by Nhys Glover
Arianrod had sent Braedyn to her that terrible day. The worst of many terrible days of her short, fourteen summers of life. And he’d healed her body and soothed her mind and heart. His gentle patience was the only true balm she’d ever known.
‘Yes, I am well. It was the old dream.’ She didn’t think about the way she spoke, so different from the rough, peasant words she’d used when she first came to Braedyn. This man had taught her so much…
‘Nothing new?’ He was sitting up on his pallet now, his white hair, which was the same colourless hue as her own, stood up on end like the quills of an angry porcupine.
‘No. It just feels closer this time.’
‘Like it will happen soon?’
‘Yes. Soon. Quite soon. I wish I knew where he was. He needs me, but I can’t go to him.’
‘The Lady will tell you when the time is right. You must trust her.’ He settled down in his bed again and pulled his sheep skin bedding up around his neck.
Braedyn felt the cold now more than ever. Winter this year had been the worst. Several times Brennwen thought she would lose him. But she had followed his instructions and managed to nurse him back from the arms of death, over and over again throughout the long, snowy winter. Now, as the weather warmed, his health improved. He wouldn’t go to the Summer Land quite yet. He would stay with her a little longer.
CHAPTER ONE
5 April 86 CE, Border of Belgae and Durotriges Territory BRITANNIA
Allyn leaned over the neck of his mount and tore the scrap of fabric from the branch. It was green, coarse and obviously torn from a piece of winter clothing, possibly a cloak. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. A faint scent of lavender and rosemary clung to the material. Odd. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Edging his mount further off the track, he scanned the terrain for more signs of what had happened here.
The scent would have dissipated quickly, so it had been torn from the clothing not long ago. Nexus had taught him that.
His manager had been raised the son of a chieftain in Africanus, where tracking prey had been part of his training. Now, Nexus adapted those skills to the colder, wetter climate of Britannia and taught Allyn what he knew.
Not that they had any need for hunting wild game when their estate did so well, but there was something to be said for the excitement and total focus hunting required. A different way of life from what he had known as a sex slave and now knew as the owner of a large, productive agricultural estate on his ancestor’s land. But variety suited his nature. If things stayed the same for too long, he grew bored.
His keen senses picked up the sounds on the cool morning air. The forest was verdant and lush, just perfect for the hunt. But the sounds he heard were not from any animal he chose as prey. They were the sounds of humans crashing through the undergrowth.
He heard a sharp cry, quickly cut off; a man’s rough laugh.
A hunter had found his human prey and was obviously delighted.
The undergrowth was too thick for his mount so Allyn threw himself from its back and quickly looped the reins over a branch. Immediately, he took off in the direction of the sounds.
Allyn didn’t know why he was getting involved in whatever was happening here in the woods. He was on his way home after visiting his ailing father on the other side of Durotriges territory. Whatever was happening here wasn’t his business.
But something kept him moving toward sounds that grew more frenzied the closer he got; sounds that reminded him of his childhood.
What greeted him was startling.
A man, a Belgae, if he didn’t miss his guess, was wrestling with a girl on the mossy forest floor. There was nothing startling about that, unless it was the girl’s utter silence during the struggle. She hadn’t uttered a sound since that one cut-off cry.
The man was louder and his animal grunts told Allyn well enough what the man was attempting to do to the girl. He’d recognise that repulsive noise anywhere.
There was certainly nothing startling in that, either. Women were raped every day. Not on his estate. Never on his estate. But elsewhere in the world. It was the way of nature – the strong preying on the weak.
No, what startled him was the girl herself. She was a snow-maiden, pure white of skin and hair. He’d never seen anything like her before in all his much-travelled life. Not even the dirt and blood of the forest attack seemed to soil her pristine beauty.
Allyn had his sword drawn in an instant. The attacker was too busy holding the girl down and undoing his clothing to notice his approach.
‘Stand down!’ Allyn yelled loud enough to get the man’s attention as he stepped up behind him and placed the tip of his blade against his filthy neck.
Instantly, the attacker went still and so did the girl. Allyn saw her turn to look up at him, out of the corner of his eye.
Her eyes were silver!
Was she a changeling, a tiny creature from another realm, or one of his legendary ancestors, the Tuatha De Danann? No one he had ever seen had eyes like that or skin like that. And the only people he’d seen with hair that colour were very old men and women.
She was not old.
‘Bugger off!’ The man snarled as he pivoted his head slowly to look at the owner of the sword. The roman sword.
‘Not likely. Get off the girl. Now!’ Allyn spoke the Durotriges dialect and the other man Belgae, but they understood each other well enough.
The filthy ruffian clambered to his feet slowly, eyeing Allyn and the girl both. ‘What’s it to you, Roman? This girl’s an escaped slave. I’ve the right to do what I want with ‘er.’
‘Your escaped slave?’
‘No. But I ‘eard tell of ‘er goin’ missin’ from a town further south from ‘ere, a few years back. I’m makin’ meself some brass fetchin’ ‘er back.’
‘Didn’t look like that’s what you were doing…fetchin’ ‘er back,’ Allyn let his voice drip sarcasm as he nudged the lout with the tip of his sword so he was forced to step further away from the girl.
‘Don’t mess with me, Roman. Yer can’t come in ‘ere an’ take what don’t belong to yer.’
‘You’re wrong on both counts. I’m not a Roman, I’m Durotriges, and this is Durotriges’ land. My father is King and you’re trespassing. And second, I can come in and take what doesn’t belong to me, because that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
‘I suggest you start running or die where you stand.’ He nudged the man more firmly with the point of the sword.
For an instant, the oaf didn’t move, assessing his chances against a man with a drawn sword. A fit, strong man with a sword he looked fully capable of wielding. In the end, with a disgusted grunt, he turned and ran off into the forest. Allyn grunted back with satisfaction and sheathed his weapon.
‘Are you hurt?’ Allyn asked the girl, who had not moved since the ruffian climbed off her. The front of her gown was ripped to reveal her right breast. If he’d mistaken her for a child because of her size, that breast would have told him different.
She shook her head, staring up at him as if he was as startling a sight to her as she was to him.
‘Can you talk?’
She nodded and began to edge herself to her feet. For all she claimed she wasn’t hurt, it was clear she was. There was an ugly cut down the side of her brow, made all the more dramatic against the paleness her skin, and she moved awkwardly, as if her body was bruised or broken.
‘You are hurt!’ His hand came out to gently grip her bare arm. She was ice cold to the touch, almost as if she was as dead as her skin seemed to indicate.
‘I wasn’t raped. Everything else doesn’t count.’ Her voice was soft and breathy, and her accent odd but educated. He had been too long away from Britannia to be able to distinguish the many different tribal dialects and accents that covered his homeland.
‘Yes, you weren’t raped. But you have a cut on your head that’s bleeding badly.’
‘It’s unimportant. Thank you for
saving me.’ She pulled her cloak over the torn front of her gown and brushed the dirt and twigs off her clothes as best she could. It was a man’s cloak, too big and heavy for such a tiny woman, and it was green. The scrap of fabric that had brought him to her had surely come from it.
‘Are you an escaped slave?’
Did he really expect her to answer that? He would have lied until he was blue in the face if asked that same question seven years ago.
‘I was. I suppose I still am. I was left for dead by the men of the town where I was lived. A druid wise man found me and saved my life. That made me his, I think.’
‘Come, I’ll take you to your Druid. I didn’t know there were any in Roman occupied territory anymore.’
‘There isn’t. Now. Braedyn journeyed to the Summer Land a week ago.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. He was very kind to me.’
‘Where were you headed when that ruffian caught you?’
For a moment the strange girl said nothing, as if she was weighing up whether to tell him the truth. Yet she had been truthful with him about the slavery. Why stop now?
‘If it is nearby, I can take you there. I have a horse not far away,’ he pointed back in the direction he’d come.
‘It is far, I think. I’m not sure.’
‘Do you have family there?’
‘No. I have no family.’
Allyn frowned. This woman was a mystery, and he didn’t like mysteries. But there was a certain doe-like quality about her that reminded him of his wife, Livia, and for that reason alone he was willing to help her.
The Durotiges man, who dressed as a Roman, was extraordinarily handsome, but Brennwen felt no attraction to him. She had never felt an attraction to any man. To her, men were to be avoided or appeased. There was nothing about them that attracted.
At least this one smelled good. Not like the oaf who had waylaid her as she made her way to the village closest to old Braedyn’s hut. Nor like the pack of animals who killed her unborn child. Sometimes she still smelled them on her skin, even though it happened more than four summers ago.
When he lifted her up in front of him on his large horse, she felt uncomfortable with his closeness. But she could sense that there was nothing salacious in the closeness. It felt more like Braedyn’s interest in her – non-sexual, familial.
Braedyn was a hole in her heart that she thought would never be filled again. More father to her than her own had ever been, he was the kindest person she’d ever known. In the years they’d been together, he taught her everything he knew about healing, philosophy and the bard’s tales that recorded their history. He’d given her a world outside the confines of her limited life.
When she tried to thank him on more than one occasion, he brushed her gratitude aside. It was he who should thank her, he said. With her quick mind and powerful gift of prophesy that she’d permitted him to mould and develop, she’d given his last years purpose and meaning again.
‘My kind are all gone now, Brennwen,’ he would say. ‘Before you came, I longed for the day when I could journey to the Summer Land. Now I am content to wait. My days are filled with your lovely presence.’
No one had ever called her lovely before Braedyn. It had embarrassed her at first. How could someone as utterly colourless ever be considered lovely? But though he was kind, Braedyn never flattered her. If he said she was lovely, then he truly believed her to be lovely.
Now, riding this stranger’s horse upon his hard lap, Brennwen wondered what this man thought of her. He’d certainly been shocked by the sight of her – she’d seen it written in his eyes. But there was nothing new in that. People were always shocked by the first sight of her. Later, shock turned to horror and then to fear. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be around long enough to see those last two on this man’s face.
‘I’m Allyn. I’m travelling home to my wife and children. You can stay with us until you feel ready to go on with your journey.’
Brennwen nodded, her cheek rasping against the ornate broach that held his cloak together at his throat. She knew he was trying to calm her and that he expected her name in return. Reluctantly, she gave it.
‘I am Brennwen.’
‘White Raven? Hmm…Not quite the right name for you.’
She didn’t query this odd statement or ask what better name would fit her. Before Bradyn had given her freedom to question all things, life had taught her to keep her questions to herself. Now she reverted to that way of interacting with the world again. It was a comfortable if confining fit.
It was after dark before the tired horse finally found its way home. The lights from the Roman estate were a welcome sight. For the last few hours, her body had ached so badly she could barely contain the pain behind gritted teeth. The man had been compassionate, stopping several times during the long day to let her stretch some of the pain out of her limbs and relieve her bladder. He’d even shared his food with her.
But the attack had damaged her more than she was willing to admit, and even the slightest contact with the bruised areas was excruciating. Hours of such contact pushed her beyond her threshold for pain. Now she looked forward to the relief a stable resting place would provide. If there were soft furs to keep her warm, all the better. But she was a slave in a rich man’s household, even if that rich man had been kind to her so far. She realistically couldn’t expect to find more than a warm corner to curl up in, no less the necessary comforts to ease her pain.
Brennwen had thought it likely the man would have a pleasant home because he was obviously wealthy. Hadn’t he said his father was the King of the Durotrides? But the villa rustica, as she knew the Roman’s called their farm residences, was far more impressive than she anticipated. It was huge, double storied in places, and seemed, in the lamplight, to be built from honey-coloured stone. It was surrounded by many Celtic dwellings, and one round house was as large as any she had seen on her travels.
This was not just an estate, it was a village.
As his horse pulled up beside the front door of the villa, a beautiful woman raced out. Although she was obviously a Roman upper-class matron, she wore her curling honey brown hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. She beamed up at the man as if she was looking at the sun after a rainy day.
CHAPTER TWO
‘Husband, I’m glad to see you. Who have you brought with you?’ The matron spoke the Roman tongue Brennwen had learned over the years in different parts of the country. But Braedyn never spoke it, so she had to search her memory for the meaning of some of the unfamiliar words.
As the woman studied her, she showed no surprise at her appearance or her presence on her husband’s lap. Brennwen wondered if it was just too dark for the woman to clearly see her colourless features.
‘This is a snow maiden I rescue from a beast on the road,’ Allyn answered his wife in her own tongue as he gently lowered Brennwen to the ground. He then jumped from the saddle and wrapped the lovely woman in his arms.
For a long, beautiful moment he just hugged the woman tight. For the first time in her life, Brennwen envied this couple their bond. It wasn’t lust that bound them. That was what men usually felt for women. It was tenderness and respect, and a little awe on both sides, as if neither fully understood how they’d been lucky enough to be granted such a love.
What must it be like to have a man feel that way about you?
Well, she would never know. Brennwen understood that she wasn’t like this beautiful couple. Only the beautiful could expect such bounty. All she could ever expect was the kind of lust a man directed at any available female, and fear, once such a man realised what she really was.
At last the couple broke apart, and the slight blush on the wife’s cheeks told her that there was some lust attached to this bond. But it didn’t seem crude or ugly, as the lust she knew. It seemed natural and wholesome. How was that possible?
The woman switched to the Du
rotriges dialect to address her. ‘Snow Maiden? What is your real name? Come inside. You look ready to collapse. Is that blood on your brow? Were you hurt by the beast? Was it a bear?’ The woman threw questions at her so quickly she had no chance to answer them all.
She allowed the lovely woman to wrap her arm around Brennwen’s waist and direct her in through the door. ‘Brennwen. My name is Brennwen. And the beast was a man. Your husband saved me before I was seriously hurt.’ She spoke in the matron’s own tongue out of politeness, even though her speech was halting from lack of use.
‘I hope you hurt him back,’ the lady said to her husband, over her shoulder.
Allyn looked at Brennwen with surprise as he answered his wife. ‘No. I considered it wise to let him run away. He caused her no lasting damage.’ Was her use of the Roman tongue unexpected? Did he think her stupid?
Any tribe who had lived under the yoke of the Romans for any length of time learned their language. It was a matter of survival, as few Romans chose to learn the Celtic tongues.
‘Men can be such animals. Let me get some water heated for you. And some clean clothes.’ Allyn’s wife returned to her own language with relief.
‘Lady, I am a slave, not a patrician. I will be content with a warm place beside your hearth.’
‘My name is Livia, and there are no slaves here. Except Leonis, but that can’t be helped. You will have your place beside the fire and more. How did you come to be travelling the roads alone?’
‘Livia, you’re overwhelming the poor girl with your questions. She’s not a big talker and she’s in a lot of pain. Let her get comfortable before you satisfy your curiosity.’ Although the words were an admonishment, they were delivered with amusement.
His wife laughed and squeezed Brennwen’s side. ‘Allyn is right, I talk too much. And I am curious about you. But I’ll keep mum until you’re comfortable.’