Page 44 of The Dragon Ring
Merlin shook his head. “Theodoric is a Goth.”
Overhearing my last remark, Theodoric burst out laughing. “I might look a bit like them, but my people are quite different. We are the civilized side of the Germanic tribes.”
The blood on his hands gave the lie to that.
“So you claim!” Cei clapped him on the back, then turned to Arthur. “That’s seventeen of them dead now, and the rest put to flight, with only Maccus of our men dead and no one else too badly hurt to ride. Shall we bury Maccus and leave the Saxons for the crows?”
Arthur nodded. I could see him better now as it was getting lighter. His once clean bandage was dirty, and his face bone weary. He nodded. “It’s nearly dawn. We’ve a long way to go today. We’ll eat, then saddle up. It’s winter and the wolves will be hungry. Make sure we’ve got everything that’s worth salvaging off the bodies.”
Wolves?I was suddenly quite glad I hadn’t been able to go off on my own, trying to get back to Glastonbury. It seemed there were more dangers than just the Saxons out there lying in wait.
Chapter Twelve
On the thirdday of our journey, we made it to a much more salubrious hostelry than the one we’d stayed at the night before. Although it would only have needed a roof and no raiding Saxons to have been a big improvement. Merlin told me its old Roman name was Letocetum, but the men called it Caer Luit Coyt.
A high and very thick wall, with a wide ditch on the outside, ran around an area of about five acres straddling the road. Within the wall lay quite a settlement: houses, shops, cultivation, and an inn. There was something altogether more vibrant and alive here than there had been in Caer Baddan. I felt as though we were at last entering a region where civilization existed.
People filled the streets– prosperous, cheerful-looking people in clean tunics and long cloaks, unlike the downtrodden peasants of Caer Baddan and Caer Ceri. Ox carts and horse-drawn wagons creaked past us, women carried shopping, children ran about underfoot, vendors packed market stalls away for the night, and dogs scavenged in the gutters. The smell of cooking food mingled with that of stale urine, wood smoke, and horses. Armed soldiers manned the walls, red dragon emblems stitched onto the fronts of their tunics. We were in Pendragon territory now.
“Only thirty miles to Viroconium,” Merlin said. He looked as tired as I felt. “Less than a day’s ride. Too close for Cadwy to stage another attack and pretend you’ve been taken by Saxon raiders. They don’t come this close to Uthyr’s capital. They daren’t.”
Our horses clattered down the main street between the close-packed houses– real houses with plastered walls, not huts or hovels. The cobbles underfoot had been swept clean of excrement, and running water in the roadside gutters took away household refuse. The whole place was cleaner than Caer Baddan and much more welcoming.
The inn itself proved a bit of a shambles, though. But at least it had a roof, so I was content. Dark thatch, much in need of renewing, overhung the walls. A heap of broken red roof tiles, overgrown with weeds, told me that once, probably a long time ago, the inn had been smarter and more Roman in appearance. But the bright spot in all this was a bath house, opposite the inn across a narrow, cobbled street. And from the smoke and steam issuing from its rooftop, I guessed it was in full working order.
On one side of the inn’s courtyard stood stables, equipped with stacks of ample fodder. I piled my horse’s manger with hay on top of a liberal ration of grain, and left him covered with his blanket, making the most of the comparative luxury. I was thinking about that bath house, and how good it would be to get clean again.
A big oak door in the porticoed front of the inn opened onto an inner atrium where a colonnade surrounded a tatty flower bed. The smell of herbs filled the air. Most of the bedraggled plants in the central bed must have been aromatics. Torches, already lit on the wooden pillars that held up the first-floor balcony, made the night rush headlong in on us.
A door opened, and the largest woman I’d ever seen came forward, looking not unlike one of those toys you push over that just bounces back again. A great iron ring, hung with large keys, was attached to her girdle.
“My Lord Theodoric,” she said, “welcome to my humble hostelry. I’m honored to be able to offer you my hospitality once again.” She made a little bow, her breath coming in wheezing puffs as though the short walk had been too much for her.
Theodoric made her a little bow back. “Madame Lucretia, may I introduce you to Prince Arthur Pendragon?”
A look of recognition slid over her face. Arthur took a step forward and she bowed as low as her bulk would allow. Taking his hand, she applied her lips to it enthusiastically with a loud smacking noise.
“My Prince.” She straightened up. “You’re most welcome to my humble abode. The best room will be yours. And the best food my servants can prepare.”
Releasing Arthur, she clapped her plump hands together, and two young servant girls emerged from another door. When they saw the gaggle of men in the courtyard, they put their heads together and giggled. They were like less vivid echoes of the women I’d seen in Caer Baddan, but from the saucy looks they gave the warriors, I had the distinct impression they were probably just as free with their favors. I was really seeing the seedy side of Dark Age life.
Lucretia gave the nearest one a good-natured cuff round the ear. “Be quiet, you silly girls. Tegan, you can take these lords to our finest rooms and organize the communal hall for their men. And mind you see the Prince has the best you can offer.” She accompanied this instruction with a meaningful leer. “Maeve, you get to the kitchens and help the cook. We’ve a pack of hungry men to feed tonight.”
The two girls exchanged glances that told me exactly what the best they had to offer might be, and how they were thinking of presenting it. Maeve, whose ash blonde hair was piled up on top of her head in unruly curls, looked a little disappointed that she was assigned to the kitchens, but Tegan, the other girl, had the look of a cat that had got the cream.
I was surprised to find I was annoyed with them both. Just as annoyed as I’d been when Arthur had kissed Tangwyn farewell. If everything Merlin said was true, and I was still far from believing it myself, then he was mine. Not that I wanted him. I just didn’t want anyone else to have him. I couldn’t help but feel that he should be exclusively mine, and not the property of a mistress in Din Cadan, or a woman of loose morals met in a Roman way station.
Tegan, by far the prettier of the two with curly dark hair and dark skin, bobbed a little bow to Arthur, and came up smiling at him cheekily in a clear promise of things to come.
“Milord Prince.” She licked her lips suggestively.
I bristled in silence.
Arthur laughed. I hadn’t heard him laugh once since we’d left Din Cadan, so it was good to hear he could still do it. The girl laughed with him.
“Welcome as your offer of food is,” he said, turning to Lucretia, “we need to use the bath house before we eat.”
Lucretia was quick on the uptake. “Tegan can take you over there. She knows what to do.”
