Jack Whyte - The Skystone

Her hands were long and delicate, yet brown and strong, and there was a fine, fine down of the most delicate goldness on her forearms, which were not quite covered by the sleeves of the long, white gown she wore. Her mode of dress was the classic dress of Rome: long, clean, straight lines of soft, draped cloth, tied at the waist, the upper garment scooped across her bosom and gathered at the shoulder by a jewelled pin. She was gloriously lovely, and I felt a growing urge in me to say so, but I lacked the courage. I fell into a day-dream, however, imagining that I did say so. and that she smiled and laid her hand in mine that I could kiss it. And kiss it I did, in my dream, rubbing the golden skin gently against my lips and tasting the sweetness of it with the tip of my tongue. Her voice brought me back to my senses.

"This is the border of the two estates. Beyond the stream is your new home. " She turned to me with that raised-eyebrow look of her brother's.

"That is, if you care to stay?"

I smiled and said nothing, but my heart was saying. "I care to stay, I care to stay!"

The stream was a shallow one, no more than a brook, and our path ran straight across it and then branched into three, one going straight ahead and one along the bank of the stream in either direction. I expected her to continue along the main path, but she swung the team to the right and we followed the stream until we came to a widening pool surrounded by willow trees. She brought the horses to a halt just beneath them.

"Now, sir, if you will take the basket from behind us and help me down, we will eat here before going on to the house, and I will talk to you of dragons. "

Delighted, I sprang down from the seat, forgetting all about my bad leg but fortunately landing well. Then I helped her down from the bench, feeling the wondrous softness of her waist beneath my hands for the first time.

The basket contained a variety of food and a flagon of wine, and cups and knives and even a cloth to spread on the grass, and we ate together in perfect contentment by the side of the gurgling stream.

There came a time when I could eat no more, and I made myself more comfortable, leaning against the bole of the tree.

She smiled at me. "Now, are you comfortable? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Only one more thing, " I said, with a smile that was sheer euphoria.

"Tell me about your dragons, and why I will adopt them. " Her face grew serious. She plucked a blade of grass, frowning at it in concentration as she split it carefully lengthwise with the nail of her right thumb. "What do you know of the Druids, Publius?" I thought for a moment before answering. "Not a lot. Mainly what Bishop Alaric has told me about them. You know Alaric?" She nodded.

"He says they're the priests of the Celts. They are of the old religion that held power here before we came. They used to conduct human sacrifices, and were supposed to have magical powers. They worship trees, particularly the oak tree, and the parasite, mistletoe, is held by them to be a sacred plant. Their views today are moderate and not at all at odds with the basic tenets of Christianity, in that all things were created by a benign God for a specific purpose. That's about all. Why do you ask?" She was staring at me, an unintelligible expression on her beautiful face, her right eyebrow quirked slightly higher than the left. In answering my question she dipped her head slightly as though in acknowledgement of something.

"I was simply curious to find out how much you know about them. Do you believe that they have magic powers?"

"No. I told you, I don't even believe that charcoal has magic powers. " Her eyebrow went up higher, in that sardonic way her brother had.

"Well, Publius, '' she drawled, "you are wrong. Magic they possess. Real magic, but purely natural. The magic of trained memory. " I dismissed that with a grunt. "There's nothing magical about trained memory, Luceiia. It's the first function taught in the legions. When a man's illiterate, you'd better make sure that you train his memory if you ever want him to remember anything, from drill to a crucial message. " She accepted my response without demur. "True, but the Druids have this on a different scale. They have carried it beyond the realms of what Romans would consider possible. They carry their entire history around in their heads and in their hearts, Publius. They are a truly wonderful people. I have several friends among them whom I value above many 'worthy'

Romans. "

I dismissed these sentiments too, classifying them mentally as womanly, and my next words betrayed that.

"I presume it was these people who introduced you to the dragons?"

"Don't be nasty, Publius Varrus, it doesn't suit you. As it happens, however, you are correct. They did. "

"I see. Well, what have these dragons to do with me?"

"Nothing yet, and yet perhaps everything. As I told you, you will adopt them as your own. "

I sighed. I had eaten well and was more than content with her company, but I was not in the mood for circumlocution. Nevertheless, I was at pains to keep any trace of impatience out of my voice, and there was a part of me, a very large part of me, that would have been content to dally in that place all day with Luceiia, even had she been babbling gibberish.

"Could you be talked into explaining that?" I asked her.

"Happily. The Celts who live here in the west call themselves the people of the dragon. The Pendragon, to be exact. I respect and admire them very much. And, as I've said, I have made friends of some of their Druids. The Christians have, as you remarked, been making some inroads into the old religion in the last few years, but the Druids are a long way from losing their place of honour in the land. One of them told me the story of the Pendragon and how they were named. It was all very mystical and I listened mainly out of politeness, understanding little of it. But then you yourself alerted me with something you said to Caius, in talking of your grandfather. He repeated it to me and I have been thinking about it ever since. "

I waited. She was obviously struggling with unruly thoughts.

"You asked me if I had seen rust-stained hillsides, and of course I have, without knowing what they signified. I have seen many of them in the hills to the north-east of here, the Mendips. The Pendragon, you see, used to be best known for their crafting of metal. They worked with tin, silver, lead and iron. Their greatest tribal secrets were the secrets of metal. " She had my full attention. "Go on. "

"Well, understandably enough, they wanted to preserve their secret lore from unfriendly eyes. So they used to do their smelting, as you call it, in great secrecy, in caves in the hills, mainly at night. The glow of their furnaces, the noises and the smoke gave rise to a legend, actively fostered by the people themselves, that the hills were the homes of fire-breathing dragons — monsters whose roaring and clanging could be heard in the night by anyone foolish enough to approach their lairs. And their subterfuge worked. It was the perfect deterrent to spies and raiders, and their secrets were safe for centuries. "

"Until the Romans came. "

"Exactly, Publius. Until the Romans came. The Romans, with their ravenous appetite for raw materials and their hard-headed refusal to believe in dragons or in anything else that couldn't be countered by sword, shield and spear. Then the furnaces were abandoned in the caves, and they have remained that way for more than four hundred years. "

"So, " I said, "all your dragons are dead?" She nodded. "Then how could I adopt them? And why would I want to?"

She smiled, sweetly and knowingly. "There is a legend among the Pendragon people that the dragons will return to the hills some day. when the Romans leave. "