The Crimson Chalice (2 page)

The sun was climbing higher-in the sky. In a little while, she knew, the glade would be in full, hard sunlight. She would have to find shade for the youth and—since the times were what they were—some kind of concealment. There were men about who would murder for a worn pair of leather breeches and a pair of old legionary sandals.

She hurried away to the edge of the glade. As she went Lerg moved to the youth and lay down at his side, but the water dog, Aesc, followed her and, after a moment's hesitation, so did Cuna.

Not far from the edge of the glade she found a stunted yew with a tangle of wild clematis in fresh leaf trailing over its lower branches to form a narrow bower. She went back to the youth, took off her cloak belt and, looping it under his arms, began to drag him into the forest. Within the hour she had him in the bower, resting on a couch of old bracken growth and fresh branches, his head and shoulders propped up on her travelling bundle. She refilled the cauldron, fed more water to him, drank herself and ate part of a wheat cake she carried. She undid his wrist bandages, laid dock leaves around the wounds and replaced the bandages. Then she covered him with her mantle and sat by him, looking down at him. He was young, strong and hardened, and tight-muscled, and there were no wounds on him except for his wrists and the cut cheek. She sat patiently watching him, knowing that time and the water she had given him would do their work. A spear's length away from her Lerg lay couched under a bush. Of the other two dogs there was no sign.

And Tia, elbows resting on her knees, chin cupped in her hands, remembered the night that had passed and the days before it, and knew that there could be nothing in the future that could replace all that had been lost—her brother and his wife dead, the villa and the homestead huts plundered and burned, cattle slaughtered, and most of their own workpeople turned against her and the family. Only the devotion of her maid's husband, Tullio, had saved her from the savagery of the estate steward, who had laid a drunken claim to her from which she had been saved by the dagger thrust of Tullio's old service
pugio.
In a few short hours the peace and ease of her life had been shattered, her loved ones killed and the security of her sheltered, rich life destroyed. She covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with quick spasms which she could not control.

Lerg gave a low whine and Tia straightened up, the spasms passing. As she did so the youth stirred and opened his eyes. He stared without moving at the roof of yew branches overhead, and she saw that his eyes were a dark, shining brown, reminding her of the colour of the closed sea anemones that studded the low water rocks of the beach that marked the estate's southern boundary. She reached to her side and dunked part of the hard wheat cake in the water of the cauldron. Cradling his head on her arm, she tried to feed him, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away. She filled the beaker and offered him water. With his eyes still closed he drank, and this time he swallowed the water avidly. When she lowered his head and shoulders back onto the bundle, he sighed. She sensed the slow ease taking his body as its strained muscles relaxed. He slept and his breathing, which at first had been heavy and troubled, took on a regular, slow rhythm.

The sun climbed higher. Aesc and Cuna returned and settled a few paces away. Cuna slept, curled into a ball, but Aesc lay couched, her eyes wide open, watching the youth. Somewhere, Tia guessed, the two dogs had discovered food. There was plenty to be found in the ruined huts and the yards and fields with their slaughtered cattle and poultry. Stirred by the tongues of the rabble-rousers, the country people had proved themselves as ruthless as any of the Saxon seafolk on their sudden summer raids. Soon they, too, would be back. Each year they came earlier, and each year more and more of them stayed to swell the ranks of their kinsmen who had made the Saxon shores and the rich corn lands and settlements east of Anderida their own.

The youth beside her began to talk in his sleep. At the sound of the voice Lerg's ears half cocked and Aesc raised her head. It was difficult for Tia to understand anything of what he said. He spoke sometimes in her own tongue, but it was the rough, slang-filled language of the army auxiliaries, the old language of the barrack blocks and camps, and sometimes he spoke in the true language of the country, of which she knew only a few words and phrases. In his voice there was, too, an accent and burr which was strange to her. After a while he slept without talking. Tia lay back on the grass, aware suddenly of her own fatigue and despair. She had travelled all night blindly across country, fighting always the panic in her thoughts. Within a few moments she, too, was asleep.

When Baradoc woke, the sun was halfway down the western sky. He lay for a while watching the dapple of sunlight through the yew branches, aware of the wrack and soreness in arm and shoulder muscles. He raised his hands and looked at the bandages on his wrist. A confusion in his head cleared slowly. Above him appeared the head and shoulders of Lerg. The hound gave a low whine. Baradoc fondled the grey muzzle and then, gripping the dog's neck, eased himself to a sitting position. For a moment his head swam and he shook it to clear his vision, seeing through a blur Aesc and Cuna standing beyond Lerg. Then, as his head swung slowly round, he saw the girl. She was sleeping on the grass, her mantle flung open, the torn edge of her white tunic rumpled above her knees and sun-tanned legs. Her short, fair hair was breeze-fanned across her temples. He looked from her to the dogs and then half turned, wincing with the pull on his strained muscles, and saw the cloth-wrapped bundle on which his head had been resting. Looking again at the girl, he saw now that close to her side a small dagger lay on the ground ready to her free hand. He smiled to himself, guessing much of what must have happened, and knowing gratitude, knowing, too, from one look at her face that she was not one of his people. Her red-thonged sandals would have cost more sesterces than any working country girl could have afforded. Unexpectedly his head began to swim violently. He leaned forward, holding it with his hands, fighting off the vertigo. The attack passed and, as he straightened up, he realized that he must have groaned aloud. The girl was awake and, half risen, was resting on her knees and facing him, dagger in shaking hand.

They faced one another without words, and Baradoc knew that, even though she must have cut him down and looked after him, she could have no surety that such an act of charity would be met with thanks. There were plenty of men in the country today who merited being left to hang for the crows and ravens to pick clean. He looked down at the small dagger which she held in her unsteady right hand, and said, “You won't need that.” He spoke her tongue. “The gods were good to send you, and the dogs marking your goodness let you pass. I owe you a life. On my people's sign I swear it.” He pulled the edge of his loose shirt aside and touched his left shoulder.

Tia, fear dying, saw that tattooed on the brown skin was a small, black, crowlike bird with red beak and red legs. She guessed then that he must come from the far west or north, for there lived the only tribes who marked their skins so.

She said, “Who are you?”

“My name is Baradoc. I am from the far west where the land falls into the sea in the heart of which the father of all the oceans sleeps. Who are you?”

“I am Gratia. But mostly I am called Tia. My father was Marcus Pupius Corbulo. He and my mother are long dead. I live with my brother, Priscus, and his wife …” She broke off for a moment or two and then went on, “That is, I lived with them until yesterday. They are both now dead—killed by our own farm workers.”

Baradoc let his eyes rest on the bruise on her forehead and then they moved to the bundle, to the water-filled cauldron and the beaker by its side and on to the half portion of the flat wheat cake and the broken piece of cheese that lay on a large leaf alongside it. He said gently, “These are bad times. Men easily turn against their masters. Some do it because there has been a fear in them ever since it was known from General Aetius that there will be no Roman help for us from Gaul. And others because a new fear is growing with every long boat that brings fresh crewmen to join their brothers along the Saxon shore. They fear the new masters and turn against the old.”

Listening to him, Tia was surprised at the masterly manner of his speaking, as though his knowledge and authority admitted no questioning. Before she could stop herself, she said, “When you lay there sleeping you talked in the speech of the camps and the barracks. Now you talk as I do.”

Baradoc smiled. “I have known many old legionaries, and I talk as they did. But also I was for years a servant of a retired Chief Centurion. If I did not speak correctly I felt the weight of his vine staff. I am the son of a tribal chief, taken as slave when I was twelve years old. My master took my education seriously.” He grinned suddenly, deep creases bracketing the sides of his mouth, and added in soldiers'speech, “My belly grumbles for a taste of that cheese.”

Tia laughed at the sudden transition and, in the midst of her laughter, considering all the darkness which still clouded her life, wondered that she could. She handed the cheese across to him. As he stretched out his hand and arm for it she saw him wince at the flex of his stretched muscles. She said, “When you have eaten I will massage your shoulders and arms. This was something I did often for Priscus in our bathhouse.”

Baradoc nodded, his mouth full of cheese. Tia, watching him, was sure now that she had nothing to fear from him. There was, too, she sensed, a strength and self-confidence about him which he could readily muster against trouble.

She asked, “This master of yours, is he alive still?”

“No.” Baradoc scowled and his face suddenly turned grim. “The Saxons killed him a month ago. But long before that he had given me my freedom.”

“You are going back to your people?”

“Yes.” Baradoc reached for the water beaker and drank.

“You could have gone before. Since you were free.”

Baradoc smiled. “I could have done easily. But my master was good to me, and there were many things he taught me. To read and write and speak his language. About farming and fighting, and how to read the stars, and to understand about building and mathematics and geometry and history and about the rest of the world out there.” He waved the empty beaker vaguely southward. “So I stayed. One day I shall be the leader of my people. It is right that I should teach these things to them.”

Tia smiled. “You will be a very important man, I see.”

Baradoc chuckled. “Thanks to you, yes—since you came along and cut me down.”

“Who hung you up like that?”

Baradoc frowned and said stiffly, “Two—that called themselves friends. One day I shall kill them both. But that is no business of yours.”

Tia stood up, suddenly angry at his words and his abruptness. She said sharply, “True. Perhaps, then, I should have passed the tree and left you hanging there since that, too, was no business of mine!”

Baradoc reached out quickly and caught the edge of her mantle and said, “Hold now! Don't fly off like a hen disturbed from her night roost. I meant no rudeness. It was just the thought of those two that stirred me up.” He let go of her mantle and grinned, his tanned face creasing. “You are full of Roman fire, aren't you? But that's good—especially in these days. But not good enough to take you safely through this country alone the way things are. So calm down and tell me where you want to go and I will see you safely there.”

“Even though you go west and I should say Eburacum?” Baradoc laughed. “Why not? Even though you should say Vindolandia on the North Wall—though that might give us a little trouble. I owe you a life. The longest journey would only be a little paid off the score.”

Tia slowly sat down. She said, “My brother and sister are dead. All that I have in this country now is an old uncle who lives near Aquae Sulis. It is in my mind to go to him.”

“Then let it rest there. I will take you. And I won't pretend that I'm not glad it's on my westward road. Give me your hand.”

“What on earth for?”

Baradoc sighed. “I shall have trouble with you, I can see, for you are not easily led. Give me your hand.”

Slowly Tia held out her right hand and Baradoc, smiling, took it by the fingertips. Then he turned and said two words in his own language to Lerg. The hound rose from the ground and came slowly forward and stood at Baradoc's side. Baradoc raised Tia's hand and placed it over the eyes of the hound, palm down, and he spoke again to Lerg in his own tongue. This done, he called Aesc forward and repeated the ritual. Then, ignoring Cuna, he gave an order to the three dogs and they turned and disappeared quickly into the forest.

Tia said, “What does all that mean?”

Baradoc answered, “You will see. Now remember always this word.” He paused and then said softly to her,
“Saheer.
You have it?
Saheer.”

Tia nodded.
“Saheer.
But what is it?”

“It is my word, and now, for Lerg and Aesc, it is also yours. Whenever you are in trouble, call it as loudly as you can.” He grinned. “Go on—shout it now. As loud as you can.”

Tia hesitated for a moment and then, taking a deep breath, shouted,
“Saheer!”

Almost immediately there was a crashing in the low forest thickets, and Lerg and Aesc came rushing to her and settled one on either side, alert and on their legs ready for action, growling and barking. A few seconds later Cuna arrived and began to imitate the action and growls of the other two.

Baradoc gave the dogs an order and they relaxed into sitting positions around Tia.

Tia said, “They will come—always—like that?”

“At any time, anywhere—if they can. And the gods help any man who is near you.”

“Why didn't you give my hand to the other, the little one?”