To Love Again (12 page)

“Know? How could I know? Who tells me anything?” Brigit complained. “Then Maeve! Find Maeve!” she demanded excitedly.

“Maeve has gone visiting as well,” Cailin replied.

“The gods! What am I to do?” Brigit cried.

Cailin swallowed hard. Brigit seemed genuinely disturbed, and although they were scarcely friends, Cailin heard herself ask, “Can I help you in some way, lady?”

Brigit’s blue eyes narrowed and she observed Cailin thoughtfully. “Can you cook?” she finally said. “Can you prepare
a small feast for tonight? Berikos has an important guest arriving. We must extend him our best hospitality.” She flushed, and then admitted, “I cannot cook, at least not well enough to prepare the kind of meal that must be served.”

“I am a good cook, and with the slaves to do my bidding, I can prepare a meal worthy of an important guest, lady,” Cailin told her.

“Then do it!” Brigit commanded her ungraciously. “And it had better be good, mongrel, or this time I will see your grandfather has you beaten for your insolence. There is no one here to defend you now.” She turned and hurried from the hall, her yellow skirts thrashing.

“I should have gone with Ceara and Maeve,” Cailin muttered. “Then she would have been in the soup, and what would Berikos have thought of his beautiful young wife then, the ungrateful bitch! Well, I shall do it because Ceara would want me to, and she is good to me.”

Cailin hurried off to the cook house, which was located just behind the hall. There she instructed the servants in the preparation of a thick pottage with lentils and lamb, while upon the open spit a side of beef was to be slowly roasted. There would be cabbage, and turnip, and onions braised in the coals of the fire. Fresh loaves were baked that afternoon, which would be served with butter and cheese. Cailin polished a dozen apples to a bright shine and piled them artistically in a burnished brass bowl. Taking them into the hall to place them upon the high board she complimented the young slave girl who had just finished polishing the board with beeswax. The huge table was Ceara’s pride and joy. She reveled in the fact that in other halls the high boards were worn and pock-marked by knives and goblets. In
her
hall, the high board glowed and shone like new.

The slave girl brought heavy brass candle holders. “The mistress always uses these for important guests,” she told Cailin.

Cailin thanked her and set them on the table, taking the large fat candles from the serving wench and placing them carefully on the iron spikes that held them. She stood back
and smiled to herself. The high board looked as if Ceara had set it herself. Berikos would have no cause for complaint.

It was then that Cailin realized that someone was staring at her. She turned and, looking down the hall, saw a great, tall man standing there. His look, even from a distance, was bold.

“Who is that?” she asked the slave.

“It is your grandfather’s guest,” the girl whispered.
“The Saxon.”

Cailin turned and stepped down from the dais. She walked with measured steps toward the man. “May I be of service to you, sir?” she asked politely, not even stopping to think he might not speak Latin.

“I would ask permission to sit by your fire, lady,” the answer came. “The day is chill, and I have had a long journey.”

“Indeed, come by the fire,” Cailin replied. “I will fetch you a goblet of wine, unless, of course, you would prefer ale.”

“Wine, thank you, lady. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing? I would give no offense in this hall.”

“I am Cailin Drusus, a granddaughter of Berikos, the chieftain of the hill Dobunni. I apologize for your poor welcome, but the lady Ceara, who is mistress here, is away visiting her grandchildren before the winter snows come. We did not know you were expected, or she would have never gone. Has your horse been stabled properly, sir?” Cailin poured some wine into a silver goblet decorated with dark green agates, and handed it to the huge Saxon. She had never seen such a big man before. He was even larger than the Celtic men she knew. His garb was most colorful: red braccos cross-gartered in deep blue and gold, and a deep blue tunic from which his chest threatened to burst forth with every breath.

“Thank you, lady; my horse has been taken care of by your grandfather’s servants.” He drained the goblet and handed it back to her with a dazzling smile. His teeth were large, white, and amazingly even.

“More?” she inquired politely. He had shoulder-length yellow hair. She had never seen hair naturally that color before.

“Nay, it is enough for now. I thank you.” Dazzling blue eyes, the blue of a summer’s sky, looked into hers.

Cailin blushed. This man was having the oddest effect on her.

“My name is Wulf Ironfist,” he told her.

“It is a ferocious-sounding name, sir,” she answered.

He grinned boyishly. “I gained it as a mere stripling because I could crack nuts with one blow of my fist,” he told her, chuckling. “Later, however, my name took on a different meaning when I joined Caesar’s legions in the Rhineland, where I was born.”

“That is why you speak our tongue!” Cailin burst out, and then she blushed again. “I am too forward,” she said ruefully.

“Nay,” he said. “You are blunt, honest. There is no crime in that, Cailin Drusus. I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the sound of her name on his lips, but her curiosity was greater than her shyness. “How came you to Britain?” she asked.

“I was told there is opportunity in Britain.
Land!
There is little unclaimed land left in my homeland. I spent ten years with the legions, and now I would settle down to farm my own land and raise my children.”

“You are wed, then?”

“Nay. First the land, and then a wife, or two,” he told her in practical tones.

Cailin smiled shyly at Wulf Ironfist. She thought the Saxon quite the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then, remembering her duties, she said, “You must excuse me, sir. With the lady Ceara gone, the kitchens are in my charge. My grandfather is very fussy about his meals, and he likes them piping hot. Stay by the fire and make yourself comfortable. I will send for Berikos to let him know that you have arrived.”

“My thanks for your kindness and hospitality, lady.”

Cailin hurried from the hall, and directed the first male servant she saw to go and fetch his master. Then she returned to the kitchens to oversee the final preparations for dinner, requesting that pitchers of wine, ale, and honeyed mead be made ready for the evening’s meal. She tasted the pottage,
and directed the cook to add a bit more garlic. The beef sizzled and spat over the fire. It smelled wonderful.

“I sent a man down to the stream to look in the fish trap, little mistress,” the cook told her. “He found two fine fat perch. I’ve stuffed them with scallions and parsley, and baked them in the coals. Better to have too much than too little. I’m told the Saxon is a giant of a man, and he’s had a long ride. He’ll have a good appetite for his supper, I’m thinking.”

“Will there be enough, Orna?” Cailin fretted. “Berikos will be angry if he thinks we’ve slighted his guest. I’ve never had to prepare for a person of importance before. I don’t want to shame Ceara, or the Dobunni.”

“There, there, little mistress,” the ruddy-cheeked cook soothed the girl. “You’ve done well. A nice thick pottage, beef, fish, vegetables, bread, cheese, and apples. ‘Tis a very good meal.”

“Have we a ham?” Cailin wondered aloud, and when the plump Orna nodded vigorously, Cailin said, “Then let us serve it as well, and boil up a dozen or more eggs. And pears! I’ll put pears with the apples. Oh, please be sure there is plenty of bread, Orna.”

“I will see to it,” Orna said. “Now go and put on your prettiest gown, little mistress. You are far more beautiful than the Catuvellauni woman. You must sit at the high board with your grandfather in the lady Ceara’s place tonight. Hurry along now!”

Chapter 4

C
ailin left the cook house and walked back to the hall. She hadn’t thought about joining her grandfather and his guest. She had taken to eating in the cook house since Ceara and Maeve had left. Brigit would not like it at all if she showed up this evening, but then Brigit could go to Hades, Cailin decided. Orna was right. She must take Ceara’s place. Cailin hurried to her sleeping space to change clothes. To her surprise, there was a small basin filled with warmed water awaiting her. She smiled. The servants were certainly united in their dislike of Brigit, and obviously determined that she should outshine Berikos’s young wife.

Cailin drew off her tunic dress and set it aside. Opening her small chest, she drew out her best gown. It was a beautiful light wool garment that had been dyed with a mixture of woad and madder. The rich purple color was stunning. There were gold and silver threads embroidered at the simple round neckline and on the cuffs of the sleeves. Ceara had given it to her at Lugh, and Cailin had never worn it. She bathed carefully, using a small sliver of soap scented with woodbine. When she had stored the tunic she had worn all day in the chest, she slipped the purple garment over her linen camisa. Corio had made her a pearwood comb. Cailin smiled as she drew it through the tangle of her thick russet curls. A simple fillet of freshwater pearls and chips of purple quartz decorated her head; Maeve’s Lugh gift to her.

Hearing her grandfather’s voice, Cailin hurried from her sleeping space and signaled the waiting servants to begin serving the meal. She took her place at the high board, nodding
politely to Berikos, who bobbed his head slightly in her direction. When Brigit opened her mouth to voice what Cailin was certain would be a complaint about her presence, Berikos glowered fiercely at his wife, and Brigit’s mouth snapped shut before she uttered a single word. Cailin bit her lip to keep back her laughter. She knew it was not that Berikos had grown any softer toward her, but that the old man was wise enough to realize that Brigit could not direct the servants to his satisfaction. Cailin, he knew from Ceara, could.

Brigit sat between her husband and their guest. She gushed and flirted with Wulf Ironfist in what she believed was a successful effort to win him over to Berikos’s plans for the region. The young Saxon was polite, and more than slightly amazed by his host’s wife. He had heard the Celts were a hospitable people, but a man’s wife was a man’s wife. Every now and then his gaze would stray to Cailin, silent on the other side of Berikos. Her only words were directed to the servants, and she managed them well, he saw. She would make some man a good wife one day, if she was not already wed, and he somehow did not think she was. There was an innocence about her that indicated she was yet a maid.

Brigit noticed that the handsome Saxon’s attention was drawn to her husband’s granddaughter. A wicked plan began to form in her mind. She had so patiently bided her time these last weeks, waiting for the right moment to have the perfect revenge upon Cailin Drusus. Now she believed she had found that moment. Cailin had embarrassed her publicly before the whole village, and what was worse, Berikos had refused to discipline the wench. How those two old crows, Ceara and Maeve, had gloated over it, protecting Cailin from her wrath, but now they were out of the way. Unobtrusively Brigit filled and refilled her husband’s goblet, first with a rich red wine, and then with honeyed mead. Berikos had a strong head for liquor, but in recent years his tolerance had been lower than in his youth.

The steaming hot pottage was put upon the table along with the beef, ham, and fish. Platters of vegetables, cheese,
and bread followed. In a burst of generosity, Berikos nodded his approval to his grandchild. The assembled ate and drank, the Saxon matching the old man goblet for goblet until finally the food was cleared away and the discussion of business began in earnest.

“If I train your young men and lead them, Berikos, what will you give me in return for my services?” Wulf Ironfist asked. “After ten years with the legions, I can teach your Celts to fight like Romans. The Romans have the best army in the world. My knowledge is valuable. I must have equal value in return.”

“What do you want?” growled the old man.

“Land,” was the simple reply. “I have had my fill of war, but I will do this for you if you give me land for my own.”

“No,” said Berikos.
“No land!
I would drive all Romans and other foreigners from Britain, and have it belong to our people again as it once did. Why else would I begin such an endeavor in my old age?”

“The only foreigners here in Britain now are we Saxons,” came Wulf Ironfist’s amused reply. “The true Romans departed years ago, and those you call Romans are in reality Britons, Berikos. Their blood has been intermingled with that of you Celts for so many generations that they are no longer alien. If you would make yourself king of this region, I will help you in exchange for land, and I will pledge you my fealty; but the idea that you can drive everyone from Britain but those of pure Celtic blood is a foolish and impossible task.”

“But if I am successful,” Berikos insisted, “more tribes—the Catuvellauni, the Iceni, the Silures, and others—will join me.” In his enthusiasm he knocked his goblet over, but Brigit quickly righted it and refilled it. Berikos drank it down.