“What would you have of me, then?” he demanded irritably. “Why should I war with Wulf Ironfist over his lands, when the lands to the south are as rich, and easier pickings? Perhaps, Antonia, you hope that Wulf Ironfist will vanquish me and you will regain control of these lands for your son. Put such thoughts from your head, wife. Soon my brother and his family will join us. If I die an unnatural death, Gunnar will be here to avenge me, and to hold these lands for himself and our sons.”
She was astounded. This was the first she had heard of his brother, but used to deceit, Antonia covered her surprise with a sweet smile. “You did not tell me that you had a brother, Ragnar, or that he would be coming to join us. Has he wives and children? When is he to arrive? We must prepare a proper welcome for our family.”
Ragnar’s booming laughter filled their bed space. “By Woden, Antonia, you are clever, but I see through you! You were not expecting that I had additional family, but we Saxons are good breeders, as your belly attests to,” he told her, patting the place where his child grew within her. “You had some scheme in mind, and now, I have not a doubt, you will form another crafty plot to replace it. Very well, if it amuses you to do so. Breeding women are given to such vagaries, and it is harmless enough, I think.” He lowered his dark blond head and kissed her plump shoulder. His shoulder-length hair brushed her breasts.
Reaching up, Antonia thoughtfully stroked his beard. She hated him, but he was the most virile man she had ever known. “Do not be a fool, Ragnar,” she finally told him. “Take the lands to the south, for Wulf Ironfist has given you good advice. Even I will admit to that. Lull our enemy into a false sense of security, and when he least expects it, seize his lands as well! Why settle for being a minor lordling when you could be a king?”
At her words, the child within her kicked mightily, and Ragnar Strongspear felt the movement beneath his resting hand. “It is an omen,” he said, almost fearfully. “Why else would the child grow so restive in your womb, Antonia? Surely it is a sign of some sort.”
“Our son knows that I speak the truth, my husband,” she told him. “Or perhaps it is the gods who speak to you through the babe.” What a fool he is, she thought to herself. If the gods existed, and frankly Antonia was no longer certain that they did, why would they bother to concern themselves with one as foolish and superstitious as this great bull of a man who lay by her side contemplating the future?
“My brother and his family should be here in a few days’ time,” he told her finally. “He has just a single wife, as he has never been able to afford more, but now, of course, that will change. He is younger than I am by several years, but he fathered his first child on his wife when he was but fourteen. There are eight living children. Six sons.”
“What a fine family,” Antonia said dryly, thinking that this horrid hall he had built to replace her beautiful villa—the villa he had destroyed—was already badly overcrowded. The addition of ten more people would but add to the noise and the filth. The gods! She missed her bath with its lovely rejuvenating steam and its delicious hot water. How Ragnar’s other wives mocked her when she insisted on washing herself in a little oaken tub filled with warm water. But she didn’t care. She would wager that Cailin Drusus had better bathing accommodations, the bitch! “Ragnar,” she said to her husband, who was half dozing.
“What?” he grunted.
“If Cadda-wic is truly fortified so well it cannot be taken in battle, then we will have to think of another way to capture it.”
He shook his head at her. “There is no way. Wulf Ironfist has built strongly, and he has built well. Even the water supply is safely within his walls. I am not a man to easily admit defeat, Antonia, but Cadda-wic cannot be taken. It simply cannot be!”
“Let me tell you a tale of ancient times, Ragnar,” Antonia said patiently, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“Another time, woman,” he said, and rolled her onto her side. “I have other things in mind for you, and then I must sleep. In the morning you may tell me your fable, but now I want to fuck you.”
“Your needs are so simple,” she taunted him, hissing softly as he penetrated her expertly. “If you are as good a warrior as you are a lover, my husband, you will have no difficulty in taking Cadda-wic once I have shown you how. Ahhh, yess, Ragnar! Yesss!”
Cadda-wic. He thought about it as he methodically pumped her. The lands were good, the hall sound, and Cailin would be an extra bonus. He had seen her several times, but he could not dismiss her from his mind. What fire and spirit she had! He imagined she would be as strong and sweet as his Saxon wives, and as lustful as Antonia. It was a perfect combination, and he meant to have her. There was time, however. Neither she nor Wulf Ironfist were going anywhere. They had made it abundantly clear that the land meant everything to them. He would have more than enough time to take the lands to the south. To settle his brother and his family on a nearby holding. To find Gunnar a second wife with a good dowry. Oh, yes, there was plenty of time.
The autumn came, and Nuala bore Winefrith a fine, big son, who was called Barre. It meant a gateway between two places. Nuala thought it appropriate, for Barre was indeed a bridge between the Britain of old and the new Britain. Cailin was present at the birth, and afterward marveled at the child’s size and how strongly he tugged upon his mother’s breast when he was put there to nurse.
“You’ll have a son of your own soon enough,” Nuala teased her. “Surely you and Wulf do not spend all that time in the solar just talking, cousin.” She giggled. “I know I wouldn’t!”
“Fresh from childbirth, and totally shameless,” Cailin said, pretending to be scandalized. “For your information, Wulf enjoys watching me at my loom, Nuala. And then, of course, we sing together.”
Nuala looked thunderstruck. “You jest!” she said.
“I assure you it is quite true,” Cailin replied sweetly.
“Indeed it is,” Wulf said, agreeing with his wife, whom he had overheard spinning her mischievous tale. “Cailin weaves a most marvelous spell about me when we are in the solar together, and sings passion’s song far better than any I have ever known.”
Nuala burst out laughing, realizing that they were teasing her. The infant at her breast hiccuped, and began to wail. “Ohh, see what you have done to Barre!” she scolded them, suddenly all maternal concern and caring. “There, my little sweetheart. Do not fuss.”
By the Winterfest, the lady of Cadda-wic was beginning to swell with another child, much to everyone’s delight. It would be born, Cailin told them, after Beltane.
“And it is a son, I am certain,” she assured Wulf.
“How can you tell?” he asked her, smiling.
She shrugged. “I just can,” she said. “A woman senses such things. Is that not so?” She turned to the other women in the hall for support, and they all nodded in agreement. “You see!”
The winter set in, and the land around them grew white and silent. The days were short, and quick. In the long nights the wolves could be heard howling about Cadda-wic, their eerie cries answered by the mournful howls of the hounds in the hall who grew restless at the knowledge of the predators prowling beyond the strong iron and oak gates.