I smelled sweat.

Male sweat.

I smelled horse and leather. The oil on the mail. The sour stench of the unwashable padding under it.

This was no god; this was a man.

Relief flooded through me and then as quickly was washed away by a fresh surge of fear.

This was a man bent on nothing good.

We rode back to the stone circle and through the stones to the altar, upon which he dropped me. I found my feet and stayed in place as the other riders came in from the fog, filling the space around the altar. Two rode in carrying Terix by the armpits and dropped him beside me. I crouched down and threw my arms around him.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” he said.

But would we? The mounted, armed men surrounding us were dressed for a ritual I did not understand, and we were on an altar. Only one thing happened on altars.

Sacrifice.

We had to do something to distract them, something to change their minds. What? Something unexpected. Surprising.

“The baker and the senator’s daughter,” I said to Terix, my hands on either side of his face. “Can you do it?”

“Now?”

“Better than what they might have in mind.”

He struggled to his feet, controlling a gasp of pain, and started to sing a raunchy song in Latin about a baker kneading his dough. He threw in broad gestures at his groin that a man of any language could understand; it wasn’t bread he was kneading.

The milling and shouting of the warriors slowed and quieted. Masked heads cocked to the side, watching.

It was my turn. I sashayed around the top of the altar stone, singing for all I was worth. I was the senator’s daughter, who had overeaten bread and so was forbidden from having it. The bawdy act was one we’d done in Sygarius’s household, for the entertainment of his male guests. It was a silly piece, simple enough in its sexual humor for even the drunkest of dullards to enjoy.

The warriors were watching intently now; I could feel their attention. They pressed in closer, to see better in the thin moonlight.

The senator’s daughter got her serving of bread from the baker’s groin, eating it up and licking her lips. Some of the men laughed.

I pretended to get my serving of bread in other orifices, and then with my arms showed how big my belly grew. Out dropped a baby, which I showed to the unhappy baker and then rocked in my arms.

The baker looked upon the senator’s daughter in disgust and, heaving a sigh, went back to kneading his dough and singing his original lament.

The warriors hooted in laughter.

Terix and I grasped hands and bowed, and while I was staring down, a horse came close. I dared to raise my eyes and saw the antlered warrior before us.

He grasped his metal helmet in both hands and raised it off his head; the man next to him took it. His face was in shadow, indiscernible, but I felt him staring at us.

“Who are you?” he asked in heavily accented Latin.

“Entertainers,” I said, straightening up. “Nimia and Terix, of Gaul.”

“Romans?”

We both shook our heads, hard. I hoped that was the right response and that he was no friend to Romans. Britannia had been free of them for so long I doubted anyone wanted them back. I wanted to ask who he was but didn’t dare to interrogate him.

“How come you to be here?”

It sounded as if Latin was a struggle to him, so I kept my answer simple. “We are lost.”

“Yes, lost.” He said something in his language to the men, and they laughed. “Where are you going?”

This was the dangerous question. To tell the truth or lie? We knew nothing of who this man was or who his enemies were, so we could not know what answer was best. From the snippets of speech we’d heard, though, I guessed that these were Britons; I’d heard Jax speak to Saxons and knew that their tongue was much like Frankish. I decided to take a risk and tell the truth.

“We are seeking a man I’ve never met but who may be kin,” I said. If Maerlin was Phanne like me, then surely we shared family ties. “His name is Maerlin.”

“Maerlin!”

A muttering went through the nearest warriors. One of them spat. My gut sank.

“Maerlin is kin to you?” the man asked.

“I don’t know but maybe. I have no other kin left. We”—I gestured to myself and Terix—“have no home but hope to find one with kin.”

“Are you sister and brother?”

Terix tightened his grip on my hand and spoke. “Husband and wife.”

I was glad of his answer; it might give me protection from the men if they thought I was spoken for. Also, daylight would show clearly enough that we were not related. I was small, with the straight black hair and oval face bequeathed by my ancestor, Attila the Hun. Terix had dark curls, pale skin with freckles, and a brawny build.

“You are fortunate,” the man said slowly, “that I found you before Maerlin. The man is a . . .” He struggled to find the words. “A man who makes evil. Who speaks to spirits. Much bad is known of him.”

A thrill of excitement went through me. They knew of him! Maerlin must be known here as a sorcerer, which would fit with his being of the Phanne. The description of him as evil—I assumed that was the talk of ignorance and superstition, nothing more.

“I am sorry to hear this,” I said. “Still, if he is kin, he may know of other family, family who might welcome us.”

“I, Mordred of Dumnonia, will welcome you. You will come to Tannet Fortress to sing and dance for us.”

“We would be honored to do so,” Terix said. “First, though, we must find Maerlin.”

Mordred made a sharp gesture with his hand. “No. You must feast and accept my . . . hospitality. I must apologize for . . .” He gestured at the stones, the hounds, the other warriors.

He sounded neither sorry nor willing to let us go on our way.

Terix tightened his grip on mine, sending a warning that I did not need. “Then we thank you, Mordred of Dumnonia. We are delighted to accept your very generous offer.”

Especially when the invitation came on the point of a sword.