Later, I went downstairs to eat a simple but large and nourishing meal that I had been savouring for some time thanks to the delicious smells of roasting meat that drifted up from the kitchens towards my room on the second level. Since I was the only guest in the hostelry, my host and his wife, whom I discovered were named Lars and Brunna, invited me to eat with them, making a fourth with Brunna's brother Eric. I was glad to accept their invitation and the warmth of their company. The food was excellent, and accompanied by a delicious, full-bodied red wine, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying the companionship of these strangers whose comportment bore little of the normal attitude of mansio keepers towards their guests. When the meal was over, there was still wine in the great jug, so we lingered at the table, comfortable and friendly in the ample light of a dozen candles and a huge, roaring fire, while the deluge continued outside with an energy that kept the sound of water pouring from the roof a constant accompaniment to our talk.
Brunna's brother Eric, I discovered, was a trader who travelled the length and breadth of the southern region, operating from his home close to the town of Isca. He was a droll fellow who kept all of us entertained with tales of his adventures on the roads. I asked him eventually whether the growing Saxon presence in the south-east was injuring his ventures, and he looked at me and laughed.
"Injuring them? From what viewpoint, my friend?"
I was perplexed by both his answer and his humour. "From the point of view of interfering with your livelihood, I suppose," was the only response I could summon. And at that he laughed again, even more loudly than he had at first.
"Interfering with it? May the god of travellers protect you, friend, they are my livelihood."
I was astounded. "What do you mean?" I asked him, spluttering in my confusion. "They are Outlanders, savages. They come here with no purpose other than to kill and plunder and pillage. How can you trade with them and hope to continue living? They are alien, without honour."
The smile disappeared from his face at my words. "No, sir. they are none of those things to me. I have never received any ill at their hands. In the communities they have set up along the Saxon Shore they live as well, and as peacefully, as any in this land—more so, indeed, than most. They are mere people—men and women like any others— who have come here seeking a place to live and prosper, and they have need of my goods, so I trade with them as I would with anyone else who has the wherewithal to trade."
Neither his sister nor her husband spoke at this, and"! looked at them for support against his ravings. They sat content, however, not put out at all, and Lars looked at me and shrugged and smiled as if to say, "I agree with him. How can I then gainsay him?"
I sat there in amazement, pondering Eric's words and the reactions of his kinfolk, and realizing I had nothing more to say. Upon hearing his opinion stated so simply, I had no other choice than to believe him, although my training would not permit that.
"Nonsense," I continued eventually, trying to keep my voice even. "What you say is self-serving, Eric. Admit that, at least. You are fortunate in that they need what you have, otherwise you would not be here this night. These people are invaders. The most vicious of their kind in all the Western Empire. They have been terrorizing the whole country for decades."
He shook his head, completely unabashed by my words, and as I listened to his response I felt myself grudgingly acknowledging the truth of what he had to say, although I found it unpalatable.
"No, friend Merlyn, you are selecting your truth to make your own point. You said it yourself. They have been coming here for decades, but for how many decades? How long has the Saxon Shore been called the Saxon Shore? A hundred years? More? Are we to believe these people, these Saxons, have been coming and going constantly through all that time, raiding and leaving?" He smiled and shook his head again. "I know Saxon settlements not fifty miles from here, to the eastward, where there are children being born to Saxons who were born right there.
"They fought when they first came. Of course they did. They were unwelcome, and the land was disputed. But now the land is theirs, and they maintain it better, in most cases, than the people who were there before them did. The Romans fought when first they came here, too. They came as conquerors, remember. Only after all the fighting was done did this land of ours settle down to prosperity."
His eloquence in front of me, a stranger, was probably due, I decided, to the quality and quantity of the wine we had been drinking, but I was unhappy with the way he had demolished my objections.
"The Romans came here for a purpose," I said, hearing the wine and truculence in my own voice. "And they were good for Britain. I myself am of Roman descent."
Eric was grinning widely now, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Of course the Romans came here for a purpose. They came to conquer and to pillage. They came in search of tin and gold and precious treasures. And then they stayed." He shrugged his shoulders, spreading his palms. "But that was centuries ago. I am not decrying them—neither them nor your Roman blood, Merlyn—but who is to say the Roman purpose was more noble than the Saxons' is? Is it impossible that some of your future children may bear the blood of Saxons mingled with your Roman blood?"
"By God, I hope it is!"
Lars cleared his throat loudly, drawing my eyes to him. He had decided it was time to change the subject. I watched him now looking at my clothing, noting the style of it. "You're Roman, you say? Forgive me if you think I'm being inquisitive, but Merlyn sounds like no Roman name I've ever come across."
I felt a smile tugging at my lips in the face of his obvious desire to lead our conversation into quieter paths. "That's true. I am half Celt, and Merlyn marks me, but my name is Britannicus—Caius Merlyn Britannicus."
"Britannicus?" His expression quickened. "Are you from up Aquae Sulis way?"
"Close by. About thirty-five miles south-west of there. Why?"
"It's an unusual name. A friend of my father's had a friend from Aquae Sulis called Britannicus, a long time ago. He went to live there. Name of Varrus. He was a smith, walked with a limp. Why are you smiling?"
My smile had become a huge grin and I leaned towards him now, across the table. "Because I can hardly credit what I'm hearing. Varrus! The friend you speak of was my grandfather, Caius Britannicus. Publius Varrus married his sister, my great-aunt Luceiia."
"Get away! Well I'm damned!" He was staring at me, wide-eyed. "Did you ever know his friend Equus? That was my father."
I could hardly contain my astonishment and delight. "Equus was your father? I knew him well, when I was a small boy. He lived with us. But why don't I know you? I've known your brothers from my infancy."
"Joseph and Carol. Well I'm damned!" He reached across the table and picked up the wine jug to give himself time to absorb what he was hearing, pouring another cup for all of us. "You knew Joseph and Carol? I was the eldest. Ran away and joined the legions when I was just a younker living in Colchester. Didn't want to waste my life in a dirty old smithy. Wasted it in the dirty old army, instead. Got back years later to find they'd all moved away to the west somewhere. So you knew Joseph and Carol? Well I'm damned."
"Knew? Lars, I still know them! They're in Camulod, our colony. They operate our smithies nowadays."
He looked at me strangely and I sensed a sudden stillness in the others who had been hanging on our every word. "Camulod? Uther Pendragon's place? They live there? You live there?"
I was taken aback. His tone said quite clearly, unmistakably, that he had thought only monsters and outlaws lived in Camulod.