'She'll live among us and become one of us.'
'And which bed will she share, Arden Caratacus?' one woman cackled.
He looked solemn. 'Whichever she chooses, like any Celtic woman. She'll begin in the Great House as guest, and have her maid for company if the freed woman Savia agrees.'
Heads turned to the maidservant.
'I'll not leave my mistress no matter what you proclaim,' Savia said, her voice quavering but her words unexpectedly brave. 'I, too, am a woman of Rome, and I still serve my lady.' She stiffly got off her horse, legs buckling for a moment, and then walked unsteadily to help Valeria dismount as well. The two women stood in the mud and held each other against the tall people who surrounded them, the men powerful, the women lovely and haughty, the children curious and impudent, their dogs pushing to sniff and whine.
'I'm terrified of being alone with these savages,' the slave whispered.
'They've freed you, Savia.'
'I'm terrified of depending on myself.'
The rectangular Great House dominated the hill fort like a forum's temple or a castle's keep, its forty-foot height and two-hundred-foot length evidence of more sophisticated construction than Valeria had expected the Celts could produce. Its pillars were made of intricately carved pine, birds riding curved vines that climbed in swirls up the length of each column. Beams ended in the sculpted and painted heads of dragons and unicorns and gaping gods. Painted moons and stars were scattered across the tall door. Pictured horses, sinuous and galloping, circled the otherwise gray and weathered wood of the building's periphery as black-and-white abstractions. It was as intricate a construction as her trousseau chest from Rome, and infinitely larger. How had these rude people built such a thing? How had they even dragged the trees?
Inside, high windows under the building's eaves let in a cross-hatch of light from glassless openings that could be shuttered against storms. Smoke had stained the interior dark, but in compensation the side aisles and rafters were decorated with bright banners, woven tapestries, painted shields, and crossed spears. Horns and heads of trophy animals were mounted on every pillar. Underfoot were rush mats to catch the courtyard mud. The long oaken tables smelled of wood, smoke, and beer.
It was here that the clan of Arden Caratacus gathered each evening to eat, boast, sing, and plot. Here that legend and druidic lore was passed on, generation after generation. Here that information was traded, gossip spawned, lies told and challenged, quarrels settled, flirtations started, children spanked, games played, cups filled, dogs fed, and cats left to hunt mice in the alcoves.
Wood-paneled sleeping cells opened off the communal hall. It was to one of these that Brisa, the archer, and Cassius, the escaped slave, led Valeria and Savia.
'Since you don't have man or family, you'll sleep here,' Brisa said. The chamber had two wooden sleeping platforms piled with wool fleece and furs, a copper basin to wash in, and a scrubbed board floor. There was a tapestry of a fantastic forest, woven in rainbow colors, a table with a bronze hand mirror, and a shelf with rank of candles. The wax smelled of berries and the sea. It was plain, but clean.
'Are you going to lock us in?' Savia asked, peering from the threshold.
'There's no need. You've nowhere to go.'
'Can we lock others out?' Valeria asked.
'None will bother you.'
'I sleep nearby,' Cassius said, 'and I'll protect you as I did before. Don't fear, lady, you're safer here than on the streets of Rome.'
'Not very reassuring, Cassius, after your desertion in the forest.'
He bowed his head. 'That wasn't meant as insult to you. I know how Roman soldiers mock gladiators, and I'd no desire to live among them. I was dreading the Wall.'
'These people treat you like a prince, it seems.'
'I'm free, lady, and not just by being my own master. I'm free in ways hard to explain. You'll understand in time.'
Savia sniffed. 'It's a rude and primitive place you're free in, Cassius.'
'And you, too, woman. Arden told me what he granted you.'
She blushed.
'What's going to happen to us?' Valeria asked.
Brisa shrugged. 'Only the gods know that. The gods and the druids.'
Valeria felt apprehensive at mention of their priests. While Marcus had tried to keep the ghastly tales from her, slaves kept nothing secret. She'd heard the rumors of human sacrifice. 'I've seen no druids here,' she said with faint hope. 'Only that cocky thief who brought us here, this Caratacus.'
'He's a chieftain, not a thief. And Kalin, priest of the sacred oak, will be here tonight like the midnight owl.'
'Who's Kalin?'
'The druid who advises our clan. He fought your Romans in the sacred grove.'
'Why is he coming here?'
'To see you, of course.'
'Am I to be ransomed?' It was a polite way to ask if she was going to be killed.
'You're asking as if it were my decision to make,' the Celtic woman said, not unkindly. 'Or Cassius, or Arden, or Kalin. But you're north of the Wall now, Roman. Maybe it will be you who decides your fate. You and your goddess. Maybe your future is already cast by the runes and the stars.'
'Or by the one true god, the Lord Jesus,' Savia spoke up.
'Who?' Brisa asked.
'The Savior of us all,' the maidservant said.
'I haven't heard of this god.'
'He's the new god of the Roman world. Even the emperor worships him.'
'And what kind of god is he?'
'A good and meek one,' Savia said. 'He was killed by Roman soldiers.'
The woman laughed. 'This is your savior? A god who can't save himself?'
'He rose from the dead.'
At this she showed more respect. 'When was this?'
'More than three hundred years ago.'
Now she looked skeptical. 'And where is he now?'
'In heaven.'
'Well.' She looked at them with doubt. 'Each woman finds her own goddess or god who speaks to her heart in a special way, like a lover or brother or husband. So you can have this alive-and-dead-and-remote god if you wish, it matters not to me. But our gods are all around us, in the rocks and the trees and the flowers, in every spring and every cloud, and they've kept my people free of you Romans for that same three hundred years. In Caledonia it's these gods that have power. My advice is to listen for the god that sings to your heart and ask him or her, not me, what will become of you.'
'You suggest this,' Valeria objected, 'after we've been abducted and brought here against our will and shown to this small room.'
'But perhaps not against your god's will.' Brisa gave them a slight smile. 'You're of our clan now, Roman lady, and your fate is linked to ours. You can spend your days wishing you were somewhere else if you want, but I say you should eat and sleep and weave and hunt and wait for gods, not men, to tell us what to do.'
A hundred people ate in the Great Hall, women shocking Valeria by sitting casually on the benches alongside their men. Both sexes helped cook and serve, children fought and crawled underfoot, dogs prowled for scraps and nipped each other's flanks, and the hearth fires cast a red, wavering light. A great iron kettle was filled with water and warmed by heated stones for the company to wash there before eating, the Celts surprising her with their fastidiousness. Contrary to what she'd been warned in Rome, they cared how they looked and smelled! For this celebration of Arden's return, the men and women had carefully combed their hair and chosen their best jewelry, some men painting the stripes of war on their faces, and some women using berry juice and ash to accent their lips and highlight their eyes. Yet just when she was ready to admit that Romans had some things in common with these rough people, and hope that she might understand them, a common cup was passed down their rank, and Valeria
