As for herself and her women, Padrec had never seen them dress their hair beyond a gold circlet from fhain treasure. They washed and combed it out and let it hang loose to the waist. The style was preference, not lack of imagination. A Prydn woman did not put up her hair before or after marriage. It was simply not done.

Scrubbed and shined, the horses curried and gauded in treasure from their ancient chest, fhain set out early in the morning for the village to the west. They would not have to spend much time explaining their needs; Padrec had seen to that. It was a good day to trade or visit, the air crisp and just a trace of overcast as the sun rose higher. The gates stood open, one young man on guard, trying to look more casual than he felt at their approach. Dorelei pointedly avoided the dark skins stretched on the stockade wall. She trotted her pony ahead of the others to rein up before the gate.

4 'Have come to trade," she requested gravely. "Do ask to enter."

"Oh?" The garishly tattooed young warrior swept low in a mock bow. "And what will you trade with, Faerie girl?"

Dorelei kept her face a blank mask. "Be nae girl but

a gern. Do come in the peace of Earth and Sun, thy gods and mine."

"And the blessing of God and Jesu Christ." Padrec walked his horse to Dorelei's side. "You know me. I came yesterday to speak with Naiton. We have his welcome."

The young man stroked the iron charm hung about his neck. "Well, then, come in peace."

Padrec wondered why Dorelei hung back, then he saw the iron bar laid across the gate opening and the sudden revulsion and fear in her eyes. The young lout was testing her courage with something she could not cross.

You mean little bastard ... and five extra prayers tonight for the indulgence of my ungenerous thoughts.

The Taixali waved again, mocking Dorelei. "Come in."

She wouldn't cross the bar and the Taixali knew it; she was to be humiliated at the start. Already some of the villagers had gathered inside the gate to enjoy the sight. Padrec dismounted and approached the Taixali, hands open and spread in friendship.-

"You play a silly joke with your iron. Gern-y-fhain, who has more magics than the tree has leaves, will not deign to play with you. As you would not dare the hills at night where the spirits of the air and dark are her servants." Padrec picked up the iron bar and tossed it to one side. "And my God has magics. Think you a God who felled the firstborn in every house in Egypt, who cured lepers and raised the dead will fear the toy-trick in a piece of iron? You waste your time and that of Naiton, boy."

Padrec waved Dorelei past him into the stockade.

It was a day of learning for Padrec. He saw with bemused humor how exotic each people were to the other. The scant costumes of fhain women were as fascinating to Pictish dames as their motleyed and checked gowns were to Prydn. All trading was done in the longhouse of Naiton the village elder, a thick-bodied man who lolled in his mothy ceremonial chair, belly hanging over

his belt, picking his teeth while fhain bargained: Dorelei and Cm had organized the trading for efficiency, not wanting to tarry longer than needed. Cm, Malgon, Art-cois, and Bredei would inspect and trade for the vetch they needed. Oil fell to Dmst and Guenloie, bolts of woven wool were the province of Dorelei and Neniane. They wanted good quality and measure for their gold. Behind his studied insolence, Naiton was eager for trade. He didn't see gold very often.

"There is that which is beside the wool," he announced casually. At a sign, one of his fat wives unrolled a bolt of linen and spread it for inspection. Padrec heard Neniane's little oh of admiration and pleasure.

"Dost like it, small cat?"

"Oh, aye. So soft. Could make much from it." Her wise hands danced over and through the linen, twisting it this way and that, catching it into shapes, already measuring and cutting. "Swaddling for child-wealth."

"Who will come soon to Neniane."

Dorelei fingered the linen. "Thee knows fine cloth, Padrec. Be worth our gold?"

The linen was coarse but as good as one would find north of Eburacum. "Fair quality."

Neniane clutched at the prize of it. "Sister, please? But a little?"

Dorelei saw the wanting in her sister's appeal. Neniane desired it for swaddling, as if the mere possession would bring a child to wrap in it. Lovely stuff, but a luxury and far too flimsy for riding. She never saw it outside the lowland villages. Dorelei already felt a blasphemer for spending Rainbow-gift, and yet her hand smoothed over the soft material in a natural caress. So white. It would be as snow against her skin and necklace of blue stones, and Padrec would know a new word for beauty in women, regardless of his peculiar attitude toward it. If it were not too costly . ..

"Perhaps." She put the bolt firmly aside. "Will think on't."

Padrec asked his leave of Dorelei and enjoyed a stroll

about the village. Compared to fhain, even Taixali were civilized in some ways. He stopped to watch a potter busy at his wheel, a blacksmith with sparks exploding from hammer and anvil. Taixali houses were sturdier than their thatched roofs belied, the timbers well cut and joined with iron tools. He looked in on Cru, Malgon, and Bredei weighing out vetch, then paused to drink at the well, noticing the middle-aged couple staring at him. Like all isolated folk, their curiosity was direct and a shade loutish, but he greeted them civilly.

"Give you good day."

Still they stared. The specific objects of their concentration were the heavy gold bracelets on his wrists.

'That which you wear," the man pointed. "Is it gold then?"

"Yes."

The man turned to his woman. "Did I not say so? I've seen gold weight in Corstopitum, but none like that. Very little dross, I will be bound."

"A little to harden it," Padrec confirmed.

"Where is it that such gold comes from?" the woman asked.

"From Gern-y-fhain. Faerie queen."

"Ah, the young one. And from where to her?"

Padrec spread his hands. "Who can say? They have had it always. Gift from Rainbow, it is said."

Their expressions opened wider with wonder. "Ah ... magic, then. There have been such tales as that."

Padrec replaced the dipper and wiped his lips. "You have been often to Corstopitum, then?"

The Taixali man straightened and became palpably official. "It is myself that does the trading with Veni-cone and Romans."

The wife gave her husband a proprietary smile from which several teeth were conspicuously absent. "Eight fine horses that he loads and that carry back the goods from Wall."

The first rays of a dawning idea struck Padrec. "When do you journey again?''

"Soon, soon." The Taixali rubbed his hands and cast a look at the sky. "While the weather holds."

Well, now, for a consideration, for a half notch of gold, mild robbery and Padrec knew it, the man would oblige. Aye, and toss in to the bargain the wherewithal to write. In his house he proudly laid before Padrec a supply of quills, passable ink, and tattered sheets of dark vellum, thin with washing and much use. The trader couldn't write at all. He toted his accounts in a picture code of his own; nevertheless, he felt quite literate owning such materials.

"And there is tea to the fire," the wife blandished as Padrec dipped his quill.

Patricius to Caius Meganius, bishop of Eburacum, that you may know of me and my mission. Ave and the blessing of Christ to your grace.

He wrote of the Venicones and how they crippled and cast him out to die, and of his rescue by Prydn. Padrec paused in reflection and added the word "Faerie" in parentheses. Very likely Meganius never heard of Prydn. Indeed, no one south of the Wall, including himself, had a clear notion of them beyond dark fables to frighten children into obedience. Padrec almost laughed aloud. Frightening? A woman deeply lovely as Dorelei, a man bright as Bredei, vulnerable as Drust?

We are two days north of the Venicones, among the Taixali. God knows where after this, since they are nomads who must follow the herds. My fasting vows have lapsed since it is very hard to know from one day to the next what there will be to eat at all, and I must take no more than my share. Your indulgence in absentia would be appreciated in this. . . .

And for that I love a woman and the love is a thorn. But until I can confess, I will wrestle that alone, Me-ganius.

Still they have made me one of them and hear my preaching. And so your grace will be pleased to learn I have my first congregation.

Congregation? He rarely felt like a priest these days, more often the prisoner of benevolent jailors or an idiot uncle more loved than heeded. They were yet small vessels for the wine of faith. They could hold so much, and the rest spilled over to waste.

They love the miracles, which are much like their own, and the Psalms for their music, so at least there is a beginning. Farewell for the time. Patri-cius asks your prayers and sends his to his holy bishop.

He considered adding "and mentor" but could not yet bring himself to it. He rolled the vellum, wrote the name and destination on the outer side, and handed it to the trader with his bit of gold, not concerned about the privacy of the contents. If it got to Corstopitum at all, no one north of the Wall could read it anyway.

Shadows lengthened eastward. Dorelei gave the sun a glance and passed the word to collect by the ponies near the gate. She met Padrec coming out of the trader's house and passed him the bolts of cloth.

"So you couldn't resist the linen," he noted with a twinkle. Dorelei felt secretly guilty over the extravagance. "And why not? Sister much wanted it."

"And you? A fair gown for summer. Perhaps with— yes, the necklace of sapphires."

"Sa—?"

"Your blue stones. They always become you."

"Ah. Perhaps. Do nae think on such things."