"It means 'in the river's bend.' Isn't it on a river?"
"No, it's on a mountain top, but there's a river in the valley below, the Esk, and it bends around the fort, right enough. The fort was a camp for summer garrisons, never occupied in winter, since the road was impassable." He looked from one to the other of us. 'That means no town ever grew up around it. Who would want to live up there year-round? You, for all of that, might find it appropriate for your own reasons, but you'll be the first ones in nearly two hundred years, according to our Druids. It lies something over ten miles from here, and it's been abandoned for longer than anyone's ever been able to recall. I think, though, with a little hard work and willingness, it could be made habitable, even now. I was there last summer and spent two nights. The walls ate sound—they're built mostly of local stone—and some of the buildings are strongly roofed. There's water and wood in abundance and even a bathhouse, though what condition that's in is something I can't guess at. The site itself is protected by high peaks and by thick forest, and few people use the road nowadays. Those who do come from inland: No one uses it from here, except in the summer, when we post lookouts in the pass up there to guard against intrusion from inland. But we've had no trouble now for more than twenty years."
Connor was looking at me, his lips pressed together. "What think you?'
I shrugged. "I'd like to see it: It might serve."
"Hmm." Connor sat silent for a spell, plucking at his pursed lips as he stared into the fire, and I sat motionless, watching him and waiting for the outcome of his thoughts. Finally he straightened up, his eyes seeking mine. "Very well, here's what we'll do. Tomorrow, Derek, you'll supply a man to take me to this place where we can hide our galleys. We'll take wily our own three, leaving Liam's here to be seen by his fleet. We'll need only half-crews, and we'll leave the vessels in this inlet you know of, providing that I'm satisfied it's as safe and well hidden as you say it is. Afterwards, your fishing fleet will pick my men up and bring them back here. That means when Liam's vermin come, · they'll see their admiral's galleys and be sure he's here. But they will see their accursed admiral, too ... I want to be quite certain of that." He drummed his fingertips against his lips, his eyes on me again, his thoughts evidently elsewhere.
"Derek, last time I was here Blundyl took me around the town and showed me all kinds of wondrous things. One of them, I recall distinctly, was an old cargo shed, still sound and weatherproof, sitting all alone beyond the end of the western wall, facing the harbour. It was full of heavy, hand-forged lengths of rusty iron chains, enormous things. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"Aye, I do. The Romans made them. Used them to fasten great logs together, a floating boom, strung from the mainland to the island in the bay to seal the harbour against surprise attack. There's one at the other end, too."
"Are they still there?"
"Aye, they've been lying in there for years. We've had no need of them ere now, although we might hereafter." He gazed at Connor, speculatively. "You want to use them? Re- string the boom? There's no time. We'd have to cut the logs."
"No, I want to join the lengths together and string them, secured by heavy spikes, along the top of your wall facing the harbour ... the full length of the wall. Then, using the chains as an anchor, I want to hang the corpses of every one of the Sons of Condran slain last night, with Liam in the centre, so that they'll be the first thing our Erse visitors will see when they arrive. That will give them something to choke over. They will also find the walls well manned, with my hundreds supplementing your own men. They'll be too far away to recognize any of us, and they'll assume us to be your people. If they come too close, we'll throw some fire at them. You still have the Roman catapults up on the walls, I know. Are they serviceable?" Derek nodded. "Good. Make sure they're freshly greased and tightened, or whatever has to be done to them, during the day tomorrow. Merlyn will help you. He knows about such things. Liam's fleet will be here with the sun the next day, and they'll expect to find the town already in their possession. They'll choke on their own vomit, but I hope they'll approach close enough to suffer when we open fire on them.
"We should be able to savage them badly and send them home with their tails between their legs, bearing the news of gentle Liam's death. They might return seeking vengeance, or they might not. In either case, they won't be coming back soon, and when they do, they'll find Mac Athol taking interest in their movements. As soon as they've gone, you will take Merlyn and me to see this fort of yours. What did you call it?"
"Mediobogdum."
"Aye, Mediobogdum. An outlandish name, even for Romans. Are we agreed?"
"We are." Each man spat into his hand and we clapped our palms together to seal the bargain.
Some time close to dawn, dirty and weary, I made my way to my own cot and fell across it, hurting my face in the process so that I realized I had completely forgotten my bruised eye and cheekbone. In spite of my exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, I lay awake for a short time, half- consciously recalling sights and incidents from the night's alarums and reflecting on the way things change in life, never remaining constant for any appreciable length of time. I saw Liam die again, spraying blood from his mouth, and the last thing I thought of was Shelagh's other knife, still concealed beneath my pillow.
FOUR
The rain, which had been diminishing in volume all morning, finally stopped shortly before noon. I pulled back my hood and combed my fingers through my hair, welcoming the cool air about my head. Beside me, Shelagh stood, thoughtful, chewing on the inside of her lip. The two men who had been helping me stood silent, awaiting further instructions.
"He isn't here," Shelagh said.
I turned to her, shaking my head. "How can you know that?"
"I know it."
"How, Shelagh? How can you know it, when I can't? I don't even know who I'm looking for. The single thing I am sure of is that I can't identify him."
Shelagh simply gazed at me, saying nothing more. We were standing by the bathhouse, beside the neatly ordered, rain-soaked rows of the Sons of Condran who had died in the previous night's fighting. I found myself curiously unmoved by the sight of them, even after watching them turned this way and that to expose their faces to my search. Their exposure to the hours of steady, heavy rain had robbed them of all semblance of humanity, leaving them pallid and waxen, their exposed skin cleansed of clotted blood. The casualties from Ravenglass and Connor's crews, by comparison—there were none among the group from Camulod, for which I thanked God—had been sheltered, laid out in a large storage shed behind the bathhouse itself, and their corpses, coated and caked with crusted blood, somehow made them appear more pitiable.
I had examined every corpse, counting involuntarily but losing track among Liam's people somewhere between a hundred and fifty and a hundred and sixty. The first twenty-six had been our men, most of them slain in the opening moments of Liam's treacherous move. I didn't think my man was among them, in either group, but I knew I could be wrong. I shook my head.
"He might have changed his clothes, Shelagh, knowing the yellow tunic made him recognizable. If he did, then any one of these bodies could be him. I told you, I never saw his face clearly. The only time I was close to him, I didn't see him until he turned to scuttle away, and then I only saw the tunic."
"You think that's likely? I don't."
"Why not? It seems logical enough to me."
Shelagh shook her head. "No. No, not at all. You're overrating this man, Merlyn. He's not that clever. He ran, and he drew your attention. A clever man would have passed you by, ignoring you, unnoticed. But he ran because he thought you'd recognize him. Him, not his clothes. Believing that, he'd never think to change his tunic. He'd be convinced that you would know his face no matter what he wore. You don't recognize anyone here, therefore your man, whoever he may be, is not among the dead."