Lugh regarded me steadily. “Rhodri is still in Londinium.”
My face fell to the ground, and almost took me with it.
“He told his woman”-he paused, and I wasn’t sure how much he knew, but suspected he knew more than I liked “-that he was coming here, but all along planned to stay in Londinium and wait things out. That’s why I was supposed to delay you. There’s a hut in the back of the grove. I’ve been here for two days, waiting for you.”
Wordlessly, I offered the wine skin again. He finished it. I stroked Nimbus’ flanks. I hoped she had it in her.
The blacksmith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So what do you do now?”
“Now I go back to Londinium, and hope I can get to Rhodri before the vigiles do. He’s a brave man but very stupid.”
Lugh laughed. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
I smiled sourly at him. It was going to be a long, painful journey, made more painful by my swollen face and bruised, throbbing back. I mounted Nimbus, who looked surprised that we weren’t sleeping in the grove for the evening.
Lugh looked up at me, and fished something out of a pouch in his tunic. The pouch smelled strongly of sweat, iron and beer. He took out a small egg shaped thing and handed it to me.
“Take this. It’s one of the tokens we use. If Rhodri sees it, he’ll talk to you.”
“Thanks. Don’t forget to wrap your ribs.” I put the egg-thing-it was an anguinum, a magic token for the Druids-in my own pouch.
Lugh winced, and said: “Now that I can go home, my woman will look after me. She’s by way of being a good healer. And a little mead will take the pain away. Remember that for the ride back.”
I grunted. “We’ll have to ride all night.”
He patted Nimbus’ neck appreciatively. “There’s a good stream, with a little glen about thirty miles before Londinium, right off the road on the right. It’s about five miles west of Aeron’s inn-the one where the natives stay.”
“Thanks. Be seeing you.”
He waved, and faded into the darkness. Nimbus and I were alone, with the dark, pain, and panic as our only companions. How could I have been so stupid?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I looked forward to a long night of beating myself up, until I remembered that Lugh had already done it. But even that wasn’t enough. There’s no companion more loyal than self-reproach. It stays with you through danger, through discomfort, even through sixty-three miles of pain and trouble. And if you try to drown it out-with wine, or a song, or even a little sleep-it’s still there, smiling at you, blowing kisses.
God, I was tired. Eventually, I was even too tired for it. It moved on to fresher meat in a tavern or some small villa, or maybe even in a palace or basilica. You never know.
By this time, my ass was numb, and Nimbus had slowed to a listless walk, the bounce gone from her step, her hooves stumbling on a stone now and then. The never-ending darkness of the next corner swallowed up her equine optimism like a fat man with a honey cake. I’d lost the human variety about twenty miles ago, and there wasn’t much there to begin with. Time just lurched along, while the night kept belching out black.
A blanket of fog threw itself over us. Nimbus’ thick hair plucked and gathered the beads of water, keeping her skin safe and dry. My cloak took them all in and dug out a small pond, then emptied it on my tunic and started over. After ten hours, I felt like a pickled herring. I smelled even worse. Thanks to Lugh, my kidneys couldn’t hold water well, either.
I touched my cheek and didn’t recognize it. My face would some day shrink down to normal size. I’d look human again. Meanwhile, I’d try not to scare anybody. I hoped I wasn’t dead, but I couldn’t really remember.
Domitian was up ahead on a gold horse. His head was too small, and he was with Claudius and Vespasian, and Agricola was leading him on foot. Then there was just Domitian’s head in Lucullus’ palace, and suddenly it split into three heads. All of them started to talk to me. I thought it was urgent until one of the heads began to sing a tavern song about Julia’s throat muscles, and then my beard itched, and then I woke up and almost fell off.
Luckily, Nimbus knew where home was, and where those oats were that I’d promised her. I looked around, a little less thick. We must’ve passed the tavern Lugh mentioned while I was asleep. After a few more milestones, I heard a faint burble in the distance. The stream and the glen. We’d be safe there. And we were half-way home.
We turned, and found the place-a little meadow as snug as my own bed. I led Nimbus to the creek and refilled the skins, while a rabbit or a fox rustled in the brush upstream. Old elms and oaks and a few yew and some ancient willows lined the banks and surrounded us.
I staked out the mare. After snatching a few mouthfuls of grass, she carefully bent her legs in the intricate bow horses do when they lie down for the night. I was as comfortable as the pain allowed. I told myself to wake up in two hours, and secretly hoped I wouldn’t listen.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes and wondered why the bed was so hard. Military training kept me to the schedule: it was just a little over two hours later, and still dark, though there was a faint suggestion of hope from the East. Nimbus was lying down, her head stretched out on the grass, her tired legs slightly bent under her. I hated to wake her.
I dug around in my saddle bag for a handful of grain. I always packed a little as an extra treat for the horse, and I’d been saving this for when she really needed it.
She raised her head and stared when I stood up, watching me, trying to anticipate what she should do next. I held out a mouthful of barley, the last I had, and she nickered softly, her downy nose quivering in my hand. It was gone too soon, and we needed to be, too. She stood up, tired and with regret, but without me asking. I saddled her and somehow rolled myself on, my back still tender and sore, my face maybe a little more human.
We both felt better after sleep. The breeze was at our backs, which helped our spirits, though it wouldn’t do much for anyone downwind. We weren’t night creatures, horses and men. We were meant for the sun, or at least the grey haze of day.
I tried to empty my mind and found there wasn’t much left. So I looked ahead. Maybe the world was still here: maybe I was still a part of it. The rain had stopped. The sun was thin from a winter diet, but still out and trying. Like me.
So I’d taken a wrong turn. So I didn’t have time for mistakes. I’d still find Rhodri before Meditor. And when I did, I’d show him the anguinum-it might make a difference. And there was home ahead, home and a little warm food, and Bilicho, and comfort. And Gywna.
I made it to Londinium an hour before sunset. I dropped off Nimbus at the palace stable, and sent a message to Agricola. I rubbed the mare down, and walked her and watered her. Then I told the groom to feed her a little at a time. No riding for two weeks. She shoved her head against me and scratched it on my chest.
He nodded at me. He was a bow-legged man of indeterminate age, but I could see in his face that he knew horses. I stroked her neck. I figured I’d ask Agricola if I could buy her. You don’t go through what we’d just gone through and then just say good-bye.
I limped home, my lower back stiff, my side aching, my face unrecognizable, with a dark beard and black eye and swollen cheek. People avoided me.
No one answered when I knocked on the door. I got irritated, then worried. Where the hell were they? I tried to open it, and it was unbolted. What the hell kind of safety was this?
I stepped in and almost started yelling, but choked instead. Strange voices. Strange people, strange, upset people, in my house. What the hell was going on? I thought I heard Gwyna-but she was supposed to be safe at home. Why would she be here? Nobody even expected me until tomorrow. Another female voice murmured, lower than hers, with an exotic accent. What in goddamn hell was happening? Then I heard Coir, and Draco’s Germanic Latin, and above it all Bilicho, Bilicho sounding agitated and a little angry and maybe even a little out of control. Bilicho?