"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 w
hen 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.
To Love Again Page 7