With a good supply of wine still left, Joseph was able to barter enough tin to fill the hold of Kendrick’s ship. Joseph decided to stay with Bannoch and his family in Carn Roz while Kendrick made the run to Armorica to sell the tin and withdraw some of the money Joseph had on deposit there. They agreed that Kendrick would then sail directly to Ynys Witrin to bring the Roman coin to the boys. It would give Joseph more than a week to think before Kendrick returned to Carn Roz.
The trip down the Brue in the curragh was pleasant. Jesus was on the first leg of the trip from Lake Village, on his way across the mouth of the great Sabrina in Cymru. Spring was still more than a month away, but buds were starting to show in the trees, and birds were singing and nesting. It was certainly quite cool paddling down the river, but remarkably temperate for the winter.
Jesus was traveling with a passing bard who knew the way to King Cymbeline’s capitol at Caer Wysg. Elsigar had arranged for this companion the day after Imbolc, just before the druid himself had set out on his return across Bodmin Moor to the lands of the Dumnonii. He said he had much druid business there and would travel by sea for the start of the Bangor school and meet up with Jesus in the spring. The bard would not be traveling further than Caer Wysg, but King Cymbeline was known for his hospitality and could be counted on to find another companion to take Jesus on the next leg of the journey.
The bard sat in front of the curragh. He seemed to be going through the motion of dipping his paddle in the water, without putting much force into the strokes. As one would expect of a bard, he tended to be talkative. He tried to press Jesus for details about the nasty business with Esmeralda, but Jesus demurred, thinking that it could only make more trouble in Ynys Witrin if word of what he might say ever got back there. Nor could Jesus talk about the silver find. The battle at Rumps was old news. By the time they reached the open water of the Sabrina, each had become lost in his own thoughts.
They paddled along the shore of the Sabrina, huddling in their cloaks as protection from wind and wave, until they reached the narrowing of the river estuary. Even using dry tinder and flints, the air was too damp for any fire to catch, so they spent a cold, restless night trying to conserve as much warmth as they could under their blankets.
In the morning, Jesus was wet, cold, thoroughly cross and miserable, and he found himself doing most of the paddling. God the Father had been quite explicit that he was not to tarry in Ynys Witrin, but he couldn’t help wondering if it had been a mistake not to wait for spring. He was doing something that made no sense to him, simply because it was his Father’s will. This was the first time his Father had given him a specific command. He was not about to disobey, but it certainly felt unusual. He knew what it was to obey his earthly parents, as well as Uncle Joseph for the most part, but their wishes seemed to make more sense.
Once they reached the shore of Cymru, they beached and hid the curragh. As they walked inland on a pathway across gently rolling hills, Jesus’s heart was lifted by the freedom to move his legs and the warmth of the sun finally peeking through the clouds. He was in a decidedly better mood once they reached the entrance of King Cymbeline’s hillfort at Caer Wysg. The gatekeeper first recognized the bard. When the bard turned and identified his companion as Jesus bar Joseph from Galilee, it was clear from the gatekeeper’s look of awe that Jesus’s reputation had preceded them.
Looking around the inner precinct of the fort, Jesus’s first impression was that he was back in Lugdunum or even Jerusalem. The place was bustling with traders, merchants, soldiers, and functionaries all scurrying about their business. Jesus felt much more at a true center of a kingdom than ever he had among the Dumnonii.
The old bard brought Jesus before King Cymbeline, who was holding court in the banquet hall. The king patiently heard out each person in the queue of petitioners, before moving to the next. He was stout and advancing in years, but very quick-witted. He wore a heavy gold torc around his neck and gold bracelets on each wrist. His leggings were fashioned of leather. Otherwise, his clothes were simple British garb.
“Ah! The hero of Rumps is here.” The king rose to greet Jesus once the bard had introduced him.
“Many fought as heroes to defend Rumps—many died. I cannot claim the credit,” Jesus answered.
“I have heard other stories about you. They say you seek tin and silver. Is that what brings you to Cymru?”
“No, I am on my way to Bangor and Ynys Môn to study with the druids. Do you know Elsigar?”
“Yes, the archdruid of the Dumnonii.” The king shrugged in a mock gesture of frustration. “I cannot say that I deal with him much. The gods bless me with my own druids to advise and consent to every little thing I do to assure that it is suitably pious.”
Jesus smiled, as others laughed with the king. “Elsigar arranged to bring me here in the hope that you might assist me on my journey. I do not know the way.”
“I was told you came all the way across the lands of the Romans, and that you do not worship our gods. I never heard of an outlander from so far away studying the ways of the druids. It takes twenty years to become a druid, you know.”
“I am not trying to become a druid. I have been attending the major festivals of the druids to watch and learn. My own God inspires me to learn that there may be truths to be found in all religions.”
“If that is pious enough for a druid as renowned as Elsigar, that is good enough for me! How are you planning to go?”
“I brought the bard across the Sabrina in a curragh. Elsigar said I should make my way up the Sabrina to its source and then cross the mountains.”
“The Snowden Mountains are treacherous in winter. You will not want to make that journey now. Stay here for a few weeks and give the springtime sun a chance to melt the mountain snows.” The king turned to one of his attendants. “Summon Guiderius and Arvigarus for me.”
“I am afraid I have no coin to pay for my food and lodging. My family was robbed—”
“You are here as my guest,” Cymbeline interrupted. “I would not hear of taking anything in exchange for hospitality.”
Two young men came into the banquet hall and paused in the doorway. They were obviously twins, with identical open smiles on their freckled faces. Their eyes were blue, their flaming red hair hung straight onto their shoulders, and their upper lips bore faint traces of downy hair, as if they were competing to be the first to grow a man’s mustache. Even their clothes were identical, except that one of them wore a slightly thicker gold torc around his neck.
“These are my sons, Guiderius and Arvigarus,” said Cymbeline. “Guiderius came out of his mother’s womb just a few minutes before Arvigarus, so he will rule this kingdom one day.” When Cymbeline pointed to him, Jesus could see that Guiderius was the one with the thicker torc. “Arvigarus is studying the ways of the druids, and as luck would have it, he too is going to Ynys Môn. The two of you can go together. You will be a good influence on him.” The king laughed, then let out a belch. “Just be careful he doesn’t end up being a bad influence on you.”
With that, the king dismissed Jesus and his sons. As the king’s sons led him through the castle halls, Jesus noticed that most of the servants had tattoos on their foreheads. He asked what they meant.
“That is how slaves are marked,” said Guiderius. “Haven’t you seen that before? I thought you had been in Britain for several years now.”
“I have been in the land of the Dumnonii and the precinct of the Tor. Those people do not keep slaves.”
“They are marked like that so runaways can be spotted,” added Arvigarus. “That mark is recognized all over Britain.”
“What happens to runaways?” Jesus asked.
“They are returned, unless it’s too far away,” said Arvigarus. “In that case they are killed. It keeps them from running. Most slaves are put to work in the fields. Our father is the only man in the hillfort rich enough to keep slaves just for servants.”
“And you use the slaves for tasks you should do for yourself,” said Guiderius. “It makes you lazy and soft—just as you spend Father’s money too freely.”
Arvigarus took umbrage at his sibling’s remark. They argued awhile, then burst out a door into the courtyard and drew swords. The contest swayed back and forth, but the advantage went to Guiderius.
Arvigarus, laughing, handed his sword to Jesus. “Let’s see a demonstration of your skill.”
The sword weighed heavy in his hand. The twins had used their swords to slash, while Jesus used his to thrust and parry as well. Nonetheless, Jesus had fallen behind with his practice, and his rustiness showed, forcing him to yield after a close contest.
Guiderius bellowed, raising his hands. “Victory! And over the hero of Rumps, no less!”
“I obviously need practice,” Jesus said, handing the sword back to Arvigarus. “Perhaps we could continue swordplay every day.”
The princes readily agreed.
The spring leaves came in thicker, and the days waxed longer. Daniel was at the first silver lode near Priddy as the sun began to set. The few workmen willing to barter their labor had left for the day. Without Roman coin to pay the men, how could Daniel blame those who had stayed away? They had the spring planting to attend to.
Sweat and grime covered his body. Crawling through the shafts, digging, and carrying ore to the surface was backbreaking work. He wanted to lie down on the grass and sleep, but he could not. He looked over the pile of ore that had been brought to the surface. He picked up a small piece and threw it in frustration. All the ore he had at the surface was hardly enough to fire the smelter. The lode was done.
Daniel gritted his teeth. Without enough workmen, there was no point asking Grengan about the new lode Jesus had discovered. He was stuck.
And then there was the news that had arrived from Grengan earlier in the day. Esmeralda was starting to complain about Aunt Mary. Her house was too close to the Tor. It was impious, she said. Grengan thought it was silly, and he said he could handle Esmeralda and look out for Mary. Nonetheless, Daniel was reluctant to leave his aunt alone almost a day’s journey away in Ynys Witrin.
Where is Kendrick? Papa said he would be bringing a new supply of coin from Armorica. But where is he? He should be here by now. I cannot do anything with the new lode until he gets here, and the first lode is finished. The natives will not keep feeding us indefinitely if I cannot make anything.
Tears streamed down Daniel’s face. He felt overwhelmed and alone.
A fortnight after Jesus had come to Caer Wysg, the arrival of the next bard was the occasion for yet another feast.
King Cymbeline must be rich indeed if he can afford to buy all this food and drink. This is the sixth feast I have been to.
Still, it was always fun to be among the Celts as the mead flowed freely. Jesus ducked just in time, to the cheers of all, to avoid a bone thrown by an inebriated guest. He was getting on well with Guiderius and Arvigarus. His swordsmanship had returned; he could beat the princes almost all the time now.
He took a turn leading the men in raucous song as the good king laughed and belched above the sound of all the revelry.
Jesus finished the song and looked over to the king, who was no longer laughing and belching. He was listening intently to a messenger. Then he summoned Jesus and the two princes.
“I’ve just received word from the north,” Cymbeline began. “I am again betrayed by Belariux. The Cornovii say he has stirred up war between them and the Ordovices. The upper reaches of the Sabrina are closed because of the fighting. Arvigarus, you must go by way of the Avon and then the Great Trekway. Take Jesus with you to Caer Leir. Imogen will welcome the two of you, and Postumux’s people will know when it is safe to venture through the Snowden mountains.”
“But Caer Leir is so far out of the way,” said Arvigarus. “It is more than halfway across Britain, Father.”
“It is the only safe passage to Ynys Môn. It will take you through the lands of the Dobunni, the Corieltauvi, and the Cornovii, all tribes that are friendly to us. You should leave in the morning. With the detour to Caer Leir, you are late for the start of classes as it is.”
Arvigarus tried once more to protest, but Guiderius grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. “Stop arguing and start packing.” Jesus followed the brothers to the kitchen, where Guiderius tossed each of them a satchel and opened a pantry.
“Who is Imogen?” Jesus asked.
Guiderius took down a clay jar. “Our older sister. She’s married to a warrior named Postumux. They live among his people on the northeast side of the Midlands.”
“And Belariux?” Jesus asked, “Why does his action require us to leave?”
Guiderius peered into the jar and returned it, taking down another. “He’s a former courtier of Father’s. He was falsely accused of treason.” He handed his brother the jar. “Dried beef. Wrap that in cloth or something.” He turned back to the pantry.
Jesus turned to the bowls of fruit lining the sideboard and started stowing some in his satchel. “If he was falsely accused…why did your father say he was betrayed?”
“The falsehood was ages ago, when we were infants,” Arvigarus said. “In retaliation for the accusation, he…he stole us away and brought us up as his own.” He snorted, shoving the packet of dried beef into his bag. “We lived in a dank cave in the hills between the Ordovices and the Silures.”
“How did you get back?”
Guiderius brought a box from the pantry. “Imogen found us…” He shook his head. “It’s a long story. We were almost fully grown by then, completely unaware that we were the sons of the king.”
“How very strange,” Jesus said, “to have been raised by a man not your father…and yet not know who your real father was.”
Come to think of it, I felt something like that growing up. but somehow I always knew who my real Father was.
They nodded solemnly, their expressions mirrors of one another.
“Bread,” Guiderius said. “There’s a couple of days’ worth.”