“Bodvoc is dead,” Nuala said softly. “He died in the plague epidemic last year that took so many of our people, Ceara, Maeve, and our grandfather among them. We lost almost all our old people, and many children. Corio survived, amazingly, and it never touched me or my children, despite Bodvoc’s illness. These are my bairns. Commius, the boy, is the elder. ’Twas he I carried on my wedding day. The girl is Morna. Come, Eppilus will want to see you.” She turned away from Cailin a moment and said, “Greetings, Wulf Ironfist.”
“Greetings, Nuala. I am sorry to hear of Bodvoc’s death. He was a good man. But now I understand why you were not on the lands we gave you. A woman alone with two children could not manage such responsibility.”
“We barely had a chance to even settle on those lands, Wulf,” she told him. “Antonia Porcius drove us away as soon as you left. She insisted that the Drusus Corinium lands were her late husband’s, and now they were hers and her son’s. Bodvoc felt we could not fight her.”
They followed Nuala into her father’s hall. Eppilus, already aware of their arrival, came forward to greet the travelers. “It was told us that you died in childbirth, Cailin,” he said, “and then Wulf Ironfist disappeared. What happened to you, my niece? Come, sit by the fire. Bring wine for our guests. Who is this pretty girl with you?” He peppered her with questions.
“This is Nellwyn, Uncle,” Cailin said, smiling. “She is my servant, and has traveled all the way from Byzantium with me, for that is where I was.” Cailin then went on to narrate her adventures and Wulf’s to her assembled kin and the others who had crowded into the hall.
“Our hall has been partly burned,” she concluded. “What happened while we were gone, and why is Berikos’s hill fort deserted?”
“So many in Berikos’s village died of plague,” Eppilus explained, “that it was not practical for us to remain there. Antonia Porcius has a new husband. He is neither Celt nor Romano-Briton. He is a Saxon, and his name is Ragnar Strongspear. There are many Saxons now entering this region to settle here. Even this village is no longer completely Dobunni. Saxons live among us, and are intermarrying with our children. Nuala has taken one for a new husband.” He invited a pleasant-looking young blond man with mild blue eyes to step forward. “This is Winefrith, my son-in-law. I am happy to have him related to me. He is a good husband to my daughter, and a good father to my grandchildren.”
“I greet you, Winefrith, husband of Nuala,” Wulf said.
“I greet you, Wulf Ironfist,” came the polite reply.
“Tell me about this Ragnar Strongspear,” Wulf Ironfist said to Eppilus, leaning forward, his interest apparent in his blue eyes. “What kind of a man is he?”
“From what we have seen and learned,” Eppilus said slowly, “he is a bully. He came swaggering across the land some months ago with a troup of bandits like himself. He slaughtered everything in his path, looting and burning as he went along. I expect that is when your hall was damaged. He stumbled upon Antonia’s villa. He brought with him two wives, but he made Antonia his wife, too, though the gods know why. Antonia lives with the other women, her father, and the many children who always seem to be underfoot.
“This Saxon is already consolidating his hold on the surrounding countryside, demanding fealty and heavy tribute. He has not yet found our village here in this valley, but we expect he soon will. We will be forced to accept him as our overlord if we are to survive. There is no other choice.”
“Aye, there is,” Wulf Ironfist said. “You can accept me as your overlord, Eppilus. Nuala says the plague struck down the very old and the very young. That means that most of the men I trained several years ago are still alive. If they will give me their service, we will be able to overcome the threat of Ragnar Strongspear. You will be able to live in peace beneath my protection. We are kin, Eppilus, and I will not abuse those I am sworn to defend.
“The times in which we now live are different than those we once knew. Your village, and the other nearby villages, need a strong man to protect them. You have a choice between either me or Ragnar Strongspear.”
“We would choose you, of course, Wulf Ironfist,” Eppilus said. “We know you to be a fair and an honest man who will not mistreat us or our families. How can we help you?”
“First I must speak with the men. They must quickly refamiliarize themselves with their fighting skills. Perhaps there are even some new men in this village who would join us.”
“I will,” said Nuala’s husband, Winefrith. “I am a smith, and can make and repair weapons for you. Whatever I can do to make the countryside safe from Ragnar Strongspear, I will do, Wulf Ironfist.”
“Good!” Wulf said, smiling at the young man. “Go and speak to the other Saxons who live in this village. Tell them it is not a matter of Saxon against Celt, but what is right against what is wrong.”
Winefrith nodded. “There is no friction between Saxon and Celt here,” he said, and the others agreed. “We are simple people trying to live together in peace.”
“I will need the roof of my hall rethatched, and cannot do it alone,” Wulf said, “and I must put a wall about it for better defense.”
“We can help,” said Eppilus. “I will send to the other two villages left in the area for aid. It is unlikely that Ragnar Strongspear will know we are repairing the hall. He rarely goes there, for he is very superstitious, and believes the hall haunted by Cailin’s family. I expect that Antonia told him of the land’s history, and he drew his own conclusions.”
“If Antonia told him of the land’s history, it was done deliberately and for a purpose,” Cailin interjected. “I wonder why she did it?”
They stayed the night in Eppilus’s village. When the morning came, they were surprised to find that at least a hundred young men, some of whom they recognized and others they did not, had arrived. Wulf appointed both Corio and Winefrith his seconds-in-command. Those who had already had training in martial skills began to train those young men who had not. Another group of twenty men rode with Wulf, Cailin, and Nellwyn back to their hall. They carried with them enough thatch for the roof, and began work almost immediately. Eppilus had sent a wagonload of provisions along. Cailin and Nellwyn cooked simple meals that satisfied the workers before they fell asleep each night upon the floor in the hall. When they were not engaged over the cookfires, Cailin and her servant swept the dirt and the debris from the hall, along with a young fox vixen who had decided to make her den there, and a number of field mice who had attracted the fox in the first place. The furniture that was repairable was set aside.
Each morning the work began anew, until several days later the hall was reroofed. Winefrith arrived with Nuala and began to repair the furniture that had been smashed.
Cailin sat outside the hall on a bench with her cousin. “Your father likes your new husband, and he seems a fair man,” she remarked.
“He is not Bodvoc,” Nuala admitted, “but then there will never be another like Bodvoc. Winefrith loves me totally, and he is so good. If there is no longer excitement in my life, at least I am not unhappy, Cailin. Do you remember the old fortune-teller at the Beltane fair back long ago who said I would have two husbands and many children? Well, she was right. Bodvoc and I spawned two bairns before he died.” Her hand went protectively to her belly. “Winefrith and I married last December at the solstice. I am already well gone with our first child.”