Authors: Bertrice Small
“ ‘Tis virtually impregnable,” Wulf Ironfist said in answer to Ragnar’s thoughts as he joined his guest. “Have you eaten? Come into the hall, Ragnar Strongspear.”
The hall doors were also thick oak, and bound with bands of iron studded with large iron nails. The two men passed through them into the hall. It was not like his smoky and dirty hall, Ragnar noted. Indeed, the smoke from the fire pits was drawn directly out several smoke holes in the roof. The rushes upon the floor were clean, and filled with sweet herbs that gave off their perfume as they were crushed beneath his feet. Several well-fed, sleek hounds came up to sniff him, and then returned to their places by the fires. The two men seated themselves at the high board. At once a line of quiet, contented-looking servants began to serve them, bringing platters of food and pouring brown ale.
Ragnar’s eyes grew wide at the variety of foods offered him. He was certainly not fed like this in his hall. There was a thick pottage, warm, newly baked bread, hard-boiled eggs, broiled trout, ham, sweet butter, hard cheese, and a bowl filled with apples and pears. “Were you expecting guests?” he asked his host.
“No,” Wulf said. “My wife keeps a good table, doesn’t yours?”
“There is not this variety,” Ragnar admitted, and helped himself liberally to everything offered.
There was silence as the two men ate. When they had finished and the table cleared, Wulf said quietly, “If you thought
to retake these lands, Ragnar Strongspear, put it from your mind. They belong to me.”
“Only as long as you can hold them,” the older man said, grinning.
“I will hold them for longer than you have life,” was the cool reply. “This hall and the lands to the north and to the east are mine.
I will keep them
. Seek out the lands to the south for yourself and your children. You cannot have my estates.”
“You have taken Dobunni lands?” Ragnar was surprised.
“They have given me the fealty,” Wulf told him, a small smile upon his lips. “While you spent the summer months plotting and planning, Ragnar Strongspear, I spent those months doing. Go home, and tell Antonia Porcius to cease her greedy thoughts. I cannot imagine why you took her to wife. She is a very evil woman. If you do not know this, be warned. No doubt she wants her lands back for her son Quintus. She will do what she must to gain her desire. She will even destroy you if she can.”
“You seem to know my wife well,” Ragnar said dryly.
“After Antonia had stolen my daughter and sent my wife into slavery, she told me that they were both dead,” Wulf answered. “She offered herself to me, disrobing in the atrium of her villa and pushing her breasts into my face. I found her singularly undesirable.”
“She can be at times,” Ragnar admitted, “but she is also the best damn fuck I have ever had. I swear it by Woden himself!”
“Then I congratulate you on your good fortune,” Wulf said, “but I still advise you to beware her. There is no necessity for us to quarrel, Ragnar Strongspear. There is more than enough land for us all. Stay to the south, and there will be peace between us.”
His guest nodded in reply. Then he said, “Where is your wife, Wulf Ironfist? I hope she is not ill.”
“Nay, but she is seeing to the preparations for a small celebration of our daughter’s natal day. It is the first time since Aurora’s birth that we have been able to celebrate it together,”
he told the other man. “As you know, we did not even realize we had a daughter until several months ago.”
Ragnar flushed. “That was not my fault,” he said. “I believed Antonia when she said the child was hers. She is fair like Antonia. Why should I have not believed her?”
“We do not hold you responsible,” Wulf assured him graciously.
“I must go,” Ragnar said, rising. Wulf’s manner was beginning to irritate him. “I thank you for the meal. I will certainly consider your words, Wulf Ironfist.”
As Ragnar departed Cadda-wic, his thoughts were somewhat confused. Wulf Ironfist had actually given him good advice. The lands to the south of him were rich, and most of the poor souls farming it could not withstand the force of his might. Those lands could be his for the taking, and with little loss of life on his side. He was not afraid of death, nor of battle, but there was something about this Britain that made a man desire peace more than war. He did not understand it, but neither did it make him unhappy.
Antonia, however, did not quite see it that way. “Why would you settle for less than you can have?” she demanded of him scornfully.
To her credit, he thought, she was not afraid of his anger. She knew herself safe as she was growing big with his child. He did not believe in beating a woman who was with child, though the gods knew this particular woman tried him sorely. His two Saxon wives were strong women as well, but they had a sweetness to them. Antonia was bitterly hard of heart, her only softness being that which she showed toward her son. The boy, Ragnar thought, was a cowardly little weasel, always hiding behind his mother’s skirts.
“What would you have of me, then?” he demanded irritably. “Why should I war with Wulf Ironfist over his lands, when the lands to the south are as rich, and easier pickings? Perhaps, Antonia, you hope that Wulf Ironfist will vanquish me and you will regain control of these lands for your son. Put such thoughts from your head,
wife
. Soon my brother and
his family will join us. If I die an unnatural death, Gunnar will be here to avenge me, and to hold these lands for himself and our sons.”
She was astounded. This was the first she had heard of his brother, but used to deceit, Antonia covered her surprise with a sweet smile. “You did not tell me that you had a brother, Ragnar, or that he would be coming to join us. Has he wives and children? When is he to arrive? We must prepare a proper welcome for our family.”
Ragnar’s booming laughter filled their bed space. “By Woden, Antonia, you are clever, but I see through you! You were not expecting that I had additional family, but we Saxons are good breeders, as your belly attests to,” he told her, patting the place where his child grew within her. “You had some scheme in mind, and now, I have not a doubt, you will form another crafty plot to replace it. Very well, if it amuses you to do so. Breeding women are given to such vagaries, and it is harmless enough, I think.” He lowered his dark blond head and kissed her plump shoulder. His shoulder-length hair brushed her breasts.
Reaching up, Antonia thoughtfully stroked his beard. She hated him, but he was the most virile man she had ever known. “Do not be a fool, Ragnar,” she finally told him. “Take the lands to the south, for Wulf Ironfist has given you good advice. Even I will admit to that. Lull our enemy into a false sense of security, and when he least expects it, seize his lands as well! Why settle for being a minor lordling when you could be a king?”
At her words, the child within her kicked mightily, and Ragnar Strongspear felt the movement beneath his resting hand. “It is an omen,” he said, almost fearfully. “Why else would the child grow so restive in your womb, Antonia? Surely it is a sign of some sort.”
“Our son knows that I speak the truth, my husband,” she told him. “Or perhaps it is the gods who speak to you through the babe.” What a fool he is, she thought to herself. If the gods existed, and frankly Antonia was no longer certain that
they did, why would they bother to concern themselves with one as foolish and superstitious as this great bull of a man who lay by her side contemplating the future?
“My brother and his family should be here in a few days’ time,” he told her finally. “He has just a single wife, as he has never been able to afford more, but now, of course, that will change. He is younger than I am by several years, but he fathered his first child on his wife when he was but fourteen. There are eight living children. Six sons.”
“What a fine family,” Antonia said dryly, thinking that this horrid hall he had built to replace her beautiful villa—the villa he had destroyed—was already badly overcrowded. The addition of ten more people would but add to the noise and the filth. The gods! She missed her bath with its lovely rejuvenating steam and its delicious hot water. How Ragnar’s other wives mocked her when she insisted on washing herself in a little oaken tub filled with warm water. But she didn’t care. She would wager that Cailin Drusus had better bathing accommodations, the bitch! “Ragnar,” she said to her husband, who was half dozing.
“What?” he grunted.
“If Cadda-wic is truly fortified so well it cannot be taken in battle, then we will have to think of another way to capture it.”
He shook his head at her. “There is no way. Wulf Ironfist has built strongly, and he has built well. Even the water supply is safely within his walls. I am not a man to easily admit defeat, Antonia, but Cadda-wic cannot be taken. It simply cannot be!”
“Let me tell you a tale of ancient times, Ragnar,” Antonia said patiently, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“Another time, woman,” he said, and rolled her onto her side. “I have other things in mind for you, and then I must sleep. In the morning you may tell me your fable, but now I want to fuck you.”
“Your needs are so simple,” she taunted him, hissing softly as he penetrated her expertly. “If you are as good a warrior as you are a lover, my husband, you will have no difficulty in
taking Cadda-wic once I have shown you how. Ahhh, yess, Ragnar! Yesss!”
Cadda-wic
. He thought about it as he methodically pumped her. The lands were good, the hall sound, and Cailin would be an extra bonus. He had seen her several times, but he could not dismiss her from his mind. What fire and spirit she had! He imagined she would be as strong and sweet as his Saxon wives, and as lustful as Antonia. It was a perfect combination, and he meant to have her. There was time, however. Neither she nor Wulf Ironfist were going anywhere. They had made it abundantly clear that the land meant everything to them. He would have more than enough time to take the lands to the south. To settle his brother and his family on a nearby holding. To find Gunnar a second wife with a good dowry. Oh, yes, there was plenty of time.
The autumn came, and Nuala bore Winefrith a fine, big son, who was called Barre. It meant a gateway between two places. Nuala thought it appropriate, for Barre was indeed a bridge between the Britain of old and the new Britain. Cailin was present at the birth, and afterward marveled at the child’s size and how strongly he tugged upon his mother’s breast when he was put there to nurse.
“You’ll have a son of your own soon enough,” Nuala teased her. “Surely you and Wulf do not spend all that time in the solar just talking, cousin.” She giggled. “I know I wouldn’t!”
“Fresh from childbirth, and totally shameless,” Cailin said, pretending to be scandalized. “For your information, Wulf enjoys watching me at my loom, Nuala. And then, of course, we sing together.”
Nuala looked thunderstruck. “You jest!” she said.
“I assure you it is quite true,” Cailin replied sweetly.
“Indeed it is,” Wulf said, agreeing with his wife, whom he had overheard spinning her mischievous tale. “Cailin weaves a most marvelous spell about me when we are in the solar together, and sings passion’s song far better than any I have ever known.”
Nuala burst out laughing, realizing that they were teasing her. The infant at her breast hiccuped, and began to wail. “Ohh, see what you have done to Barre!” she scolded them, suddenly all maternal concern and caring. “There, my little sweetheart. Do not fuss.”
By the Winterfest, the lady of Cadda-wic was beginning to swell with another child, much to everyone’s delight. It would be born, Cailin told them, after Beltane.
“And it is a son, I am certain,” she assured Wulf.
“How can you tell?” he asked her, smiling.
She shrugged. “I just can,” she said. “A woman senses such things. Is that not so?” She turned to the other women in the hall for support, and they all nodded in agreement.
“You see!”
The winter set in, and the land around them grew white and silent. The days were short, and quick. In the long nights the wolves could be heard howling about Cadda-wic, their eerie cries answered by the mournful howls of the hounds in the hall who grew restless at the knowledge of the predators prowling beyond the strong iron and oak gates.
Wulf and Cailin were alone, for the others had returned to their own villages after the Winterfest. Cailin missed Nuala. Nellwyn, though sweet and loyal, was not particularly interesting to chat with by the fire. Aurora, however, adored her, and without anything being said, Cailin’s former slave became the child’s nursemaid. It was just as well, for Cailin did not need a personal servant. Her mother had raised her to be a useful person who could do for herself. Now, as mistress of Cadda-wic, Cailin found herself responsible for the well-being of all those in her charge.
Finally the days began to grow discernibly longer. The air felt milder. Patches of earth became visible, and the snow cover shrank rapidly as the earth began to grow warmer with the coming spring. Snowdrops, narcissi, and violets began to make their appearance. Cailin was pleased to find several large clumps growing near the graves of her family. The marble marker had never been finished, and it was now unlikely that it ever would be. It simply read:
The Family of Gaius
Drusus Corinium
. Looking down at it, Cailin sighed, her hand moving to her swollen belly in a protective gesture. How her family would have spoiled her children!
“This child I carry is a son,” she assured them aloud. “How I wish you could be here to see him when he is born. He is to be called Royse. Aurora is very excited about the new baby. Ohh!” Cailin looked up as an arm went about her shoulders. “Wulf, how you startled me!”
“You miss your family, don’t you?” he replied. “I cannot even remember my mother. I often wonder what she was like.”
“Until they were murdered,” Cailin answered him, “they were my whole life. I cannot help but wonder what it would have been like if they had not died. My parents, of course, would not be much changed, but my brothers would. They would truly be men now, with families. How my grandmother would have enjoyed those great-grandchildren. I think, perhaps, it is Brenna I miss the most. How strange that must sound to you.”