“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.”

“They are quick enough to steal it though,” put in Medhir.

“Only because they cannot get it any other way.”

“Let them grow their own grain and raise their own cattle!” Medhir cried. “They can plant and harvest like we do.”

“They hold no land, Mother. Besides, planting would mean staying in one place and they could never bear that. They roam; they follow the wind. It means more than life to them.”

“Strange men they are then,” muttered Medhir.

“What of their women?” wondered Rhonwyn. “Are they as bad?”

“As bad or worse. A woman will take as many husbands as she pleases. They reckon no parentage; children Belong to the clan. And if she has no children to care for, she paints herself with woad and goes into battle with the men. You can hear their wild screams from one end of those lonely hills to the other.”

Elphin took another long draught of his beer and replaced the horn. “Still and all,” he continued, “we met only the one band all summer. There are a few Novantae villages on the coast up there and the people say they have been seeing the Picti on the hill tracks, traveling north, always north.”

“Maybe they have given up at last,” said Rhonwyn.

“Not likely,” remarked Gwyddno.

“I cannot say.” Elphin shook his head slowly. “My gut says no.” He brightened and announced. “Anyway, we will not ride next year. I told Maximus, and he agrees, the Picti seem to have withdrawn, so there is little point in running the hooves off our horses all summer. We will stay home and tend to our own affairs.”

“Wonderful!” cried Rhonwyn, jumping up and throwing her arms around Elphin’s neck. “To have you here… Oh, but what will I do with you underfoot a whole year?”

“We will think of something, lady wife.” He pulled her close and kissed her.

“Good to have you home, son,” said Gwyddno, rising slowly. “But I am for my bed. Come on, woman,” he told Medhir, “I am tired.” They shuffled out together.

Elphin contemplated the boy snuggled in his arms. “Here is another one for bed.”