Cailin would need a husband before the year was out. Brenna would not live much longer than that. Although she had not seemed injured by the fire at the villa, her lungs had probably been seared by the heat and the smoke of the blaze. She had never regained her strength. The least effort was far too strenuous for her. She spent most of her time sitting or sleeping. Walking, even a short distance, taxed her, so that Corio would now carry Brenna from one place to another so she might remain a participant in their family life. If Cailin did not see her grandmother fading away, Ceara and Maeve did.
Daily life in Berikos’s village revolved around cultivation of the fields and care of the livestock. The land belonged to the tribe in common, but ownership of stock separated the social classes. Berikos had a large herd of short-horned cattle that were used for milk, meat, and sometimes were sold. He owned sheep that grew wool of an excellent quality. Each man in his family had at least two horses, but Berikos had a herd. He possessed hens, geese, and ducks, and he kept pigs. Celtic salt pork was famed throughout the western world, and the Dobunni exported it on a regular basis. Berikos also raised hunting dogs of which he was inordinately proud.
Cailin learned to work in Ceara’s vegetable garden. This was a type of labor her family had left to their slaves, but although she was distressed by the condition of her hands after several days’ labor, Cailin learned from her cousin Nuala, Corio’s little sister, that a cream of rendered sheep fat and Mary’s gold would cure rough hands, or any part of her skin needing attention.
Nuala, who was almost fourteen, took Cailin with her when she watched over the sheep. Cailin enjoyed those hours out upon the green hillsides. Nuala told her all she needed to know about her Dobunni family, and Cailin in turn shared her life before her family’s murders with Nuala. She was the first real friend Cailin had ever had. She was far kinder than the Romano-Briton girls Cailin had grown up with, and a great deal more fun-loving. Taller than Cailin, she had wonderful long dark hair, and bright blue eyes.
Cailin rarely saw her grandfather, and counted it a blessing. He spent his nights with his young wife Brigit, in her house. Brigit, however, did not cook to suit the old man, so he took his meals in his own hall. Cailin avoided Berikos for Brenna’s sake, but he had not forgotten her.
“Is she useless as all Roman women?” he asked Ceara one day.
“Kyna taught her to cook, weave, and sew,” Ceara answered him. “She does them well. That joint you are gnawing on with such satisfaction was cooked by Cailin.”
“Hmmmmm,” the old man replied.
“And she tends my vegetable garden for me, Berikos. My bones are almost as old as yours are. I do not like getting up and down, weeding, hoeing, transplanting. Cailin does it all for me now. She learns quickly. Nuala has been taking her out to help tend the sheep. Cailin nurses Brenna, too. Kyna raised her well. She is a good girl, but we must find a husband for her. Brenna will not live much longer, and after her death, Cailin will feel that she has no one.”
“She has us,” Berikos said harshly.
“It will not be enough,” Ceara told him.
“Well,” the Dobunni chieftain said, “at least she is earning her keep, if you are to be believed, Ceara.”
“I am not the wife who is prone to lying to you, Berikos,” Ceara said sharply. “You must look to your Catuvellauni for lies.”
“Why can you not get on with Brigit?” he grumbled at her.
“Because she has no respect for me, or for Maeve. She takes advantage of you, Berikos, and you let her. She calls to your dark side, and encourages it so that you do things you would have never done before you married her. She is wicked, and far too ambitious for a hill Dobunni chieftain’s wife. But why do I waste words on you? You do not want to hear them. I have never lied to you, Berikos. Cailin is a good girl,” Ceara finished quietly.
In mid-June the spelt, a species of early wheat, was harvested. In late July the einkorn, a single-grained variety of wheat, was harvested along with barley, rye, and millet. The grain to be kept for seed or barter was put in stone subterranean silos, closed with clay seals. The grain for everyday use was stored in the barns. The hay was cut and set out to dry upon wooden racks.
Nuala and Cailin collected leaves of woad, carefully filling their rush baskets with the greenery; when processed, it made a marvelous blue dye for which the Celts were famous. They also dug madder root, which yielded an excellent red dye. When the two were mixed together, a royal-purple resulted, which was very much in demand. The colors would eventually be used on garments made from the flax and hemp that were also being harvested.
August first was the feast of the great Celtic sun god Lugh. It was marked all over Britain by a general military truce between the tribes. The main harvest done, there would be a great gathering of all the hill Dobunni, with games, races, music, and poetry recitals. Cailin was familiar with the festival. In Corinium there had been a fair at Lugh’s feast.
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.