“I have missed you, husband,” she whispered between kisses.
“No more than I have missed you,” Elphin answered. “Oh, how I have missed you.”
“Come home with me. There is supper hot and ready for you.”
Elphin bent and nibbled her neck. “I would welcome a bite.”
“Stop, you. What will your men think?”
“Why, lady, they will think me the luckiest man alive!”
Rhonwyn hugged him again and took him by the hand and led him away. “You must be tired. Did you ride far today?”
“Far enough. I am more thirsty than tired.”
“There is a jar on the board. I have had the jug in the well all day.”
“You knew we would come today?”
“Taliesin did. He was certain of it. I tried to tell him not to count too much on it, that you might be late. But he would not hear it. He knew you would be home before sunset. He told everyone.”
They reached the door of the house, embraced again quickly, then stooped under the oxhide in the doorway. The fire crackled on the hearth where a joint roasted on a spit. A young girl, one of Rhonwyn’s cousins who had joined the household that spring following Eithne’s death, tended the spit, turning it slowly and basting the meat from time to time. She smiled when Elphin came in, then ducked her head shyly.
Gwyddno Garanhir, grayer and rounder of shoulder, stood before the fire, one foot on an andiron. “So you have returned! Aye, look at you-hard as the steel at your Belt.”
“Father!” Elphin and Gwyddno hugged each other. “It is good to see you.”
“You smell like a horse, my boy.”
“And you have been drinking all my beer!”
“Not a drop, sob.” Gwyddno winked. “I brought my own!”
“Sit down, Father, sit down. We will eat together.”
“No, no, I will go along. Your mother will have cooked something up for my supper.”
“I will not hear it.” Elphin turned and called to the girl. “Shelagh, run and fetch Medhir. We will all eat at my table tonight. I want my family together. Run, girl, get her. Whatever she has cooked, fetch it along as well.”
“I would have ordered a feast if I thought you wanted it,” said Gwyddno. “There should be a feast when the warband returns.”
“We will celebrate the warband’s return later. Tonight a man wants to be with his own.” Elphin pulled Rhonwyn to him and gave her a squeeze and a peck on the cheek. She handed him a silver-rimmed horn filled with beer and pushed him toward the table. He sipped while she took the red cloak from his shoulder and unbuckled the stiff leather breastplate.
Taliesin burst into the room just then and flew straight to his father. “Tell me everything you did!” he shouted. “Everything! I want to hear it all!”
Elphin laughed and scooped the boy up. “I will talk until your ears fall off then, shall I?”
“Not until after you have all eaten,” put in Rhonwyn.
“Your mother is right,” said Elphin. “Talking can wait-there is eating to be done.”
Shelagh returned with Medhir on her heels, both of them bearing platters of food: braised potatoes, spiced pork in heavy broth, and fresh-baked barley cakes. Medhir put her platter on the table and turned to her son, hugging him as he held Taliesin. “You are home and sound, Elphin. I am glad of that. It seems a year at least since I have seen you.”
“I am glad to be back in one piece, Mother. Is that spiced pork I smell?”
“You know it is. Sit down and let me fill your bowl.”
Elphin, Taliesin, and Gwyddno sat down together, Elphin at the head of the table, Taliesin beside him. The women hovered around them and when the men were well supplied, they filled their own bowls and sat down too.
“Ah, it is so good! On my life, a woman’s touch with a pot is sorely missed north of the Wall.” Elphin lifted his bowl and drained the last of the broth, then tore off a hunk of bread, put it in his bowl, dipped more meat out of the pot, and ladled broth over all. He smacked his lips and tucked in again.
They ate and drank and talked of the events of the village over the summer. When they had finished, the women cleared the dishes and refilled the jars. Taliesin, who had endured the idle chatter as long as he could, fairly writhed in agony and said, “Now will you tell us what happened? Did you fight the Picti? Did you kill any? Did the Romans ride with you?”
“Yes, yes,” said Elphin lightly. “I promised to tell all and I will. Let me get settled here.” He took a sip from his horn, wiped foam from his mustache. “Much better,” he said and began.
“Well now, we joined the legion at Caer Seiont, like we always do. This time, however, I was shocked to learn that the garrison is down to three hundred men-and most of them foot soldiers with no idea which end of a horse gets the oats. Avitus is gone, ordered to Gaul, and Maximus has been made tribune.
“Maximus-now there is a leader for you! He can do more with his three hundred than that sloven Ulpius can do with all two thousand of his!”
“The legion from Eboracum joined you then?” asked Gwyddno.
“They sent fifty. That was all the horses they could spare-so they said.”
“Three hundred.” Gwyddno shook his head in dismay. “A governor’s bodyguard, never a legion!”
“I spoke to Maximus about it. He says there is nothing to be done. He has even written to Imperator Constantius but expects no relief. It is the same elsewhere: Caer Legionis, Virulamium, Londinium… Luguvallium on the Wall itself is down to four hundred, and only seventy cavalry.”
“But why?” wondered Rhonwyn. “It makes no sense. The Picti take more every year and the Romans empty our garrisons.”
“The Picti are not as bad as the Saecsen from what I hear,” answered Elphin. “And it’s the Saecsen making all the trouble in Gaul. Maximus says that if we do not fight them there, we will have to fight them here.”
“Better there than here,” remarked Gwyddno.
“What about the fighting?” demanded Taliesin. “I want to hear about the fighting.”
“Yes, my bloodthirsty lad. I am getting to the fighting. Well, we assembled at Luguvallium and rode north. Like last year, I took only one centurion with me-Longinus, the Thra-cian; he was part of Augustus’ ala and rides like he is part horse himself. Anyway, our third day out we encountered a band of Picti, a hundred strong they were. Took them by surprise in a gorse dingle west of the Celyddon Forest. They did not have time to organize an attack and most of them ran. We surrounded the rest before they could even notch their accursed arrows and took their leaders almost without struggle.”
“And then what happened?”
“We let them go.”
“Let them go!” Taliesin spun on his father’s lap. “Why?”
“Because we wanted them to go back and tell their people that it was useless to fight against us, that they Belonged north of the Wall and would not be harmed as long as they stayed on that side.”
“Do you think they understood?” asked Rhonwyn.
“They understood that we did not kill them and easily could have. My guess is that they will return to their camps in disgrace and their own people will kill them.”
Medhir sucked in her breath. “Beasts they are.”
“For the Picti, death is nothing. They welcome it. When they die, their spirits are loosed to fly away like birds, which is what they want anyway, that freedom. Better to die than live even a moment in disgrace. When one of their chiefs falls in battle, his men turn their knives on themselves rather than return home without him.”
“The woman is right-they are animals,” muttered Gwyddno. “Nothing but thieving animals.”
“Oh, aye, they are natural thieves-easy as breathing to them,” agreed Elphin. “But they do not think of it as stealing. They keep no property or goods themselves and have no idea of owning anything. Whatever one has, Belongs to all- wives, children, horses, dogs-everything. They laugh at us for planting fields and growing grain.”