The Druid looked at Cadwaladyr. “Perhaps you remember Cadwaladyr?”
Decimus turned back to the other man, studying him with narrowed eyes. Slowly he shook his head. “Should I?”
“Well, perhaps not,” the Druid answered. “It was a long time ago, and you were but a boy. Cadwaladyr and others from his tribe fought with us against the Romans—but our forces were not enough.”
“And my sister? What of Eudemia?”
Cadwaladyr stepped forward. “She is alive.”
Decimus came to his feet. “Where is she?”
Shaking his head, the old Druid shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t know. After she became pregnant, she ran off into the hills to hide. No one could find her.”
Sinking back to the couch, Decimus was barely aware of Chara taking his hand. “Then she’s probably dead. No woman could survive out there alone. Especially if she was with child.”
“She is alive,” Cadwaladyr insisted. “We haven’t been able to find her, but we have found evidence over the years of places she has been.”
Decimus stared at the man, his mind beginning to question the man’s integrity. “You make it sound as if she doesn’t want to be found.”
“She doesn’t.”
Decimus looked from Cadwaladyr to the old Druid. “What’s going on here? You’re not telling me something.”
The two exchanged glances. Finally the old man sighed. “You are right. There is more, but you won’t like it.”
The Druid told Decimus how at the time these things had happened, he had been far away attending a judgment in another village. He explained to Decimus how the other Druids had planned to sacrifice Eudemia’s child to the gods, hoping to gain support in their fight against the Romans since the child was part Roman.
Chara listened carefully, growing accustomed to the strange dialect and accent. She was appalled at their callousness regarding a child. A baby at that. Unconsciously, her hand went to her stomach. Decimus was right. This was no place to raise a child.
Decimus glared at Cadwaladyr, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The man’s veiled eyes stared impassively back at him.
“I’m not proud of my part in this,” he told Decimus. “Der-wydd told us that the gods would judge us harshly for our acts. He made us see our error. I have tried to make amends, but I have not been able to find her.”
Decimus remembered the times he had gone with his sister out into the hills, while their father taught them to hunt and track. Their father had been the finest tracker in all of the countryside, and he had taught Decimus and his sister well. No wonder they had never been able to find her. If she chose not to be found, he had no doubt that they wouldn’t find her.
“You’ve tried to find her for twelve years?”
Surprisingly Cadwaladyr blushed. “Your sister is a remarkable woman.”
“Aye, she is that,” the old Druid agreed. “Perhaps you can join us in helping to track her down. Then we can lay all of this to rest once and for all.”
Rising to his feet, Der-wydd smiled at Chara. “You must have a place to stay.” Turning back to Decimus, he touched him on the shoulder. “Your father’s house still stands. We have cared for it, just in case your sister did return to us someday. Cadwaladyr will show you the way.”
When Decimus stepped across the threshold of his old house, memories came swarming back to greet him. Everything was much as he remembered, except he could tell several repairs had been made to the house. Cadwaladyr told Decimus how they had found the house partially burned by the Romans when they returned that fateful day.
“I’ll leave you now. Someone from the village will bring you food.”
Decimus watched him go, wondering if he had made a mistake in trusting these people. Chara came up and slid an arm around his waist. He smiled down at her.
“So much has happened,” she told him softly.
“My mind is in total confusion,” he agreed. “Somewhere out there is my sister. I wonder if her child lived.”
Chara stared pensively at the surrounding hills. Darkness was beginning to fall, and winter had set in with a surety. “I don’t know, but out there somewhere is Galla, also. I pray to God he’s all right and that he will be able to find us.”
Chapter 13
Cadvan looked up from the floor of the cave where he was kneeling. The light from the entrance showed clearly the tension on his face.
“There were six men—one smaller than the others—and a woman.” His hand stroked one of the footprints. “This man is very large.”
Eudemia blew out her breath in a sigh. “Cadwaladyr.”
The boy nodded. “I believe so.”
Alarmed, Galla began to search the cave. There had been no evidence of anything untoward from the outside, but the snow had covered everything to a depth of several inches.
“You won’t find them here,” Cadvan told him. Galla looked at the boy, once more aware of how old he seemed for his age.
“How do you know?”
“There was a struggle. Here.” He pointed to a spot on the floor, and Galla noticed what he had missed before. The dirt was disturbed in a violent manner, obviously from a scuffle.
“All the footprints lead out,” Eudemia agreed. “Whatever happened, they seem to have gone willingly.”
Galla stared helplessly around. No tracks were left outside to follow. What was he to do now?
“They are probably traveling to the village,” Cadvan suggested.
Galla’s face seemed etched in granite, his eyes becoming the color of iron in their intensity. “Then that’s where I must go.”
Eudemia felt her heart drop. What did this one Roman think he could do against a whole tribe? He would be killed. Her eyes grew wide as she realized she didn’t want to see this happen. She didn’t even want him to leave.
Cadvan went to the entrance of the cave and studied the sky. “I think that will have to wait,” he told Galla.
Galla was already shaking his head. “I haven’t time to lose. I have to try and help my friends.”
Shrugging, Cadvan turned back of the cave. “It will be hard to help them if you are dead.”
“Cadvan!”
“It’s true, Mother. Another storm is about to hit. It doesn’t look as though it will be as strong as the first, but it will still be a killer for anyone unfortunate enough to be stuck out in it.” He looked at Galla. “We have barely enough time to get back to our own cave.”
“How far to the village?” Galla wanted to know, still unconvinced.
Eudemia answered him. “About half a day’s ride north.”
Galla continued to study the terrain outside the cave. The other two waited for his answer. Galla’s first instinct was to try for the village, but he realized that would be foolish. Sighing, he glanced at the others. “Let’s go back to your cave. As soon as the storm passes, I will set out to find them.”
When the snow began it fell lightly at first, but it rapidly turned into a full blizzard. Galla shook his head. This was not the weather his father had described when he had told him of Britannia. Galla had always heard that the winters were mild and the summers cool, but the snow that fell now was as cold and heavy as that which he’d seen high in the mountains north of Rome. He began to fret at his enforced inactivity. He should be trying to find Decimus and Chara.
Six men and one woman. Cadvan’s words kept coming back to haunt him. One woman alone with all of those men. Galla swallowed the knot that formed in his throat. His eyes took on a feral gleam. If anything happened to Chara or Decimus. . . He shook his head to free himself of such thinking. Where had such murderous thoughts come from? Decimus and Chara were in God’s hands, just as they had been all along.
He jumped when Eudemia laid a hand on his arm. “Your thoughts are far from pleasant. You are worried about your friends.” It was more a statement than a question.
Nodding his head, he smiled slightly. “You are right, my thoughts were far from pleasant.
I’m afraid they were far from Christlike, also.”
“Your God doesn’t approve of killing?”
Galla thought before answering. “My God doesn’t approve of murder.”
Eudemia frowned. “Is there a difference?”
Sighing, Galla sat down on his pallet. “I think so. The scriptures tell us that David was a man after God’s own heart, yet he killed hundreds of men and was responsible for thousands of other deaths.”
“Even women and children?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Glaring, Eudemia threw herself down beside him. “This doesn’t make sense. Why make war on children?”
Galla stared intently into her icy blue eyes. “Why offer them as sacrifices? Why make them slaves? Why leave them on rocks to die?”
With each question, Eudemia watched Galla’s face become more and more savage. He had a heart for children, this one. He would make a fine father. Sensing his reluctance to discuss the subject, still she pressed on. She had to know.
“So it is all right for soldiers to kill?”
Instead of answering her question, Galla began to tell her a story. “Several years ago, my father met a man who had been to see Jesus’ cousin. The cousin’s name was John, but everyone called him ‘the Baptizer.’ This soldier asked John what he had to do to be in accord with God’s will.”
Curious, Eudemia’s eyes roved over Galla’s solemn features. “And he told him not to kill?”
Galla shook his head. “No. He told him not to extort money from the people or accuse people falsely, to be content with his pay.”
“But to make war on children!”
“War is bad anytime,” he told her. “But sometimes it is necessary.”
Unexpectedly Galla smiled as he watched Eudemia’s animated features. She was so passionate about everything! Her heart was so full of love and gentleness, and she cared about life. All life. She hadn’t even held it against him that he was a despised Roman.
She was so hungry for God’s peace, yet she didn’t even realize she was. Galla tried to explain again about God’s gift of salvation. He could tell that she didn’t understand but she wanted to. She continued asking him questions long into the night.
Cadvan had stopped listening to them long ago. His deep, even breathing told them that he was fast asleep. Eudemia rose and went to him, pulling the furs securely around him. Her love flowed out of her eyes as she stroked the boy’s cheek.
Galla felt a lump in his throat as he watched her. She had so much love to give. How could her people have treated her so cruelly?
She came back and sat down across from him again. She looked him in the eye, and suddenly, to Galla, the cave seemed terribly warm. Before, her eyes had been icy blue. Now they were the warm tranquil blue of the Mediterranean. He felt himself hypnotized by their iridescence, the lights flickering in their depths.
“Tell me more of your God,” she demanded softly, and Galla did so, unaware of what he was really saying. The words came, but his thoughts were not with them. His thoughts were focused on the pair of soft lips smiling so closely to his own. He had only to move a fraction. . . .
“Galla.”
Her soft entreaty sent a warm fire racing through him. He tried to keep his self-control, but it was a lost cause. Leaning forward, he closed the distance between them.
She responded to his kiss with a fervor that surprised him. As her arms wound their way around his neck, he felt his defenses beginning to crumble. Pulling her to him, he intensified their kiss.
Keep yourself pure. Where had the thought come from? Galla felt his ardor beginning to cool. Pulling away slightly, he stared down into Eudemia’s face. She watched him, puzzled at his resistance.
Galla pushed her gently away. “Go to bed, Eudemia.” His voice was harsh to his own ears. God had once again saved him from his own weak nature.
Miffed, Eudemia rose quickly to her feet. Without looking at him, she went to her pallet and lay down.
Galla stared up at the ceiling. He had every nook and cranny memorized by now, knew where every shadow was, every hole. He sighed. This was going to be a long night.
❧
Chara smiled at the woman standing before her. Although she was not beautiful, her features were pleasant. Her blue eyes held a softness that bespoke of a gentleness within.
“Tell me, Brianna, what is everyone doing?”
The young woman smiled back at her. “We are getting ready for Samhain. The boys will climb the oak trees to find mistletoe, then the girls will weave it into headpieces. Everyone will gather oak, our sacred wood, to be burned in a huge bonfire. You will see. We must each find a rock, also.”
The smile fled from Chara’s face. Samhain? Was this some kind of pagan rite?
“What is the purpose of the rocks?” she wanted to know.
Brianna continued to empty her baskets of their contents. For days now the people of the village had supplied them with food. Although Decimus could pay for the goods, he was as yet unwilling to do so. He told her that he wasn’t sure these people would have much use for coins, so instead Chara traded with them.
“Everyone will write their names on a rock and then later throw them into the bonfire. If the rocks are still there in the morning, all is well. If your rock is gone. . .”
“Yes?”
“If the rock with your name on it is gone, then you will die sometime in the coming year.”
Chara shivered at her casual reference to death. She watched the woman gather her things together in preparation for leaving. She couldn’t be so very old, yet there was a sadness about her that never seemed to go away.
Was it the fact that she was in love with Cadwaladyr, but he didn’t return that love? The man barely registered Brianna’s existence. But that didn’t stop Brianna from following the giant with her eyes, her love shining through.
Impulsively Chara laid a hand on the girl’s arm. “Brianna, have you ever heard of Jesus Christ?”
She shook her head, smiling into Chara’s face. Chara wanted to seize the moment and speak of Christ to the woman, but something held her back.
“Never mind,” she finally told her and watched as the girl left the house. Chara went to the window and saw Brianna heading down the hill in the direction of the village, picking up loose oak branches she found along the way.
Chara shook her head. This place was so far from Rome, yet its religion was much the same. Only, Romans didn’t offer human sacrifices to their gods, except for the gladiators, of course. She saw Brianna stop to talk with Decimus as he rounded the bend and came into sight. He laughed at something she said, and Chara felt the first stirrings of jealousy. These were his people, and she was an outsider.
Decimus came in the door, laying his mantle across a stool. He briskly rubbed his hands together before the fire. “Cadwaladyr says that after tomorrow we can go search for Galla.”
“Why after tomorrow?”
“No one will travel tomorrow. It’s a feast day. Everyone will be celebrating, or feeling the effects thereof.”
Chara placed a bowl of stew on the table for him, its steam curling invitingly into the air. “Sit down and eat.” Seating herself across from him, she frowned at him. “Brianna was telling me something about this Samhain celebration.”
Decimus began hungrily devouring the food. In between bites, he managed to tell her more of their superstitious beliefs.
“So they believe this Samhain, this god of the dead, allows the souls of the dead to return for this one night?”
He nodded. “Before the end of the day, Der-wydd will come and tell us to put out our fire. Then we will relight it from the bonfire they will build.”
Chara rose from her seat, taking the empty bowls from the table. “And what of the sacrifices?”
Decimus’s brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure there will be any. I don’t understand this festival myself.”
“And will we be required to participate in it?”
D
ecimus’s frown deepened. “Of course not. Their gods are not our God. Why ask such a thing?”
Chara shrugged. “Just the way Brianna spoke. She seemed to assume we would be a part of the celebration.”
Sighing heavily, Decimus got up from his seat and took Chara in his arms. “Let’s worry about that when the time comes.”
She clung to him, closing her eyes. “Oh, Decimus, these people are so. . .so pagan.”
“So were we at one time,” he told her. Chara shook her head, and Decimus remembered that she had been raised as a Christian. He smiled. “Sometimes I forget how pure you are.”
She flushed with color. Decimus found her enchanting, a mixture of innocence and desire. Even now her eyes spoke clearly to him. Before he could take advantage of the situation, a pounding shook the door.
Opening the portal, Decimus found himself face-to-face with Der-wydd. “It is time to put out your hearth fire and come to the ceremony of the Samhain.”
Decimus hesitated. Did watching the ceremony mean he was participating in it? He thought not, and he wanted to understand these people. How could he ever hope to reach them otherwise?
They followed Der-wydd as he headed back down the hill to the village, his long white robes taking on the colors of the sunset. The evening sun reflected brightly off his golden tiara. For a man his age, he was still spry.
Decimus and Chara continued to the village while Der-wydd continued on his journey to the other villagers. Already a huge pile of wood was gathered at the end of the village. Many were already in the midst of celebrating the coming of a new year. Strong beer, the favored drink of these people, was flowing freely from person to person.
Chara shrank closer to Decimus’s side. These festivities reminded her of the stories her mother had told her of Moses, when the people had built the golden calf as he was talking to God on the mountain.
A young girl screamed as she was lifted over the shoulder of a burly young man. Grinning, he spun her around and around, finally falling in a heap in the soft snow. Bodies entwined, they laughed uproariously.
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