When they reached that town of her family’s origin, Cailin was shocked. The once thriving Corinium was almost silent, and deserted. Rubbish littered the streets. The buildings were in poor repair. In the amphitheater there were weeds growing between the stone seats, which were cracked and broken. Many houses were locked and empty. It was not as she remembered it.
“What has happened?” she asked Wulf.
He shook his head. “I do not know, except perhaps without a central government, the town cannot maintain itself. Look about you. Most whom we see in the streets are elderly. They stay, obviously, because there is nowhere else for them to go. The market thrives, however. It seems to be the only thing that does.”
“But it is mostly foodstuffs,” she noted. “There are few other goods for sale. What has happened to trade? And the pottery works?”
“People must eat,” he said. “As for the rest, I do not know.” He shrugged. “Come, lambkin, we have two more days of traveling before we reach our lands. Let us not dally. We will have Antonia Porcius to contend with, I am certain. She has undoubtedly annexed our lands for herself once more. At least we will know better than to trust her this time. And your Dobunni family will rejoice to learn you are alive.”
Their cart moved up the Fosse Way until finally they turned off on a barely discernible tract. It was raining when they made camp that night. They huddled within the cart, listening to the rain on its canvas roof, the small space nicely warmed, as it had all winter long, by the little brazier Cailin had insisted upon. They had seen virtually no one since leaving Corinium, but Wulf insisted on their keeping watch nonetheless.
“We can’t afford to lose everything now,” he said. “We’ll move out before dawn. With any luck, we should reach our hall by mid-afternoon.”
It rained again the next day, and huddled upon the bench in the cart, driving the black mare, Cailin realized she had forgotten how damp and chilly an English spring could be. She almost missed the constantly sunny days she had enjoyed in Byzantium, but still she was content to be home, she decided, shivering. Around her the land was familiar once again. Suddenly they topped a hillock and, stopping, Cailin looked down upon her family’s lands for the first time in almost three years.
Wulf swore volubly. “The hall is burned!” he said. “Damn Antonia for an interfering bitch! She’ll pay for it, I vow!”
“Why did Bodvoc not stop her, I wonder?” Cailin asked.
“I do not know, but I will soon find out. We will have to begin from the beginning once more, lambkin. I am sorry.”
“It is not your fault, Wulf,” Cailin soothed him. “We will survive this as we have survived all the rest of our dark destiny.”
As they made their way down the hillside, Cailin noticed that the fields lay fallow and the orchards were not pruned. What had happened here? She brought her cart to a halt before what had been their little hall. The damage, to her great relief, did not look as bad now that they could see it close up, as it had appeared from the hillside. Their thatched roof had indeed been burned, but as they walked about, Cailin and Wulf could see the heavy beams of the roof were just scorched. The fire pits were intact, and some of their furnishings, battered but repairable, were still there. Much was gone, however, including the heavy oaken doors of the hall. Still, with a new roof they could salvage it.
“We’ll have to thatch the roof first,” he said.
“We cannot do it ourselves,” Cailin answered him. “Where are our slaves and farm workers?” She sighed. “You know the answer to that as well as I do. We will have to go to her and retake our property. Then, too, there is the matter of our child. Antonia is the only one who has the answer to that puzzle, and I will pry it out of her.”
“Let us go to the Dobunni first,” Wulf suggested. “They will know what has happened. I think we are wiser learning that before we beard Antonia Porcius over these matters. She has obviously driven Bodvoc and Nuala off, or they would have protected our holding.”
“Let us bring the cart into the hall,” Cailin said. “Then we can take the horses to my grandfather’s village. Should anyone pass by, it will seem as if nothing is different here as long as the cart is hidden.”
“Do not leave me here alone,” Nellwyn begged them. “I am afraid.”
“You and I will ride the mare together,” Cailin reassured her servant. “The hall is uninhabitable, but soon we will repair it.”
They led the black mare into the hall, unhitched her from the cart and pushed the vehicle into a dark corner, where it was obscured from view even to someone entering the half ruin. Then the two women mounted the beast. Cailin rode in front, holding the reins, and Nellwyn behind her, clutching her mistress about her slender waist. Wulf led the mare from the building, and mounting his own animal, they headed off up the hills, across the meadows, and through the woods, to Berikos’s Dobunni village.
They knew immediately as they approached the hill fort that something was very wrong. There were no guards posted, and they were able to enter the village unimpeded. The place was deserted, and upon closer inspection, they could see it had been so for some time.
“What has happened?” Cailin said, not just a little afraid.
Wulf shook his head. “There were other villages, I know. Can you tell me where they were located, lambkin? The Dobunni cannot have simply disappeared from the face of the earth in the two and a half years that we were gone from Britain. They must be here somewhere.”
“There were other villages, but I never saw them,” she said. “I spent my time here. I know, however, that these villages must be near, for Berikos’s territory was not very large. Let us simply ride. We are bound to come upon someone.”
“I can think of no better plan,” he said, and so they began to ride slowly to the northeast, seeking signs of life.
At first the landscape appeared pristine, and empty, but eventually they began to see signs of habitation, cattle grazing, a flock of sheep in a meadow, and finally a shepherd, whom they hailed.
“Is there a Dobunni village nearby, lad?” Wulf asked him.
“Who be ye?” the shepherd asked, not answering their question.
“I am Wulf Ironfist. This is my wife, Cailin Drusus, the granddaughter of Berikos, the niece of Eppilus, the cousin of Corio. We have been away for some time, and when we returned, we sought out the hill fort of Berikos, only to find it deserted. Where is everyone?”
“You will find our village on the other side of the hill,” the shepherd replied, again not answering the question asked. “Eppilus is there.”
They rode over the hill, and there, in a small, quiet valley, was the Dobunni village. Guards, strategically placed, watched silently as they passed by and into the center of the village. Wulf dismounted and lifted first his wife and then Nellwyn from the mare’s back. They looked about, and when Cailin shrugged back her hood, revealing her face, a woman with two children clinging to her skirts gasped and cried out, “Cailin! Is it truly you? They said that you were dead!”
“Nuala!” Cailin ran forward and embraced her cousin. “It is truly me, and I have come home. How is Bodvoc? And Ceara, and Maeve? And what of Berikos? Does the old devil still hold sway despite his illness, or has Eppilus truly become chief of the Dobunni?”