The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (31 page)

Icy fear drenched Eremon, as the man added, ‘Forgive my rudeness. I have been on the march for so long now that I have forgotten how to entertain distinguished guests.’

Eremon quickly recovered. ‘I did not know I would meet with you, Gnaeus Julius Agricola. Your deeds are known to us even in Erin.’

Agricola raised his eyebrows. ‘That is praise indeed.’

‘The refugees that came to our shores did not think so.’

When Agricola spoke, his voice was still pleasant, though his gaze was
not. ‘Ah, yes. When one is new come to a position, one must make a name.’ He took up a silver jug and poured wine into a cup. ‘You are a young prince, I am sure you understand that. Perhaps you are even in the process of making your name, too?’ He looked up and smiled, then handed the cup to Eremon. ‘But enough of that – wait.’ And he turned back to his men and continued his discussion, leaving Eremon standing where he was.

Eremon’s face suffused with heat, and he didn’t know what he wanted to do first; wipe that smile from Agricola’s face or take Samana by the arms and shake her. Eventually the officers saluted and left, each one staring curiously at him as they passed.

Agricola went to the door of the tent and called in his guard. ‘I had a bed prepared for you,’ he told Eremon, then looked at Samana with the hint of a smile. ‘And you, lady. Or would you rather they were one and the same?’

Eremon put the cup on the table and stepped to Samana’s side. ‘We will stay together. But what do you intend? Is it a ransom you wish from my people?’

‘You mistake us!’ Agricola shook his head. ‘I only wish to talk. I have something to show you. You would like to see our camp in the light of day, would you not?’

Eremon stared him down. ‘Of course.’

‘Then so be it. Enjoy our hospitality. I will send for you.’

Eremon and Samana were shown to a tent as spacious as Agricola’s own, and as soon as they were alone, Eremon did grasp Samana’s shoulders, his fury boiling over. ‘What in Hawen’s name do you think you are doing?’

She stayed pliant between his hands. ‘It was the only way to get you here. He wants to speak to you of a treaty, as I said.’

‘You did not tell me I would be meeting with the commander of Britannia’s entire army. Nor that you would tell him who I am! Do you want me killed?’

She was breathing hard. ‘No! And this is the only way to keep you alive! Don’t you see? You have no choice! You must ally with him. He is the power in this land.’

The red fog of rage in Eremon was abruptly doused by cold reality, and he stopped the torrent of angry words from spilling from his lips. Samana was in league with Agricola. If Eremon angered her, she could have him executed.

And just like that, he was back in control – the haze that had invaded his mind ever since they set foot in Samana’s dun fell away. It was like the coming of sunrise after a long dream, but a cold sunrise at that. He breathed in deeply, and as he let out the breath, he felt his mind clear, and then his heart. Now there was no confusion or indecision to grapple
with; only the reality of bitterness and shame. But at least they were true.

‘Hear what he has to say, Eremon. See the might of the Romans. You are not witless, which is why I brought you here!’

He released her shoulders. ‘He wants my support for a treaty, is that it?’

‘Yes.’ She was rubbing her arms, her expression wary.

‘What will you do if I say no?’

She reached out and put her hand over his heart. ‘I have not been entirely honest with you.’

He snorted. ‘This I know.’

‘I had to get you here first, to make you hear what he had to say. But now, I can tell you the rest of my plan.’

‘What is it?’

‘Regardless of the tribes, regardless of any treaty that he makes or does not make with others in Alba, I want you to agree to personally support Agricola.’

‘You are telling me to turn traitor to the Epidii?’

‘What loyalty do you have to them? They are nothing to you! You must think only of yourself.’

Eremon sat down heavily on the camp bed, his eyes roving around the tent; at the claw-footed table, the elegant wine jug, the carved oil lamp, the platter of figs. Everything in it was foreign to his eyes.

‘Like you, I think the tribes will fight,’ Samana was saying. ‘And the Romans will win. But as I said before, they will not stay. There will be need for new rulers. Rulers like us.’

His head jerked up, and she came to kneel by him. ‘Think, Eremon! More land, more power than you could ever dream of. All for the sake of lip service to the Romans!’

‘My only desire is to return to my own lands. I had no thought for taking more.’

‘Well, start thinking!’ Her face was alight. ‘What a formidable team we would make together!’

‘And what of Rhiann?’

‘What of her? For this is also your choice. I have no intention of being caught up in a fight with the Romans – I have already made my decision. Yet Rhiann will choose with her heart, soft fool that she is.’

To Eremon, this sounded utterly unlike the Rhiann he knew, but Samana caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Eremon, Eremon! I, too, am a princess. I can also give you the help you need. My people are powerful. And you enjoy me in bed, do you not?’

‘Of course, but I could not do that to her.’

‘She was forced into this marriage, you told me. She will be happy to
let you go, and return to her blessings and her horse and her …
peasants
.’

The scorn in her voice surprised him. ‘You hate her!’

She seemed to recover herself and rose, smoothing down her skirt. ‘She is inconsequential to me. But you are another matter.’ When she looked down at him, her mouth was soft, her eyes as wide as when they lay in the bed furs. ‘We were meant to be together, you and I. We can forge a kingdom that spans Alba and Erin. Think of that!’

‘But if I say no?’

The softness was extinguished with a shrug. ‘Then go back to Rhiann, back to your dry marriage bed – and to a future that guarantees a Roman spear through your heart.’

Chapter 29

A
lthough at first Rhiann was furious to hear that Conaire was her guard, as if she were a fragile child, within days something unexpected happened. She began to feel grateful for his presence.

The strain of the last few moons, of constantly being on her guard with Eremon, had worn her down. Conaire’s jests, though often forced, somehow managed to slide in under her broken defences. And although she knew it slumbered within him, for she had seen the scars, there was no hint of the violent warrior in his open face and blue eyes.

Without him, she would have gone mad with frustration, though she did not let him see that. Never had she been so trapped. The cage of her marriage was one thing, although she had come to some peace about that. But this waiting, not knowing if she were in danger … All this for a man – for the same man!

Every hour the urge came upon her to take her horse and race for home. And yet, though she railed at her weakness, she could not give up on Eremon quite yet. Even if she went back to Dunadd, she would still be bonded to him, and the council would not back her in the face of Eremon’s warband. After seeing the way he trained the warriors, she knew how important he would be if it came to war with the Romans.

That is, if he stayed on their side.

Surely he would not betray them, as Samana had obviously done? For now that she could reflect, it was plain to Rhiann that her cousin was in league with Rome.

Rhiann had not mentioned her suspicions to Eremon before he left. He would think it jealousy talking, which it was not. After all, they were married in name only. Liaisons outside such unions were the rule, not the exception.

No, she was only angry that he had left her behind. Her frustration
only stemmed from this enforced waiting. These were the only things that ate at her, she was sure.

The soldier led Eremon through the camp, which was just beginning to stir. The smoke from new-lit cookfires puffed into the chill air, and all around he heard the harsh sound of the invaders’ language, so different from the musical flow of his own.

A good league away from the gates, the heather slopes of a hill flowed up on to a stony ridge, high above a flat river plain. The spears of two guards at the base of the hill glinted in the dawn, announcing their presence, as they moved into position on either side of Eremon and escorted him up a steep track. Above, a figure was outlined against the greying sky. He felt like a prisoner being marched before his captors, and with a shock he realized that was exactly what he was. Agricola would never let him go if he refused him.

‘I trust you had a comfortable night,’ said Agricola, when Eremon reached him.

The camp was spread out below them now, and though shrouded in dawn mist, Eremon could just glimpse its layout. He marvelled that the Romans would build something like this as a temporary halting place. It was more substantial than many of his own people’s homes. He turned back to Agricola, conscious that he was about to give the performance of his life.

‘I did, thank you. Your hospitality was not as bad as I have heard.’

Agricola smiled. He looked fresh, considering his age. Being in the field obviously agreed with him, and he looked out over his camp with relish. ‘I wanted to show you two things, man of Erin. One is this camp: see how strong it is, and how many men lie within it. See how well-armoured they are, how perfectly controlled, like one beast, rather than many.’

‘I see that.’

‘Good. Then I wish you to tell what you see to these Albans, these painted men. We are many, and we are strong beyond their imagining. And my intention is to make all Alba Roman. Be very clear on that. We have done it in the south, and we will do it here.’

‘I shall tell them.’

‘If they resist, they have no chance. Their people will die or be enslaved. Yet if they make peace, they will become part of the greatest empire the world has ever known!’ Agricola swept his arm out. ‘They will have roads, baths, heating, running water, temples. They will have access to the goods of the world – spices, jewels, exotic cloth. All will be orderly. All will be peaceful. Their clan raids and petty squabbling will be but a memory.’

Eremon tried not to let his feelings show, but Agricola sensed the curl
of his mouth and turned to him. ‘I know you people have this fixation on freedom. But what is freedom? Fighting and warring incessantly? Starving to death during a hard season?’

‘Freedom is ruling yourselves.’

‘But peace is true freedom. And that is what we bring, son of Ferdiad. We bring peace. Peace to raise crops, to raise children. We have found the best way to live, and we want to share it with the world!’

Eremon forced his face to relax. ‘The peoples of this island find this concept difficult, Agricola, as you know. Fortunately, I think differently.’

‘Yes, so Samana has told me – a man with a cool head, not a fire in his belly like so many of these fool Britons. They do not understand what is best for them. They are like children, playing at war. They need a strong guiding hand – that is what Rome was made for.’

Eremon’s belly was, in fact, on fire. But Samana was right about one thing. He did have a cool head on his shoulders, especially when it was a matter of life and death. His heart nearly thrust through his chest with each beat, but he kept his mouth still.

Agricola cocked his head at him. ‘So will you agree to be my messenger, to convince the tribes to make a treaty?’

Relief began to course through Eremon’s body. It appeared that he might escape lightly after all. ‘Yes, I will tell them of your intentions, and of your might. But I am not a prince of their own. There are many different tribes. I cannot promise they will acquiesce to you.’

‘I realize that. But no matter, I have come prepared for a fight. I will crush them anyway.’

Eremon clenched his hands, desperate to throw himself on this man and rid the world of such ruthlessness. But he knew there were more Romans to replace him; many more. And the guards could stop him before he completed the deed.

Why die for the Albans anyway?
he thought.
I just need to get home to Erin
.

Agricola took his arm and looked up searchingly into his face. ‘Now that I see you are a reasonable man, there is the second thing.’

He dropped his hand and gestured for Eremon to fall into step with him. They picked their way between dark outcrops of granite, until the land again fell away. Gazing out, Eremon could see lower hills and ridges that rose to a haze of purple mountains.

Agricola pointed. ‘Erin is westwards, is it not?’

Eremon’s heart sank again. ‘Yes.’

‘I am considering it as my next conquest.’

The sinking lurched into nausea.

‘Your arrival has made me think,’ Agricola went on. ‘It is easier for us to make peace if we have a ruler of the land to smooth our way. In
exchange for offering no resistance, he gets to keep, and in fact increase, his power.’

‘Client kingship,’ Eremon remarked. His voice, thankfully, was steady.

‘Yes. It suits us, and it suits him. It seems fortune has brought you to me at this time, does it not, Eremon of Dalriada?’