To Love Again - Bertrice Small [167]
“You will find our village on the other side of the hill,” the shepherd replied, again not answering the question asked. “Eppilus is there.”
They rode over the hill, and there, in a small, quiet valley, was the Dobunni village. Guards, strategically placed, watched silently as they passed by and into the center of the village. Wulf dismounted and lifted first his wife and then Nellwyn from the mare’s back. They looked about, and when Cailin shrugged back her hood, revealing her face, a woman with two children clinging to her skirts gasped and cried out, “Cailin! Is it truly you? They said that you were dead!”
“Nuala!” Cailin ran forward and embraced her cousin. “It is truly me, and I have come home. How is Bodvoc? And Ceara, and Maeve? And what of Berikos? Does the old devil still hold sway despite his illness, or has Eppilus truly become chief of the Dobunni?”
“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