After Rome (40 page)

Up, up they went. The attackers did not try to follow. Instead they stood at the base of the tower, watching in amazement.

Up, up to the very top.

Only then did one of the invaders—he with the scimitar in his hand—put a foot on the bottom step.

Meradoc cast a despairing glance toward the land. He saw Dinas and the others approaching, but they would not arrive in time to save anyone on Tintagel.

How quiet it has become! he thought. He could feel the wind blowing around him but he could not hear it. Yet he saw everything with a marvelous clarity, as if for the first time. He felt strangely at peace.

The man with the scimitar was taking two steps at a time. Grinning. A white slash of teeth in a black beard. In a few moments he would reach them. He was already waving his weapon. Man or horse, he did not care which he struck first as long as the blood flowed red and hot.

Meradoc looked down toward the rocks far below. They waited at the very edge of the sea. The way to freedom.

Freedom is the greatest gift of all.

Bending over, Meradoc murmured in the ear of the dark horse, “Forward,
now
!”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

On a bitterly cold day in the dead of winter a man was riding through the forest. His face was haggard and he slouched awkwardly on his horse, a leggy bay colt who wore no saddle. In one hand the man clutched the lead rope of a chestnut mare. A dark brown yearling trotted loose beside her.

When he came to a hillside given over to pasture the rider drew rein. The bay horse snatched at the bit, eager for a mouthful of the winter-killed grass. The man sat looking up the slope to the cabin at the top. More than a cabin; a small fort with smoke rising from a hole in the thatched roof. The man drew a deep breath, trying to inhale the warmth of the smoke. But it was too far away.

He almost rode on. Hesitated. Urged the bay horse up the hill instead.

Outside the cabin he drew rein again and gave a shout. Not really a shout; more of a croak, but someone inside heard him. The door opened and Cadogan peered out. He challenged the huddled figure on the horse. “What do you want?”

“A kind word would do,” the man replied hoarsely.

Cadogan gaped at him. “Dinas? Is it really you?”

“What's left of me.” The statement was literal, for in the next moment he swayed and almost fell off.

Cadogan leaped forward to steady him. “Quartilla! Help us!”

She emerged from the house already complaining. “It's Dinas,” Cadogan told her. The complaint died on her lips and she ran to help him. Between them they eased Dinas from the horse and helped him inside.

He was pale, unshaven, shivering from the cold. His face was so deeply lined that Cadogan would not have recognized him except for the eyes. It was hard to believe this was the same vibrant man he had last seen five years earlier.

“Put more wood on the fire, Quartilla, quickly! He's freezing.”

For once she did not argue. While she fed the fire, Cadogan sat Dinas on the nearest stool and wrapped one of his own cloaks around him. Dinas hunched on the stool with his head down, staring at the floor. Cadogan noticed that his cousin's hair was thickly frosted with silver.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“No. Look after my horses, will you?”

“I will of course, but … where did you come from?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere.” Dinas looked toward the bed. “Can I sleep there?”

“Of course you can, but first…”

Dinas shrugged Cadogan off and stumbled over to the bed. He fell onto it like a tree falling and was asleep between one breath and the next.

“He's an old man!” Quartilla exclaimed with horror. “Are you sure that's really Dinas?”

“I'm sure. God only knows what's happened to him. Let him rest as long as he likes, then have plenty of food ready for him. He'll tell us about it in his own good time.”

“Shall I send for—”

“No, just let him be. He would hate to have anyone else see him like this.”

Dinas slept until the following evening. He awoke ravenous and ate everything he was offered—after reassuring himself that his horses were being well tended. When Cadogan asked about the stallion the expression on his cousin's face made him drop the subject. Instead Cadogan told Dinas something of his own recent history: the escape from Viroconium and the building of the settlement.

“You'll see some of the others when you're feeling stronger,” he promised. “We have houses all through this area now. We raise everything we eat and even have a little left over for barter.”

“I thought you had money.”

Cadogan said, “Money's not worth much these days.”

“No,” Dinas agreed. “Money's not worth much.” Nodding toward Quartilla, who was sewing at the other end of the room, he asked in a low voice, “What about that one?”

“I married her.”

“Surely not.”

“Regina—you remember Regina, the widow of Lentullus the Arbiter?—she disapproved of my having a young unmarried woman in my house.”

“Why didn't you throw her out, then?”

“Who, Regina? She was my good friend, I don't know how I would have gotten through the first few years without her. She only died last autumn.”

“Why didn't you throw the other one out?”

“No one else would take her in,” said Cadogan.

Dinas raised an eyebrow. “You sleep with her, don't you?”

“Occasionally,” Cadogan admitted. He added with a shy smile, as if still surprised by the discovery, “She's wonderful in bed.”

Dinas raised both eyebrows.

“And you, Dinas. Have you no family?”

“Does it look like it?”

“What about your two friends: Meradoc, I think his name was, and Pelemos?”

“Pelemos may have a family by now, at least I hope he does. He left me and went to live in the high mountains.”

“Ah. And little Meradoc?”

Dinas closed his eyes. When he opened them he noticed the little shrine in the corner. “Do you still believe in God, Cadogan?”

“I do. When my father was dying he called out the name of Jesus Christ.”

“So Vintrex looked for redemption at the last moment, did he? How like him.”

“You sound bitter, Dinas. Do you still blame Vintrex for the affair with your mother?”

“I never blamed him, they were both in it together.”

“That's Christian of you,” Cadogan said.

Dinas gave a harsh laugh. “Greater sins have been committed since that one.” He continued to look around the room, noticing details. A pallet rolled up and tucked into a corner; three tin cups hanging on pegs beside a water pitcher. “Does someone else live here with you?”

“Only Esoros, my father's former steward, but since Vintrex died he spends a lot of his time in the village on the other side of the forest. It's too quiet for him here. He'll be back soon, though. I let him take the pony and cart to bring supplies for Godubnus, our blacksmith.”

“You have a pony?”

“A pony, a horse and an ox,” Cadogan said proudly. “The pony's a surefooted Saxon beast that—”

“Saxon?”

“Things have changed,” said Cadogan.

Dinas could not help glancing at Quartilla, who caught his eyes and gave him her most seductive smile. He looked away again. “Some things never change,” he remarked.

The wind was rising; Cadogan could hear it rattling the shutters he had closed when the sun went down. “Esoros didn't make it today but he'll probably be back tomorrow. Are you tired, Dinas? Would you like to go to bed now?”

“I'm not too tired to unroll that pallet over there and let you and what's-her-name have your bed back.”

“Quartilla,” she called across the room. “My name is Quartilla.”

“And you're the queen of Egypt, I assume,” Dinas muttered.

Cadogan tried not to laugh.

In the morning Dinas was awake before anyone else. When he went outside to relieve himself the dark yearling came up to him and nuzzled him, seeking bits of bread. He rubbed the yearling behind the ears for a while, then went back to the house.

He found Cadogan waiting for him at the door. “I wanted to be certain you're all right.”

“Of course I'm all right,” said Dinas. “I'll be moving on in a few days, when the horses are thoroughly rested.”

“Where will you go? You're welcome to stay here, you know.”

“And do what, farm? I think not. Does that woman of yours have anything cooking on the fire?” He brushed past Cadogan and strode into the house.

For Cadogan the morning passed quickly enough. He was busy as he was always busy, even in winter when there was no planting or plowing. Wood had to be chopped and thatch repaired and a hundred other small details seen to; the details that kept life going. From time to time he went back to the fort and found Dinas lounging by the fire, poring over one of Cadogan's precious manuscripts. He seemed in no mood to talk, so Cadogan left him alone. By afternoon his work was done, an icy rain was falling, and he could retire to the comfort of his own fireside. Dinas seemed glad to see him. “What are we going to do now?” he asked brightly.

“I don't know about you, but I'm going to sit down and put my feet up.”

Dinas nodded. Stood up and went to the door. Stared at the rain, cracked his knuckles, paced back and forth, and cracked his knuckles some more until Quartilla shouted abuse at him.

He's like an animal in a cage, Cadogan thought.

Dinner was simmering in an iron pot on the hearth when Esoros arrived. Cadogan heard him first; he had been listening for the creaking of the cart wheels. A few minutes later the door opened and the erstwhile steward came in, shaking ice from his clothing. He stopped in midstride. “We have a visitor?” he asked in surprise.

“My cousin Dinas,” said Cadogan. “You may not remember him but he—”

“Dinas. Son of Ocellus,” Esoros said through stiff lips.

Dinas nodded. “The same. I assume you are Esoros?”

The other man was watching him with dreadful fascination. “We thought … Cadogan thought … you were dead.”

Dinas raised an eyebrow. “Did he? My cousin is often mistaken.”

Esoros fumbled for a stool and sat down. Quartilla brought him a bowl of fragrant stew; gobbets of boar meat sweetened by red fruits and wild onions. Esoros ate one spoonful with his eyes on Dinas, then put the spoon down. “I'm not hungry,” he said.

Quartilla whisked the bowl away. “Then there's more for the rest of us.”

To Dinas, who was sensitive to atmosphere, the room began to seem very small. Something had entered with Esoros; a tension like the heavy silence before thunder.

Cadogan felt it too. He tried to start a conversation with Quartilla but after a few words it dragged to a halt. She helped herself to more stew. Dinas cracked his knuckles yet again. Cadogan said the only thing he could think of that might get his cousin to talk. “You didn't tell me what happened to your stallion, Dinas.”

“He's dead,” said Dinas. He spoke with no emotion in his voice. There was stark agony in his eyes.

“Oh Christ, I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“I saw it happen,” Dinas interrupted in a haunted whisper. “We all saw it, but we were too far away to get there in time. Meradoc and the stallion leaped up and out from a peak called Tintagel. The horse actually galloped through empty air. It looked as if they were flying.” His eyes glittered wetly.

Never before had Cadogan seen his cousin cry.

“They were in the air forever, or so it seemed,” Dinas continued. “Then they crashed to the rocks below.” His voice died away; the last words almost inaudible. He was seeing it again. Seeing it as he would always see it, every day for the rest of his life.

A terrible silence filled the room.

When Dinas spoke again his voice was very low, but every word was audible. “When the fighting was over Otter and I buried them. Buried them both together at Tintagel. My saddle and saddlebags were still on … are still on…” He could not finish.

Cadogan felt almost an unbearable pity for his cousin. “Who was Otter?” he asked gently, trying to deflect the pain.

Dinas blinked. Dragged his thoughts back to the present. “Tostig. A friend of mine. He's gone to the high mountains too. The rest of my men were injured or killed outright that day, Cadogan. But in the end we won. If you can call it winning.” Dinas sounded very bitter. “My mother once saw Tintagel in a vision, you know. She thought the vision was about me.
I
was supposed to be the one riding a horse in the sky.”

“Your mother was a sorceress,” a voice hissed.

Both men looked at Esoros. “What did you say?”

“She was a druid, a creature of the devil!” Esoros spat the words with fury. “She enchanted my lord master and ruined his life. He and my lady mistress were happy until Gwladys enslaved his soul. He had been a kind man but he became as cold and cruel as the sorceress. I'm glad I disposed of her.”

Dinas leaped to his feet.
“You disposed of her?”

Esoros stood to face him. “Vintrex taught me to be a Christian,” he said proudly, “and God guided my hand.”

“To cut her throat?”

“What else could I do? She was sending letters to my lord master and he was writing back to her. I was afraid she would ensnare him again so I went to stop her. And I did.”

Dinas was ashen. “I thought my father killed her.” He drew a deep, shaky breath. “When I found her murdered and the servants gone, I buried her myself and sent a message to the chief magistrate to inform him. I even identified Ocellus as the killer.”

“You were wrong,” Esoros told him.

Dinas ran a hand across his forehead. “But I could smell him on her!”