To Love Again (51 page)

Ragnar Strongspear’s first wife, Harimann, came forward leading a small girl by the hand. “This is your daughter, lady. She is called Aurora. She is a good child, though the lady Antonia beats her.”

Cailin knelt and took the little girl into her arms. She was several months from her third birthday, but she was a tall child. Her tunic dress was ragged, and her blond hair lank. There was a frightened look in her eyes, and upon her cheek was a purple bruise. Cailin looked up at Antonia and said quietly, “You will pay dearly for that, lady.” Then she hugged the trembling child, setting her back down finally so they
might look at one another. “I am your mother, Aurora. I have come to take you away from the lady Antonia, who stole you from me. Do not be afraid.”

The child said nothing. She just stared at Cailin with large eyes.

“Why does she not speak?” Cailin demanded.

“She does sometimes,” Harimann said, “but she is always afraid, poor child. We tried to soften the lady Antonia’s unreasonable anger toward Aurora, but it only made it worse. She is half starved, though we had sought to feed her when the lady Antonia was not about. Antonia’s son, however, follows his mother’s direction, and would tell on us. Then Aurora would be beaten. Finally she would take no food from us for fear of being punished. The boy is abusive to her as well.”

“Quintus, the younger, is as much of a toad as his father, I see,” Cailin said scornfully. “You have reason to be proud, Antonia.” She turned to the elderly Anthony Porcius. “Could you do nothing, sir?”

“I tried,” he said, “but I am an old man, Cailin Drusus, and my place in this hall depends upon my daughter’s goodwill.”

“Tell Ragnar Strongspear the land is mine,” she said to him.

“I can do that, Cailin Drusus,” he replied, and then he turned to his Saxon son-in-law. “The lands she claims are her family’s lands and belong to her. Antonia had no right to them at all. She claimed to me that she was holding them for Aurora, but I know that is not true.”

Ragnar Strongspear nodded. “Then it is settled,” he said.

“It is settled,” Wulf Ironfist answered him. Reaching down, he lifted the little girl into his arms. “I am your father, Aurora,” he told the child. “Can you say ‘Father’ to me, little one?”

She nodded, her eyes huge and blue.

He grinned. “I would hear it then, my daughter.” He cocked his head to one side, as if listening hard.

“Father,” the little girl whispered shyly.

He kissed her cheek. “Aye, sweeting, I am your father, and I will never allow you to be harmed by anyone again.” He
turned to Cailin and their two companions. “Let us go home now.”

“You will not stay the night? I have some fine mead,” Ragnar Strongspear said jovially. “And there is a boar roasting on the hearth.”

“Thank you, but no,” Wulf Ironfist replied. “The last time I left my hall, some damned savage came through and burned it. I will not take any further chances, Ragnar Strongspear.”

“There is the matter of our slaves,” Cailin prompted her husband.

“I do not know about that,” the burly Saxon answered.

“I can separate the Drusus Corinium servants from Antonia’s,” the elderly Porcius said.

“Then do so, old man,” his son-in-law said, “and see that they are sent back with as much haste as possible. I want no quarrel between Wulf Ironfist and myself. We are to be neighbors, after all.”

When Wulf and Cailin and their party had departed, Antonia Porcius said angrily to her husband, “You were a fool not to kill him, and Cailin Drusus besides, Ragnar. Wulf is no coward, and he will not let you steal back his lands. You will be fortunate if he does not take ours!”

He slapped her hard, sending her reeling. “Do not ever lie to me again, Antonia,” he told her. “I will kill you next time. As for Wulf Ironfist, I will have his lands eventually,
and
I will have his wife as well. She sets my blood afire with her beauty.”

Antonia clutched at her aching jaw. “I hate you,” she said fiercely. “One day I will kill you, Ragnar!”

He laughed aloud. “You have not the courage, Antonia,” he said, “and if you did, what would you do then? Who would protect you, and these lands I took from you? The next man might not care if you lived or you died. You are no beauty, my dear. Your bitterness shows in your face, rendering you less than attractive these days.”

“You will regret your cruel words,” she warned him.

“Be careful,” he responded, “that I do not throw you, your sniveling whelp, and your old father out into the cold, lady. I
do not need you, Antonia. I keep you because you amuse me in bed, but eventually even that charm of yours is apt to fade if you remain shrewish.”

She glared at him and walked from the hall. Making her way through the courtyard, she moved to the gates and stopped. She could see Wulf Ironfist and his party in the distance, and she cursed them softly beneath her breath. They would pay. They would all pay.

“We are being watched,” Cailin said as they rode.

Wulf turned a moment, and then turning back, said, “It is Antonia.”

“She hates us so terribly,” Cailin said. “To have done what she did, and stolen our child.” She kissed the top of Aurora’s head. The child was settled before her on the black mare.

“Antonia’s venom is not what I fear,” he said. “I do not believe Ragnar Strongspear will be content until he has wrested our lands back for his own. He is a fierce man, but I will contain his ambitions.”

“He will wait for us to plant the fields and harvest the grain before he attacks us,” Winefrith said. “But that will give us the summer months to strengthen our defenses.”

“Why would he wait that long?” Cailin asked curiously.

“Because if he attacks after the harvest, he can destroy the grain and hay, thus starving us and our animals over the next winter.”

“Is he that strong?” she wondered.

“We do not know yet, lambkin,” Wulf said, “but we will. Then, too, there is the chance Ragnar will align himself with another warlord.”

“I do not think so,” Winefrith interjected. “I think it will be a matter of pride with him that he overcome you himself.”

“Perhaps.” Wulf smiled wickedly. “We have an advantage our friend Ragnar knows nothing about. We have our villages over the hill. We must decide how we are going to defend it all over the next few days, and then we will implement our plans so that when Ragnar Strongspear comes calling, we will be able to foil him.”

“You will have to kill him, and Antonia, too,” Cailin said bluntly.

“You know this for certain? The voice within speaks to you?”

She nodded. “It does, my lord.”

“Then so be it,” he said quietly, “but we will wait for Ragnar to make the first move. The defense we make is better if it is of our own choosing and not one we are forced into making. Agreed?”

“Aye, my lord!” his captains answered enthusiastically.

Chapter 16

T
he villages had never before possessed names. In past times they had simply been known by the name of whoever was in charge, which more often than not led to confusion. Now Wulf decided that each village needed a firm identity, one that would not change with every change in leadership. The Britons were no longer a nomadic people.

Berikos’s old hill fort was resettled and called Brand-dun, for since it sat high, it would be the logical place for beacons to be lit. Brand-dun meant Beacon Hill. Eppilus’s village became Braleah, which meant Hillslope Meadow, and indeed it had a fine one, as they had discovered the morning of their return. The other two villages were called Denetun, because it now belonged to the estate in the valley; and Orrford, which was set by a stream, whose shallow waters made it a perfect cattle crossing for drovers. The hall itself was named Cadda-wic, which meant Warrior’s Estate.

An agreement was forged between Wulf Ironfist and the men in the villages. In return for recognizing him as their overlord, he would lead them, and protect them from all comers. All the lands that had been claimed in the past by the Dobunni Celts were now ceded to Wulf Ironfist and his descendants. The villagers would be given the rights to the common fields, to their kitchen gardens, and to graze their animals in the common pasture.

Their home was theirs, but the land beneath it was not. They had the right to personally own cattle, horses, pigs, barnyard fowl, cats, and dogs. They would toil three days each week for their overlord at a variety of tasks. They would
tend his fields and his livestock. Those with special skills, such as the cooper, the thatchers, and the ironworkers, would also contribute their efforts. They would all spend some time in military training for the defense of the lands.

And if war came, Wulf Ironfist would lead them. He would be father, judge, warrior, and friend to them all. It was a different sort of order than they had ever known, but it seemed to Eppilus and the others to be the best way to live now in their changing world. They needed to be united, and they needed a strong leader whom other ambitious men would respect and fear.

The women, Cailin among them, planted the fields. They tended the growing grain and the animals while the men went about the task of building defenses for the hall as well as for the villages. The hall they had left to last, knowing that Ragnar Strongspear had set a man to spy upon them from the hill above. Antonia’s husband was lulled into a false sense of security, as the hall remained undefended by any barriers. Ragnar Strongspear did not know that each of the nearby villages was being prepared to defend itself should he discover them, as he and others eventually would. In midsummer he finally withdrew his spy, deciding the man’s time would be better spent elsewhere than lying lazily on the hill. Wulf Ironfist’s hall would be his when he chose to take it, Ragnar boasted to his wives.

Antonia, her body bruised by a recent beating her husband had administered, shook her head wearily. She was fairly certain she was with child. That at least should stem Ragnar’s irritation with her for the present, and give her time to think. Her Saxon husband was going to lose everything for them if she did not intervene in the matter. Ragnar was not really a clever man. He was more like a marauding bull. And then, too, there was her darling son, Quintus, to consider. These lands Ragnar claimed to have conquered were really Quintus’s lands. She could not allow this self-glorifying Saxon oaf to steal from Quintus.

Meanwhile, when Ragnar Strongspear withdrew his spy, Wulf and his men began to build a defense around the hall. It
was an earthworks that they topped with a stone wall. Small wooden towers were set atop the wall, allowing for an excellent view of the surrounding valley. Winefrith worked long hours in his smithy producing doors for the walls. They were made of strong, aged oak, a foot in thickness and well-sheathed in forged iron. There had never been doors like them.

The hall was always busy, and always full of Wulf’s men. There was so much work to do, and even more to oversee. As mistress here, it was Cailin’s duty to provide direction. She seemed to have no time for herself, nor any privacy.

One day, in an effort to escape it all, she climbed the ladder to the solar above the hall. It was not a large room, its wood floor covering only a third of the hall below. There were four bed spaces set into the stone walls. They were bare and empty of bedding, for she and Wulf had been taking their rest below with everyone else.

Cailin sighed wistfully, remembering the early days of her marriage, when he could hardly wait to bed her. Since that wonderful night in Byzantium, they had not found time to couple. Wulf seemed totally absorbed in his task of raising the hall’s defenses. He came to bed late, tired, and never woke her. She had tried several times to wait for him, but to no avail. She was exhausted herself, for her days were long and began early.

A ray of sun cut through one of the two narrow windows, partly illuminating the room, and Cailin began to visualize it as she had once planned it. Her loom would be by a window to catch the light. There would be a rectangular oak table and two chairs where they might dine in private. The bed spaces would be empty, but for the one in which they would sleep. Eventually their family would share the solar, but not at first. They would have their privacy for now!

Why not?
A determined look came into Cailin’s eyes. Why should she not complete the solar? She had her loom, and the furniture was sitting in a distant corner of the hall below, gathering dust. Going over to each of the two narrow windows in the room, Cailin unfastened the small casements,
with their panes of animal membrane. Warm sweet air filled the solar, and she was immediately encouraged. Leaving the windows open, she climbed down into the hall again. She saw her cousin Corio at the high board eating bread and cheese, and called to him.

“Corio, come give me your aid.”

He arose. “How may I help you, cousin?”

Cailin explained, and before she knew it, Corio, with the help of several young men, had lifted her loom, the table, the chairs, and the bedding to the solar above. “Take the brazier, too,” she told him, handing him up the iron heater they had traveled with through Gaul.