Free The Eagle and the Raven by Pauline Gedge Page B

and she heard all that there was to hear in the force of its passing. “She is troubled because she knows her father will send for her before long and then she will have to leave us. She is trying to press a claim on me, Eurgain.”
    “Say no more!” Anger lit her words. “I, too, have a claim on you, Caradoc, but I would not dream of presuming on a childhood agreement!”
    He stood still and pushed a bemused hand through his hair. “I know, I know. Will you still forgive me, Eurgain?” he said with difficulty. “I’m a weak-kneed peasant, I admit it. Will you still accept me?” He felt suddenly as though the course of his whole life hung on her answer, doom or pardon, slavery or freedom, and he watched the wide blue eyes, the small nose, the large, pensive mouth, in an agony of waiting. Finally she sighed.
    “I will accept you, Caradoc,” she said, but her voice was flat and tired. “I have waited long enough. You think you know me, but you do not.” She rose and drew close to him and he took her cold hands in his own. “I am a sword-woman and the daughter of a sword-woman. Never insult me, dear one, by underestimating me.”
    He enfolded her mutely. He could not find the words to tell her that he loved her because from their earliest years their lives had been intertwined and had formed a bond that would not be easily broken. No matter what he said at this moment she would not believe him. Aricia, he thought, but the pain was already subdued. Aricia. He cradled Eurgain gently in his arms.
    She drew away slowly, her hair netted in the rough embroidery of his tunic. “Will you eat now?” she asked him, as though she had not just been torn apart, as though the sweet fantasies of all her fifteen years had not been turned to dust and blown stinging into her face. She had never controlled herself with such iron determination before and her chest ached with pain and her eyes smarted. A sword-woman does not break down, she told herself. She does not show fear.
    “I think I should go and talk to Father,” he said, knowing he could not eat. “And then I should go see Sholto.”
    “Watch that man, Caradoc,” Eurgain said. “Father says that he has a large honor-price but no honor.”
    “Yes, I know,” he replied. “But he swells my ranks.” He bent and kissed her cheek, and left her.
    Cunobelin was in the Great Hall, talking to his chiefs as Caradoc and Fearachar plunged into the gloom and went to join them. The big fire was out and ashes lay scattered about the floor. Lamps burned high on the pillars but their brave circles of wan light only served to darken the shadows around them. Caradoc heard the chiefs burst into raucous laughter and watched them disperse before going to Cunobelin, who turned to him, smiling.
    “Well, Caradoc, this has been an unlucky day for me. First those greasy traders refuse to give me money instead of wine because of that cursed Druid, and then my son nearly gets himself killed by my favorite chief. Now what ill news do you bring me?”
    “ My chief, Father. Cinnamus is in my train,” Caradoc reminded him, and they sank cross-legged to the ground together. “Bring wine, my friend,” he said to Fearachar, who was hovering in the background. “And then get about your business.” Fearachar went to the end of the Hall, drew wine from one of the newly landed jars standing there, and then brought it back and served them.
    “From today’s shipment,” he said. “Probably a bad vintage. Those Romans will cheat you as soon as look at you,” Fearachar said and then left.
    “To the eternal night of the tuath,” Cunobelin said, raising his cup, and they drank together, pouring their dregs onto the floor for the Dagda and for Camulos and for the goddess of the tribe, aging now, even as Cunobelin himself aged. Cunobelin licked his lips and folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. Caradoc heard the slaves behind him begin to lay another fire, chattering as they padded among