.

The Saxon looked challengingly at the magistrate, but Anthony Porcius said smoothly, "He condemned himself with his own words." He put a comforting arm about his daughter. "Wait here," he told them, and then he led Antonia from the atrium.

"A realistic man," Corio noted dryly.

"He was always practical," Cailin told him. "My father said for all his girth, Anthony Porcius had to be lighter than thistledown, for he could blow in any direction with any wind, just like a duck feather." She looked down at the lifeless body of her cousin. "I am glad he is dead. I'm just sorry he did not suffer like my mother did."

"Your mother is with the gods," Corio told her. "This Roman is not, I am certain." He looked to Wulf. "I think the men can wait outside now. There is no danger here."

"Dismiss them," Wulf Ironfist said, and then he told his wife, "Come and sit down, lambkin. It has been a long morning for a woman in your condition. Are you tired? Would you like something to drink?"

"I am all right, Wulf," she told him. "Do I look like some delicate creature who must be pampered?" But she sat nonetheless on a small marble bench by the atrium pool. It was empty of water now.

Anthony Porcius came back into the atrium. "I have given my daughter into the keeping of her women," he said. "She is, unfortunately, with child again." He sat down next to Cailin. "My dear, what can I say that would possibly ease your suffering?" He shook his head wearily. "You never liked him, I know. I did not, either, but I thought I was a foolish old man jealous of his only child's husband. Well, he is dead now, and will not harm you or Antonia again. What is past is past. When I return to Corinium, I will see your survival is made known, and I will have your lands legally restored. Your family's slaves, and other goods of course, will be returned. Where will you live? The villa is in ruins."

"The Dobunni warriors with us will help to raise a hall for us. We will bury my family with honor, then clear away the rubble and begin. There is nothing salvageable. We will have to start from the beginning, just like my ancestor, the first Drusus Corinium, did," Cailin said.

"The big Saxon is your husband?" Anthony Porcius asked curiously.

"Yes. We were wed five months ago," she told him, and then seeing the worry in his face, she continued, "It was my choice, Anthony Porcius. Celts do not force their children into marriage."

"I know," he rejoined. "For all my Roman name, Cailin Drusus, I am every bit as much a Celt as you."

"I am a Briton," she told him. "I am a Briton, and Britain is my land. I will not take sides against one part or the other of myself. I am proud of my ancestry, of its history. I honor the old customs when I can honor them, but I am a Briton, not a Roman, not a Celt. My husband, Wulf Ironfist, is a Saxon, but our children will be as I am. They will be Britons. I will teach them my history, and Wulf will teach them his, but they will be Britons. We must all be Britons now if we are to survive this dark destiny before us, Anthony Porcius. Everything as we knew it has changed, or is changing. It is a hard world in which we live."

"Yes, my child, it is," he agreed. He arose and drew her up with him. "Go now, Cailin Drusus. Go with your strong, young husband, and make this new beginning. In time the horror of today will fade. My grandchildren will play with your children, and there will be peace between us then, as there has always been between our families." He kissed her brow tenderly and then put her hand into Wulf's. "May the gods be with you both," he told them.

Together they walked from the atrium of the villa, Corio in their wake.

"A new beginning," said Wulf Ironfist. "I like the sound of it."

"Yes," Cailin agreed, and she smiled up at both men. "A new beginning for us all. For Britain, and for the Britons."

Chapter 6

True to his word, Anthony Porcius returned to Corinium and removed Cailin's name from the list of the dead, restoring her property to her legally. He then closed up his own house in the town and made his way back to his daughter's home. Instinct told him that she would need a man's presence in her household. She had no other family besides him. He knew her grief would be deep, for she had truly loved Quintus Drusus and had refused to acknowledge his faults.

To his great surprise, Anthony Porcius did not find his daughter prostrate with grief. He instead found her embittered and angry. Worse, she had become overdoting of her little son, Quintus, the younger. Antonia had loved all of her children, but had never bothered a great deal with them, preferring to leave them to the servants; a practice her father abhorred but could do nothing about. Now, suddenly, she could barely stand to have her son out of her sight.

"You must not allow him his way in everything, my daughter," Anthony Porcius chided her the afternoon of his return. Little Quintus had just thrown a tantrum and, having calmed her son, Antonia then rewarded him with a new toy.

"He is alone in the world, but for us, Father," she answered angrily. "Thanks to Cailin Drusus, my little Quintus and the son I carry in my womb are fatherless. I must be both father and mother to my babies now. All because of Cailin Drusus!"

"Antonia, my dearest," her father reasoned, "you must face the truth. You cannot live with a heart that is filled to overflowing with bitter vetch. Cailin Drusus is not responsible for your husband's death. Did you comprehend nothing that was said the day he died? Quintus Drusus had Cailin's family murdered, and then burned their villa to cover his crime in order that he might have their lands for himself. He admitted it. Why will you not understand?"

"I will not believe it!" Antonia said stubbornly.

"Why would Cailin make up such a story, Antonia?" her father persisted. "What purpose would she have in doing so? If it were not true, then why did she and Brenna flee to Berikos? If the fire had been an accident, why not simply say she escaped it?"

"Perhaps because she killed her family, Father. Did you ever consider that possibility? No, of course not!" Antonia cried.

"Antonia!" He was horrified by her words, for they were totally irrational. "What reason would Cailin have for doing such a thing?"

The grieving widow looked bleakly at him in silence.

"Antonia," her father continued, "how can you mourn a man who saw to the murder of your own two sons?"

"It isn't true!" Antonia shrieked. " It cannot be true!"

"It horrifies me as well as it does you, but there is a certain logic to it. Antonia, was Quintus Drusus such a gentle and perfect man that there was never a time when you were afraid of him?"

"There was one time," Antonia said low, "Just after Lucius and Paulus were found dead, when our son was but a day old. I was filled with grief, but Quintus grew hard with me for he feared my bereavement might impede the flow of my milk. He became very angry with me, Father. He said his son must be nursed by his mother, not some distressed slave woman. I was afraid of him in that moment, but it passed."

So that was why Antonia suckled her youngest son, Anthony Porcius thought. She had never nursed the elder boys.

"He could not have killed my sons," Antonia protested further. "He loved them! Besides, the two nursemaids were found in the most lewd and compromising of positions, reeking of wine."

"Had these women ever been found drunk, or judged guilty of lascivious behavior before, my daughter? I remember them both. They were faithful women, and loved my grandsons. You chose each of them carefully yourself after Lucius and Paulus were born, Antonia. They nursed those boys devotedly. Yet before they might even defend themselves, they were adjudged guilty and strangled. Who did this?"

"It was Quintus," Antonia said.

"Quintus," her father replied softly. "Ah, yes, Quintus. I find that interesting, my dear. The household slaves are your province, Antonia. Should he not have waited for your decision in the matter? Perhaps he did not because he knew if he had, those poor women would have implicated his murderous Gauls, and they in turn, to save their own skins, would have implicated Quintus Drusus. My reasoning is sound, I believe."

Antonia stubbornly shook her head. "It is Cailin's fault!"

"How is it Cailin's fault, Antonia? How?" he demanded.

"Oh, Father, do you not see? If Cailin Drusus had not come back, none of this could have happened! Quintus would be alive this very minute, and my sons would have their father. But she returned with her accusations, and then her husband killed mine!"

"What of your two elder sons? And what of the Drusus family?" the magistrate said. "All brutally slain; the villa burned; the Drusus family's bones left to bleach in the wind and rain? Have you no pity for anyone but yourself, Antonia? The gods! I am ashamed of you! I did not raise you to be so selfish!" Anthony Porcius turned away from his daughter, angry and disappointed.

"Am I selfish to have loved my husband, Father? If that is so, then I do not care what you think of me! Quintus Drusus was the man I loved, and Cailin took him from me. I care for nothing else. If I am wrong, then what matter? I am condemned to live the rest of my days without my love. My children are sentenced to grow up without their father, and for these and other crimes, I hold Cailin Drusus responsible. I hate her! I only hope she someday knows the pain and suffering she has inflicted upon me. I hate her! I will never forgive her! It is not fair, Father, that she now have the handsomest man in the province for a husband instead of me. She has taken Quintus Drusus from me, and she has that magnificent Saxon to comfort her. I have no one to comfort me!"

His daughter's unbalanced thinking disturbed Anthony Porcius greatly. He could understand her anger somewhat, but this sudden irrational envy of Cailin's husband made him very uncomfortable. Perhaps, he considered, with time Antonia would learn to accept the reality of what had happened. She would come to terms with herself, and everything would be all right. Quintus Drusus was newly dead. Anthony Porcius knew his daughter. She Would grieve dramatically for a time, and then another handsome man would catch her eye, and Quintus Drusus would be forgotten. It had always been that way with Antonia when she lost a man. Another soon took his place.

After spending several days with his daughter, the magistrate took his horse and rode across the fields to the Drusus Corinium estate. The rubble of the burned villa had been cleared away, and a timber and stone hall was being raised over the marble floor that ran from the entry through the atrium and into the dining room of the old building. The wings of the villa where the sleeping chambers, baths, and kitchen had been located were not to be restored. It would be a far simpler and more practical lifestyle that Cailin would have to accustom herself to, Anthony Porcius realized, and he sighed.

All over Britain others were being forced to do the same thing in order to survive. The age of gracious living as embodied by the elegance and the lavish lifestyles of their Roman ancestors had drawn to a close. In order to continue on, people would have to learn to make do. Although, he realized, some would make do better than others. He smiled to himself. It was not really so bad. Cailin and Wulf had good lands, each other, and the hope of many children. In the end, when all else was stripped away, that was what was important.

The young couple greeted him politely. They showed him the new graves of Cailin's family. A marble cutter had been sent for from Corinium, and would make a memorial to the family using marble from the villa's wings. The new hall would not be a great one to begin with, but eventually, Wulf told their guest, they would build a larger and far grander hall. Even so, there would be a room called a solar located above part of the main hall that would offer them some privacy. The fire pits would be lined in brick; the roof expertly thatched with neatly woven, tight smoke holes.

"I have been able to salvage some items from the old kitchen," Cailin told the magistrate proudly. "The pots and the Samianware did not burn. With cleaning I believe they will be usable again."

"But what will you do for other household items and furnishings?" he asked her. "Perhaps Antonia has some things she does not need, and would send them over to you," he said doubtfully.

"I want nothing from your daughter," Cailin said proudly. "The Dobunni will give us what we need. Berikos owes me my dower rights, and Ceara will see he gives them to me."

"And I am capable of carpentry, for all my military calling," Wulf joined in. "Then, too, there will be some among our slaves who are capable of like tasks. It will simply take time, and time is the one commodity with which we are most generously blessed, Anthony Porcius."

"You will not be able to do much more with the hall until the harvest is in," the older man replied. "The coming summer months you must spend attending to your fields, which are already planted and greening. Your harvest will be your most important asset. You will need a barn or two."

"I agree," Wulf said, "but there will be those who cannot work in the fields, and there will be rainy days when the fields cannot be worked. We will manage to finish what must be finished before winter."

They returned to Berikos's hill fort for Beltane and the wedding of Nuala and Bodvoc. Eppilus was already chieftain of the hill Dobunni. It had not, however, been necessary to depose Berikos. He had been spared that indignity. Several days after Cailin, Wulf, and his men had departed to revenge her family, her grandfather had suffered a series of seizures that left the old man paralyzed from the waist down. His speech was also affected. Only Ceara and Maeve could really understand what he was trying to communicate.

Consequently, the Dobunni men had not had to remove him from his high office. A physically impaired man could not rule his fellow men. As far as everyone was concerned, the gods had taken care of the matter, and Berikos had been retired, albeit forcibly, with honor. The old man, however, was still filled with venom, most of which was now directed at Brigit.

"She has left him," Ceara told Cailin in a rather satisfied tone. "No sooner had his condition been ascertained, and the fact that he would not recover fully made known, than she was gone." Ceara smiled grimly. "She took her serving women, her jewelry, and everything else of value he had lavished upon her. We awoke one morning, and she had vanished, along with a foolish half-grown boy who shall remain nameless. The lad came back, his tail between his legs, several days later. Brigit had returned to her Catuvellauni kin, and immediately took herself a new husband. We did not tell Berikos that. There is no need to add to his pain."

"I can almost feel sorry for him," Cailin said, "but then I remember that he disowned my mother, and that he was so unkind to my grandmother when we came to him for aid. I cannot forget that he forced me to Wulf's bed when he knew 1 was a virgin and unused to such behavior."

"But you are happy with Wulf, are you not?" Ceara asked her.

"Yes, but what if Wulf had not been the kind of man he is?"

Ceara nodded. "Yes, you have a just grievance, but try to forgive him, Cailin. He is a foolish, stubborn old man. He cannot change, but you, my child, can. He did love your mother, and I suspect he loves you as well, for you are Kyna's daughter, though he is too proud to say it."

"He sees too much of Brenna in me," Cailin said softly, "and he will never forgive me for it. He does not see my mother when he looks at me. He hears Brenna speaking out of my mouth." She smiled. "I will try, though, for your sake, Ceara. You have been good to me."

Nuala and Bodvoc were wed during the festive celebration of Beltane. The bride's belly had already grown quite round, and while Bodvoc was congratulated, Nuala was roundly teased, but she did not mind.

"Perhaps we shall leave here, and settle near you and Wulf," Nuala said to her cousin.

"Leave the Dobunni?" Cailin was surprised by Nuala's words. Celtic life was a communal life of kin and good friends. She was startled to think that Nuala and Bodvoc would give all that up.

"Why not?" Nuala replied. "Times are changing for us all. Life is too constricted here for Bodvoc and for me. There is no opportunity to do anything except what has always been done. We love our families, but we think perhaps we should like to be a little bit away from them. You and Wulf have no one but each other. If we came and lived by you, you would have us, and we would be near enough to the Dobunni villages to have the rest of our family available when we wanted to visit, or if they needed us, or we them. There is more than enough land for us, isn't there?"

Cailin nodded. "When Anthony Porcius returned my father's lands to me, he included the river villa that had been given to Quintus Drusus when he came from Rome. You and Bodvoc could have that land. Wulf and I will give it to you as a wedding present! You will have to build your own hall, but the lands are fertile, well-watered, and there is a fine orchard, Nuala. It would be good to have you near."

"Our children will grow up together," Nuala said with a smile.

Cailin found her husband and told him what she had done.

"Good!" he said with a smile. "Bodvoc will be a good man to have as a neighbor. We'll help him to build his home so that by the time their child comes, they will have a place of their own."

With the sunset, the Beltane fires sprang to life, and the feasting, drinking, and dancing continued. During the day, Cailin had been absorbed with her relatives and the wedding, but now a deep sadness came upon her. Just a year ago her family had been murdered. She wandered among the revelers, and then suddenly found herself by Berikos. Well, she thought, now is as good a time as any to try to make peace with this old reprobate. He was seated on a bench with a back. She sat down upon the ground by his side.

"Once," she began, "my mother told me of how, when she was a little girl, no one could leap higher across the Beltane fires than you could, Berikos. I think it was the only time I ever heard her speak of you. I believe she missed you, especially at this time of year. I am not like her, am I? Well, I cannot be anyone but who I am."

Surprised, she felt the old man's hand fall heavily upon her head, and turning, she looked up at him. A single tear was sliding down his worn face. For a brief moment Cailin felt her anger rising. The old man had no right to do this to her after all his unkindness and cruelty-not just to her, but to Brenna and to Kyna. Then something inside her popped and she felt her anger draining away. She smiled wryly at him.

"We're alike, Berikos, aren't we? It isn't just Brenna that makes me who I am. It is you as well. We are quick with our tongues, and have a surfeit of pride to boot." She patted her rounded belly. "The gods only know what this great-grandchild of yours will be like."

He half wheezed, half cackled at her remark. "Guud!" he said.

"Good?" she answered him, and he nodded vigorously, a chuckling noise coming from his throat. "You think so, do you? Well, we shall see after Lugh's feast if you are right," Cailin replied with a small smile.

Before Cailin and Wulf departed the next morning, Ceara came to her and said, "You have made Berikos very happy, my child. Your mother would be proud of you and of what you have done. I think it has helped him to make peace with himself, and with Kyna."

Cailin nodded. "Why not?" she said. "Last night the doors between the worlds were open. Perhaps not as widely as at Samain, but open nonetheless. I felt my mother would want me to be generous toward Berikos. It is strange, is it not, Ceara? Just a few weeks ago Berikos was strong and vital, the lord of his world. Now he is naught but a weak and sad old man. How quickly the gods render their judgment when they decide that the time has come for it."

"Life is fragile, my child, and appallingly swift, as you will soon find. One day you are filled with the juices of fiery youth and nothing is impossible! Then just as suddenly, you are a dried-up old husk with the same desires, but no will left to accomplish the impossible." She laughed. "You have a little time yet, I think. Go with your man now. Send for me when the child is due. Maeve and I will come to help you."

Cailin took the time to stop by the bench where her grandfather sat in the sunshine of the May morning. She bent to kiss his white head, and taking his hand in hers, gave it a squeeze. "Farewell, Grandfather,'' she said quietly. "I will bring you the child after it is birthed."

She and Wulf returned to their own home, and Cailin, finding more strength in herself than she would have thought, helped to seal the walls of the new barn with mud daub and wattle while Wulf worked in their fields with the servants. It was a good summer, neither too dry, nor too wet. In the orchards the fruit grew round and hung heavy upon the boughs of the trees. The grain ripened slowly while the hay was cut, dried, and finally stored in the barns for the coming winter.

The cattle grew fat, their herds having increased quite sizably that spring with the birth of many calves. In the meadows the sheep had multiplied, too, and shearing time was drawing near. Cailin, sitting outside the hall one warm day, looked across the shimmering fields contentedly. For a moment it appeared as if nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. It was a different time, and she was beginning to sense it most strongly.

One evening she and Wulf lay upon their backs on the hillside looking up at the stars. "Why do you never mention your family?" she asked him. "I am to bear your child, yet I know nothing of you."

"You are my family," he said, taking her hand in his.

"No!" she persisted. "What of your parents? Did you have brothers and sisters? What has happened to them? Are they in Britain?"

"My father died before I was born," he told her. "My mother died when I was just past two. I remember neither of them. They were young, and I was their only child."

"But who raised you?" she said. She was sorry he had no close relatives, but on the other hand it meant that he was all hers.

"Kin raised me, in my village along a river in Germania. I was passed from one relation to another like a lovable but unwanted animal. They were not unkind, mind you, but life was hard. No one really needed another mouth to feed. I left them when I was thirteen, and joined the legions. I have never been back. This is my land now, my home. You and our child are my family, Cailin. Until I found you, I was alone."

"Until you found me," she told him, "I was alone, too. The gods have been kind to us, Wulf."

"Aye," he agreed, and looking up, they saw a falling star blazing its way across the heavens.

A slave came from Anthony Porcius one day with a message. Antonia had gone into labor, and the magistrate was at a loss. He wrote that Antonia's women seemed helpless; although they should not be, Cailin thought. He begged that Cailin come to the villa to aid them. Wulf Ironfist was not happy about it, but Cailin did not think in light of the magistrate's kindness to them that she could refuse.

"We will pad the cart out, and I will travel in complete comfort," she told her husband. "Our child is not due for another few weeks. Even if we go slowly, I can be there by day's end."

Anthony Porcius was grateful when Cailin arrived. Antonia was still in labor and was having great difficulty. "She sent all the women who had always been with her away after Quintus's death, and replaced them with a group of fluttery girls. I do not understand why," he told Cailin, answering her unspoken question.

"It probably had something to do with making a new start," Cailin suggested. "Perhaps the other women, who were with her when she was married to Sextus Scipio and to my cousin, made her sad. They were only reminders of all she had lost, of better times now gone."

"Perhaps you are right, Cailin Drusus," he answered.

"You have asked me to come, and I came," Cailin replied, "but how will Antonia feel about my presence? I will help her, of course, but I am no expert. Why did she have no midwife among her staff?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I do not know."

"I have never birthed a child before, Anthony Porcius, but I know what must be done. Antonia will be able to help me, for this is her fourth child. Take me to her."

When they reached Antonia's quarters, they found her alone, her maidens having fled. Glimpsing her father's companion, Antonia's blue eyes flashed angrily for a moment, but hiding her ire, she said, "Why have you come, Cailin Drusus?"

"Your father called me to help you, though the truth is you know more about birthing a child than I do. Still, I will do what I can, Antonia. Your young women seem very helpless."

Antonia whimpered as a contraction tore through her, but she nodded. "You were good to come," she answered grudgingly.

The child, who came shortly afterward, was born dead, the cord wrapped about its little neck. It was a boy, and quite blue in color. Cailin wept openly with sadness at Antonia's misfortune. Though she had detested her cousin Quintus, she knew that Antonia had loved him greatly. Loving Wulf as she did, Cailin could but imagine Antonia's deep sadness at losing the posthumous son of Quintus Drusus.

Antonia, however, was dry-eyed. "It is better," she said fatalistically. "My poor little Marius is now with the gods, with his father." She sighed dramatically.

Quintus is hardly with the gods, Cailin thought sourly, as Anthony Porcius attempted to comfort his daughter. "I will stay the night and return home on the morrow," Cailin told them, wincing just slightly as she felt a mild cramp in her belly. She started nervously.

"What is it?" Antonia, sharp-eyed, demanded.

"Just a twinge," Cailin told her with more self-assurance than she was actually feeling. She hated being here, and the morning could not come quickly enough for her.

"Do not leave me so quickly, Cailin Drusus," Antonia pleaded. "Stay with me a few days, at least until my initial sorrow is past. You are no use to that handsome husband of yours in your present condition. Bide with me a little bit. I will wager you would enjoy soaking in my baths. You have no such amenities in your hall, I believe."

Cailin considered Antonia's tempting offer. She really wanted to go home; frankly, Antonia made her uncomfortable now. If she had any real sorrow over the loss of her poor little son, there was none that Cailin could see. What kind of a woman was she? Still, her pleading tone seemed genuine, and the offer of the baths was an enticing one. Cailin did not mind the more primitive life she was living, except for one thing. She really did miss the baths, with their hypocaust heating system, that had been in her family's old villa. It had been well over a year since she had had the luxury of a long, hot soak. It would be nice to remain for a short while to indulge this familiar luxury.

"Well," she said, "I'll stay, Antonia, but only for two or three days." Then she wrapped the tiny corpse in a swaddling cloth and removed it for proper burial, sending Antonia's silly maidens back in to attend to their mistress's needs.

Their mistress hardly noticed them. She was too busy plotting. She had seen the spasm that had crossed Cailin's face. Was it possible the girl was going into an early labor? Or perhaps she had miscalculated the time of her child's arrival. Antonia Porcius knew she would never again have such an opportunity for revenge, and she wanted that revenge badly. If Cailin would deliver her child here, alone, and without her Saxon husband, then both Wulf Ironfist's wife and child would be at her mercy. Oh, Quintus, she thought. Help me to avenge your unjust death at the hands of that barbarian. Let me make him suffer as I have suffered! Why should he be happy when I am not?

"You are very good to stay with Antonia," Anthony Porcius said to Cailin that evening as they shared a meal. "This tragedy could not have come at a worse time for me. I have found a buyer for my house in Corinium. I mean to remain here with Antonia, as she is widowed. There are few young men about now, and she may not have the opportunity to marry again. My grandson will need a man's influence. If Antonia does remarry one day, no good son-in-law would refuse me my place in this house. And though she will not admit it, I think my daughter needs me."

"You need to travel to Corinium shortly?" Cailin guessed.

"Yes, I do, my dear. I have let my home run down a bit in the years since Antonia first married Sextus Scipio. I was alone, and it really didn't matter to me then. Now, however, I must make several repairs before the new owners will agree to my price. They wish to take possession as soon as possible. I am lucky to have found buyers at all in these hard times. I plan to oversee the work personally, so I will have to be away for several weeks. I know you cannot stay with Antonia all that time, but if you will visit with her for just the next few days, it will help her to overcome her sorrow." He smiled fondly, seeing his daughter as no one else certainly did. "She indulges little Quintus far too much," he confided, "and without me, there is no discipline at all."

"Two days, three at the most," Cailin told him, "but no more. My child must be born in his father's hall. My grandfather's wives, Ceara and Maeve, are coming to midwife me. I can stay but a short time, and then I must go home, Anthony Porcius. You do understand?".

He nodded. "I will ask no more of you than two days, Cailin Drusus, and I thank you for your kindness to my child. She has not always been kind to you, I know, but surely you are her dearest friend."

Anthony Porcius departed the following morning for Corinium. Watching him go, Antonia felt relief. It would have been far too difficult to execute her plans if her father had remained. Oh, yes, the gods were certainly on her side in this matter, and her pleasure increased threefold knowing that they approved her revenge. In a way, she was to be their instrument of retribution against Cailin Drusus and her husband.

Cailin found herself quickly bored. Even when her parents were alive and she had lived a life similar to Antonia's, she had never been as idle as this woman seemed to be. Antonia had seemingly recovered from the ordeal of childbed instantly. She spent her time fussing over Quintus, the younger, and beautifying herself. The tinkling, vapid girls who surrounded her did naught but giggle.

Cailin knew from her conversations with Anthony Porcius that his daughter had been devastated and embittered by her husband's death; yet here was Antonia, freshly widowed, her newborn dead, behaving as if nothing at all was amiss in her little world; and acting gracious to the wife of her husband's executioner. Cailin found herself growing more and more uncomfortable. Why in the name of all the gods had she agreed to keep this woman company, even for just a couple of days? Worse, she could not seem to escape Antonia, who seemed to be everywhere she went, and always chattering, chattering, chattering about nothing. The longer Cailin remained with Antonia, the more her voice within nagged at her; particularly when her hostess brightly informed her, "I sent a messenger to Wulf Ironfist this morning telling him to fetch you in three days."

"How kind of you to think of it," Cailin replied, wondering why she had not thought of it herself. Being here must be addling her wits. Well, at least this day was almost done.

The evening meal was a particular trial. Antonia had always loved good food and good wine, which certainly accounted for her plumpness. She pressed dish after dish upon her guest, piling her own plate high with fish in a creamy sauce, game, eggs, cheese, and bread. She fussed at Cailin for not eating enough. "You will offend my cook," she said.

"I am not particularly hungry," Cailin replied, nibbling at some fruit and a bit of bread and cheese. Her stomach was in knots.

"Are you all right?" Antonia inquired solicitously.

"Just a bit of a queasy belly," Cailin admitted reluctantly.

The little fool was in labor! She was in labor, and she did not know it, Antonia thought triumphantly. Of course she wouldn't know it. She had never borne a child before. But Antonia was certain of it. "Wine is good for an upset in your condition." she counseled, and she poured Cailin a large gobletful. "This is my favorite Cyprian vintage, and you will feel much better after you have drunk it. Take a bit of bread to cleanse your palate," she instructed, and while Cailin was thus diverted, Antonia flipped the catch on a large cat's-eye beryl ring she wore and slipped a pinch of power from the secret compartment into the wine, where it dissolved instantly. She held out the goblet to the girl. "Drink it up now, Cailin, and you will soon feel better."

Cailin sipped slowly at the wine while she watched the half-full dishes of food being returned to the kitchens. No one, she thought, could eat all that food. Such a waste when so many are going hungry. Then she gasped as a hard pain tore through her.

"You arc in labor," Antonia said calmly. Of course she was in labor. If her earlier pains had been but false labor, the drugged wine had ensured the onset of the child's birth.

"Send for my husband," Cailin said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. "I want Wulf here for his child's birth!" Oh, the gods! Why had she promised to remain here for even a day?

"Of course you want Wulf here by your side," Antonia cooed. "I remember when I bore my darling son how very much it meant to me to have my Quintus with me. I will send a slave for Wulf. Do not fear, dear Cailin. I will take good care of you." She helped Cailin into her bedchamber.

Leaving her maidens with Cailin, Antonia sent for a young male slave she had intended to make her lover. It was unfortunate, she thought, but she would have to kill him for his part in this matter, and she would not even get to enjoy him for a night. "Go to Simon, the slave merchant in Corinium. He sends consignments to Londinium monthly and will be dispatching a caravan shortly. Say I have a female slave I wish to rid myself of and he must send someone tomorrow to fetch her. She is a troublesome creature, and a liar. She must be kept drugged until she reaches Gaul. I want her sent as far from Britain as possible. Do you understand, my handsome Atticus?" Antonia smiled up into the young man's face while caressing his buttocks suggestively.

"Yes, mistress," he answered her, returning the smile. He was new in the household, but he had heard she was a lusty woman. She would certainly have no complaints over his performance when she was healed from her childbirth and ready to take a lover.

"Tell Piso to give you the fastest horse in the stable," Antonia instructed him. "I want you back by dawn. If you are not, I shall whip you." Her hand moved about to fondle his hardening manhood. "You are well-made," she noted. "Did I buy you, Atticus? I do not remember."

"Your father bought me, mistress," he replied with more aplomb than he was feeling. He was as hard as iron within her hot hand.

"We shall have to find a suitable position for you shortly," Antonia remarked, thinking that perhaps she would not kill him immediately. After all, he would not understand what she had done. "Now, go!" She turned away from the slave and hurried back to her patient.

All through the night, Cailin struggled to birth her baby. Her body was wet with perspiration. She strained under Antonia's direction to bring forth the child. "Where is Wulf?" Cailin repeated over and over again to the older woman. "Why does he not come?"

"It is dark," Antonia told her. "There is no moon. My messenger must go slowly over the fields to reach your hall. It is not as if he could simply gallop easily down the Fosse Way from my home to yours, Cailin. He must pick his way carefully. He will get there, but then he and your husband must come back just as slowly. Here." She put her arm about Cailin's shoulders. "Drink some of my Cyprian wine. You will feel better for it. I always do.

"I don't want it," Cailin cried, pushing Antonia's hand away.

"Do not be such a silly goose," Antonia told her. "I have put some herbs in it that will ease your pain. I take them myself when I am in the throes of having a child. I see no reason to suffer."

Cailin reached out, and taking the goblet from Antonia, drank it slowly down. She immediately felt better, but her head was also spinning. Another pain tore through her, and she cried out. Antonia knelt and examined her progress. She began to smile and hum to herself.

"Can you see the baby's head?" Cailin asked her. "Ohh, I wish Ceara and Maeve were here with me. I need them!"

"They could do nothing for you that I cannot," Antonia replied sharply, then her tone softened a bit. "I can see the baby's head. Be brave, Cailin Drusus, just a few more minutes and your child will be born."

"The gods!" Cailin groaned. "Where is Wulf? Antonia, I am very dizzy. What exactly did you put in that wine?" Another pain came.

Antonia ignored Cailin's questions. "Push!" she commanded the straining girl. "Push hard. Harder."

The infant's head and shoulders appeared between its mother's legs. Antonia smiled, well-pleased. Cailin did not realize it, but she was having an easy labor. The baby would be born in just another moment.

Cailin was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. Her head was whirling violently and she felt as if she were beginning to fall. Another terrible pain washed over her. She heard, if somewhat distantly, Antonia's voice demanding she push again. Cailin struggled to obey. She couldn't allow herself to become unconscious. Making a supreme effort, she pushed with all her might. She was rewarded by the sudden cry of a newborn baby, and her heart accelerated with excitement and joy. Then, as suddenly, the darkness rushed up to claim her. She fought valiantly against it, but it was no use. The last thing she remembered was Antonia saying, "She is so sweet. I have always wanted a little girl," and then Cailin remembered no more.

When Wulf Ironfist arrived to reclaim his wife two days later, Antonia came slowly into the atrium to greet him. She was crying, the tears sliding down her fair skin. "What is it?" he asked, a sinking feeling overcoming him even as he put forth the question.

Antonia sobbed and threw herself into his startled embrace. "Cailin!" she wept piteously. "Cailin is dead, and the child-your son-with her! I could not save them. I tried! I swear I tried!"

"How?" he said, stunned. "How could this happen, Antonia? She was healthy and well when I saw her last."

Antonia stepped from the shelter of his arms and, looking up at him with her wide blue eyes, said, "Your son was large. He was not properly positioned. A child is born head first, but this boy came feet first. He tore poor Cailin almost in two. Her suffering was a terrible thing to behold. She bled to death. The child, so long in birthing, did not survive her by more than an hour. I never imagined such a thing could happen. I am sorry, Wulf Ironfist."

"Where is her body?" he demanded. His voice was hard and cold. Cailin! His beloved lambkin dead? It could not be! It could not be! He would not believe it! "I want to see my wife's body," he repeated. The pain in his chest was fierce. Could a heart break in two, he wondered, for he believed that it was happening to him now.

"She was so torn apart," Antonia explained, "that we could not prepare her properly for burial. I had her cremated, the way our Celtic ancestors used to cremate their dead. I put the baby in her arms so that they would reach the gods together."

He nodded, numb with grief. "I want her ashes," he said stonily. "Surely you have her ashes. I will take her home and bury her on her land with the rest of her family. Cailin would want that."

"Of course," Antonia agreed softly, and turning about, she picked up a prettily decorated polished bronze urn from the atrium bench. "Cailin's ashes, and those of your son, are within this vessel, Wulf Ironfist." She handed it to him with a sympathetic smile. "I understand your grief, having just recently lost both a mate and a child myself." she said.

He took the urn from her, almost reluctantly, as if he could still not believe what she had told him. Then he turned wordlessly away from her and started for the door.

Antonia silently exulted in his pain. Then a wicked thought came to her, and she acted impulsively upon it.

"Wulf." Her voice was suddenly seductive.

He turned back to her, and was shocked to see that she had removed her robe and was stark naked. She was all pink and white, and plump. There was not a mark upon her to spoil the perfection of her smooth skin. He found her appallingly repulsive. For a moment he was rooted to the spot where he stood, staring at her repugnant nudity.

"I am lonely, Wulf Ironfist," Antonia said softly. "So lonely."

"Lady, put your robe back on," he said.

"You killed my husband, Wulf Ironfist. Now I am lonely. Do you not think you should compensate me for the loss of Quintus Drusus?" Antonia purred to her horrified audience. She slipped her hands beneath her large breasts, with their deep rose nipples, and lifted them as if she were offering them to him. "Are you not tempted to sample these fine fruits, Wulf Ironfist? Is that weapon beneath your braccos not already hard with your longing for me?"

"Clothe yourself, lady," he said coldly. "You disgust me."

She launched herself at him, her naked body pressing against him. He was overpowered by the scent of musk. "You are the handsomest man in the province, Wulf Ironfist," she said, panting with desire. "I always have the handsomest man in the province for my mate." Her arms slipped tightly about his neck. "Kiss me, you Saxon brute, and then you must take me. Here! Where we stand on the floor of the atrium. Stuff me with your manhood and make me scream with pleasure. I am so hot for you!"

Wulf took her arms from him and thrust her away. He felt near to vomiting. "Lady, your grief has made you mad. First your husband and child, and then my wife and son. I am sorry for you, but I must master my own grief. It is already tearing me apart. I loved my wife. I do not know how I will go on without her. What is left for me? Nothing! Nothing!" He turned and stumbled from the atrium.

"Go!" Antonia shrieked after him. "Go, Wulf Ironfist! If you are in pain, I am glad! Now you will know how I felt when you butchered my Quintus! May the sorrow eat your heart out! I will be glad of it!" Bending down, she picked up her robe and slipped it back on. "I wish I could have told you the truth, Wulf Ironfist," she said softly to herself, "but I could not. Then my father would find out, and I cannot have that." She laughed. "Still, I have had my revenge upon you, and Cailin Drusus. If no one knows but me, what difference will it make?"

When Anthony Porcius returned from Corinium several weeks later, his daughter was prepared and waiting. They sat together in the mid-autumn air of her garden while Antonia nursed the infant at her breast.

"I was shocked, Father," she said. "He didn't want her. He was ready to expose her on the hillside, had I not begged him for the child. All that mattered to him was that Cailin had not given him the son he wanted. These Saxons are cruel people, Father. Fortunately, little Quintus was ready to be weaned, and my milk is rich, so I decided to take the baby and raise her with my son. It almost makes up for having lost my own baby. Poor Cailin!"

"Where is Wulf Ironfist now?" the magistrate asked.

"He has disappeared." Antonia replied. "No one knows where he has gone. He made no provision for his slaves. He simply left. The land, of course, now belongs to my little Aurora. I call her that because she was born with the dawn, even as her mother died. I sent my majordomo to drive off those Dobunni who had begun to build a hall at the river villa. They said that Cailin had given them the land for a wedding gift, but I told them it was mine by right of inheritance, and that Cailin was dead in childbirth and not here to enforce their supposed rights. They did not give me much difficulty, and are now gone."

Anthony Porcius nodded. It was all so much to take in, he thought, but one good thing had come of it. Antonia seemed to be her old self again. Taking in the orphaned daughter of Cailin Drusus had obviously been good for her.

"You will stay here with us, Father, won't you?" Antonia said. "I do need you so very much. I shall not marry again, but will devote my life to my two children. It is, I feel, what the gods desire of me."

"Perhaps you are right," he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. "We will be a happy family, Antonia. I know it in my heart!"