After Rome (36 page)

But she knew she would not.

The meal Pamilia served to her guests bore little resemblance to the banquet her servants would have prepared in Viroconium. Food that would have been only partially eaten; nibbled at and cast aside because there was always too much and it was too rich. Here in the hills they ate and enjoyed much simpler fare. Nothing was swimming in butter or cream because the settlers had only two cows among them, and milk was reserved for the children. There were no spices to disguise the taste of spoiled meat because meat was eaten fresh, usually on the day it was killed. No exotic dainties waited to tempt jaded palates, because people who had been working hard from sunrise to sunset had excellent appetites.

The oak table Godubnus had constructed with his own hands was piled with food. In three years the women had learned how to grind grain into flour; the men had learned how to build stone ovens. Steaming hot slabs carved from the deer's haunch were served on thick trenchers of crusty dark bread, soaked with meat juices. The deer fat had been roasted separately to form a crisp crust, then cut into strips and passed around to season boiled root vegetables. Pamilia had pounded hazelnuts to a paste that she sweetened with honey to make a delicious cake. There was a choice of beverages—barley beer or spring water—but no one complained about the lack of wine.

Every crumb was eaten; every drop drunk.

Watching them, Cadogan felt a quiet pride. His people had suffered so much and learned so fast, most of them. Those who refused to learn, and there were two or three, had been forced out of embarrassment to catch up. In spite of their achievements he knew they were not safe. No one was safe anymore—but was life ever safe? They at least were equipped with the basic skills of survival and, more importantly, with a newfound confidence in their own abilities.

Cadogan had acquired a degree of confidence in his own abilities as well. He had devised a method for dealing with seemingly insurmountable problems. Building his first little fort had taught him that lesson. For someone who had never fastened two sticks together before, the idea of building an entire house had seemed ridiculous at first. Then he discovered that the trick was to concentrate on one job at a time, however small. A man could not do everything at once but he could do one thing. Concentrate fully, work carefully, get it right, and move on.

Strangely enough, Cadogan had begun with his door. It seemed logical at the time; it would be impossible to have a house without a door to enter. The task had taught him a lot about woodworking. He made four doors before he had one that was straight and true. Then the completed door required a frame to hang from, and the frame demanded a wall, and the walls a roof … and in the end the door frame was wrong and had to be rebuilt … But the finished product was greater than the sum of its parts. Like this new settlement in the hills.

Godubnus noticed the expression on Cadogan's face. “You're looking rather pleased,” he commented, startling Cadogan out of his reverie.

“Am I?”

“Did you hear some good news?”

“When?”

“This morning. When you rode away on that scraggly horse of yours.”

The two women looked at Cadogan with sudden interest.

He told Godubnus, “That scraggly horse, as you put it, is a treasure; a tough little gelding who was born and bred in rough country and can handle any kind of footing. When I bought him at the last autumn fair I had to outbid three other men, and two of them Saxons.”

Regina gasped. “You never mentioned seeing any Saxons!”

Cadogan instantly regretted his words. “I didn't want to worry you.”

Pamilia stood up abruptly. “I had best put the children to bed.”

“Leave them be,” her husband told her. “They're old enough to know.”

“Know what?” Regina's voice quavered, but her face was set in determined lines.

“You'd better tell the women what you did,” Godubnus said to Cadogan. “Even if they don't like it.”

“They won't like it,” Cadogan replied, “and neither will my father. That's why I don't intend to tell him. And I don't want anyone else to tell him, either,” he added with a meaningful look at Regina. “Do you remember the first time I went to the great fair to buy some livestock—and came back without any?”

She nodded.

“That was where I first met the man who calls himself King Vortigern. I didn't know what to make of him until I realized he reminded me of someone else; my cousin Dinas. Dinas can be impressive but a lot of that is bravado. I suspect the same is true of Vortigern. He's attempting something that's nearly impossible and disguising his vulnerability with a cloak of arrogance. He might just succeed, though; in fact I'm counting on it.”

Regina and Pamilia looked puzzled.

Cadogan continued. “A few years ago Vortigern realized there were no truly strong leaders left among the tribes of southern Britannia. The Roman authorities had always discouraged their development. Vortigern—who's still a young man—decided to return to an earlier era when Britons were their own masters. To that end he's building a confederacy of tribes who will accept him as overlord. And he's hired an army of mercenaries to protect himself and his supporters.”

“Mercenaries!” Regina's hand flew to her raddled throat.

“The Romans used mercenaries against the Britons,” Cadogan reminded her. “Why should Britons not use paid killers to protect themselves? That's Vortigern's argument as he put it to me. In his case, though, it's something of a calculated risk. His mercenaries are Saxon warriors led by a pair of Jutes called Hengist and Horsa.”

Regina looked so appalled Cadogan feared she might faint. But he plunged on. “I don't know if Vortigern can control his Saxon forces and I suspect he doesn't know, either. Who can tell what Saxons are really like? I guess we'll find out soon enough. The truth is, they can't be stopped in any case. They're pouring into Britannia like water through a sieve. There are hundreds of Saxons—perhaps even thousands—in the east already. Soon there may be more of them than of us.”

Regina did not faint. Her face was dead white and her eyes were like two holes burned in a blanket, but she held her place, watching his lips with a dreadful fascination.

“As I see it, we have two options,” Cadogan went on. “First, we can retreat into the high mountains and hope the foreigners won't want to follow us. Other tribes of Britons fled into the far west during the Roman occupation. It wouldn't be easy for our people, though. We'd be living among strangers in an unfamiliar territory, and the skills we've mastered here might not be enough to keep us alive there.

“Secondly, we can stay where we are and keep what we've built. The barbarians will arrive soon enough. But if Vortigern wins his gamble our position will be strengthened because I've made an arrangement with him; a sort of compromise. He has agreed that we can keep our settlement and his Saxon mercenaries will protect us from other foreigners … if we accept his kingship and look to him as overlord.”

“An arrangement,” Regina said in a harsh whisper. “If we accept.”

Pamilia reached out and gave her a comforting pat. “What do you think, Godubnus? Will this Vortigern person keep his word?”

The ironmaster shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I work with my hands, I don't know anything about politics. And it's all politics, this business of kingmaking and agreements. We have to trust someone who understands it. Cadogan comes from a political family, I don't, so I'll go along with whatever he decides.”

Suddenly Cadogan was very tired indeed. The food he had eaten—the roasted deer, the boiled vegetables and sweet cakes—sat in his stomach like rocks. Groaning under the weight of a responsibility he had never wanted.

Regina drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I think…,” she began.

All eyes, even those of the children, turned toward her.

“I think … Cadogan, are you sure the number of Saxons is growing?”

“I am. Since I bought the horse I've been able to gather quite a bit of information. Farmers and traders tell me what's happening in this territory, and refugees bring news from farther away. It's not like the old Roman network of mounted couriers but word does filter through, even if it's shouted from one hilltop to another. At first the Saxons were only interested in plunder; now they're building settlements and raising children. They're here to stay. And they're spreading westward all the time.”

“I see.” With an effort, Regina gathered herself. Her aging spine was permanently bowed, but she sat up as straight as she could, drawing upon reserves of energy she willed herself to possess. When she spoke again she forced her voice to be steady. “We do not have two options, Cadogan. We have three. We can flee to the west, we can stay here and assimilate—or be assimilated—by the Saxons, or we can fight.”

“Fight?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “We have nothing to fight with, Regina! The Romans pulled out and left us with no standing army and hardly any weapons. I'm no fighter anyway, that's why I made an arrangement with Vortigern.”

She said coolly, “Shall we eliminate that option, then?”

“Dinas would vote for it,” Cadogan admitted.

“I won't see my children slaughtered!” cried Pamilia.

Regina was not finished. “Going into the mountains means running away. We ran away from Viroconium because the barbarians took us by surprise, but we know what we are up against now.” She looked smaller, older, frailer than ever. But she lifted her chin as she said, “I for one do not intend to be driven out again.”

*   *   *

Later, as they were walking back through the forest to the fort, Regina asked, “When were you planning to tell the others what I heard tonight, Cadogan?”

“Not until I had to. If I had to.”

“And leave us open for a nasty shock? Sometimes I forget how young you are. You still think trouble will go away if you ignore it.”

“I'm not that foolish; I was trying to protect you.”

“No one is protected by ignorance, Cadogan.”

My mother was, he thought. For a while she was. How much does Regina know about my father's infidelity? How much did anyone in Viroconium know about it? It seemed everyone was aware of the scandal, but what about the details? Who started the affair? Why did it go on for so long? Neither of them was young; it's hard to blame their behavior on hot blood.

Regina's voice cut through his thoughts. “Hold that torch higher, do you want me to stumble over a tree root and fall on my face?”

“Sorry.” He raised the torch. “Regina, you were my mother's friend. What did you think of my father in those days?”

“Why are you asking me this now?”

“Perhaps I'm tired of being left in ignorance.”

She gave a sniff. “I can tell you this much: He was a cold man. And a stern disciplinarian by all accounts, though Domitia told me he was as hard on himself as on anyone else. Esoros is the one to ask about Vintrex, though; he has been the shadow to the chief magistrate's sun for many years. No one else knows Vintrex so well.”

“Esoros would never discuss my father, or anything else, with me. At best there's an armed truce between us.”

“As there is between Quartilla and myself,” Regina replied. “Three years under the same roof and I still do not understand the woman.”

“Nor do I. All I know for certain is, you can't believe anything she says about herself.”

“I know more than that, Cadogan. Whatever her background, Quartilla was no servant.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I have had numerous servants, from the cream to the dregs. I know how the unfree think and what they can do. The skills Quartilla possesses, and she has a considerable array, are the skills of a freeborn woman who grew up among educated people. In Viroconium,” Regina reminisced, “we knew who everyone was and their station in life. We knew it from their features, their accents and their demeanor. But Quartilla … if she chooses not to tell you, you may never solve her riddle, Cadogan. I suspect she is not unique; there are others like her now and there will be more. We are being pulled up by our roots and dispossessed.”

“No.” Cadogan spat out the word as if it burned his tongue. “We will not be dispossessed, Regina. It's decided. We're staying right here.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Fortune was with them at the beginning. The first ship they robbed was a Syrian merchantman laden with wine and slaves, plus some perfume from Capua and ornaments made of Corinthian bronze. It came in too close to Tintagel Head and grounded on a reef. Dinas and his men gleefully waded into the surf to offload the merchandise, which they stored in the tower. The slaves were released to make their way to freedom—or what freedom they might find in Dumnonia. Thus lightened, the Syrian vessel was refloated and sailed away.

The success had come just in time for Dinas. He had very little gold left in his saddlebags.

Taking Meradoc and two packhorses with him, he rode inland. He was able to sell some of the wine, and buy grain and fish oil lamps and hard cheese. He also added a few more coins to the little hoard in the saddlebags. When they returned to Tintagel he counted the money carefully a second time and made sure the bowl and the plate were still intact. Against his better judgment he was becoming superstitious about them. He was glad he would not have to sell them.

That earliest venture had proved so easy—late in a warm summer when the sea was calm and the weather benign—Dinas thought it would always be easy. Buoyed by success, he and his band threw themselves into the task of completing a stronghold before the weather turned. From the tumbled ruins on Tintagel Head they scavenged enough usable material to build a fortified tower and a dozen stone huts for barracks and storage.