Despite the slow going, by the middle of the fifth day they were well into the country of his adventure. They spent that night at the home of Clotinus. The next day they passed the very boar pit into which he had fallen and turned down the track that led to the household of Bendeigid. The rain was letting up at last, and westward between the banks of breaking clouds the sky glowed gold.
Gaius felt his pulse quicken as he recognized the home pasture and the wood in which he had hunted for primroses with Eilan. Soon she would see him, clothed in the majesty, however mud-spattered, of Rome. He would say nothing; she could judge the depth of his suffering from his silence. And then, perhaps, she would seek him out, and –
“Gods below! Are those more stormclouds?” It was the optio, Priscus, behind him. “I hoped we’d have a day at least to get dry!”
Gaius focused on the outside world and saw that though the sky to the south was clearing, the clouds ahead were an ominous dark gray. His horse tossed its head nervously and a little prickle of apprehension roughened his skin.
“Not ramclouds,” said one of the Dacians. “Smoke . . .”
At that moment the rising wind brought him the reek of smoldering timbers. All the horses were snorting now, but they had smelled fire before, and the men kept them under control.
“Priscus, dismount and take two scouts through the woods to see,” said Gaius, a little amazed at the cold precision of his tone. Was it training that kept him from spurring his horse forward, or was he simply numbed into inaction by the thought of what he might see? It seemed only a few moments before the scouts returned.
“Raiders, sir,” said the optio, his seamed face set like stone. “The Hibernians we heard about, I would guess. But they’re gone now.”
“Any survivors?”
Priscus shrugged and Gaius felt his throat close.
“Warm welcome here, but no place to sleep, eh? Guess we ride on,” said one of the men, and the others laughed. Then Gaius turned, and his face silenced them. He dug his heels into his mount’s sides and in silence the troop followed him.
It was true. Even as they came around the edge of the wood to the rise on which Bendeigid’s steading had been, Gaius had been hoping that Priscus was mistaken somehow. But it was all gone -only a few blackened timbers at the ends of what had been the feasting hall still stood in mute memorial. No sign of the building where he had convalesced, and no sign of life. Thatched buildings burned fast.
“Fierce indeed must have been the fire, to burn when the straw was wet with rain,” said Priscus.
“No doubt,” Gaius numbly agreed, picturing little Senara, Eilan, all the family, prisoners in the hands of the wild raiders from the coasts of Hibernia, or worse still, heaps of charred bones among the tangle of burnt timbers that had once been a home. He must not let the men see how much this was affecting him; he pulled his hood over his face, coughing as if from the smoke that still drifted from the outbuildings. Priscus had been right. Nothing could have survived this blaze.
He said fiercely, “Let’s get the men going then. We’ve no time to stand about staring at foundation stones if we’re to have shelter before night falls!” His voice cracked and he turned it to another cough, wondering what, if anything, Priscus had deduced from his tone. But the optio, an old soldier, was familiar enough with the effects on the young of seeing pillage and slaughter.
Priscus gave him a kindly glance and looked away. “We promised these people peace when we conquered them – least we could do, you’d think, would be to protect them. But we’ll catch up with the bastards that did it, never fear, and teach them not to meddle with Rome. What a pity the gods never invented any other way to civilize the world. Oh well, we could have been turnip farmers; but one way or the other, we picked soldiering for our job, and that’s part of it. Friends of yours, were they?”