Authors: Bertrice Small
She wondered if she would ever see the town again. Shortly after her family’s deaths, her uncles Eppilus and Lugotorax had made a trip to Corinium to learn what was being said about the deaths of Gaius Drusus and his family. Stopping at the main tavern, they mentioned to the tavern keeper the burned-out villa they had seen some miles from town.
“It appears to have been a recent fire,” Eppilus said casually.
“Was anyone hurt?” Lugotorax asked.
The tavern keeper, a gossipy soul with little business this sunny day, took a deep breath and replied. “ ’Twas a great tragedy. The villa belonged to Gaius Drusus Corinium. It had been in his family since the time of the Emperor Claudius, hundreds of years ago. Nice people. A very respectable family indeed. There were three children, I’m told. Two boys and a girl. And the wife’s mother, too. All dead now. The villa caught fire Beltane last, and the whole family perished.”
“Is the land for sale, then?” Eppilus inquired politely.
“No,” said the tavern keeper. “What was bad luck for Gaius Drusus Corinium was good luck for his cousin, Quintus Drusus. That young man came from Rome just a couple of years ago. Married the daughter of the chief magistrate here in Corinium, a rich woman in her own right. Now he’s inherited the lands belonging to Gaius Drusus Corinium. Well, you know what they say, my friends. The rich get richer, eh?”
As they journeyed back to their village, Eppilus said, “I’d like to lie in wait one dark night for this Quintus Drusus, and slit his greedy throat for him. Murdering the family was bad enough, but you know what Brenna told us they did to our sister Kyna before she died.”
“Killing Quintus Drusus won’t bring our sister and her family back among the living,” Lugotorax answered his brother. “We have to think of Cailin now. Ceara says Brenna will not live much longer. We must find a good husband for our niece.”
“Perhaps at Lugh,” Eppilus replied thoughtfully, “when all the hill Dobunni are gathered. Are there any among our brothers’ sons whom you think would suit the girl? Whoever he is, he must be a man of property. Whatever Father may feel, Cailin is our blood.”
A troupe of strange, dark people in colorful garb, traveling in three closed wagons, arrived at Berikos’s village the evening before Lugh. Because of the season, they were warmly welcomed and invited to remain for the festivities.
“Gypsies,” Nuala said wisely. “They are very good with horses, and some even have a gift for prophecy, ‘tis said.”
Indeed, the next morning as the celebrations began, one wrinkled old woman among the Gypsies set herself up beneath a striped awning and offered to tell fortunes for barter.
“Ohh!” Nuala said excitedly, “let us have our fortunes told, Cailin! I want to know if I shall have a handsome young husband with an unquenchable thirst for my flesh.” At Cailin’s shocked look, Nuala giggled mischievously. “Celts speak frankly,” she told her cousin.
“I have nothing to offer the old woman,” Cailin said. “If it were not for your grandmother, I should have nothing but the tunic I came in when I arrived here. Why, the only jewelry I possess are the garnets in my ears and the gold and enamel brooch I was wearing on Beltane. You go, Nuala, and get your fortune told. I will listen.”
“Give her a pot of that salve I taught you to make,” Nuala said. “It will be more than enough, I promise. We’ll go in together, but I’ll go first, and give her this bronze and enamel pin. It’s really generous, but I don’t like it any longer.”
The two cousins approached the awning. The old woman beneath it was certainly an ancient-looking creature. Her black eyes surveyed them as they came. She resembled a turtle sunning itself upon a rock in the early spring, Cailin thought.
“Come! Come, my pretties,” she greeted them, cackling. “Do you want old Granny to tell you the future?” She smiled a toothless grin at them.
Nuala held out the pin, and the old woman took it, looking it over carefully, nodding with pleasure.
“No one does finer enamel work than you Celts,” she said admiringly. “Give me your hand, girl. I will see what life has in store for you, eh?” Chortling, she took Nuala’s hand and looked deeply into the palm. “Ahhhh!” she said, and then she looked again. “Yes! Yes!”
“What is it?” Nuala cried. “What do you see, old woman?”
“A strong, handsome man, my girl, and not just one. You will be wife to two men. You will have many children, and grandchildren. Aye! You will live a long life, my girl. It will not always be an easy life, but you will not be unhappy.” The Gypsy dropped Nuala’s hand.
“Two husbands?” Nuala looked nonplussed, and then she giggled. “Well, if one is not enough, I shall be happy to have another. And
many
children, you say? You are certain?”
The old woman nodded vigorously.
“Well,” Nuala said, “it’s a good fate, and I will be happy with it. What better for a girl than marriage and children?” She pulled Cailin forward. “Now, tell my cousin her future! It must be at least as good as mine is. Give her the salve, Cailin!” Nuala finished impatiently.
Cailin handed the small stone pot of salve to the Gypsy, who took the girl’s palm and peered into it.
“You have but recently cheated death,” the fortune-teller said. “You will cheat it more than once, girl, before your time here is done.” She looked into Cailin’s face, and Cailin shivered. The Gypsy looked down into her hand again. “I see a man; no, more than one.” She shook her head. “Golden towers. Aiiii, there is too much confusion here! I cannot see what I need to see.” She loosed Cailin’s hand. “I cannot divine further for you, my child. I am sorry. Take back your salve.”
“No,” Cailin replied. “Keep it if you can but tell me one thing, old woman. Will I lose a loved one to death soon?”
The Gypsy took Cailin’s hand again and said, “You have lost several loved ones recently, my child, and yes, the last tie
binding you to your old life will soon be severed by death. I am sorry for you.”
“Do not be,” Cailin told her. “You have but confirmed what my own voice within tells me. May your gods protect you.” She turned away, Nuala in her wake.
The younger girl’s face was worried. “It is Brenna, isn’t it?” Nuala asked.
Cailin nodded. “I try to put a good face on it for her sake,” she said. “Everyone pretends in my presence that they do not notice, but we all know, even Grandmother. She has been with me my entire life. She saved me from death and brought me to safety. I want so much for her to grow well and live many more years, but she will not, Nuala. She is dying a little bit each day, and for all my love, there is nothing I can do to help her.”
Nuala put a comforting arm about her cousin’s shoulder and squeezed her. “Death is but the doorway between this life and the next, Cailin. You know that, so why do you already grieve before Brenna has even taken the first step through that doorway?”
“I grieve because I cannot take that step yet, Nuala. I will remain alone on this side of the door while my family lives on the other side of that door. I miss my parents, and my brothers!”
There was simply nothing Nuala could say that would comfort Cailin, and so she remained silent. She had all her family yet about her. She could only barely imagine what it must be like to be without one’s family, and that small imagining came close to making her weep. Attempting to change the subject, she suggested, “Let us go and watch the footraces. My brother Corio is very swift. All the young men from the other villages will unwisely try to beat him.”
“And they will not?” Cailin asked with a small smile. Nuala’s love for her brother bordered on worship.
“No one can beat Corio,” Nuala insisted proudly.
“I can!”
came a young voice, and the cousins turned to see a handsome young man with dark hair pulled back by a leather thong.
“Bodvoc the Boastful,” Nuala mocked him. “You could not best my brother at Lugh last. Why would you think you can best him now?”
“Because I am faster this year than last,” Bodvoc said, “and when I win the race, Nuala, you will reward me with a kiss.”
“I most certainly will not!” Nuala said indignantly, blushing, but Cailin noticed her protest was not really as vigorous as she wanted it to seem.
Bodvoc grinned engagingly. “Yes, you will,” he said, and then went off to join the other young men preparing to race.
“Who is he?” Cailin asked.
“Bodvoc. His father is Carvilius, headman of one of our grandfather’s villages. Your mother was to have married Carvilius, but when she chose your father instead, he married a Catuvellauni woman. Bodvoc is the last of their children.”
“Bodvoc likes you, Nuala,” Cailin teased her younger cousin.
Nuala giggled. “Well,” she allowed, “he is handsome.”
“And has, I suspect,” Cailin told her, “an unquenchable thirst for your flesh. Could it be he is the first of your husbands?”
“Ohh, don’t tell anyone the Gypsy said I will have two husbands,” Nuala begged Cailin. “No man will want to take a chance on me if he thinks by doing so it will shorten his life. Then I will die an old maid!”
“I won’t tell,” Cailin promised Nuala, “but let us go watch the race, and see if you will indeed owe Bodvoc a kiss.”
No one believed that Corio could be beaten, but to everyone’s surprise, Bodvoc finished a full length ahead of the champion this time. Dressed only in a pair of leather briefs, his muscular chest wet with his exertion, he strode over to a very surprised Nuala.
“You owe me a kiss, Nuala of the blue, blue eyes,” he said softly. And a slow smile lit his handsome features.
“Why would I kiss a man who’s bested my favorite brother?” she asked him a trifle breathlessly, feeling just a little bit weak in the region of her knees. He was so …
so gorgeous!
Bodvoc did not argue with her. Instead he reached out, and pulling Nuala against his body, he bent to kiss her. Nuala sighed deeply and sagged against him for a long moment as her lips softened beneath his. She almost fell when he gently released her from his embrace and set her back. Her pale skin flushed a deeper hue as about her the racers, including her own brother, chuckled with amusement.
“Nuala?”
Cailin spoke low.
The sound of her cousin’s voice galvanized Nuala into action. Rearing back, she hit Bodvoc with all her might. “I did not say you might kiss me, you sweaty oaf!” she shouted, and ran from him, her dark hair flying.
“She loves me!” Bodvoc exulted, and turned to Corio. “Tell your father that I want Nuala for my wife,” he said, then ran off after the fleeing girl.
The crowd was dispersing. Cailin looked at Corio. “Will she have him?”
“Nuala has liked Bodvoc for several years, and she’s fourteen now. More than old enough to be a wife. It’s a good match. He’s eighteen, and strong. They’ll make beautiful babies, Cailin. Now we must find a husband for you, too, cousin. I don’t suppose you would consider me for a mate, would you?” For a small moment an almost hopeful look entered his eyes, and Cailin realized to her surprise that her cousin Corio harbored feelings for her that, if encouraged, could grow into love.
“Oh, Corio,” she said, and touched his arm. “I love you, but my love is like that of a sister for a brother. I do not think it will ever be anything more.” She hugged him. “I think at this time in my life I need a friend more than a husband. Be my friend.”
“The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she wants to be my friend,” said Corio mournfully. “I have surely displeased the gods that they would visit such a burden upon me.”
“You are a rogue, dearest cousin,” Cailin laughed, “and I do not feel one bit sorry for you. Your path is strewn with broken hearts.”
That evening Cailin got a little more insight into her Dobunni heritage when her grandfather stood before a huge audience in his hall and recited the history of their Celtic tribe. Next to him a young harper stood playing, his music alternately sweet and wild, depending upon the portion of the tale being recited at the time. Ceara and Maeve bustled about the hall, seeing to the comfort of their guests; but at the high board, Berikos’s youngest wife, Brigit, sat proudly on display.
In the three months she had lived among the Dobunni, Cailin had seen Brigit rarely, and she had never spoken with her. Brigit was beautiful, in a cold way, with her skin as flawless as marble, her icy silver eyes, her black, black hair. She held herself aloof, believing that her aged husband’s protection was all she needed.
“And when he dies, does she wonder what will become of her?” Ceara demanded bitterly one day.
“She will find another foolish old man,” Maeve said matter-of-factly. “No young man would have her, as she obviously lacks a heart. But an old man can be gulled into thinking he will be the envy of all for possessing a fair young wife.”
In the days that followed the celebration of Lugh, the final harvest was completed. The apples and pears were gathered from the orchards. The fields were plowed once again, and the winter wheat planted. Cailin dug carrots, turnips, and onions for cold storage.
“Leave the cabbage,” Ceara said, “until there is danger of a hard frost. It’s better in the garden. But pick all the lentils that are left, child. I want to dry them out and store them myself.”
“Look after Cailin when I am gone,” Brenna said to Ceara one afternoon. “Everything she has ever known is gone from her. She is brave, but I have heard her weeping at night in our sleeping space when she thinks I am asleep and cannot hear. Her pain is very great.”
“Why not Maeve?” Ceara asked. “She is your sister.”
“Maeve is ever a fool over Berikos,” Brenna said, “and besides,
Cailin has taken to you, Ceara. She will give Maeve honor, but it is you she trusts and is learning to love. Promise me you will look after her, dear old friend. My time is growing shorter with every passing hour, but I cannot go easily unless I know Cailin has a friend and a protector in you.”
“When you have passed through the door,” Ceara promised her, “I will watch over Cailin as I would one of my own granddaughters. I swear by Lugh, Danu, and Macha. You may rest easy in my word.”
“I know I can,” Brenna said, her relief obvious.
Brenna died on the eve of Samain, six months after incurring her injuries. She went quickly to sleep, but did not awaken the following morning. Cailin, in the company of Ceara and Maeve, washed the body and dressed it for burial. As refugees, Cailin and her grandmother had possessed little, but decorated pots, bronze vessels for food and drink, small bits of jewelry, furs, cloth, and other things considered necessary to a woman began to appear by the body in order that she be buried properly, as befitted a Dobunni chieftain’s wife.