A pattern of red, pink, blue and gray filled the sky above the horizon as the sun began its day’s journey along with theirs. Brys’ heart was torn with pity as they left the town. But short of persuading the people of Ratae to travel with them, there was nothing more to be done. They showed no inclination to embark on any journeys—more inclined to accept their fate.
There was no defined path and they would use the sun and the Cotswold Hills ahead as a guide on this phase of their journey to Cirencester, the Roman town of Corinium.
Although he estimated the hills route would slow them down, it would ensure a safer trip. The Angles and Saxons apparently were satisfied, for now, to limit their conquests to the eastern coast, and the south of the country.
Which prompted Brys to ask, as he walked alongside Haesal’s horse, “I wonder why Garth was so far west?” He’d decided to keep their conversation impersonal today. “It’s puzzled me ever since you told me how he captured you. The Saxon invaders seem to have kept mostly to the east with their raids.”
She avoided his eyes as she patted her horse’s neck. “When my father, along with other Britons, settled in the west, they often traveled back eastwards in a futile effort to force the Germanic invaders from the land. As a young man, Father and his allies fought many battles with the invaders.”
Her tone was a tad stiff, and she’d done a lot of avoiding since he greeted her at first light. Perhaps she regretted last night’s behavior. That wasn’t going to stop him wanting to get her alone again, an unlikely prospect until they stopped for the night.
Lucky old Godwin! Rhoda refused to take his offered hand earlier, but kept casting cow’s eyes his way and blushed coyly each time he came near. Filled with envy, Brys sighed—if only things were as simple between him and Haesal.
Gerald was being his usual aggravating self, intent on sticking to them like a pest. Not once had he offered his mount to anyone else. As he rode near Brys, he declared, “Father had many tales to tell of his mighty wins in battles.”
Haesal nodded. “Except for the time when he was speared, it seemed God watched over him. Father killed most of the warriors of Garth during a great battle over the border, so Garth vowed to take revenge by stealing Father’s close kin. No doubt he thought killing Father too was a worthy reward.” Sadness clouded her voice. “On our journey to Lindum, Garth kept to the east, which enabled him to visit his fellow countrymen. They drank and reveled long into the night.”
Her beautiful eyes filled with something close to terror as she shuddered. Brys pressed a hand over hers on the rein. Just what did Garth do to her while she was his captive? The thought plagued him.
“But Anstred watched over you.” She didn’t agree, so he suggested, “Perhaps your guardian angel was up there.” He pointed to the sky.
“I believe in a greater power overseeing our lives. See those woods over yonder.” She pointed to a stand of tightly packed trees climbing to the top of one of the hills that had closed in around them once they left the town behind.
“Yes.” Brys had watched those trees warily. There was something menacing about them that had him on edge. Too many hideouts for would be attackers. Anstred was their only credible guard, and in such densely forested areas it would be difficult for her to watch over every inch. So far no one seemed to share his nervousness—in fact they were like a pack of children off on a jaunt.
“The queen of the fairies rules there. And if you believe in sorcerers, then you must surely believe in fairies and the forest folk.” It was clear she meant every word.
“If you tell me fairy folk live there, then I believe it.” He smiled up at her. Gerald was now a few paces back, discussing weaponry with one of the men. “So, tell me about these fairies and their ways.”
“Some of my people fear these pixies and sprites that inhabit the forests. But I try to teach them that no harm comes to anyone who respects the natural rules of the land. I hope I give them courage.”
“I’m sure you do.” He touched her lightly on the thigh. Her hair was plaited; these braids coiled on the top of her head, making a golden crown. She carried herself proudly. That mouth of hers fascinated him, and Lord, how he wanted to get his lips on it again.
She recounted fables and stories handed down through countless generations, in her melodious, sexy voice. A voice he could never tire of.
The rugged and dark beauty of the hilly terrain was breathtaking. Occasionally herds of deer or cattle crossed their path. Some cattle were more like bison and some scrawny and thin—all unlike his sleek fat cows and stud bulls at home.
“We will be going near Oxford, where I went to university.” At last Gerald had ridden off and was well ahead.
“What is this University?” she asked with interest.
Brys smiled. “I was a serious boy—always reading. English history fascinates me. The years following the departure of the Roman legions has always been my passion. Some may say it’s a boring one.” In fact, one of his female acquaintances found out that he’d turned down a date with her in preference to a lecture on an archaeology dig, where artifacts from the Roman era were found, and wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“What is English?”
Brys arced a hand. “This part of the country ends up being called England. It is named after the Angles, I’m afraid.”
“You mean it is not still Mercia?” She scowled.
He shook his head. “And what you know as Powys will become a part of Wales, and north beyond the wall Hadrian built will be Scotland.”
“You know of the great wall of Hadrian?”
He chuckled at her amazement. “I know all about the Roman invasion and their occupation of this land. I know they loved barriers, whether it was rivers, seas or deserts, and when they didn’t have natural ones they built their own. Such as the wall.” Brys visited the wall while at university. While his fellow students took a trip to Paris, Brys chose to hike in the vicinity of Hadrian’s Wall—a never to be forgotten experience.
Thoughtfully she gazed at him. “Perhaps you were always destined to come back to this place, for you know so much of this time.”
“I believe so. It’s amazing what tricks fate plays on us.” He’d been thinking along similar lines. It certainly was weird how he shot back to the exact era he was recently studying. “Can I ask another question that’s been puzzling me?”
“Of course.”
“If your beliefs in sorcerers and the fairy folk are so strong, why couldn’t you gain their help when you were attacked, and when your father was killed?”
She took her time answering. “Many think I am a witch, I know, even some of my faithful servants, for the superstitions I believe about the fairies of the glades and forests.” Her voice lowered as she glanced about. “They do not really know about the ability Anstred possesses and they prefer not to question her disappearances. I think the truth is too frightening to them. Some things cannot be altered, even with the help of the fairies—such as the journey through life and into death. I know I will meet my father beyond the great sleep, and that belief helps me bear my sorrow.”
“Then you do believe that we are reborn in another life.” She nodded. “What are your views on reincarnation? Rebirth.”
“Rebirth was devoutly believed in by the Celts of times past. It was easy for them to understand, and is simple in its teachings, even now. My father said that reincarnation was once taught by the Christians. Our Creator gave the gift of an immortal soul to humans and we can be reborn time and again. Each time, we try to reach perfection. When we are recreated we move to a higher and higher plane in our bid to reach this perfect state.”
The theory was as old as time. The doctrine was easy to believe in. But the simple people used the idea of reincarnation as an excuse for the sinful to indulge in their vices. They felt sure that they would come back and be given the chance to repent their sins in another life, so the church ceased its teachings of higher spiritual attainment.
“And what do you believe, Haesal?”
She gazed at him in silence for a while. “I strongly believe our souls move to another, much better plane when they leave our bodies.”
Brys covered her hand where it lay on her horse’s wither. “Then you must believe, as I do, that we will be together, you and I, until eternity. I know you so well that I’m sure we’ve met in our past lives, and will meet again in some future life.”
As she gazed at him with soft intentness, she sighed. “You are so sure. I find it hard to argue with you.” But as her eyes shadowed with sadness, she whispered, “I fear that something will drag us apart in this life. I beg you not to have such faith in your fancies.” Her eyes swept over the hills as if they were divulging a secret only she could hear.
Brys looked about, half expecting a fairy to jump from behind a tree. “Fancies? Don’t dare call my belief fancy.” She scared the hell out of him, and her certainty chilled him. Could the sprites of the forest be telling her something he would never be a party to?
A heavy silence fell. A wind blew up as if from nowhere, and the sun, previously shining weakly, disappeared behind dark clouds. Brys’ mood turned gloomy, along with the weather. If she was aligned to the ways of fairies and sorcerers, then surely she possessed a sixth sense. He would easily laugh it off in his own time where everything had a logical explanation. But here, anything was feasible.
The landscape was awe-inspiring. On his visits to this part of the country Brys always wondered how it looked before civilization did its best, or worst, to change it. Now he knew. The forests were dense. At times the road all but vanished beneath the undergrowth. Flowering shrubs grew in abundance. The greenies would be enraptured with this flourishing wilderness.
As they skirted hills and bypassed swamps, the croaking of a million frogs was deafening. Birdsong filled the air, some pure and silvery sweet, others raucous and shrill. Never had Brys felt so at one with the earth, the sky, and all living things. Like a child who has just discovered Santa Claus, he grew entranced. Everything was more lush and green. It was easy to believe fairies and sprites inhabited the woods.
But also too easy to forget the dangers lying in wait for a careless traveler. Wild animals could easily stalk them. Or, even more frightening, savage warriors could be hiding around the bend or over the next hill.
* * *
Brys finished checking the hooves of the horses, tethered a short distance from the campsite Anstred chose for the night. He stopped at the edge of the clearing where Haesal sat near the fire. Her mouth curved in a smile as one of the girls near her chattered. By any standards she was a rare beauty, and his heart swelled as he went to stand beside her. “Haesal, why don’t you bathe first while the meal is being prepared?” he suggested, and she lifted her thickly lashed eyes to him.
Anstred had searched out a likely place for them to bathe, and had chosen well. A small river with a miniature waterfall cascading from a rocky outcrop was near the campsite. Brys had taken a look around and was satisfied that the river was far enough away from the wagon to afford some privacy, with tall trees surrounding it and a few shallow pools in its bends.
The hike over the hills was arduous, and Brys was eager to wash the sweat from his body. It amazed him how the others seemed capable of tramping mile after mile without complaining. The talisman weighed heavily on his chest, and his awe of it had grown to such proportions he feared to remove it—dreading that once taken away all about him would disappear.
Gerald asked at least twice a day if he could wear it, and Brys’ refusal made him more sullen and resentful. Haesal should see about giving her obnoxious brother a good kick up the rear end instead of pandering to his moods. Brys smiled at that idea—her heart was as soft as melted butter. She would never be capable of using violence on anyone, certainly not on her brother.
Haesal glanced down at her hands with a small grimace. “Yes, I am in great need of bathing. Fetch my drying cloth and the soap, Rhoda,” she said as she rose.
Brys turned to the men unloading the food, ordering, “Keep watch. I’ll ensure it’s safe for your mistress.” As he passed Godwin, he called, “Join me.” They followed Haesal and Rhoda through the thick bracken.
Gerald jumped up. “I will go too.”
Brys gave a decisive shake of the head. “I doubt your sister would want you around while she bathes, lad.”
“Then why are you going after her?” He scowled.
His petulant demand made sense. “We must check there’s no wild animals at the water’s edge. Anyway, the future chief should bathe later with the men of his tribe.”
Gerald looked wary but thoughtful. “You are right.”
Brys sighed with relief and they continued to the river. When just out of sight of the two women, Brys whispered, “Stay here. I’ll send your Rhoda to you.”
Godwin went down on his haunches, grinning.
Overhanging willows partly concealed where Haesal, stripped to her undergarment, was stepping into the shallows. Brys tapped Rhoda on the shoulder and motioned for her to be silent. Pointing, he gave her a gentle push to where Godwin waited, and blushing, she turned to walk unhurriedly to join him.
Haesal let out a small squeal as she stepped into deeper water. “It is very cold, Rhoda, I fear it will make me shiver.”
As Brys came up behind her, saying, “Not while I’m here to warm you,” she slipped sideways. Brys grabbed her around the waist to keep her from tumbling backwards. “Have no fear, you’re quite safe.”
“Where is Rhoda?” she demanded. In an effort to stay upright, she was forced to grip his forearms.
“Rhoda has gone to join her lover. Don’t be angry with me—I sent her away. We’re so seldom alone that I did some crafty maneuvering to get this time with you.”
There was a light of mischief in his dark eyes, and Haesal was painfully aware that he had stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad expanse of well-muscled chest and shoulders under smooth, sleek skin. “Crafty is the word I would have used.” She attempted to put a haughty chill into her voice, but instead heard an infuriating huskiness.
Vainly she pushed at his chest in an effort to put space between them, but drew back sharply when her palms came into contact with the mat of dark curls. Why was it that whenever she touched him, a strange feeling filled her? In an effort to ignore his nakedness, she asked, “Why have you come to disturb my bathing?”
An odd feeling washed over her, so intense she almost cried out. This was the way she would remember him forever, with his dark eyes teasing, yet smoldering with the look that made her toes curl. The desolation that came with the knowledge that one day he would be gone passed, but left a dull ache inside her.
“Please don’t be angry.” As his gaze wandered over her, she had the oddest desire to strip her clothing off and let his eyes feast on her nakedness.
“I’m here to help you bathe. See, I have the soap Rhoda left on the bank.” While he dipped it in the water, his gaze lingered on her lower body. As he unbent he made a small sound—as if in agony—then began to rub the soap from her wrist to her shoulder, saying, “Your skin is like silk, so soft, and it smells of roses.” His soft words sent a thrill though her as he lifted her arm.
Haesal watched the slow movement of his fingers. The distant noise of running water made everything seem strangely unreal, covering all sounds but her heartbeat—loud in her ears. The water shone darkly on the hairs of his arm, as she placed a quivering hand over his to trap it. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t fight me, I beg you.” Turning her hand, he transferred the soap to her fingers and nodded. “Wash my chest, please.”
She hesitated—but only for a moment—and when she touched his shoulder with a soapy hand, he shivered. For a moment she thought she had done wrong, but then he urged, “Give me your fingers, and feel what your nearness does to me.” Placing them over his heart, he then settled his warm mouth on hers. Aware that his hands came to rest just below the swell of her breasts, Haesal clung to him.
As he dragged her closer, she felt the hardness of his desire, while passion surged between them like giant waves threatening to wash them far away from this world of reality. When they finally broke apart, he murmured her name, and she whispered his in answer.
They stared at each other, and when he cupped a breast in his palm, his touch seared her, even through her shift. Dragging her back into his arms, his mouth went to the hollow at the base of her throat, and Haesal couldn’t hold back a moan as his tongue stroked along her throat and then dipped lower to the upper mound of her breast.
Rhoda’s laugh from upstream broke the spell binding them and Haesal pulled away with a small whimper. Once again he had overpowered her reason until she lost all control. He was surely a wizard who easily overran her common sense. Glaring up at him, she curled her arms about her front, flinching when the fabric rubbed against her breasts.
Brys was shaken to the core by her sudden withdrawal after the moments of rapture they’d shared. “What’s wrong? And don’t look at me as if you’ve done something against your will. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“I am full of shame!” Her hands went beneath her armpits as if she was trying to hold herself together. “Carrying on like a woman who...who would...couple with any man.”
That hurt. “I’m not just any man, Haesal.”
“While my servants are within calling distance.” She ignored his outburst. “How would I appear to my people if they happened to see me...”
Brys took hold of her upper arms to give her a shake. Frustration robbed him of the gentleness she deserved. “If they happened to see you and I making love? It’s the most natural thing in the world.”
He loosened his hold, and absently, she rubbed her flesh where his fingers had been. Brys groaned softly. “I’m sorry.” Jerking his head towards the splashing and merry laughter further down the river, he said, “That’s Godwin and Rhoda enjoying their love without hesitation. Things could be just as simple and pleasurable for us.”
She gave a deep sigh. “Nothing can ever be simple between us—not while I am pledged to another.”
Her obvious desperation gave him a small measure of hope. “Then the best thing to do is get you un-pledged from this man. The sooner the better.”
Head back, she glared at him. “You may have powers beyond the ordinary man, but do not begin to think you can walk into my life and change it around to suit your way of thinking.”
Brys swallowed a groan. She looked like a water sprite risen from the murky depths. The very embodiment of this wild place. Sweet odors of the woods and earth rose about them and he felt as if he’d wandered into a witch’s garden. “You are a tantalizing woman, but a very stubborn one. I will have your love, and that’s a vow.” Feeling about on the sandy bottom of the river, he retrieved the bar of soap. “Here, finish bathing. In private. Have no fear, I’ll not bother you again without your consent.” Grabbing her hand, he squashed the sloppy mess of soap into her palm.
Wading out, he splashed soap off his skin as he went. What a liar. He would keep chasing her for as long as it took to convince her they should be together. “Rhoda!” Roughly, he rubbed a piece of rag across his wet torso. “Come see to your mistress.”
In a matter of seconds the girl was obeying his command, scurrying through the bushes, wringing clumps of wet hair and her sodden garment.
* * *
Where Haesal was concerned Brys felt he took two steps forward and one back all the time. Things were still strained between them after last night’s incident at the river. She’d barely cast a glance his way over the morning meal or as they set off for the day’s trek.
The road now dwindled to a rutted track, so overgrown by weeds in places that it practically disappeared. It widened just before reaching a crossroads. A Roman milestone still stood there and so Brys knew this was High Cross—Venonoe in Roman times—the watershed. An area separating the waters of the basins of the Severn and the Trent rivers. The road crossing their way was Watling Street, which still survived in the future.
Fascinated, Brys ran his fingers over the stone monument. “What does it say?”
Haesal looked sideways at him. “Cannot you read the Roman writing?”
“Not all of it. I usually wear glasses for reading. I can make out the clearer words, but not those faded with time.”
“What are these glasses you speak of?”
“They are lenses in a frame and made out of a type of glass. They sit on my nose, so.” He demonstrated with forefinger and thumb. “They make the words larger and clearer. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so.” She sounded wary.
Pointing right, she said, “The road west leads to Uriconium.”
“Wroxeter,” he murmured.
“And east to Verulamium.”
“Called St Albans in my time.”
She nodded stiffly. “It then goes on to Durovernum.”
“Which I know as Canterbury.” Fingering the chiseled grooves, Brys became aware of the curious stares of the servants. “They must think me odd, running my fingers over a lump of stone.” He turned his back on the milestone.
Following the path his fingers had taken with her own, she murmured, “I think they are still a little afraid of your powers, even while they admire your strength.”
“And what of you, Haesal? Are you still afraid of me?”
“Of course not.” She lifted her chin.
“I thought you might be back to fearing me.” She glanced away from his intense gaze. “After the way I behaved at the river.”
“I...I suppose I am as much to blame as you.” Shyly she lifted her head. “I do not know what made me act so brazenly. I hope you do not think I am so with every man who kisses me.”
“I sincerely hope not.” Brys touched a tendril of hair that had escaped her braid. “I want you to only respond in such a manner to me—only ever me.”
A beguiling smile found its way through her uncertainty. “How can I disobey such an order?”
“It’s not an order. Never that. It’s a plea. I want your love so much that I’m going round the bend with wanting you.”
“What bend is this?” Her innocent appraisal was almost his undoing.
“It means I’m going crazy.” He ran a hand over the budding beard on his chin. “This inability to control my feelings is something I’m totally unfamiliar with.”
She slanted him a puzzled look. “I believe that means you are finding the way you are behaving as strange as my own behavior is to me.”
“Exactly.” He saw that the others now stared at them as if watching a sideshow at a fairground. “We’d better be getting on.”
She agreed and he helped her to remount her horse.
They tried to keep to what remained of the road as much as possible. Although on a causeway, the going grew wetter and swampier as they moved into hillier terrain. Brys was thankful for the sturdy oxen when the wagon wheels sank deeply into the soft ground.
They made camp in a deserted town, possibly in the vicinity of Stratford on Avon. Making a conscious effort to leave Haesal alone, he suffered a sleepless night.
Early next morning, Anstred reported a group of men hunting deer in the area. After crossing the River Avon, the travelers came face to face with these tribesmen, toting a buck strung between sticks by its legs.
The morning before Brys left home, he’d spotted a deer in his driveway, so safe from hunters. Later today or tomorrow he knew his group would have to start hunting in order to replenish their own food supply. A task he didn’t relish one bit.
Cautiously Brys approached the men, arms aloft to give them assurance. “You need not fear us. We wish you no harm.”
They were understandably wary. One turned back to the others and, after a few murmurings, they slowly came forward.
“Would you share our meal with us?” Brys offered.
“We would be honored to share a meal with the man who killed the mighty Garth.” The dialect of the one who spoke was strange but understandable.
How the hell did the news find its way to these wanderers? They were all staring at him, which made Brys uncomfortable. Perhaps to them he was a wizard.
“How did you learn of this fight with Garth?”
“From hunters we met in the hills.”
Well, that explained it all. Their communication skills were certainly unsurpassed.
Squatting silently near the fire, they waited patiently while the food was prepared; then, heartily tucked into the bread that was baked in the ashes of the fire last night.
The leader offered Brys part of their trophy, but he refused, saying they had plenty, which they didn’t, of course. After gravely bidding goodbye and wishing the travelers a safe journey, the tribesmen disappeared into the trees like wraiths.
This made Brys uneasy. Beckoning to Anstred, he whispered, “Be even more watchful.” Anyone could be watching their every move, there were so many hiding places.
The thickly wooded hills before Corinium were spectacular. He mentioned his awe to Haesal.
“Is it not so beautiful in your time? Please do not tell me that it must change so much.”
“It’s still splendid, but a lot of the trees will go.” Wasn’t that a fact? Most of this spellbinding landscape would disappear. “The farmers will clear the land for their plows, and fires and storms will take their toll. There are many more people in my time. Wherever we travel, we always find a town or village.”
“The way is not as lonely?”
“No. And I suppose it’s safer, discounting the maniacs who drive fast cars about.” She frowned. “Remember the machines I told you about that move really fast.” It struck him forcibly that this journey was far more exhilarating than if he’d had transport. “Can you imagine being in a wagon that moves so speedily we would have reached your home on our first day?” Of course she couldn’t.
They stopped near another crossroads outside Corinium, and Haesal read from the milestone, “Glevum is to the west.”
Gloucester. The road east went to Calleva or Silchester and then on to Londinium. There was also a road up to Verulamium—St. Albans.
Sighing wistfully, Brys said, “I’d love to see all those places, especially London.” But detouring to satisfy his own curiosity was impossible.
“Perhaps you can return to see these places after we are safely back home.” She made the suggestion softly.
“Would you be willing to travel with me?” Fear clutched at his innards. With each day, the dread that he would be snatched back to his own time grew as his love for Haesal intensified.
Her gaze drifted over the group, now sitting nearby. “I could not leave my people, and it would not be safe for me to go where the heathen invaders have settled.”
“Then I would not want to go without you.”
Brys hoped the look of pain that winged across her features meant she was as stricken by the thought of him leaving as he was.
Corinium was built on the same lines as Lindum, with a smelly ditch around the outer wall, and watchtowers placed at regular intervals. Men peered through slits in the ramparts, hailing them as they approached.
The Corinium men all sported matted beards, scruffy hair, and yellowed skin. Once they’d obviously established Brys was leader, one of them gestured for him to enter, alone. Strangely, Brys felt no fear, despite them being fierce—the talisman had that effect on him now. After a great deal of haggling and posturing they opened the gates to let the rest of the party in.
Corinium was in a sorry state, the dwellings in a pitiful condition. The few town dwellers, when they emerged, were clothed in filthy rags covering scraggy bodies where bones protruded through jaundiced flesh.
When the gates were securely barred again, Brys introduced the town’s chief, Conjil, to Haesal and Gerald. Conjil and some of the men carried ineffectual-looking long spears, with rusty iron points. A few toted axes in a cowhide shoulder holster.
When some women appeared, four with toddlers clinging to their skirts, and a few wary eight or nine year olds, the lack of babies or teenagers was noticeable.
“Would you like to sleep with your wagon or would you care to have a roof over your heads?” Conjil’s dialect was difficult to understand.
Brys gestured to Haesal. “The lady and her serving girl will sleep under cover if you have a space for them. The rest of us will camp with the wagon.”
“Come.” Congil led Brys to a tumbledown structure with gaping holes in the roof and no glass in the openings that once probably contained the finest glazed windows. “My men will show your servants where to put your animals for the night.” He stopped by one of the small alcoves off the main square and pointed a gnarled finger at what had likely been a Roman shop. “Will this do for the woman and her maid?”
One doorway led to the square, and another off its back led to a passageway. “This will be fine.” Brys grimaced as a large rat scampered into a hole.
Brys then trailed him to the far end of the basilica where Congil showed him to the still-usable latrines. “Our pump does not work, but you can pull water up with the bucket.” Congil pointed to a cowhide container hanging above a well.
After the evening meal, Brys suggested he escort Haesal to her meagre bedroom. As they strolled along the colonnaded path surrounding the main square, Brys bit into a wild fruit that looked and tasted like a pear. Haesal spotted the fruit growing near the track earlier. She possessed a knack for knowing every plant, which came in handy.
Tossing the fruit stone aside, he spotted what must have been a magnificent mosaic on the floor of what had doubtless been a part of the controlling office when the Market Square was the hub of the bustling metropolis this town once was. He knelt to examine the now chipped and broken coloured cubes of stone still showing a scene depicting a man’s head haloed by flowers and leaves.
Haesal knelt beside him. “It is a god of the forest or one of the seasons. The Romans filled their houses and official places with such works. Most had their own gods.”
Brys knew this, but it was good that they were talking again. A few mangy cows and goats wandered nearby, the smaller children aimlessly following them. Pity filled Haesal’s eyes as she watched them.
Brys helped her to rise. “These people are unbelievably poor. I wish we could give them some food, but we have little left. I hoped we could trade with them, but they lack even the simplest of things. They have no crops that I can see, and certainly not many cattle. I don’t know how they exist.”
Haesal sighed sadly as they began to walk. “I was speaking to one of the women. All their girls and most of the young boys were taken by the invaders.”
“I think it will only be a matter of time before this town is deserted.” It was tragic to see the filth and air of desperation pervading every corner of this town that must have been grand during the Roman occupation.
“It is fortunate for us that the last raid took place a short time ago, so it seems unlikely the foreign raiders will return soon. There is little left for them to plunder.” Haesal’s expression was filled with sadness.
“I will try to persuade them to accompany us to Cornwall.” Brys knew that was a lost cause. “They seem past the point of putting up a fight.”
When they reached the door-less opening to Haesal’s make-shift chamber, she nibbled on her lip as she halted. Rhoda sat on the dusty ground, but jumped up and waited obediently.
Brys saw Haesal’s uncertainty, and wondered if she’d send him packing. He waited with baited breath. When she said, “You may go, Rhoda,” he wanted to jump and shout. Instead, he smiled.
Haesal slanted a glance at him before saying hastily, “But I will want you to be back soon. It is so fine a night I think I will sit here for a while.” She looked about before settling herself on a stone bench near the entrance to her bed chamber.
The speed with which Rhoda took off made Brys smile all the more.