Cador was on his way to a small farm a mile away from the Wall. It belonged to Lot and his family, his mother Bryhen and his younger sister Raelyn. Lot’s father, Caedmon, had been a Briton warrior and Cador had known him slightly. He had died in battle, a glorious member of patriotic martyrs. Now, Bryhen ran the farm with her children and they had remained successful in what could only have been called trying times. As for Cador, sometimes he felt like a stray dog they had taken into their home. He was ever conscious of the debt he owed to them and the fact that he would never be able to repay them.
Having lived most of his life far above the Wall where there were wide open spaces and the4 familiar villages of friendly Britons, Cador had been very homesick his first few months in Luguvallium. He did not like living in Luguvallium. In fact, he hated it. It was too closed in, too like a prison with its gates and walls and guards and sentries, and much too Roman in every sense for his taste. There was nowhere he could go where he could not see what had always been a symbol of oppression. He felt claustrophobic, out of place, and lonely. On top of that, he was required to perform many new duties which had never been part of his life before. Cador was a prince, heir to a throne which was the hope of many people, and he had to act as such. Arthur met with noblemen from the South and Cador stood next to him. Noblemen from the North came to offer their allegiance to the new king of the Britons, and Cador was there. He had been used to being a battle leader, a commander of men who, when the battle was over, went back to their homes as they wanted to do. This politics was new to him and the greatest part of his anxiety. Guinevere with a wisdom born of many years told him to go out riding in order to escape the new duties that plagued him so sorely. It was on one of these rides that he stumbled upon Bryhen’s farm.
He had been watching the spot on the horizon for awhile before what he was seeing registered in his mind. It was a farm, a truly British farm, the kind he had been used to seeing and living in for so many years. Fields of grain covered the land around it. The homestead itself was surrounded by a steep ditch designed to keep stray animals away and a fence of wattle for extra protection. He couldn’t see very much over it, but he could see the peaks of a few round houses, and the sloped roofs of granaries. For a moment, Cador stopped his horse and just stared at the pleasant sight before him. There was nothing that had eased his home longing like this in a long time. He was reluctant to disturb the privacy of the inhabitants of the farm, but curiosity got the better of him and he rode boldly into the enclosure.
There was a large roundhouse on the right, which he rightly assumed to be the home of the farm holder. It was a tidy house, the thatch but newly applied and the walls whitewashed a bright white. The door was covered by what looked to be an old legionaries red cloak, very faded and patched in places. There was a cow byre just beyond it, large enough, he thought, to house five or six cows. That was an excellent sign of a thriving farm, as were the large granaries at the back of the compound. On his right were two smaller houses that would shelter the hired workers. There was also a large, square building that, from the presence of the wood-shavings in baskets by the door, was a woodworkers shop. Scattered amongst all of this were chicken houses and beehives, a pair of latrines tucked away in opposite corners, and the very important family garden just behind the main house.
Cador was drinking in the sight of it all, letting the familiarity of the scene wash over him like a soothing balm, when a not so soothing voice filled his ears. “What do you want?” Lot stepped out of the workshop, hands set confrontationally on his hips, a dark scowl on his face. It had been wonderfully typical of him.
Cador, aware that he was trespassing, replied politely in turn. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but I couldn’t help myself. I have not seen a good farm like this in many months. To be honest, I have missed the sight of it.”
“Well, you’ve seen it, so be on your way,” growled Lot. He glared at the rider in the most unfriendly manner.
“Please, do you mind if I stay awhile? I‘m handy in all kinds of work and you don‘t have to pay me. I only ask the pleasure of being somewhere like home for an hour or two.”
Lot considered him critically for a moment, not missing the sword that hung from Cador’s belt. He shrugged and said, pointedly, “As long as I don’t have to pay you. You can start over there at the woodpile. Stock it high. I have no doubt that the cold days are coming soon.”
So began Cador’s happy days at the farm with cold words about cold days. Still, Lot’s unfriendly demeanor did not diminish his pleasure at being on a familiar feeling place. He worked for a few hours until he absolutely had to go back to Luguvallium and when he arrived home, his mother saw him looking the happiest he had been in months. Cador went back the very next day and asked to work again. This time, Bryhen was there as well.
“So you’re the odd young man Lot told me about,” she said, looking him up and down. “You don’t look like a farm boy. What‘s your name?”
He smiled, refreshed by her blunt manner. “Cador, and I’m not,” he said, removing the trappings of his station. “But I was raised to know what it was all about. I had to have something to do in between adventures.”
“Killing dragons, were you?” she chuckled. “Lot’s killed a few in his day, too. I call you both in for lunch.”
“More wood chopping, then?” asked Cador. Lot sent him to his task with a grunt.
It was at lunch that Bryhen attempted to get to know the strange nobleman who was doing all that work for free. She and Raelyn brought food out in the yard and they all sat together before the door of the house. Cador noticed Raelyn, of course, as any young man would do, but he had been too long held to the rigid standards of a leader for him to do anything more than notice. He paid her every courtesy as he would any other woman and did not think beyond that.
Bryhen began the conversation. “So, where are you from, dragon slayer?” she asked in an ironic way, with a friendly smile on her face. It would not take long for him to get used to he ironic ways of speaking.
“North,” he said, sipping his ale, “with the Votadini, my mother’s people.”
“You fought the Romans, then?”
“Only after they ran out of dragons,” he said with a laugh. “Yes, I fought the Romans. Not any more, though. We always envisioned peace coming in a different way, but now that its here, I don’t want it gone.”
“Aye, you speak good sense for one so young,” she said, nodding her head in a knowing way. “The Votadini are a great tribe. Merlyn is one of their number. I don’t suppose you know him, do you?”
“I do,” replied Cador. The ale was beginning to loosen his lips. “Merlyn was one of my guardians. He taught me almost everything I know, although, it wouldn’t be fair to my mother to say exactly everything.”
“Yes, indeed. Be sure to always give credit to your mother,” laughed Bryhen easily, but the position of her guest was beginning to dawn on her. She asked a leading question. “I suppose you’re one of the Votadini chieftain’s sons. It is an honor to have you with us.”
“The honor and the pleasure is all mine,” he said, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, “but I am not Votadini. I’m Dumnonii, far south, a fugitive for most of my days. Thank the gods that is all over.”
“Thanks, indeed,” she said, ignoring the alarmed look on her son’s face. “Your mother must be Guinevere, then.”
Cador realized that he had perhaps said too much. “Yes,” he admitted, slowly, glancing around in case he would need to fight his way out.
“Be at ease, Cador ap Gerren,” said Bryhen, handing him a loaf of bread, “you are among friends. While we here at the wall may not have been able to do our part of the fighting, it does not mean we aren’t loyal to Britain and the cause you fought for. My husband was one of many proud warriors who met his end at the point of the Roman gladius. In giving you our hospitality, we honor his memory.”
Cador bowed very low at this. “Your husband’s spirit is content in the house of heroes, along with many of my friends. I hope,” he said uncertainly, “that I will be allowed to continue coming here and working.”
“If you enjoy it, I won’t stop you,” Bryhen assured him. “I am curious as to why you would want to.”
“It just reminds me of home,” he said simply.
That sealed it. From then on he was welcome at the farm whenever he wanted. Over time, he was absorbed into the family like a cousin and the friendship that developed between he and Lot blossomed in the atmosphere of hospitality, love and loyalty.
Okay, so, as promised, here is the post. In the original conception of this and the previous section, there is no break. What I mean is, its meant to be read as a whole section. But, luckily, it makes sense without having its original format. I am now working on a post for tomorrow.
Just a little update about scheduling for next week: I am taking next week off. There will be no posts next week! Sorry... I will be attending the St. David Anglican Youth Retreat in the secluded woods of Foresthill, California, somewhere only a satellite can find me. For more information on this retreat go to www.anglicanyouth.com.
