The Eagle and the Raven by Pauline Gedge Read Free Book Online

How awkward. No Druid could be killed anywhere, and a traveler needed only to be in the company of such a one to be safe. Caradoc sensed his father’s unease as well. Cunobelin was speaking in quick, dying spurts, his eyes, too, on the old man, and the smattering of Roman traders who always managed to insinuate themselves into every feast were whispering excitedly. But the regal figure was calmly ignoring them all, his hands folded loosely in his lap, a little smile on his lips. He should have been served first, of course, before Subidasto, Caradoc thought. How ill-bred he will think us! Caradoc drew his plate to him again and began to pick at his food, feeling the presence of Druithin magic like a secret smoke. The person of the Druithin was sacred, even to the Catuvellauni.
    Presently Cunobelin wiped his greasy mouth on his cloak and clapped his hands. Silence fell. The fire could be heard crackling cheerily, and outside, where it was full dark, a swift squall of rain pattered on the roof and gusted on the rising wind. Servants ran to close the doors and the people settled themselves more comfortably on the floor while Cathbad, Cunobelin’s bard, rose with harp in hand.
    “What will you hear tonight, Lord?” he asked, and Cunobelin, with one squinting eye on Subidasto’s shadowed face, called for the song of the defeat of Dubnovellaunus and his own triumphant entry into Camulodunon.
    Cathbad smiled. The song had been sung many times, but Cunobelin never tired of hearing of his own prowess, or that of his ancestor, Cassivellaunus, either, who had fought the great Julius Caesar and driven him back to sea not once, but twice. It was so well-known that many people joined in, and soon the Hall was full of the deep-throated music, and the people linked arms and swayed to and fro, caught in the thrall of heroic deeds and brave deaths.
    But the Druid sat still, his head lowered, looking down at his white-clad knees. Caradoc wondered if the sacrifices had escaped his notice, but then thought that probably they had not. The Romans did not encourage human sacrifice, and this afternoon’s rites to the Dagda and to Camulos had included only the slaying of three white bulls. Not for ten years had a human victim been fed to the sacred arrows, and it seemed the Dagda had not minded.
    The song ended and the wine jugs passed quickly from hand to hand. What more does a man need? Caradoc thought contentedly. A song to hear, a jug of wine to drink, an honorable enemy to fight, and, of course, a woman to love. He glanced at Aricia but she too was watching the Druid, her mouth parted and her eyes half-closed.
    Togodumnus leaped to his feet and shouted, “Now let us hear of our first cattle raid, Caradoc’s and mine! Twenty beasts we took. What a day that was!” But Caradoc pulled him down.
    “No!” he called. “I want to hear ‘The Ship.’”
    “No, no,” several voices objected. “Sing us a happy song!” But Cathbad had already begun the doleful tune. Aricia’s head shot round and he deliberately met her eye, allowing the plaintive, sweet lay to slow his heartbeat. For a moment she looked at him, but in the gloom he could not read her expression, and when he looked away he felt Eurgain’s eyes upon him, questing and puzzled. Cathbad reached the last high note and left it to flutter in the darkness of the vaulted ceiling but Caradoc was the only applauder, and Cathbad bowed in his direction. Aricia got up abruptly and went quickly out the door.
    “Now,” said the bard, his fingers idly plucking the strings. “Shall I sing a new song? One that I have just composed?” Cunobelin nodded. “It is called the ‘Lay of Togodumnus the Many-Handed, and the Twelve Lost Cattle.’”
    Togodumnus rose with a roar of anger while laughter exploded around him. “Cathbad, I forbid you to sing such a song! You have been talking to Cinnamus!” Cunobelin waved him down and then summoned Cathbad. They whispered together and then Cathbad