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By Root 508 0

cloth, the sandals and belt of soft-cured leather. Surprisingly, his belt buckle was of gold -- or else thickly gilded -- and worked in an elaborate pattern. His cloak was fastened with a heavy disk brooch, also gilded, with a design beautifully worked, a curling triskele set in filigree within a deeply fluted rim. The boy, whom at first I took to be his grandson, was similarly dressed, but his only jewel was something that looked like a charm worn on a thin chain at his neck. Then he reached forward to unroll the blankets for the night, and as his sleeve slid back I saw on his forearm the puckered scar of an old brand. A slave, then; and from the way he stayed back from the fire's warmth, and silently busied himself unpacking the bags, he was one still. The old man was a man of property.

"You don't mind?" The latter was addressing me. Our own simple clothes and simpler way of life -- the bedding rolls under the birches, the plain plates and drinking horns, and the worn saddlebags we used for pillows -- had told him that here were travellers no more than his equals, if that. "We got out of our way a few miles back, and were thankful to hear your singing and see the light of the fire. We guessed you might not be too far from the road, and now the boy tells me it lies just over yonder, thanks be to Vulcan's fires! The moorlands are all very well by daylight, but after dark treacherous for man or beast..."

He talked on, while Ulfin, at a nod from me, rose to fetch the wine-flask and offer it to him. But the newcomer demurred, with a hint of complacency.

"No, no. Thank you, my good sir, but we have food. We need not trouble you -- except, if you will allow it, to share your fire and company for the night? My name is Beltane, and my servant here is called Ninian."

"We are Emrys and Ulfin. Please be welcome. Will you not take wine? We carry enough."

"I also. In fact, I shall take it ill if you don't both join me in a drink of it. Remarkable stuff, I hope you'll agree..." Then over his shoulder: "Food, boy, quickly, and offer these gentlemen some of the wine that the commandant gave me."

"Have you come far?" I asked him. The etiquette of the road does not allow you to ask a man directly where he has come from or whither he is bound, but equally it is etiquette for him to tell you, even though his tale may be patently untrue.

Beltane answered without hesitation, through the chicken leg the boy had handed him.

"From York. Spent the winter there. Usually get out before this onto the road, but waited there...Town very full..." He chewed and swallowed, adding more clearly: "It was a propitious time. Business was good, so I stayed on."

"You came by Catraeth?" He had spoken in the British tongue, so, following suit, I gave the place its old name. The Romans called it Cataracta.

"No. By the road east of the plain. I do not advise it, sir. We were glad to turn onto the moor tracks to strike across for Dere Street at Vinovia. But this fool" -- a hitch of a shoulder at the slave -- "missed the milestone. I have to depend on him; my sight is poor, except for things as near to me as this bit of fowl. Well, Ninian was counting the clouds, as usual, instead of watching the way, and by dusk-fall we had no idea where we were, or if we had passed the town already. Are we past it now? I fear we must be."

"I'm afraid so, yes. We passed through it late in the afternoon. I'm sorry. You have business there?"

"My business lies in every town."

He sounded remarkably unworried. I was glad of this, for the boy's sake. The latter was at my elbow with the wine-flask, pouring with grave concentration; Beltane, I judged, was all bark and bustle; Ninian showed no trace of fear. I thanked him, and he glanced up and smiled. I saw then that I had misjudged Beltane; his strictures, indeed, looked to be justified; it was obvious that the boy's thoughts, in spite of the seeming concentration on his tasks, were leagues away; the sweet, cloudy smile came from a dream that held him. His eyes, in the shadow-light of moon and fire, were grey, rimmed with darkness