Authors: Bertrice Small
As they stood in silence waiting, the Dobunni snuck looks about the atrium, for most of them had never been in so fine a house. Then suddenly Quintus Drusus entered the room. From her place behind her husband Cailin peeked at her cousin. He had put on weight since she had last seen him, and was almost fat. He was still handsome, however, but his eyes were now openly hard, and his mouth a trifle sullen.
“How dare you enter my home unannounced and uninvited, you savages,” he blustered at them, but Quintus Drusus knew as he spoke the words he could not have stopped these men. “What do you want? State your business with me, if indeed you have any business with me, and then get out!”
Wulf Ironfist took the measure of the man before him and could see that he was soft. This was no warrior; just a carrion creature who allowed others to do the killing for him, and then moved in to take the largest portion of the spoils. The Saxon moved just slightly to one side, allowing Cailin to step forward.
“Hail, Quintus Drusus,” she said, enjoying immensely his look of amazement which was quickly followed by one of fury.
“You are dead,”
he said.
“Nay, I am very much alive,
cousin
. I have returned to claim what is rightfully mine,
and
to see that justice is done,” she told him. “I will show you no more mercy than you showed my family!”
“What is this? What is this?” Anthony Porcius entered the atrium, followed by his daughter.
It was Antonia who saw Cailin first, and she gasped with surprise. “Cailin Drusus! How can this be? You surely died in that tragic fire almost a year ago! But I can see you did not. Where have you been? And why are you wearing those dreadful clothes?”
Cailin nodded to Antonia, but her words were for Anthony Porcius. “Chief magistrate of Corinium, I claim justice from you.”
“You will have it, Cailin Drusus,” the magistrate answered solemnly, “but tell me, child, how is it you survived that terrible fire, and why is it you have not revealed yourself until now?”
“For reasons I will never understand,” Cailin told him, “the gods spared me death in the conflagration that destroyed my home. I had stayed late at the Beltane celebrations. When I arrived back at the villa, it was in flames, and my grandmother Brenna was collapsed outside. She insisted we flee,
saying the danger to our lives was great. We walked the rest of the night, until at dawn we reached the hill fort of my grandfather, Berikos, chieftain of the hill Dobunni. It was there that she told us what had happened.”
“What had happened?”
Quintus Drusus demanded edgily.
“You piece of Roman filth!” Cailin cried angrily. “You are an embarrassment to the name of Drusus.
You
murdered my family, and
you
dare to play the innocent? I pray the gods strike you down before me, Quintus Drusus!”
Cailin looked again to the magistrate. “My cousin arranged for two Gauls he owned to gain their freedom by doing his heinous bidding. They gained entry to the villa, killed my parents and my brothers, and felled Brenna with a single blow. Unbeknownst to them, it did not kill her. She lay waiting until she could make her escape. She overheard these Gauls bragging about how well they had carried out their master’s bidding—first by murdering his two little stepsons and making it appear as if the nursemaids had been negligent. The murder of my family was to complete their service to Quintus Drusus. They even knew where my father kept his gold, and they looted it before fleeing.
“I, too, was to be killed, but it grew late. The Gauls feared exposure and execution if they did not soon flee, so they fired my home and departed. My grandmother escaped, crawling through the flames and smoke. We fled to my grandfather, fearing that if my cousin learned of our survival, he would seek to finish the task he had started. Brenna never recovered; she died at Samain. Now I have returned, Anthony Porcius. I claim what is rightfully mine as the sole surviving member of the Drusus Corinium family. I am a married woman now, and my child will be born after the harvest. I want my lands back. I want this murderer punished,” Cailin concluded.
It was a great deal to absorb. Anthony Porcius had never liked Quintus Drusus, but he had swallowed his own feelings for he had not liked Sextus Scipio, either. He had assumed that as a doting father it was his nature to dislike Antonia’s husbands. He realized now that perhaps he had been right all along, and his daughter was incapable of choosing a good
man. Now Cailin was accusing her cousin of not only the murder of her family, but of his two little grandsons as well. It was horrifying, but in his heart of hearts he believed it to be true. Quintus was a cold, hard man. Still, Anthony Porcius was a chief magistrate. Everything he did must be done exactly according to the letter of the law.
He drew a deep breath. “I can, of course, return the land to you, Cailin Drusus. It is indeed yours by right of inheritance, and you have a husband to work and protect it. As for your accusations against Quintus Drusus, what proof can you give me other than this story your grandmother told?”
Cailin looked bleakly at him and said, “Once my mother told me that before she married my father, while she was living with my grandparents in Corinium, you fell in love with her. She, however, loved my father, but when she turned you away, it was with gentleness, for she respected you. If there is any pity in your heart, Anthony Porcius, help me avenge her death. Do you know what my cousin’s Gauls did to her? They raped and beat her until they killed her. My grandmother said her last glimpse of her daughter was her bloodied and battered face and body. She was once a very beautiful woman. This murderer that your daughter has wed has not even had the kindness to bury her bones or those of the rest of my family. They lie where they were killed, while Quintus Drusus tills
our
fields with
our
slaves.
Is this the Roman justice of our ancestors?”
The magistrate looked as if he would cry. She was telling the truth; in his very heart and soul the part of him that was Celtic knew it; but he could not help her. “The law, Cailin Drusus, requires proof. You have no proof but the words of a dying old woman. It is not enough. I would help you if I could, but I cannot.
There is no proof.”
Cailin burst into tears. “Have I survived everything, and come to you for justice, only to be denied? Must I live the rest of my days knowing that Quintus Drusus continues on in comfort when my family is dead and gone?” She wiped her tears away with the heel of her palm, and then her moment of weakness passed. She looked at her cousin. “You know what
you did, Quintus Drusus. Do not rest easy feeling that you have escaped punishment. If you are wise, you will never close your eyes in sleep again. I will see you punished if it is the last thing I ever do, you murderer!”
“You have gone mad, or else your natural grief has addled your wits, Cailin, my dear,” Quintus said in a bored and superior tone. He hated losing his cousin’s lands after all his hard work, but he would correct that. He just needed time, and since his father-in-law maintained that a lack of hard evidence made it impossible to prosecute him, he would have that time.
“Well,” Antonia said, “now that is settled, may I offer you wine?” She smiled brightly, as if she had heard nothing of what had transpired.
“Nothing is settled until your husband pays for his crimes,” Cailin said coldly. “By the gods, Antonia, do you not realize what Quintus has done? Not just to me, but to you as well!”
“Quintus is a good husband to me, Cailin,” Antonia said primly.
“Quintus is a heartless bastard!” Cailin snapped. “Before he murdered my family, he had his Gauls murder the sons you birthed by Sextus Scipio. They were innocent children!”
“My sons drowned in the atrium pond because their licentious nursemaids were negligent,” Antonia replied, but her voice quavered with the secret doubts she had always harbored about the incident.
“Your husband’s Gauls throttled your children in their beds, and then placed their lifeless bodies in the atrium pool,” Cailin told the woman bluntly, cruelly.
“It isn’t true!” Antonia began to sob.
“It is true!” Cailin said harshly. “Does it hurt you to know what Quintus did? Perhaps then you will understand some of what I feel, Antonia.”
“Quintus! Tell me it isn’t so,” Antonia wept.
“Tell me!”
“Yes, cousin,” Cailin mocked him. “Tell her the truth, if indeed you even know how to tell it. Have you ever told the
truth in your whole life? Tell your wife, the mother of your only son, that you did not arrange to have her sons from her first marriage disposed of; and then tell her that you did not have those same Gauls murder my family in order that you would inherit my father’s lands.
Tell her, Quintus!
Tell her the truth, if you dare—but you do not, do you?
You are a coward!”
Quintus Drusus’s face was contorted with terrifying fury. “And you are a bitch, Cailin Drusus!” he hissed at her. “Who among the gods hates me so that he protected you from death that night when I had arranged for everything to be ended so neatly?”
Cailin threw herself at her cousin and raked her nails down his handsome face.
“I will kill you myself!”
she screamed at him, teeth bared.
Quintus Drusus raised his hands to strike out at her, but suddenly his arms were grasped and pinioned hard behind him. Panic rose in his chest as he saw the huge Saxon warrior push Cailin firmly behind him. Quintus Drusus knew from the look upon the man’s face that he was going to die. “Noooooo!” he howled, struggling desperately to free himself from the iron grip holding him.
Wulf Ironfist slid his sword from its sheath. It was a two-edged blade, thirty-three inches in length, made of finely forged steel, with an almost round point. Grasping the weapon firmly by its pommel, the Saxon thrust it straight into Quintus Drusus’s heart, twisting the blade just slightly in order to sever the arteries. His blue eyes never left those of his panicked victim. His look was pitiless. The undisguised terror he saw in return was small payment for all the misery and heartache Quintus Drusus had caused those about him, especially Cailin. When life had fled the Roman’s eyes, Wulf pulled his blade from the dead man’s chest and wiped it clean on Quintus’s toga. Corio then allowed the body to fall to the floor.
The Saxon looked challengingly at the magistrate, but Anthony Porcius said smoothly, “He condemned himself with
his own words.” He put a comforting arm about his daughter. “Wait here,” he told them, and then he led Antonia from the atrium.
“A realistic man,” Corio noted dryly.
“He was always practical,” Cailin told him. “My father said for all his girth, Anthony Porcius had to be lighter than thistledown, for he could blow in any direction with any wind, just like a duck feather.” She looked down at the lifeless body of her cousin. “I am glad he is dead. I’m just sorry he did not suffer like my mother did.”
“Your mother is with the gods,” Corio told her. “This Roman is not, I am certain.” He looked to Wulf. “I think the men can wait outside now. There is no danger here.”
“Dismiss them,” Wulf Ironfist said, and then he told his wife, “Come and sit down, lambkin. It has been a long morning for a woman in your condition. Are you tired? Would you like something to drink?”
“I am all right, Wulf,” she told him. “Do I look like some delicate creature who must be pampered?” But she sat nonetheless on a small marble bench by the atrium pool. It was empty of water now.
Anthony Porcius came back into the atrium. “I have given my daughter into the keeping of her women,” he said. “She is, unfortunately, with child again.” He sat down next to Cailin. “My dear, what can I say that would possibly ease your suffering?” He shook his head wearily. “You never liked him, I know. I did not, either, but I thought I was a foolish old man jealous of his only child’s husband. Well, he is dead now, and will not harm you or Antonia again. What is past is past. When I return to Corinium, I will see your survival is made known, and I will have your lands legally restored. Your family’s slaves, and other goods of course, will be returned. Where will you live? The villa is in ruins.”
“The Dobunni warriors with us will help to raise a hall for us. We will bury my family with honor, then clear away the rubble and begin. There is nothing salvageable. We will have to start from the beginning, just like my ancestor, the first Drusus Corinium, did,” Cailin said.
“The big Saxon is your husband?” Anthony Porcius asked curiously.
“Yes. We were wed five months ago,” she told him, and then seeing the worry in his face, she continued, “It was my choice, Anthony Porcius. Celts do not force their children into marriage.”
“I know,” he rejoined. “For all my Roman name, Cailin Drusus, I am every bit as much a Celt as you.”
“I am a Briton,” she told him. “I am a Briton, and Britain is my land. I will not take sides against one part or the other of myself. I am proud of my ancestry, of its history. I honor the old customs when I can honor them, but I am a Briton, not a Roman, not a Celt. My husband, Wulf Ironfist, is a Saxon, but our children will be as I am. They will be Britons. I will teach them my history, and Wulf will teach them his, but they will be Britons. We must all be Britons now if we are to survive this dark destiny before us, Anthony Porcius. Everything as we knew it has changed, or is changing. It is a hard world in which we live.”
“Yes, my child, it is,” he agreed. He arose and drew her up with him. “Go now, Cailin Drusus. Go with your strong, young husband, and make this new beginning. In time the horror of today will fade. My grandchildren will play with your children, and there will be peace between us then, as there has always been between our families.” He kissed her brow tenderly and then put her hand into Wulf’s. “May the gods be with you both,” he told them.
Together they walked from the atrium of the villa, Corio in their wake.
“A new beginning,” said Wulf Ironfist. “I like the sound of it.”
“Yes,” Cailin agreed, and she smiled up at both men. “A new beginning for us all. For Britain,
and for the Britons.”