Authors: Bertrice Small
Brigit’s eyes glittered at the sight of the gold, and Wulf thought that Berikos would not have his granddaughter’s bride price for very long if Brigit had her way. The woman’s mouth was sullen, however, and she finally said, “Is there no food in this hall that we might break our fast? Cailin is derelict in her duties, or has her marriage gone to her head? A good wife should have the morning meal ready at a respectable hour. I hope Ceara returns soon.”
“Perhaps if you did not sleep half the morning away, Brigit,” Cailin said as she entered the hall, “you would find the meal ready. Berikos and my husband ate hours ago. If you go to the cook house, however, they may give you something if you tell them I said to do so.” She smiled brightly at the woman. “I must be about my duties. A runner arrived this morning from Carvilius’s hill fort. Ceara and Maeve are expected before sunset. We will eat as soon as they arrive. Do try to be on time, lady.” She turned to her grandfather. “Is the bargain made between my husband and you, Berikos?”
“It is,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly. The girl was tough, and refused to be beaten. He’d
give her that. “Speak more gently to my lady wife in future, mongrel,” he warned her. “She is deserving of respect.”
“Only if she earns it, Berikos,” Cailin shot back, and turning on her heel, left them.
“There!”
Berikos crowed. “You have seen the rough edge of her tongue now, Wulf Ironfist, but it is too late! She is your wife.”
“The barb was not directed at me, Berikos. I like a woman who speaks her mind. I will only beat her if she defies me,” he answered.
Ceara, Maeve, and Nuala arrived even as the mid-afternoon winter sunset was turning the sky glorious shades of red, orange, gold, and dark purple. One cold bright star hung over Berikos’s hill fort, as if guiding them to the warm safety within. Nuala was excited to be home, and hugged her cousin tightly while her elders removed the cloaks.
Before they might hear it elsewhere, Berikos told his two older wives of Cailin’s marriage. Both were clearly horrified, and equally furious at Brigit’s part in the matter.
“She did it to be cruel,” Maeve cried in a rare show of anger before her husband. “You were filled with wine and mead, I’ve not a doubt, and went along with the bitch’s mischief! Oh, shame, Berikos!”
“You do not have to accept him as a husband, my child,” Ceara said, her calm tones belying her outrage. “There is no shame among our peoples if a woman samples pleasure with several men. If she learns to give equal pleasure, it but enhances her reputation as a possible wife. You can withdraw your consent, Cailin, if you wish. Berikos can return the Saxon’s gold piece. It can be done honorably.”
“I do not wish to withdraw my consent, Ceara,” Cailin said calmly. “Wulf Ironfist is a good man. I am content to be his wife. There is no other to whom I am attracted. Have you not been nagging me about marrying, lady?” she teased.
“But when he has finished his work here,” Ceara wailed, “he will take you away to the Saxon shore, and we will never see you again!”
“Good riddance, I say!” Brigit sneered.
Ceara rounded on her. “Shut your mouth, bitch! I should have killed you when I first laid eyes upon you. You are nothing but trouble!” Then she turned on her husband. “I have honored you my entire life, Berikos,” she began. “I have defended your decisions even when I knew them to be wrong. I stood silently by when you disowned your only daughter, and never said a word in Kyna’s defense when I should have. I gritted my teeth when you would not allow us to share the joy of the births of Brenna’s grandchildren, and I stood by silently again when Brenna left us to be with Kyna and her family.
“You are a foolish old man, Berikos! You wish to restore the Dobunni to greatness. What greatness? We never had any greatness! We are a simple clan. If you try to drive the Britons from their lands, they will fight back to defend these lands they have farmed for the last few hundred years. You will not succeed in this mad scheme even if I cannot prevent you from pursuing it; but I will not let Brenna’s only surviving grandchild leave us! You will give this Saxon the lands you promised him, and they will remain here. Unless, of course,” she concluded, “you wish to spend your days alone without Maeve and me.”
Berikos was flabbergasted. In all the years they had been married, Ceara had never spoken so harshly to him, privately or in public. He had also never seen her so angry. “What do you mean
without
Maeve and you?” was all he could think of to say. He did not even rail at her for her overly frank speech.
“We will leave you, Berikos,” Ceara said grimly. “We will go to other villages and live with our sons. But you need not fear. I am certain Brigit will keep your house, and nurse you tenderly when you grow sickly, and see that your food is cooked to your liking. Does she even know how you like your meals prepared? Probably not, but I am sure that you will tell her.”
“There is no need for that,” Berikos grumbled nervously.
Ceara cocked a bushy eyebrow quizzically. “Indeed?” she said.
“We will make some accommodation, lady, I swear it,” Berikos promised the angry woman. “There is no need for rashness.”
“We will see, old man,” Ceara answered him in dark tones.
Cailin looked up at her husband, her eyes twinkling with their conspiracy. They had agreed within the cozy closeness of their bed space early that morning that no mention would be made of her lands until they were ready to make their move. They would not press Berikos to keep his bargain. When the time came, they would retake the property belonging to the Drusus Corinium family.
The word was passed among the Dobunni villages that any wishing to relearn the ancient arts of war were to come to Berikos’s village, where they would be housed, fed, and taught in exchange for their service. Several wooden barracks were built within the walls of the hill fort for the prospective warriors. One hundred fifty young men, ranging in age from thirteen to eighteen, came. Berikos was disappointed with the small number. He had honestly believed there would be more.
“What did you expect?” Ceara said to him. “There are only a thousand of us. Many of the young men are already married, and do not choose to leave their families. Why should they?”
“What of honor?” Berikos said, outraged by her words.
Maeve chuckled. “Honor has little hope of keeping a man warm on a cold winter’s night. And what woman wants to spend her winter alone, or with only her children, or great with child, and no man to comfort her?”
“This
is what the Romans have done to us!” Berikos said grimly.
“The Romans did nothing to us we did not allow to be done,” Ceara told him matter-of-factly. “Besides, what sensible people do not prefer peace to war?”
“Our people,” Berikos said. “Our people who came out of the darkness, and across the plains and the oceans to Britain, Eire, Cymry, Gaul, and Armorica.
Our Celtic race
!”
“When will you accept the fact that that time is past,
Berikos?” Ceara said quietly to her husband. She put a comforting hand upon his arm, but he shook it off.
“No!
It cannot be. It will come again!” he insisted.
“Then train your warriors, you stubborn old man,” she said irritably. “When the spring comes, we will see what happens.”
The winter came with its cold winds, icy rains, and snow. Wulf Ironfist worked with his recruits, taking them on daylong marches in all kinds of weather with fifty-pound packs of equipment upon their backs. When they complained at first, he said coldly, “Rome’s legions carry more. Perhaps that is why you are no longer masters of your own land. You prefer drinking and telling outrageous tales to military training.” The young Dobunni gritted their teeth and complained no more. The clang of swords rang in the clear air of the hill fort, along with the
thunk
of the javelin meeting its target as the warriors-to-be honed their battle and survival skills.
Yet as harsh a taskmaster as Wulf Ironfist was in training his men, he was a completely different man with his wife. Ceara and Maeve both agreed that the Saxon, though he would be a fierce opponent upon the battlefield, was a gentle soul with Cailin and with the children of the hill fort who followed him admiringly, begging for his favor. More often than not he would take two of the littlest ones up in his arms and walk through the village carrying them as he went about his business. There was not a child who did not adore him, nor a young girl who did not try to attract his attention. After all, there was nothing limiting Wulf Ironfist to only one wife. The maidens, however, were doomed to disappointment, for the Saxon had no time for anyone or anything but Cailin and his duty.
Cailin was content with her life. She had an attractive husband who was kind and regularly made passionate love to her. It seemed to be enough, particularly as she quickly found herself with child. She realized that her parents had had a different sort of relationship than she had with Wulf Ironfist, but she did not understand what that relationship had been.
Cailin’s swelling belly pleased her husband. Here was proof of his virility for the Dobunni. Berikos was not pleased. Now he would never get rid of the Saxon. If Ceara and Maeve were determined that he and Cailin stay before this, they would be implacable now. Berikos sighed to himself. What difference would one damned Saxon make anyway? And there was always the chance Wulf would be killed in battle.
Cailin enjoyed the long, dark winter nights spent in Wulf’s arms. Once she divulged her condition to him, he was more careful of her, but no less vigorous a lover. He liked cuddling her spoon-fashion, his big roughened hands cupping her round, little breasts, which were swelling now with her condition. Her nipples, always sensitive, became even more so with each passing day.
“What a little wanton you have become,” he said to her one night as he sheathed his great weapon gently in her passage from behind so that his weight would not harm the child. He fondled her bosom, wickedly teasing the hard buds of her nipples. He then slipped his hands down, grasping her about the hips, drawing her firmly against his belly. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of her neck, nuzzled at the marks, and then placed a kiss on the flesh.
Cailin squirmed against him. “Are wives not allowed to be wanton, my husband? Ohhhhh,” she squealed softly as he probed her more deeply, and her hips began to rotate just slightly against him.
Wulf groaned. He had never known any woman to have the effect on him that Cailin did. She roused him quicker, and brought him on quicker. He wasn’t certain that he liked it, but he certainly did not dislike it. Unable to help himself, he began to pump her, her little staccato cries of pleasure only increasing his own.
Cailin thought dizzily that she should be used to him by now, but each time he took her, the excitement built and built until she could scarcely bear it, it was so achingly sweet. He seemed to grow and swell within her until finally they would
both burst with pleasure, and yet the afterglow was delicious as well. Even now when the child moved within her she enjoyed his attentions. “Ahhhhhhh!” she sighed at last.
“Soon we must cease this,” he told her reluctantly.
“Why?” she asked him.
“I fear I might hurt the child,” he replied.
“Will you take another woman?” she asked, and he heard the edge of jealousy in her voice, which pleased him inordinately.
He was silent a long moment. “Would you mind if I did?” he asked, affecting a nonchalant air.
Now it was Cailin’s turn to be silent for a time.
Would she mind?
And if she did, why would she mind? “Yes,” she finally answered him. “I would mind it if you took another woman to your bed. But do not ask me why, because I do not understand it. I just would!”
“Then I will not,” he told her. “If I cannot keep my desires in check like a man, then I am no better than a green boy. Besides, I have seen the difficulties your grandfather has with more than one wife. I think I should just as soon avoid such difficulties, although I do not promise I will always feel so, lambkin.”
Cailin found herself smiling at his words. There would be no other wives if she could help it. One wife was more than enough for any man, even a magnificent, marvelous man like Wulf Ironfist. She would always be more than enough woman for him. Then a thought struck her. Why did it matter to her? Was it possible she cared for him? Was his thoughtfulness a sign he might care for her? Cailin slid into a contented slumber, her last waking memory that of her husband’s deep sleepy breath humming against her ear. It was a comfortable feeling.
Several days later, on a bright April morning, Wulf Ironfist put his plan to regain his wife’s property into effect. Assembling the young warriors he had spent the winter months training, he asked them, “How would you like to demonstrate your skills to me by helping me take a villa owned by a Roman called Quintus Drusus?”
The young men looked distinctly uncomfortable. Then Corio, Cailin’s cousin, said, “Most of the lads want to return to their villages, Wulf. The planting is already under way, and their families need them. You never really expected that they would form an army for Berikos and carry out his foolish plans, did you?”
Wulf Ironfist laughed. “No, Corio, I did not. However, Quintus Drusus is the fellow who murdered Cailin’s family, and was responsible for Brenna’s death. I promised Cailin when I wed her that I would regain her family’s lands for her, and for our children.”
Corio’s blue eyes widened, and then he grinned. “So that is why you have never pressed grandfather about the lands he promised you! You knew all along that you would have Cailin’s property.”
“I will only have it if you and the lads will help me to retake it, and mete out justice to this Quintus Drusus,” Wulf Ironfist said honestly. “I cannot do it without your help, Corio.”
Corio turned to the other young men. “ ‘Twill only take a few days of our time,” he told them. “We will right a wrong, and Cailin can go home again to raise her children, to give honor to her dead family, to live in peace as we would live.” He looked to his companions, and when each head among them nodded in assent, he turned back to Wulf Ironfist, saying, “We’ll do it!”