“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She smiled then. “Tears of joy. I never thought any man would say such things to me. Oh, Decimus, I love you, too.”
She bent to kiss him on the mouth. He rolled over, taking her with him. Neither one heard the wind begin to howl outside. Neither one noticed when the fire died down. Neither one noticed when darkness descended.
Chapter 12
Decimus knelt beside the stream, filling the goatskin flask with icy water. His mind was not on what he was doing. Three days had passed, and they still had seen no sign of Galla. Decimus had no idea what he would do if Galla didn’t return. Although Chara’s foot had healed to a point where she could limp on it, she still couldn’t travel far.
Suddenly his arms were seized in an ironlike grip from behind. He was pulled back from the stream and spun around. Two men held him fast in their tight grip, his arms twisted behind his back. He struggled a moment but then realized he couldn’t possibly outfight them.
Another man stood towering above him, his long brown hair flowing just past his shoulders. Brown eyes stared coldly into his own.
“Where are you from, and what are you doing here?” the man demanded in the language of Decimus’s boyhood.
Decimus’s mind began to churn frantically. He had to keep them away from the cave and Chara. When he tried again to jerk loose, he was lifted slightly from his feet. Hanging suspended in the air, he felt like a limp rag doll. These men had incredible strength.
“Answer me, or I’ll slay you where you stand.”
“My name is Decimus. I’m here seeking news of my tribe.”
The giant fixed him with a dubious glance. “And what tribe might that be?”
“I am Cantiaci,” he told them and had the satisfaction of seeing their faces change. Only the giant remained unfazed.
“And where have you been that you need to seek news now of your tribe?” he wanted to know.
Decimus was hesitant to tell them anything. In the end, he decided to tell them a partial truth. “I have recently arrived from Rome where I was a slave.” He glanced to the hill behind him, hoping that Chara wouldn’t come looking for him.
“My name is Cadwaladyr, from the Trinovante tribe.” The giant nodded to his men. “Release him.”
They flung Decimus down, but he managed to keep his balance and stay up on his feet. His hands clenched at his sides. Now was not the time to try to induce a battle. He was hopelessly outnumbered, if not by numbers, then definitely by sheer strength.
Cadwaladyr stood, arms folded across his chest, obviously awaiting an explanation. He was an imposing figure in his warrior garb. The temperature was below freezing, yet the man wore only a pair of llawdyr and a bryean vest. The wool was treated with vinegar, Decimus knew, in a way that supposedly rendered the material so strong it could repel even a sword. His arms were bare, yet he gave no sign of feeling the cold.
“I have returned to Britannia seeking news of my family,” Decimus told them truthfully. “I was taken prisoner by Roman soldiers almost twelve years ago. The last sight I had of my family was my father lying in a pool of blood, my mother across his chest, and my sister. . .my sister being passed from one Roman soldier to another.”
Something flashed briefly in Cadwaladyr’s eyes, but it was hidden instantly. “What were their names?”
“My father was Lucid; my mother, Gamina; my sister, Eudemia.”
“Eudemia!”
The startled exclamation from the man on his right brought both Decimus’s and Cadwaladyr’s eyes to him. One look from Cadwaladyr and the other man closed his lips tightly.
Decimus turned back to Cadwaladyr. “You know her?”
Cadwaladyr shrugged. “Perhaps. Many girls have that name. Come, we will take you back to our village. Perhaps Der-wydd can help you.”
Before Decimus could decide on his next move, a piercing scream rent the air. Shoving Cadwaladyr aside, Decimus hurriedly climbed the hill behind him. The other three men were close on his heels.
Scrambling over the top, Decimus flung himself through the entrance to the cave, coming up short when he saw two men, one standing on each side of his wife. Before he could react, he was grabbed roughly from behind, finding himself once again a prisoner.
Cadwaladyr moved past him into the cave. He went quickly to Chara’s side, jerking the sagum from her head.
Gritting his teeth, Decimus continued to struggle against the men who held him fast. “Leave her alone!”
Cadwaladyr studied Chara for a moment. Suddenly he smiled. “Many pardons, my lady. I thought you were someone else.” He turned to Decimus, one dark brow arching. “We heard that there was a woman and her son living in a cave somewhere in the vicinity. We thought perhaps she was the one.”
“She’s my wife!”
Blinking, Cadwaladyr finally nodded to his men. They released him, and Decimus went quickly to Chara, taking her in his arms. He could feel her trembling as he whispered in Latin what Cadwaladyr had said.
“I know,” she said softly. “This language is very similar to that which I grew up speaking in Gaul. I can’t catch everything—but enough to be afraid.”
Meanwhile, Cadwaladyr was studying the cave and its contents. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw.
“You stayed here to avoid the storm?”
Decimus nodded.
“Wise move. But our village will be safer. Gather your things and come with us.”
Although the words were gently said, Decimus had no doubt that an order was behind them. The five men waited while they gathered their things. Decimus put out the fire but left the wood. Perhaps Galla was on his way back even now. How could Decimus let him know what had happened?
“We need to hurry, Cadwaladyr. The storm is almost upon us.”
Cadwaladyr was watching Decimus. “Bring their horses round.”
Chara stayed close to her husband, her heart thudding with fear. What was to become of them now? And where, oh where, was Galla?
❧
Galla watched Eudemia as she worked around the cave. She was an industrious woman, her hands never idle for a moment.
Two days had gone by since he had entered their world. His head no longer pounded as it had, but a scab had formed on the laceration across his temple. The sore itself throbbed continually.
Eudemia had decided that he was not a threat, so she had released him. The only problem was that the winter storm had hit with a vengeance. He could not go out in the elements, or he would be lost within minutes and dead a short time later.
The wind howled angrily outside their shelter. Galla felt the same violence roiling within himself. He was almost mad with worry over Decimus and Chara.
Had they stayed at the cave even after he hadn’t returned in the appointed time? They had enough provisions. Hopefully Decimus had thought to bring the horses inside.
Cadvan sat silently in a corner, sharpening his knife with a stone. Periodically he would look up and catch Galla’s eyes on him. Frowning, he would turn himself slightly away.
“Is there anything I can do?” Galla questioned.
Eudemia looked at him in surprise. She thought for a moment before shaking her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“Perhaps he would like to help me fix the feathers to my arrows,” Cadvan suggested.
Galla smiled at the boy. “I can do that.”
Cadvan brought the feathers and long sticks that he had already prepared. He laid several sharpened stones next to them. They were well done, but Galla lifted curious eyes to his. “You have no iron or bronze?”
Without looking up, the boy answered him, “No.”
Shrugging, Galla began to affix the feathers with swift, deft movements. The boy watched him, his eyes growing wide. Still, he said nothing.
Galla began to tell him stories, not of Rome and her conquests, but from scriptures. Cadvan sat listening, enthralled.
Before long, Eudemia joined them, a ball of yarn in
her hands. She began twisting the yarn into lengths, the whole time listening intently to everything he said.
She looked up at one point. “The Druids have a story similar to the one you just told. What did you call the man?”
“Noah,” Galla answered.
She nodded her head. “Much of what you have said the Druids say, also.”
“Probably,” Galla agreed. “Since God created the whole earth and everything in it, people are bound to have similar stories. Although the people wandered to different places on the earth after the Tower of Babel, they still had the same beginnings.”
She stared into Galla’s eyes, and for the first time, Galla noticed a softness there. “Funny how people can get things so turned around.”
“Tell me of the Roman gods,” Cadvan demanded. “Especially Mars.”
Eudemia rose swiftly to her feet. “Enough. Enough about gods and their capriciousness. Go to the other cavern and bring back some wine.”
Her son looked disappointed, but he obeyed. Galla watched him go, then turned to his mother. “You have a fine son.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I think so.”
“But there is one thing I must correct you on.” She waited for him to continue. “My God is not capricious. He is unchanging, and His love is eternal.”
She hesitated as though she wished to say something, but then she turned away. Galla watched her go back to her loom and begin weaving the threads in and out.
Cadvan came back with the wine. He placed the amphora on the table and then came back to help Galla with the arrows.
“You do this well,” Galla told him. “Did your father teach you?”
The sudden silence in the room made Galla look up. Eudemia was frozen as though she were a statue. The boy looked from his mother back to Galla. “No. My father died before I was born.”
“I’m sorry.” Feeling uncomfortable, Galla hurried to change the subject. “How long have you lived here?”
Again Galla got the impression he was treading on thin ice. Not knowing what to say, he lapsed into silence.
“We’ve lived here since before Cadvan was born,” Eudemia finally told him.
Galla decided retreat was in order. Leaning forward, he showed the boy how to better affix the arrows to give them more buoyancy. Cadvan smiled his appreciation.
The storm continued for three days. Cadvan seemed to follow Galla’s every move. He was there whenever Galla returned from outside, he was there when Galla explored the cave, he was there when Galla helped prepare the meals.
Eudemia didn’t miss the fact that her son had become enamored with the Roman. She smiled ruefully. No matter how hard she tried, some things only a man could provide.
“The snow is beginning to lessen,” Galla told them, watching the swirling layers of whiteness. Dropping the fur curtain, he turned back to the room.
Eudemia nodded. “It should stop by tomorrow.”
For some reason, Galla felt reluctant to leave, but he knew he must. Almost a week had passed since he had left Chara and Decimus.
That evening when they sat down to their meal, Galla told them about his two friends. Eudemia was surprised. “What did you say his name was?”
“Decimus.”
She looked down, her lip beginning to tremble. He saw such pain in her eyes that Galla felt moved to comfort her.
“What is it?” he whispered.
She shook her head slightly. “I had a younger brother by that name.”
“What happened to him?”
Suddenly she looked up, glaring into his eyes. “The Romans took him. I doubt he’s still alive. Most likely he was sent to the galleys.”
Galla felt the color leave his face. Could it be possible? Could Eudemia’s brother and Decimus be one and the same? The resemblance was there, and hadn’t Decimus mentioned the name Eudemia? What a streak of fate that would be. But stay. Fate? There was no such thing. Had God arranged this all along? And if so, what else had He planned?
Galla bit his lip in indecision. Should he tell Eudemia his suspicions, or would that get her hopes up too high? Finally he decided to confide in her.
That night when they lay down, Galla knew he would never get to sleep. He lay staring up at the flickering shadows caused by the fire from the brazier.
“Galla?”
Galla turned toward the soft voice. Eudemia rose from her mat and came to sit next to him. She looked down, her hair falling forward to conceal her cheeks. She looked so much like Chara in one of her shy moods that Galla almost reached out to touch her.
“There is something I need to tell you,” she told him softly, glancing at her son to make sure he was asleep. His even breathing told her it was safe to continue.
Looking back at the ground, she started to talk to him, so softly he had to strain to hear her. Finally he moved closer, watching her face in the semidarkness.
“Twelve years ago, Romans attacked our village. They killed my mother and father, took away my brother, and. . .” She stopped. When she continued, he heard tears in her voice. “The soldiers, they. . .they. . .”
Suddenly Galla understood. He took her hand into his. Hers was like ice. “I understand.”
Nodding, she continued. “I became pregnant. When my tribesmen found out, they decided. . . The Druids thought my child would make a perfect sacrifice.”
Galla’s eyes went wide. It was true then. The Druids did offer human sacrifices.
Eudemia looked into his face, her eyes burning intensely. “He may not have been born of love, but he is a part of me. I told them no.” She grimaced. “Cadwaladyr wanted me for his wife, but he refused to have a ‘Roman brat’ for a son. He plotted with the Druids. My best friend, Brianna, heard them talking and came to tell me.” She gripped his hand tightly as she continued to remember. “I ran away. Cadwaladyr tracked me, but winter was setting in. Miraculously I found this cave. It’s so well hidden that it’s hard to spot unless you are right up on it. Cadwaladyr had to return to the village because heavy snows came. This part of Britannia usually has mild winters, but for the last twelve years, the winters have been hard and cold. Another miracle, for it has made it harder for us to be found.”
Privately Galla agreed that God’s hand had been miraculously on Eudemia’s life.
“Cadwaladyr has never stopped looking for me. I’m not sure why.” Galla could have told her. “But anyway, he’s never been able to find me. Once or twice when I was away hunting, he has almost caught up with me. But each time I was able to evade him and get back to this cave safely.”
She looked at him again. “You asked Cadvan who taught him to set arrows. I did.”
Galla was surprised. “And who taught you?”
She was quiet for a long time. “Decimus.”
❧
When Decimus and Chara rode into the village, several people hurried out to meet them. Men, women, and children stood gawking at the visitors. One young boy ran to the other end of the village.
Chara was captivated by the dwellings. They were round, and instead of tiles on the roofs, these were thatched.
The young boy returned, followed by an elderly man in white robes. Decimus felt the tension coil tightly within him. The man was a priest, and from the look of him, the Druid high priest, or archdruid as they called him.
His white robes flowed around him, cinched at the waist by a girdle of gold encasing a blue crystal. A gold tiara rested on his white locks, and round his forehead he wore the sacred mistletoe.
Decimus remembered now. The ring on the old man’s hand was the chain ring of divination. Around his neck was the Jodhain Morain, or breastplate of judgment. Supposedly it had the power to squeeze the neck of anyone uttering a false judgment. Since Decimus doubted that was true, he certainly hoped he wasn’t called upon to challenge the man’s word.
“Der-wydd, we have visitors.” Cadwaladyr dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to one of his men.
The Druid looked from Decimus to Chara and ba
ck to Decimus. There seemed to be a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he waited for an explanation.
Cadwaladyr moved closer to the priest, with his hand indicating Decimus. “The man claims to be of your tribe. He has come searching for news of his family.”
The Druid glanced sideways at Cadwaladyr but immediately turned his attention back to Decimus. “I see. What is your family?”
“His sister’s name is Eudemia.” Cadwaladyr frowned at the young man who spoke.
“Indeed. And your father and mother?”
“My father’s name was Lucid. My mother, Gamina.” Decimus felt a deep pain in his chest as he accepted at last what he had always suspected. “I think they are both dead.”
Sucking in a breath, the Druid motioned for everyone to step aside. Nodding his head at Cadwaladyr, the Druid indicated that Decimus and Chara were to follow him.
Decimus felt Cadwaladyr close on his heels as though to prevent any chance of escape. The hair prickled on the nape of his neck. He felt more trapped than he had sitting in that warehouse in Rome. The Druid stopped beside one of the larger houses in the village. Motioning them inside, he followed and closed the door.
The main room had little furniture. Cubicles in the plaster walls held numerous scrolls. A brazier was lit, giving light to the semidark room.
The Druid seated himself on one of the couches, indicating that Decimus and Chara should sit across from him. When they were seated, Decimus became aware that Cadwaladyr was still in the room. He could feel the man’s eyes on his back.
“We know of your family,” the old Druid stated.
Excitement gleamed in Decimus’s eyes as he leaned forward. “Are they still alive?”
The old man shook his head, his eyes grave. “Lucid and Gamina were killed by the Romans. As we feared you had been.” His face softened. “I remember you from your youth,” he told Decimus. “You were impatient and headstrong even then.”
Decimus tried to remember, but he seemed to have a mental block. No picture would come. The regalia he could remember, the man he could not. He shut his eyes for a moment, letting his acceptance of his parents’ deaths wash over him.
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