44 Bards need not be accurate, merely colorful."

4 'That's true enough. Windy old sods." Ambrosius slowed his stride, matching it to that of the shorter priest, who stumped along on level ground with feet that re-

membered hills. "All this gold, the jewels and the rest of it: where does it all come from?"

"Rainbow," Padrec answered casually.

"Pardon?"

"A gift from Rainbow."

They were near the stockade now. Ambrosius halted, smiling ironically. "By way of the imperial mint, Patri-cius. The eager Venicones missed this in the scramble." He held out the gold aureus clearly stamped with the likeness and inscription of Trajanus.

Padrec said delicately, "They have no word for 'theft,' Tribune."

"I'd say not."

"To ask is to be given."

"You taught them that?"

"No, Ambrosius. They taught me. They are innate Christians. Are you?"

"When I have to be," Ambrosius fended, "but I see your point."

"Good; then you must school me in turn. Fve been long from home. When I left, the Council of Princes was on the verge of trusting one of themselves enough to call him king. What's the news?"

"Vitalinus is raised to imperator by the tribes."

"The one they call Vortigern?" Padrec weighed the notion. "More of a bargainer than a war-chief, I hear. And this war of Marchudd's against the Coritani: what does he hope to gain from it?"

"Every gradus of land they've stolen from him in the past ten years, and an extension of the Church into pagan lands. Missionaries like yourself, Father. Perhaps a new diocese."

Padrec stopped at the stockade entrance to study the ruddy-cheeked young soldier, knowing more of Ambrosius than he. declared, a political necessity during his time with Germanus. The tribune was a Dobunni from Severn, close enough in blood and tribal ties to be, in time, a serious consideration for the throne and sword now held by Vortigern. For twenty years, since the with-

drawal of the legions, the title of imperator had been only as strong as the man who wore it, and none wore it that well. Vitalinus would scheme and bargain, Am-brosius might—what? Bring back Rome or its likeness? Hard to read in the young face now, but the discipline was clearly there, and the ambition.

"A holy war? If it is a holy war, Ambrosius. That word is not to be sullied. The Coritani have a fierce spirit. God could use such passion."

Ambrosius grunted in disinterest. "Surely it's not among the Venicones."

"Perhaps it is, but you'll have to buy it, Tribune. They love a bargain as my people do."

"Urn. You're Brigante, aren't you?"

"No, I—" Padrec grinned at the slip. He gestured back toward the raths on the hill. "I meant my people."

"Ah, yes. Well." Ambrosius tactfully changed the subject. "I hope Vaco will come to terms soon."

"Quite so. Vaco. Vaco ..." Padrec ruminated, then cocked a brow at Ambrosius. "Named for his mother's tribe, I suppose. The Vacomagil. They're like the Irish; no man can be a chief among them if he has a single blemish on his body. As you can see, Vaco's woad covers a multitude of imperfections. I suspect his presence—his honor—is all the more tender for it."

"Honor!" Ambrosius balked at the word. "How can the man be called honorable when he won't be definite about anything, yea or nay?"

"But he is," Padrec contradicted lightly. "His honor is like our art, very intricate. Courtesy, hospitality, bargaining all intertwine. Inextricable. No doubt he finds you as much a coil. If you'll permit, Tribune? I should say a little less Roman get-on-with-it and a little more observance of his presence. The bargain must seem his shrewdness more than yours. You're on his hearth."

"You seem to have learned them well, Patricius."

"At considerable cost. They broke my legs and put me out on the hill."

Ambrosius was genuinely shocked. "By the Bull of

Mithras! You could have died. And you came back here?"

"No, not died." The priest's direct gaze might have been unsettling but for its serenity. "God is not through with me."

"I wish I were through with Vaco," Ambrosius sighed plaintively. "Pict food is unspeakable."

"Ah-ha! That's the soft way of the court for you, boyo. Best food Li the world up here. You should live more among shepherds. Nothing preserved, everything fresh."

"Hopefully," Ambrosius amended with a dying fall. He stepped aside and allowed the priest to precede him into Vaco's longhouse and further digestive torment.

The feast was crowded and noisy, although the order of seating was carefully planned in concession to the dignity of all. Vaco and his brothers sat at one end with their chief guests—Padrec, Dorelei, and her people. Ambrosius, and one of his aides. At the lower fire pit were placed the other Prydn gerns and the odd Romans of lower rank. The chief wives oversaw the serving. Trying to be careful of courtesy, Ambrosius couldn't remember which wife belonged to which husband.

"Actually they share them," Padrec volunteered.

"Urn. Muzzy from a legal standpoint," Ambrosius allowed. "A father doesn't know what to leave to whom, does he?"

Padrec chuckled over his mutton. "Tribune, a Veni-cone always knows exactly what he's got and how much he wants to leave behind. If he can't take most of it with him to Tir-Nan-Og, he's not going."

"By the gods, Patricius," the Roman spluttered through his drink. "You're not at all the uncomfortable little prig I'd heard of."

"You catch me in the middle of happiness; that does a lot for earnest men." Padrec nodded politely across the fire to Vaco lolling on his greasy cushions, and leaned to kiss Dorelei, who was squirming with the be-

ginnings of discomfort next to him. "How is't, wife?"

k 'Oh, the wealth. Must always go outside."

The frequency of her need astonished Padrec, who knew as much of pregnancy as he did of building bridges. "Again

"Soon."

'Thee looks out of temper."

She knuckled her eyes against the smoke from the fire pit. "Vaco smells of pig and dirt, and the Romans of Roman." And Dorelei was tired of being courteous to Venicones better poisoned than smiled at, and Padrec's faith was sometimes as much a burden as the wealth in her body.

4% The feast be nigh done. Will speak soon."

"Speed then, help me up. Will go now and miss nae word of thee."

Padrec drew her close, proud of the swelling that pressed between them, fiercely wanting it to be his. "Do love thee

The pleasure washed over Dorelei's face; she needed that just then. "Will hurry then. Neniane, come with me."

When the women had cleared away the platters and replaced them with dishes of fruit and nuts, Padrec waited until Dorelei was comfortable, back and hips well cushioned and her feet tucked under Rof s hairy belly before rising to speak.

"Elder Vaco of the Camlann Venicones—a year ago at Lughnassadh, you doubted my words and sent me forth to try my faith against your reality. You have seen the strength of my God, and I have since heard the music of Mother and Lugh. I was a poor and discourteous guest then, knowing little of my host's honor. A year schooled, let me try again."

"His legs are strong as ever," Vaco's youngest brother observed in a malicious murmur. "The wolves let him be, and the damned Faerie made him one of them. A favorite of the gods he may not be, but neither an enemy."

"Perhaps. There is that about the gods that makes me wonder if they know what they're about/' said the middle brother.

"Peace," Vaco moderated. "What can we do? Strong he is, but if he is still a fool, it will show." He raised his voice to the hall. "Silence! Peace and silence for the words of Padrec Raven."

"Venicones, I am Padrec Raven, second husband to Salmon gem. Romans, I greet you as Succatus Patricius of Clannaventa. Gerns of Wolf, Marten, and Reindeer: my hands are to you in respect. Once before in this hall I spoke of my God. Like Raven, I spoke with a harsh voice, and the Venicones, knowing true music, sent me away."

Malgon grunted. "Does say much in little."

Vaco called across the fire: "Padrec! Do you still think it better to sleep alone?"

"I still believe in one wife to one husband. For myself at least. I will not speak for other men. Let me tell instead not of laws or the things forbidden, but of the spirit behind the law. The believing, the faith as Prydn have come to know it. There is a tale that will be a lamp to it.

"Was in the first days, and certain of Hebrew fhain served a great king. Now, this king set a golden idol of God at his door to honor Him, and ruled that all must bow to it or die. But Daniel of the Hebrew knew his God would not be presumed in a statue and did not bow down."

They were listening now because he was not preaching at them but telling a story with a beginning, a problem, and an end. He told of Daniel and how he was cast at night into a den of lions to try his faith against their reality, as Vaco tried his own. In the early morning, when the proud king hastened to the caged pit, Daniel stood unscathed among the gentled beasts. And the king knew the power of Daniel's God.

"So I come again among the Venicone, not to conquer but to give, to scatter among you the wealth of

God's Grace as Prydn have flung gold to your children."

Vaco ruminated, nibbling on an apple core. 'There is wisdom in what you say. But the tale marks a plain truth with nothing of gods about it

"And what is that, Elder?"

Vaco belched and patted his pampered belly. "Lions and wolves are less greedy than other creatures. They are merely neighbors when well fed. Hungry is a different matter. Now, it is that I have dogs that are kept hungry all the time to bait wolves and a bear now and then."

'There is no gentling them" his nearest wife snickered.

"Would you put even your queen's hound against one of them

Dorelei wriggled bare toes in Rof s matted flank as he worried a meaty shoulder bone in huge jaws. "Rof be gentled in Jesu as myself. But even Wolf prays not to meet him."