“You will not be safe,” Wulf Ironfist said, “unless I kill this Quintus Drusus. Remember, he had no mercy upon your family.”
“I will never forget his treachery as long as I live,” Cailin replied. “Of course you must kill him, but not in such a way that the magistrate can charge you with his murder. My son must have his father.”
“And my son’s mother must remain here where she will be safe,” Wulf countered with what he thought was sound logic.
“If I do not go with you, then how will they know I am alive? I want Quintus to see me, and know that I have come not just to reclaim what is rightfully mine, but to expose his wickedness to the world.”
“You cannot ride a horse, Cailin,” Corio said.
“There is little to riding pillion behind my husband,” Cailin replied. “My belly is not that big yet. The child is not due until after the harvest. I must be there. It is my right to see justice served!”
“Very well,” her husband answered, “but we leave before dawn, Cailin. If we meet with any resistance, you must get down and hide. Will you promise me that, lambkin?”
“Yes,” she said, and then she smiled almost cruelly. “It will be very frightening to see a large party of armed warriors coming from the forest and across the fields. It has been over a hundred years since such a thing has occurred, and certainly not in the memory of anyone living hereabouts now. You will strike terror into all who see you.” She looked at the two men. “Does Berikos know of your plans?”
They shook their heads.
“We will only tell him we are taking the men on a practice march,” Wulf said. “He doesn’t have to know any more than that.”
“No,” Cailin agreed. “He does not. He grows stranger as each day passes, and spends all his time with Brigit. We only see him for meals in the early morning and at night. Frankly, I prefer it.”
Her two companions said nothing. Berikos’s overthrow was not Cailin’s business. It would happen soon enough.
It was dank and chilly as they arose in the dark of the night to dress for their departure. Wulf handed his wife a pair of braccos.
“Corio gave them to me to give you,” he said. “They are lined in rabbit fur, and big enough for your belly.”
Cailin was delighted to have the garment. She made a belt from a length of ribbon to hold up the braccos, and then slipped her camisa and tunic dress on over them. Her boots were fur-lined as well, and absorbed the chill from her feet even as she slid into them. She ran the pearwood comb through her hair and, taking up her cloak, silently followed her husband outside, where Corio and the others were already waiting upon their own animals.
Wulf Ironfist mounted his horse, then reached down and pulled Cailin up behind him. She put her arms about his waist, and they were off. There was a waning moon that gave them scant light, and the forest was particularly dark, but with each foot forward that they traveled, the sky above them faded from pitch-black to gray-black, and finally to an overcast gray as they crossed the great meadow Cailin remembered from her journey to the Dobunni hill fort almost a year ago. Birds chirped cheerily as they passed through the second wood and then over the hills that led to the home Cailin had once known.
On the crest of the final hill they stopped, and looking down Cailin could see the ruins of her family’s home. They looked undisturbed, the rubble uncleared, although the surrounding fields were plowed and the trees in the orchards appeared to be well-pruned. “Take me to the villa,” she said softly. “It is early yet, and there is no one about to give the alarm.”
Wulf Ironfist led his warriors down the hill. They stopped before the ruined building, and Cailin clambered down from the horse’s back. For a long moment she stood just staring, and then she entered. Carefully she picked her way through the atrium, stepping over the fallen timbers that lay strewn across what had once been a magnificent stone floor inlaid with mosaic designs. Wulf, Corio, and several of the other men followed her.
Reaching her parents’ bedchamber, Cailin moved into the space. Nothing was recognizable—nothing except the bleached bones, and the four skulls that lay at various angles upon the floor. “It is my family,” Cailin said, tears springing to her eyes. “He did not even have the decency to bury them with honor.” As the tears slipped down her face, she continued, “See, there. That is my mother, Kyna, upon the bed, all burnt but for a few large bones, and her skull which lies in what was once a place of loving refuge for her. And there, in a row, lie my father and brothers. My father’s skull would be the largest, I imagine.” She knelt and touched one of the smaller skulls. “This is Titus. I can tell, for one of his front teeth is chipped. I hit him with a ball when I was little, and did the damage. I did not mean to, but after that I could always tell my brothers apart. And this is Flavius. They were so handsome and so full of life the last time I saw them.”
She suddenly felt very old, but nonetheless pulled herself to her feet. “Let us go now. When we have secured my lands, we will return to bury my family with the dignity that they deserve.” She turned and walked back through the ruins, out into the morning.
Corio shook his head. “She is Celt,” he said admiringly.
“You breed strong women,” Wulf Ironfist replied. The men rejoined Cailin. “Where does Quintus Drusus have his lair?” the Saxon asked his wife.
“I will lead you,” Cailin answered him in a strong, cold voice.
The slaves in the fields belonging to Quintus Drusus saw the armed and mounted party of Dobunni coming. They quailed at the terrible sight and froze where they stood. The Dobunni paid them no heed. There was, Wulf assured them, no true sport in killing unarmed slaves. When they reached the magnificent, spacious villa belonging to Cailin’s cousin, they brought their horses to a stop. The slaves raking the gravel driveway had melted away before them. As prearranged, fifty of the men remained mounted before the villa’s entrance. Cailin, Wulf, Corio, and the hundred other men entered the house unannounced.
“Wh-Wh-What is this? You cannot enter here!” the majordomo cried, running forward as if he might stop them.
“We have already entered,” Wulf Ironfist said in a severe voice. “Fetch your master immediately, or would you prefer to be skewered upon my sword, you fat insect?”
“This is the house of the magistrate’s daughter,” the majordomo squeaked, desperately striving to do his duty.
“If the magistrate is in residence, then fetch him also,” Wulf ordered the man, and he prodded his plump midsection with the tip of his sword. “I am growing impatient,” he growled.
Giving a small cry of horror as the sword point cut through the fabric of his tunic, the majordomo turned and fled, the laughter of the Dobunni causing his ears to redden as he went.
“From Antioch to Britain they are all alike, these upper servants,” Wulf noted. “Pompous, and filled with their own importance.”
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.