The Forest House (5 page)

Here, a little apart from the mixed crew at the lower end of the table, the lady of the house was seated on a wide chair. Near by, another seat, covered with a bearskin, was evidently reserved for the master. Other wide settles and benches were occupied by several young men and women whose finer garments and well-bred manners proclaimed them children or fosterlings of the household, or perhaps upper servants. The lady of the house nodded at the boys but did not interrupt her conversation with an old man seated near the hearth, tall and gaunt as an elderly ghost, with grey hair curled and cut in almost foppish fashion. His beard was grey, too, and elaborately curled. Green eyes twinkled in the old man's face; his long tunic was of snowy white, embroidered lavishly, and the small wire-strung harp by his side was trimmed and ornamented with gold.

A bard! But that was not so surprising in a Druid's hall. It needed only a soothsayer to have all of the three classes of Druid that Caesar had described represented here. But a diviner might have seen through the young Roman's disguise. As it was, the old bard favored Gaius with a long glance that made the skin prickle along his backbone before the old man turned to his hostess again.

Cynric said in an undertone, "You know my stepmother Rheis; this is the bard Ardanos, I call him grandfather, for he is my foster mother's father; I am an orphan.”

This silenced Gaius completely, for he had heard of Ardanos in the headquarters of the Legion. He was believed to be a powerful Druid, perhaps the chief of those who remained in the British Isles. Although at first glance Ardanos looked like any other harper about to play, his every gesture compelled the eye. Not for the first time, Gaius wondered how he would escape with a whole skin.

He was glad to drop on to a bench near the hearth and be ignored. Although it was still bright outside, he felt a chill, and welcomed the heat of the fire. It had been a long time since he had needed to remember the ways of his mother's kin. He hoped he would not make a mistake that would betray him.

Cynric went on, "My sister Eilan you know; beside her is my mother's sister Dieda.” Eilan was sitting near Rheis. Cynric laughed at Gaius's astonishment as next to Eilan he saw another girl in green linen, leaning against the back of her chair and listening to the old bard. For just a moment she seemed as like to Eilan as one oak leaf to another; then he saw that the girl Cynric had named Dieda was a little older, and that she had blue eyes, where Eilan's were almost grey. Vaguely he remembered seeing two faces looking down at him from the edge of the boar pit, but he had thought that delirium.

"There are really two of them; they are more alike than twins, are they not?”

It was true, but Gaius was suddenly certain that the sureness with which he had recognized Eilan would always remain with him. All his life he would be one of the few who could tell the two women apart as if by instinct. A fragment of memory bound up with pain and fire came to him—Eilan had dreamed about him.

And now that he considered them, he could see that they were unlike in many small ways too; Dieda was a little taller, and her hair lay flat and smooth against her forehead while Eilan's escaped from its binding in a tiny halo of curls. Dieda's face was smooth and pale and perfect, she looked solemn; Eilan looked rosy, as if her face had caught the sunlight and held it there.

They seemed very different to him, and their voices were altogether so. Dieda said something carelessly courteous; her voice was rich and musical, without Eilan's shyness or her laughter.

"So you are the simpleton who goes about tumbling into boar pits?” Dieda said, gravely. "From what Cynric told me I expected to see some moon-struck lout, but you seem reasonably civilized.”

Gaius nodded noncommittally; it was strange to see so young a girl with so much cool reserve. He had warmed at once to Eilan, but somehow, though there seemed no reason she should care, he fancied that this one did not like him.

Cynric nodded and turned to a young woman who had passed by with a jug of milk. "Mairi, our guest is named Gawen, if you have not turned dairy woman in such earnest that you cannot even greet him.” The older woman bowed her head in polite acknowledgment, but did not reply. As she turned he could see that she was not plump, but exceedingly pregnant. She looked as if she had been crying.

"And that's all of us, except for my baby sister Senara,” Cynric said. This was a little girl of six or seven, with fair hair like Eilan's. She looked out shyly from behind Mairi's skirt and then grew bolder, saying, "Eilan did not come to bed with me at all; Mother said she sat by you all night long.”

"Then I am honored by her kindness,” Gaius said, laughing, "but I have little success with women if the prettiest of them pays me no heed. Why were you not anxious to watch by me, little one?”

She was a round-faced, rosy little thing, and reminded him of his own sister, who had not long survived his mother's death three years ago. He drew the child to him with his good arm and she crept up on the seat beside him where she rested contentedly. Later she insisted on sharing his plate when the older girls, Mairi and Dieda, brought them food, and Gaius laughed and humored her.

Cynric and Dieda were talking together in low tones. Gaius tried to deal with his food, but his bandaged arm made it difficult. Eilan saw the trouble he was having and came and sat on his other side. With a little sharp knife she wore at her belt, she unobtrusively cut up his food into morsels that he could manage, and told the child, in a quiet voice that did not carry beyond their own ears, not to bother their guest. That done, Eilan's shyness returned. She went to the fireplace without speaking, and Gaius was content to watch her.

One of the servants brought a child about a year old to Mairi, and the young woman, without the slightest self-consciousness, unfastened her dress and sat nursing it, chatting with Cynric. She glanced at Gaius with innocent curiosity, saying, "Now I can see why you sent to borrow my husband's other tunic and breeches. He has gone off to—” She broke off, frowning. "I did not think he would mind loaning his gear to a guest, though he may have a word to say to me if he finds I gave his dry clothes away while he was shivering in the forest. Tell me, Gawen, are all the Silures as short as you, like one of the little people, or did some Roman creep into your grandmother's bed one night?”

Any answer Gaius might have made was drowned in laughter all along the table. Gaius remembered that the Britons were given to grosser jesting than a Roman of good breeding would think tasteful. It was true that the Silures were small for Britons, dark and fine-boned compared to the big, fair-skinned men of the Belgic tribes. Cynric and Eilan and Dieda and Rheis were of that type. But Gaius's few memories of his uncle who ruled the Silures were of a man of power despite his lack of height, a man quick to fury or laughter, with tattooed dragons coiling up his arms.

An answer came to him which he would not have dared to make in Roman company, but which might serve here. "As to that, I cannot say, Mistress Mairi, but they fit me well enough—and you were not unwilling I should fill them.”

Cynric threw back his head with a great bass roar of laughter, taken up by all the others. Even the quiet Rheis smiled a little, but quickly sobered, as if she knew something Mairi did not. For a moment it seemed as if she were forcing herself to congeniality. She turned to Ardanos.

"Father, shall we have some music?”

Ardanos picked up the harp and looked sharply at Gaius. The younger man had a sudden conviction that the old Druid knew perfectly well what—and perhaps who—he was. But how could he? Gaius was dark-haired like his father, but the Silures, like some of the other races of the West and South, were also known for their dark and curly hair. He was almost sure he had never set eyes on the old man before. He told himself he was imagining things—probably that stare of supposed recognition had been only short-sightedness.

The old Druid picked up the harp, struck a chord or two, then put it aside. "I'm in no mood for singing,” he said, looking at one of the fair-haired girls. "Dieda, my child, will you sing for us?”

Eilan dimpled and said, "I am always at your service, Grandfather, but you don't really want to hear me sing, do you?”

Ardanos laughed in chagrin. "Ah, I've done it again, Eilan, it is you? I swear you and Dieda always try to confuse me. As if anyone could tell you apart until you open your mouths!”

Rheis said gently, "I cannot see they are as much alike as that, Father. Of course, one is my sister and one my daughter, but to me they seem hardly alike at all. Are you sure it is not the failing of your eyesight?”

"No, I always confuse them until one of them begins to sing,” protested the Druid. "No one could mistake one for the other then.”

Eilan said, "You need not make a face like a sour crab apple, Grandfather, I have not been apprenticed as a bard!” Then they fell silent as, unaccompanied, Dieda began to sing:

Under cover of the song, Rheis beckoned Mairi to her, and said, "Have the Romans taken anyone but the byre-woman's man?”

"Not that I know of, Mother, but Rhodri went off after them before I could ask,” Mairi said, shaking her head. "He said that most of the other levies were made to the north.”

"That fat hog Caradac! Or I should say Clotinus, as the Romans call him!” Cynric burst out. "If Old Bedbugs would stand with us the Romans would never dare send their Legions into this part of the country—but as long as everyone goes either over to the Romans or to the Caledonians—”

"Be still!” Dieda said sharply, breaking off her song. "You'll wind up having to go north yourself—”

Rheis said gently, "Hush, children, these family matters will not interest our guest.” But Gaius could tell that what she meant was, "It isn't safe to talk like this with a stranger in the house.”

Ardanos said calmly, "This part of the country is quieter than it has been for years. The Romans think us tamed, fit only to be milked for taxes. But the best of their troops are off trying to conquer the Novantae—and as a result there is less order here.”

"Such order as that we could well spare,” Cynric said sharply, but Ardanos glared at him and he subsided.

Gaius leaned a little forward into the firelight. He suspected that he would almost certainly do better to remain silent, but he was curious.

"I was in Deva lately,” he said slowly. "There was talk there that the Emperor may call Agricola back from Alba despite his victories. They say there is no profit in spending men and supplies to hold such a barren land.”

"We could hardly be so lucky,” Dieda said, and laughed in contempt. "The Romans may indeed vomit up what they have eaten to make room in their bellies for more; but no Roman ever ceded an inch of conquered land!”

Gaius opened his mouth; then thought better of it. Rheis said, "Is Agricola so formidable? Could he really conquer Britannia all the way to the northern sea?”

Ardanos grimaced. "The gossip in Deva may have some truth in it; between the wolves and the wild men I doubt that even Roman tax farmers could squeeze out much profit there.”

Dieda looked at Gaius with a sudden malice. "You who have lived among Romans,” she said, "perhaps you can tell us why they are carrying off our men and what will happen to them?”

"The provincial senators pay their taxes with the men of the levy. I suppose they will take them to the lead mines in the Mendip hills,” he said reluctantly, "and I know not what will befall them there.”

But he did know. The whip and poor feeding would be used to break their spirit, and the gelder's knife to unman any who continued to resist. Those who survived the march would be set to work in the mines as long as they lived. A flicker of triumph in Dieda's eyes told him she had guessed he knew more than he would say. He winced as Mairi began to weep. He had never met—or ever thought he would—anyone who could be subject to the levies.

"Can't something be done?” she cried.

"Not this year,” the old man answered.

"Not much anyone can do about it,” Gaius said defensively, "but you can't deny that the mines have enriched all Britain—”

"We can live without such enrichment,” Cynric said wrathfully. "Rome enriches at the top, and enslaves at the bottom.”

"It is not only Romans who have become wealthy—” Gaius began.

"You mean traitors like Clotinus?”

Rheis leaned forward as if to terminate a conversation that had become awkward, but Cynric would not be stopped.

"You who have lived among Romans,” Cynric said angrily, "do you know how Clotinus the White-Washed made his fortune? He guided the Legions to Mona, or are you too much a Roman to remember that once there was a holy place there—the Isle of Women—the holiest place in Britain perhaps before Paulinus came?”

"I knew only that there was a sanctuary,” Gaius said neutrally, his neck prickling again with that sense of danger. For the Romans, the destruction of Mona had been overshadowed by the catastrophe of the Iceni rebellion, but he knew better than to discuss Mona in the house of a Druid, especially since Agricola had mopped up whatever resistance might have been left there only last year.