William Wu - Invader

Drustan frowned. “He can’t go inside at this hour. In the morning, maybe.”

“I don’t need to go inside,” said Steve. “My friend is called MC 6.”

“Strange name,” said Bedwyr.

“He may have taken another on his travels. Maybe I could describe him to you. He’s a little guy, slender and about so high.” Steve held his hand at MC 6’s height. “He probably doesn’t talk much, but he’s very agreeable. If you tell him to do something, he just does it. And he never hurts anybody-he won’t fight, but he’ll try to stop a fight between other people. Have you seen him?”

The sentries looked at each other.

“Well, there’s little Patricius,” said Drustan. “He’s only twelve.”

“I’m looking for a grown man,” said Steve. “Just a little one.”

“Medraut’s not too big,” said Aetius. “But he’s no stranger. He’s Artorius’s nephew.”

“One of the cooks caught him scrapping with another young rascal yesterday,” said Drustan. “Medraut picks fights all the time.”

“You sure he’s that little?” Aetius asked. “Maybe he’s gotten his growth since you saw him last.”

“Well…it was only a few months ago.”

“I fear we haven’t seen anyone like that,” said Drustan. “We would notice, I think. But maybe he works in the village somewhere.”

“Maybe so. Thank you.” Steve sighed. Hunter had certainly heard the entire exchange. MC 6 probably had not returned to full size yet. “Bedwyr, shall we visit another tavern? I’ll buy.”

“Not so fast,” said Drustan, grinning. “Artorius has been coming out for a quick walk every evening. He may come out any minute.”

“You mean I could meet him?”

“If he walks out in the same mood as usual, he’ll have no objection. He likes to mix with the men this time of year, as the campaign season approaches.”

“I think I’ll hang around.” Steve laughed. “You mind, Bedwyr?”

“Not at all. I’ll linger with you. It can’t hurt to have a good word with the man at the top.”

Back in the hut, Jane helped Ygerna prepare another pot of mutton stew. At first, Ygerna had tried to dissuade her guest, but Jane had simply laughed lightly and picked up a knife to cut meat. Ygerna baked more bread and carefully seasoned the new stew with the sea salt Emrys had brought from the village.

Ishihara had gone outside to cut more firewood in the twilight. Emrys stacked the pieces. Wayne alternately paced outside restlessly and sat on a stool inside the hut. The children, now growing accustomed to their visitors, paid less attention to them.

As she cut chunks of mutton, Jane tried to decide how to proceed. Now that she knew Hunter and Steve had joined the troop of riders, she could try to get their attention. On the other hand, Wayne and Ishihara surely knew she hoped to do that. When they went to the village tomorrow, she expected Ishihara would become even more attentive to her than usual to prevent her from escaping. Her greatest fear was that Wayne would leave her here with Ishihara. Then she would have no chance.

Wayne and Ishihara came inside the hut, followed by Emrys. Jane glanced up but said nothing. Emrys closed the door behind him.

“Shall I tell Jane?” Ishihara asked Wayne.

“Might as well.” Wayne shrugged.

“I have spoken with Emrys about tomorrow,” said Ishihara. “Based on the number of ewes pregnant in his flock, he has decided to take more sheep to the village tomorrow. We will go with him to look for MC 6.”

“Okay.” Jane shrugged, feigning indifference. Actually, she was deeply relieved. Apparently they were going to take her; that meant she might have a chance to get away.

When the main doors of the palace opened, Steve tensed with excitement. Six men came out, wearing now-familiar plain wool tunics and leather boots and leggings; a servant inside closed the doors again. Both sentries stood up alertly.

The man in front smiled at the sentries. “Good evening, men. Did I wake you?”

Drustan and Aetius both laughed and shook their heads, their admiration for him evident in their faces.

“No, sir, Riothamus,” said Drustan. “Not us.”

“Well, I know this is boring duty. I did my turns on watch when I was young.”

Steve tried to get a good look at Artorius Riothamus in the flickering torchlight. He seemed to be in his early thirties, of average height and a medium build. His shoulder-length hair was light brown, as was the narrow, neatly clipped beard along his jawline.

“Good evening, sir,” said Bedwyr politely. He, too, looked fascinated.

“Good evening to you.” Artorius looked at him in the uneven torchlight. “Ah, Bedwyr, isn’t it? You lead one of the scouting patrols.”

“That’s right, sir.”

Artorius looked at Steve. “I don’t believe I know you, friend.”

“I, uh-”

“This is Steve, a man from the eastern end of the Roman Empire,” said Bedwyr. “He and a friend from Linnuis have joined Lucius’s troop.”

“Ah! I’m glad to hear it. Welcome, Steve.”

“Thank you,” Steve said shyly.

“Have you and your friend ridden before? Can you sit a horse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Artorius laughed lightly and gave Steve a pat on the shoulder as he passed. “We need you.” He and his entourage walked on down the street.

Steve turned to watch him go. Artorius was personable and unpretentious, but he also came across as reserved, confident, and supportive of his men. Steve liked him and realized that this personal magnetism, combined with his military successes, helped create the legend that grew after his death.

“Still ready for another drink?” Bedwyr asked him cheerfully.

“Sure.”

Harriet had accepted the invitation of Gwenhyvaer, the young woman she had befriended, to her small room. She had recognized the name as the original Welsh from which the more modern

“Guinevere” had been derived. Now a fire burned brightly in a stone fireplace; candles lit the corners of the room. The two women sat on each side of the stone hearth, with fur lap-robes keeping their legs warm.

Gwenhyvaer was stitching the hem of a gown by the firelight. Watching her, Harriet decided that Gwenhyvaer was even younger than Harriet had first thought. Most likely, she was still in her late teens, which made her an adult in this culture.

“How many children do you have?” Gwenhwyvaer asked, glancing up from her sewing.

“Uh-none.” Because she and Hunter had not discussed that question, she was caught unprepared.

“No?” Gwenhwyvaer’s eyes widened in surprise.

Harriet shrugged, suppressing a smile. “No.”

“Oh, my. Did they…I mean, did they die young? Or you never had any?”

“I never had any.”

“That’s so sad. How does your husband feel about this? Doesn’t he want sons?”

“We no longer worry about it,” said Harriet. “It’s all right.”

“I hope I have children who grow up.” Gwenhyvaer smiled shyly. “My father says Artorius likes me. He’s hoping to arrange for us to be married.”

Harriet smiled at her youthful embarrassment. “You must love him.”

She giggled. “Every woman I know does, I think. At least, the younger ones.”

“Has your father been with Artorius long?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been advising him on Roman cavalry tactics. My father is part Roman. He served in the legions in Gaul until about ten years ago. So did his father, before the legions left Britain. He was stationed up by Hadrian’s Wall, on the Pictish border.”

“I see. You come from a long line of soldiers.”

Gwenhwyvaer nodded soberly. “The men will be going on campaign soon. My grandfather died in a battle. I wish my father would stay home.”