The Fox

by Arlene Radasky

  In a breath’s time, the tent flap was lifted again and a small, fat man peered in. Not a warrior, he wore a long, dirt-striped grey cloth I had heard called a toga. Before he came completely in, he reached up on his toes and fastened the tent flap up on both sides so sunlight penetrated the smoky room. In front of me, in the middle of the space, was a waist high table. Three low cots hugged the edge. A water bucket and a lit blazer were near the back of the tent. Tools used to treat wounds were laid out on the table in two rows. I recognized the iron needle used to pull the gut threads to close a wound.

  The small man limped to the table and said something to me in the Roman language. When I did not react, he threw his arms up into the air, said a few words to himself, and pointed to the large table. He motioned me to lay the boy down.

  I took him to be the Roman’s healer, so I gently laid the boy on the blood-stained table and backed up until my knees were against a cot. I became a mouse and squatted just out of the man’s sight.

  To examine the boy’s wounds, he undressed him and gently, but confidently, probed the thin body. The boy woke and cried. The bald man was able to quiet him and asked him questions. The boy spoke and pointed to me. The man turned and looked at me for a moment. He walked over to the bucket, lifted a mug of water from it, and opened a small chest. He lifted out a jar, poured a drop of liquid into the mug, and handed it to the boy. He motioned him to drink. The boy took a sip and spit it out, earning some harsh words. He looked at the healer, who stood with his hands on his hips, a stern look balanced on his long-nosed face, and swallowed. His face pinched from the bitterness of the liquid.

  The man continued to inspect the splint I put on the boy’s arm. He asked the boy questions. The boy answered a few but was soon quiet. The medicine he drank must aid sleep, I thought. The man took off the splint and examined the boy’s arm. From where I sat, I could see the broken bone, a bump in the boy’s skinny arm. I was not going to speak until I knew I could trust the healer.

  “Did you make this splint?”

  Startled, I fell off my heels onto my bottom. In this humbled position, I stared at the short man. If I had been standing, the top of his head would come to my mouth, but now I looked up. He spoke in words I could understand!

  I pushed myself up off the ground.

  “I asked you, did you splint this arm?”

  “Yes,” I said with caution.

  “How do you know to do this? There are men who have been in many battles who do not know to do this.”

  “I am an observant man.”

  “Observant? Observant means you must have been around someone who knows this treatment. Do you also know how to set the arm so it will heal straight?”

  If I answered, I would be admitting to being a healer. I had to find out if I would be safe telling the man who I was.

  “How do you know my language? You speak it like one who lived in my village,” I asked.

  “I had a life before the Romans,” he said. “I was a healer near the mines. I watched the sunrise every morning as a boy over the hills of my home south of here. I have traveled and learned the language of the Romans since Queen Boudiccea killed herself. I pray she is sitting at the tables of the kings.”

  I answered, “May she live in our minds and the memories of her daughters flow through our blood forever.” I was relieved he was from my land, but still did not know if I could trust him. “Yes, I know how to set bones. I was in training when my home was raided. I escaped. I am a healer where I live now. I have set many broken bones on children and adults.”

  “Then come finish the treatment, while the boy sleeps.”

  We set the boy’s arm, then padded and re-splinted it.

  “Who was your teacher? I know of some healers who are now like me, living with the Romans,” he said.

  “You must swear that only the gods will hear my answer.” I did not want to give names as they could place my home. If he swore, he spoke a sacred promise. If he lied, he would not be able to cross the river of death to be with his family in eternity.

  “I speak with our gods daily,” he said and leaned over the boy to see if he was still sleeping.

  “My first teacher was Conyn,” I said. “He sent me to Kinsey. I learned my bone setting from him. Have you heard of them?” I asked.

  “Yes. It is said only the gods are better at healing than Kinsey.” He looked into my eyes. “Now, I must ask, do you speak with the gods?”

  “Yes,” I said, swearing the same promise.

  “Kinsey is required to be with the Roman general and treats him and his personal guard. We have a way to pass words to each other, and I have heard Kinsey is moving as much as I am. Always north. It seems that the Romans want even more land. Wait. Let me check the boy.”

  We had been sitting on one of the cots. He got up and looked at the boy who had begun stirring. The cup still had a bit of the mixture in it, and he had the boy swallow more.

  “It will be good to have him sleep for the rest of today. Tomorrow, the spirits in his body may be uneasy, bringing him heat and illness. Sleep is good for him.” He stepped back to the cot and sat down. “I am called Ofydd.”

  “I am called Lovern. The boy is fortunate to have you so close to where he had his accident.”

  “It is not a coincidence. He is the shepherd for this camp. He belongs to one of the soldiers. He warms the soldier’s bed and watches the sheep. The Romans killed his family when he was very small and he has been with this soldier since. He had taken the sheep and goats out to get some fresh grass and greens between storms. He has been gone for three days. They were ready to send some men out to look for him. I am sure his owner will be here soon. We must make sure you are in the background when he comes.”

  “This boy is a slave?” I asked.

  “Yes. Of course. The Romans bring only slave children on these assignments. Their own families are in their villas in the south or across the sea. This boy speaks only the Roman language. He has lost the touch of the gods. If he prays, it is to the Roman gods. We lose our land and our children to the Romans. We are becoming a lost people.”

  “Ofydd! Ofydd! Is that my boy you have in there?”

  A soldier, in full wardress, sweaty from the practice field, came rushing into the tent. Ofydd indicated I should go the dark back corner of the tent and stay quiet.

  “Yes, Centurion Candidus. He is here. He is sleeping, see?”

  The man was not as tall as I. I could not see his full face in the shade of his helmet, but his nose was well beyond the size of any nose I remembered seeing before. He wore a grey cloak over his armor. The smell of his sweat filled the tent. Ofydd led the Roman to the table, staying between the centurion and me.

  “Is he hurt badly? We move in two days. Will he be able to travel with us?”

  “Tonight and tomorrow will be the telling time. He has many bruises on his body and was trapped for a day without water. If you let him sleep here tonight, I will watch him. I will do my best for him, Centurion.”

  “Tillius came to me and told me he had found a man carrying him? He said he guided the man to you. Who brought the boy in?”

  “It was a local man, Centurion, not anyone important,” said Ofydd. He did not lie; he did not know who I was or where I came from.

  “Hmm. You must be wary of the local men. They may have more than the care of the boy on their minds,” the warrior said. “All right, I agree. The boy should stay the night here. I have much work tomorrow getting ready for our move. We are going to the place where we build the fort in two days. The scouts have found a good hill that will be easy to defend from these savages. I will look in on the boy at sunrise.”

  The centurion’s cloak swung in a large arc and his sword hit the table as he turned and left.

  “Does the boy have a name?” I asked when it was safe to come out.

  “Only ‘the boy.’ If he lives and grows he may earn a name, but one of the ways the Romans keep our children servile is by not letting the
m have any personalities.”

  I thought of Crisi and Logan. How could they live without names? Our names are in our souls. They are as much a part of us as our animal spirits.

  “How do you stand this? How can you live in this way and watch this?” I needed to know how he lived with himself.

  “If I did not, I would be dead. In this way, at least I am healing my people when I can. Yes, I treat the Roman soldiers. But, as with him,” he pointed to the sleeping boy on the table, “I give him a chance at life. It may not be the life he would have had with his father and mother, but it is life! We cannot ask for more here. Overtaken and overcome by the Romans, we only exist now.”

  I heard his speech and my stomach began to sicken. I thought of all the people I knew in my clan and the other clans around us. All the druids I had met and worked with. I covered my face with my hands and remembered Jahna and Crisi. Their faces ran through my mind’s eye.

  “Oh, Goddess Morrigna, protect us. Do not let this come to us,” I prayed.

  “Quiet!” Ofydd said in a loud whisper. “Do not ever say those words out loud here! You will be slain in a heartbeat. It is blasphemy here to pray to her. Where do you come from that you do not know this? What is your story? Your words are the same as mine when I was a child. Why are you here?”

  I told him pieces of my life. He heard about the attack on my village and my escape.

  “I live in the north,” I said. “We see a change happening. The traders who normally come have not for two seasons. We hear the Romans are coming north. I came to find out what I can. We do not want to be a lost people. We will stop the Romans. Our king decided to fight, and we will win. Then we can come down here and free the slaves of the mines and the villas. We can become a whole people again. I must tell my King that the Roman advance is real so we may prepare.”

  He slowly shook and lowered his head and was quiet for two breaths. He raised his face and looked at me with hope in his eyes. He took my hands and asked, “What can I do? How can I help?”

  “Tell me how many Romans are here and when they are going further.”

  “Ah. This encampment holds eighty men. These men will build and hold a fort. It is one of a line of forts that Agricola, the general, is building. He finally wants to rid himself of the thistle your king has buried under his horse’s blanket. The constant small attacks on the wall by the men from the north have angered him, so he advances. It is not a fast pace, but he is coming. He wants the forts built so he can hold the land and people as he takes them. He does not mean to let any Picts live free. That is the word that comes from Kinsey. I have heard there are many forts planned. You will need many good warriors, men and women, to defeat this fire. If you do not, it will scorch your land, burn you, and we will be slaves forever.”

  It was urgent that I start back. I had the information my king ordered me to find. Now my duty was to tell him.

  “I am going outside to the fire,” said Ofydd. “I will roast some meat and bring wine. Then you may sleep in here tonight. You will be safe; no one likes to come here. It reminds them of their mortality. However, you should leave before the dawn.”

  “Ofydd, you earn yourself a place at the table of the chieftains and kings. After the battle, I will look for you. Or we may meet again on the other side. I will sing thanks to you.”

  I left the encampment before the horses were up. Ofydd told me where the guards stood and I became like an ant and crawled by unnoticed. As I left the camp, I swore to myself and any gods listening, “My family will not fall to the Romans. I will not let Crisi grow up with no name or Jahna be taken again. I swear with all my life’s breath and blood.”

  I stood on the trail above my home in the same spot Jahna loved to stand and overlook our valley. Women were trading secrets at the well, smoke came from the evening meal fires, and men lead tired ponies up the hill. The feeling was not of peace but of anticipation. We smelled war in the air, and I carried the truth of it in my heart.

  There, I could just see her flowing, long black hair as she lifted it from her neck. Jahna was holding Crisi’s hand and walking to Kenric’s lodge. I choked back a groan of thankfulness and let my eyes feast on Jahna’s walk and Crisi’s playful jumping. My charge was to go to the king, but my wife and child would come first.

  JAHNA

  I lifted my heavy hair from my neck and said, “Crisi, I am not in the mood to chase you. I ask you to come calmly with me. You said you were hungry and the evening meal is ready at Kenric’s.” I had all but stopped cooking while Lovern was away. I was not hungry and now began to have pain in my gut more often. Earlier in the day, Sileas had commented on my thinness.

  “You need to eat more, Jahna. Your cheeks are sinking, and I can almost see your bones through your dress. Do not let Lovern’s absence stop you from your meals. He will not want to see you have not cared for yourself when he returns.”

  “Sileas, I eat when I can. It seems since the mor dal my hunger has grown less every day. I will be better when Lovern comes home. I miss his smell and presence. Do you know that I sleep with his old clothing? There is a small scent of him left in them, and I use them under my head at night. Yes, I will be well when he comes back. I will eat then.”

  Just before Crisi and I entered Kenric’s lodge, I scanned the mountain trail as I had many evenings. Praying and hoping, but always disappointed. Tonight, habit lifted my eyes to the path. The setting sun was opposite, and the mountainside was golden in its ebbing light. I saw a figure stopped on the trail, a hand over his eyes to shade the sunlight. He looked at me. His eyes burned into mine. A rush of fear flooded from my body, replaced by gratefulness and tears. He was home. My arms lifted to him, and I screamed his name.

  “Lovern! Lovern, you have returned! Oh, the gods are merciful!”

  One moment I was alone in my realization that he was here, and the next all the people on the hilltop surrounded me. It seemed that I was in the middle of buzzing bees in a hive. Everyone went to meet him. He ran down the hill and when we all stood around him, he lifted Crisi in his arms, and gathered me as close as we could get with a squirming, laughing child between us.

  “Let me be seated and eat,” he said when all asked the same and similar questions of him. “I will tell you of my journey.”

  I could not let go of his arm, and traced his footsteps to Kenric’s lodge. Sitting at the table, I snuggled my face to his chest just to reassure myself I was not dreaming. There was the scent of a man’s weary body, but Lovern’s sweet honey odor also streamed into my senses. Yes, I thought, he is home. If even for a short time, he is with me again.

  Then, without bidding, my mind beheld our journey ahead. Lovern was to tell the king the Romans were coming. The druidess Firtha would be there. Her hag face appeared before me in the air. Venom dripped from the fangs of the snake in my belly.

  CHAPTER 20

  AINE

  May, 2005

  I was feeling sorry for myself, but time slipped by quickly that night. Jim Cowley had called. He’d finished testing the contents of the urn I’d found in the cave. The last test he ran on the contents of the bowl came up with results showing the urn contained ashes of a female. As I was yelling for joy, he broke through with another tidbit.

  “Aine, remember I told you your bronze urn, the Raven Bowl, looked like the one Marc found? Well, I had an expert on bronze engraving look at it and compare them. She said it looked as if the same artist engraved both. She wouldn’t put it writing, but I thought you would be interested.”

  “Flippin’ ’eck!” I yelled. Thought I would be interested? Calm down, I told myself. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Yes. That’s incredible news. I understand. Just to hear someone else with that opinion is enough for me. Thank you so much, Jim.”

  “I think you need to call in a Regional Archaeologist. Your site is becoming more and more interesting. I don’t have names here but could research it for you.”

  I wanted more time to mull over his results before the rest
of the world found out. As soon as I called in the government, I would have the reporters on site. I also wanted time to get more people here for security.

  “Jim, give me a few days before we release this news. I’ll find out who the Regional is and make the call. I want to make sure I understand everything before the reporters from the publications inundate us.”

  “OK, Aine. Call me before you release. I want to be ready, too.”

  “Right, Jimmy. Thanks again.”

  I grabbed my bottle of Laguvalin, ran into the living room of our rented house, and realized all the others had gone into town. It was Friday night, our traditional night out. I vaguely remembered hearing them invite me before Jim’s phone call, and my lack-hearted response, “No, not tonight, thanks.” Now I was alone. Only me, myself, and I, to drink my good scotch. Oh well, more for me. I sank to the floor and poured myself a drink.

  “Actually, I can drink with you, Jahna. No, drink to you.” Oh here I go, talking to my ghosts. Marc wouldn’t like this. But, Jahna might be listening. I’m not crazy yet. “Thank you for leading me here, for getting me through the quagmire of my life to get me to this spot. This scotch isn’t the same as the honeyed mead you drank, but it’s pretty good. So here’s to you, Jahna.” The alcohol quickly heated my stomach.

  The next day I shared the news about the urn with my crew and was buoyed by the cheers. “Yes, I agree. We’ve found a treasure. I truly think there is more to find so let’s go back to work. Be careful, don’t overlook anything and if you have any questions please ask. By the way, I am going to call in a Regional Archaeologist. I want this site to be put on the schedule. I hope it is classified as a national monument, but we will have to wait and see.”

  About midday, I was down in one of the domiciles we were excavating. “Can we get some supports in this area?” I called to no one in particular. “The soil is shifting here and we may lose all the hard work we’ve done.”