The day of her third birthday dawned clear and warm. The grain harvest was all in and stored in the barns within the walls. The workers were preparing to harvest apples to make cider.
The watch upon the walls suddenly called out, “Horsemen upon the hillcrest!” and immediately the gates of Cadda-wic were shut and barred. The horsemen descended the hill slowly as Wulf Ironfist was called from the solar and hurried to a vantage point atop the walls.
Ragnar Strongspear’s dark blue eyes narrowed with irritation as he saw the newly built defenses about the hall. Too late, he realized his error in withdrawing his spy. As he drew closer he observed that the wall enclosing Cadda-wic was a very strong one. And the fields about the hall had all been harvested, but where were the grain barns? Within those damned walls, he suspected, and safe from him. Ragnar was not a man of great intellect, but he knew that retaking these lands was not going to be as easy a task as he had earlier anticipated. Looking up, he saw Wulf Ironfist upon the walls, watching his approach.
Ragnar smiled toothily and said in his booming voice, “Good morrow, Wulf Ironfist! Surely you have not closed your gates to me? We are neighbors, and should be friends.”
“Friends do not come calling at dawn with a party of heavily armed men,” came the reply. “State your business with me, Ragnar Strongspear.”
“ ‘Tis just a friendly visit,” the older man declared. “Will you not open your gates and let me in, my friend?”
“We are not friends,” Wulf Ironfist replied coldly. “If you wish to enter Cadda-wic, then you may, but you must leave your troop outside my walls. We are a peaceful community and seek no warring.”
“Very well,” Ragnar said, deciding that he must get a look inside the walls of Cadda-wic if he was to eventually take it. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to his second-in-command.
“My lord,” the man, whose name was Harald, said, “it is not safe.”
“It is safe,” his master assured him softly. “If our positions were reversed, ’twould not be so, but Wulf Ironfist is a man of his word.”
The gate was opened just enough for Ragnar to squeeze through, and then the strong iron bars were lowered, securing the entry from intruders. He noted that the gates were sheathed in iron. Cadda-wic was well thought out. The well was in the courtyard’s center, and there were several grain barns, well away from the walls.
“ ‘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.