If we could talk to rocks, who knows what wondrous stories
they could tell?  What could a road tell us of the people who
traveled over it?  Just because they cannot speak, does it mean they
do not understand what is going on?  Most people would say yes. 
A rock is just a rock, a tree just a tree, a river merely a collection of
water particles.  What you see is what you get.  This is not a story
for those people.  

         This is the story of the birth, life, and death of a bridge, a tiny
fragment of the story of a far away time that probably never
existed, but should have, snapshots in the story of the Enchantment
of Britain, the legend of Logres, the story of Arthur, King of the
Britons, the Once and Future King, who never was, always is, and
one day yet may be.  

         Put away the mundane world and step into the song with me.

****************

Cadfael's Bridge

by 

John Biles

**************

        When is a bridge born?  When its construction is complete? 
When the first order goes out to build it?  When the need for it is
seen?  Cadfael's Bridge was not the first bridge to cross the Test,
nor even the first at that spot.  Nearly four hundred years earlier,
when the Romans first came to the isle of Britain, they had built a
bridge there, and it had collapsed and been rebuilt many times since
then.  All the old bridges, however, had been made of wood, and
thus in the eleven hundred and fifty third year since the founding of
Rome (Or as it would one day be known, 402 AD), it made quite
an impression when Dagwaldus Cadfael decided to build a fine
stone bridge.  

        Dagwaldus Cadfael was a man who dreamed big dreams in a
world that seemed to be crumbling inch by inch.  He had good
reason to dream of greatness.  His ancestors had been tribal
warriors in the distant past, but through luck and hard work, his
family had risen to control a great latifundia, a huge estate, worked
by slaves and coloni, indentured tenant farmers, that stretched along
the western bank of the Test.  He grew wheat, which he shipped
east along the fine Roman road from Sarum to Venta Belgarum. 
Venta Belgarum had once been the capital of the powerful Belgae
tribe, but now it was simply a large and hungry city, which paid
good prices for his wheat.  Travelers passing west to Sorviodunum
and Aqua Sulis, Gloucester, Bristol, and Corinium had to cross his
lands and his bridge, and the tolls made him rich as well.  He had
gained the right from the local governor to charge a toll in return
for maintaining a bridge.  Many would have simply laid a few logs
across the water and extorted as much money as possible, but
Dagwaldus was a man who did things right and did them in a grand
style.  His villa had its own bathhouse nearly as large as the one in
Venta Belgarum, and he would be damned before he would build a
poor excuse for a bridge.

          His wife, Albanus Cornelia, thought he was nuts.  She was of
an old Roman family, and related to the governor, but they had
fallen on hard times, so she was forced to marry a man she thought
of as half-barbarian.  How could you take someone seriously with a
name like Cadfael?  Living out in the boondocks of a province
which was itself a pimple on the Empire's nose.  She longed to live
in a grand city like Marseilles or better yet, Rome itself.  "Cadfael, a
five year old could wade across this 'river'.  You don't need to
build another Milvian Bridge over it."  He wouldn't listen, she was
sure.  But she had to try.  Someone had to put a rein on this man.

         He paced back and forth.  "Ahh, but that's only the start.  I
shall build an inn as well, enabling travelers to stop, so that they
don't camp in the wilds on the other side of the river.  That alone
will pay for the bridge in a few years.  And I've hired your brother,
Antonius, to design it."  He turned and smiled at her with the smile
that alternately infuriated and inspired her.  It was the smile he got
when he had one of his grand ideas, and she knew that somehow he
would talk her into this.

         Not that he had to.  Ultimately, she knew that he was in
charge, and her job was to produce children and raise them and
look good on social occasions.  However, Cadfael never used his
authority, which always confused her.  He would argue with her for
ten days to get her to agree to something, instead of either telling
her what was going to be done, or doing what she wanted.  The
part that was strangest to her was that somehow, she always ended
up agreeing to it.  Sometimes, it even didn't turn into a disaster.

           "You got him to stop drinking long enough to listen to
you?"  Antonius was a drunken lout, a man with no purpose in life,
the third son of a family that could hardly find a purpose for any
son past the first.  The governor had made him the prefect of
Dubris, and he spent most of his time embezzling funds to spend on
wine, as far as Cornelia knew.

          "You should have seen the bridge he built for the
Commander of the Saxon Shore," Cadfael said.  "Down in the
Cantiaci lands."

         "You mean in Maximus Caesarensis," she said.  It was a sore
point between them.  Being of old Celtic stock, though thinly
Romanized, he tended to think in terms of the old tribal divisions,
which while they retained a strong social reality, had not existed in
political terms in hundreds of years.  The old chieftains had become
the local aristocracy, building great villas, hiring tutors to teach
their children Latin and Greek, oratory and philosophy, and styling
themselves Romans.

         Cornelia knew better.  She came of a true Roman family,
which had had the misfortune to anger an emperor, who had
'rewarded' her ancestor with the post of governor of the province
of Maximus Caesarensis during an onslaught by the Saxons and the
Picts about two centuries earlier.  By the time it had been safe to
return to Rome, they could no longer afford it.  Things had only
gotten worse over time for them, but they had clung to their
heritage.  If he was to be married to her, she would make him think
like a true Roman or die trying.

           "Yes, yes, but I was trying to be more specific.  Maximus
Caesarensis is a large province, you know.  Cantiaci, Atrebates,
some of the Belgae lands, Catuevellani, Trinovantes, Iceni..." he
blathered on, and she tried to blank it out.  A bunch of pathetic
tribes who should be forgotten, she thought.  My mother's
ancestors came from Hibernia, but they don't keep track of the
tribes that once gave them birth.  

          "So he built a bridge?"  She was surprised.  She wouldn't
have thought Antonius understood enough engineering to build a
hut, let alone a bridge.

        "Yes.  He went and studied in London with that
fellow...Germanicus Julius.  The one who build the bridge for
Londinium.  That's what he's been doing the last few years. 
Anyway, Governor Constantin recommended him to me.  Your
father will be pleased.  When we go to see him for Saturnalia, I'm
going to make the final recommendations."  While Christianity was
spreading, and was in fact, theoretically the official religion of the
empire, it had not had much impact outside or even inside the major
cities in Britain, and Cornelia's family clung to the old pagan ways. 
They would celebrate the Saturnalia, and even many of the
Christians would join them, for it was one of the few holidays from
work.  Cornelia's family lived in Venta Belgarum; her father
Cornelius was the Prefect of Venta Belgarum, although more
people looked to Burcanius Marcus, the head of the family which
had once ruled the Belgae tribe, for guidance than to her father,
which irritated the Albanus family tremendously.  Burcanius Marcus
was just another barbarian posing as a Roman in their eyes.  He was
also tremendously wealthy due to his extensive estates, and had
once served as regional governor. 

           At least my husband hasn't gone Christian on me like my
sister's did, Cornelia thought.  Our children will be raised to follow
the ancient ways.  One of those children ran into the room.  It was
Cornelius, named after his grandfather.  He had a strong roman
nose like his mother, and her deep brown eyes as well, but he had
his father's light brown hair and skinny, tall build.  He was only
eight, but one day he would inherit the estate.  Cornelia was already
worrying about what to do with his younger brother Owain (her
soul cringed at her husband insisting on giving him a barbarian
name), and little Julia, who was only three.  It would be almost
impossible to find them a good marriage, especially if her husband
wouldn't take on some higher post in the government than
maintaining a bridge.  Not that such posts were easy to find; there
were too many applicants, and it was getting harder for the
governor to successfully pay those who held them.  Cornelia wasn't
sure why, but money was getting tighter and tighter.  Their tenants
paid their rent in wheat, and the governor increasingly had to grant
individuals the right to collect certain taxes in order to pay them for
their services to him.  Only merchants and rich landowners like her
husband ever saw gold anymore.  And the army.  What passed for
one.  Four provinces were now defended by two legions, and
squadrons of local auxiliaries.  Cornelia had seen the auxiliaries
marching, and she was quite confident that she and her kitchen
slaves could defeat an equal number of auxiliaries in open battle,
using only utensils as weapons.  

       Still, they did their job somehow.  There were no bandits,
unlike Gaul, which was descending  into anarchy according to
reports from her relatives in Paris, and the Saxons hadn't broken
past the Saxon Shore forts in decades.  The Picts had been crushed
half a century ago during their last incursion as well.  The
Commander of the Saxon Shore and the Duke of the North,
guarding Hadrian's Wall, were doing their jobs so well that she
rarely even had to think about their existence.  

        Her husband prattled on, and her mind drifted away from him
as she stood by the window of their bedroom and looked off
towards the 'river'.  It was an overgrown stream, really, only about
waist high in flood season, and lower than that during some parts of
the year.  Forest lay beyond it, and the old roman road crossed it a
few minutes walk south of their home.  The old bridge was nearing
collapse again, and she saw it shake under the impact of a train of
wagons heading west towards Sorviodunum.  It had to be replaced
anyway; better we build one that our son won't have to replace as
well.  She remembered the great bridges of Marseilles that she had
seen in her youth, a more peaceful time, before Gaul began to sink
into chaos.  Or more precisely, to sink back into chaos.  The peace
that Constantine had brought to the empire had been all too brief, it
seemed.  It had already been crumbling before she was born, as the
relentless pressure of the barbarians thrust itself against the borders
like water against a dam.  The dam was leaking; she hoped it would
not burst in her lifetime.

        The memory carried her back further, to places and times she
had never seen, but only dreamed about.  Building was the glory of
Rome; no Roman was truly great who had not built something. 
Stone was their guarantee that what they had made would last. 
Cadfael was right.  One day, they would be gone, but the bridge
would remain, even if the barbarians swept over the land.  There
was no immortality to be found except perhaps if the Gods took
mercy on you, but you could build things which would last.  She
had walked on bridges which had been built by men who had seen
Caesar himself.  It would be her monument; something to last. 
"Alright.  We'll build the bridge.  But you must have our names put
upon it."

        He laughed like a small child given a toy.  He always did when
she finally caved in.  "Of course.  And your brother, since he is the
architect.  We shall have carvings upon it of our entire family, and
perhaps of Mercury and Jupiter as well, and then..."

        At this rate, we'll have another Coliseum instead of a bridge,
she thought.

**************

        It took eight years to finish the entire project; to design it, to
find workers, to raise the money, to quarry and transport the stone,
to get Antonius to stay sober, to bring over carvers from Gaul to do
the pictures, and finally to get the Governor to come and dedicate
it.  Cornelia was amazed and pleased that Constanin came.  Gaul
was under siege by the Franks and Vandals, and all the other savage
tribes of the wilds of Germania, and another legion had been pulled
out of the Diocese of Britain (The four provinces of Britain
collectively made up a 'Diocese'.  It irritated Cornelia tremendously
that the Christians had taken the same word for the areas ruled by
their Bishops.).  Constantin had been frantically trying to raise
enough troops to keep the borders manned, and several dozen of
Cadfael and Cornelia's coloni had been sent off to become
legionnaires, which was going to cause problems at harvest time.  

         Finally, however, it was ready to be dedicated.  The
Governor's brother Maxentius had led them in the proper rites to
propitiate the gods and call down their favor, and the bridge was
ready for travelers to cross.  The inn was completed as well, and
had been for four years; it had brought them much wealth and
helped to pay for the bridge, which had cost far more than Cadfael,
or even the more practical Cornelia had ever imagined.

          Despite the cost, or more likely, because of it, it was
beautiful, a great arch of stone carved with the pictures of each
member of the Dagwaldus family, the governor, the prefect of
Venta Belgarum (still Cornelia's father), several gods and goddess,
two satyrs, the crossing of the Rubicon, and more stone flowers
than you could shake a bouquet at.  And it had awakened, though it
had no way to convey that to those around it.  Birth is always a
confusing process, even more so for inanimate objects than for
humans, and it looked around it and listened, trying to understand
what it was and why it was here.  

       Cornelia's children stood around her, eight years older than
when the bridge was begun.  Cornelius was sixteen now, engaged
to Burcanius Marcia, second daughter of Burcanius Marcus,
despite the fact that Cornelia despised him, because it would bring
even more lands to the family.  Owain was planning to enter the
army, dreaming of being a soldier, a strong lad for a thirteen year
old.  He would be an officer, of course.  And they were still looking
for a good husband for Julia, who was eleven.  Cadalius Urbanus'
son, Agorix, had expressed some interest, but then he had drowned
three months ago.  The Cadalius family had a bad reputation,
anyway, so Cornelia wasn't as heartbroken as she might have been.  

          Cadfael stood nearby, eight years older, but not changed a
bit, except for one strand of grey hair that ran down behind his right
ear.  He was dressed in a fine linen toga, a pleasant green in color,
cut in the latest style, or what passed for style here in the back of
beyond.  The whole family was dressed similarly, as were the
visiting guests, making quite a contrast with the simply dressed
coloni who watched from a distance in their brown and blue tunics. 
Indeed, Cornelia's personal handmaiden slave, a woman from
Armorica named Heledd, or as Cornelia had renamed her, Lucia,
was better dressed than the coloni, which Cornelia found to be
faintly ironic.  Heledd herself had been sold into slavery to raise
money to pay their taxes, but now lived better than her family had,
which played a large part in why Cornelia trusted her.  She had
sacrificed her freedom for a better standard of living, which was
essentially the same thing that Cornelia had done in entering into
marriage.  She knew herself to be her husband's slave for all legal
intents and purposes, if not in practice, just as she had been her
father's slave, effectively, before the marriage.  Cornelia was sure
she understood how Lucia thought, and the rest of the household
slaves.

        The field hands were another question.  The Dagwaldus family
owned few slaves that worked the fields; it wasn't cost effective
anymore, though Cornelia wasn't sure why.  Most of their lands
were worked by coloni, tenant farmers, some of whom originally
came from various barbarian lands.  She tried to avoid them; the
field hand slaves were more Romanized than these people.  Indeed,
she tried to bring the field hands into the house to become
domestics as much as she could or got them to learn crafts.  Any
idiot barbarian could farm, and somehow they produced more than
the field hand slaves.  Dark rites to their evil gods, no doubt.  They
weren't all foreigners, the coloni, a fair number came from the
locals who had once been the Belgae tribe.  They felt a certain
loyalty to her husband because his mother had been descended from
some old tribal chieftain with a stupid name who had allegedly had
a horse race with a goddess or some such rot.  

       The ceremony continued, and the bridge learned its name.  The
Bridge over the River Test, Dedicated in the year eleven hundred
and sixty one A. U. C., constructed and maintained by Dagwaldus
Cadfael.  It immediately decided that it wanted a shorter name, and
dubbed itself Cadfael's Bridge, especially since that was what all the
whispering people in the audience called it.  Now all it needed was
for the river to shut up and let it listen to the ceremony.  

        Cornelia was trying to focus on the ceremony as well, but a
horseman riding full tilt from the east kept grabbing her attention. 
The man was going to ride his horse to death; she could tell.  Some
foolish youth no doubt.  They did crazy stuff.  

        As the man came closer, she could see he was wearing a
centurion's uniform.  Owain became excited, pointing him out to
her.  She smiled and patted him on the head.  The man rode up to
the governor and saluted, then dismounted and handed him a letter. 
The governor read it and blanched.  

        Cornelia's father, Albanus Cornelius, said, "Bad news?"

        Constantin frowned.  "Very bad news.  Emperor Honorius is
ordering the withdrawal of the last legion to try to deal with the
mounting crisis in Gaul.  He says we must...'look to our own
defense'."

         Cadfael coughed.  "But...that's our last legion!  If it leaves,
Hadrian's Wall will be empty and the Saxon Shore forts..."

        "There's still the auxiliaries," Vercitogorius Maximus, another
local landowner, said.  

        "I must go."  Constantin said to Cadfael.  "My apologies, I
know you had planned a great feast for tonight.  I must consult with
the other governors and the head of the Diocese and the
Commanders of the Saxon Shore and the North."  He sighed. 
"Perhaps we can make Honorius understand this is a mistake."

         A piece of wood spoke from the bottom of the river, though
no one could hear it but the bridge and the river, and the river
would never be quiet long enough to really listen to someone else. 
"They're doomed."

         "What?"  The bridge asked.  "What are you talking about?"

        "Just as I died, so do all things come to an end.  The old
passeth away, but so does the new in time.  I bet you think you're
immortal."

        "Wood rots, but stone endures," the bridge said smugly.

         "The ocean of time washes away even stone, bit by bit.  Ask
the forest I was carved from."

        "Hrmph.  Just because you trees keel over doesn't mean that I
will, or the people who built me."  Cadfael's Bridge had imbibed
the spirit of its creators, the heirs of an ancient empire, of countless
generations.  

         The chunk of wood laughed.  "I thought that once.  We shall
see, my young friend.  We shall see."

 ******************

        Cadfael's Bridge was not lonely in the years that followed.  If
he tried hard, he could listen to the conversations in Cadfael's Inn,
and there were always the wagons, back and forth, and hunters as
well, crossing the river to seek out the deer who lived in the forest
on the other side.  The forest would speak to him as well, and the
river, though it simply babbled constantly.  The old chunk of wood
from the old bridge had vanished as well, washed out to sea during
the first flood season, and he soon forgot its taunts.  

         Despite the danger that had threatened on the day of his birth,
it seemed to Cadfael's Bridge that life was good.  The Dagwaldus
family slaves kept him clean and shiny, and travelers were still
frequent.  Small armies sometimes marched back and forth, and he
had seen Dagwaldus Owain dozens of times, leading a small band
of cavalry back and forth across him as the years passed.  He had
been able to see the weddings of his brothers, for he thought of the
Dagwaldus children as his older brothers and sister, and he was
proud of them, and of his father and mother, though they had never
heard his voice.  His sister could hear him sometimes, he was sure,
and she would come and talk to him at night.  

        And so it was one night, that she came to him.  She always sat
in the same spot, just above the picture of some goddess named
'Athena', or maybe it was 'Artemis' or possibly 'Brigit'.  Cadfael's
Bridge had had to learn the names of those who adorned him from
listening to people talk, and they didn't always agree with each
other.  Julia was eighteen now, and soon to be wed.  Whatever
curse kept killing her potential husbands had finally abated, and
Decimus Isatis was on his way south from Eboracum.  He was the
second son of the governor of the northernmost of the Island's four
provinces, and expected to go far.  Cadfael's Bridge knew that his
mother, Cornelia, was ecstatic about the upcoming marriage, but
Julia seemed far sadder than her brothers had been before their
weddings.  "What's wrong?" he asked, hoping she would hear him. 
Sometimes she did, sometimes not.

          "I do not wish to live in Eboracum, so far away in the cold
and frozen north," she replied.  "Especially not to marry someone I
have never met.  He is sure to be a boorish thug, and I will be
utterly miserable.  Probably the Picts will break through and kill us
anyway."  She sighed and leaned over his side, looking at her
reflection in the water.

          "Emperor Constantin won't let that happen to you," the
bridge tried to reassure her.  Constantin, who Cadfael's Bridge
thought of as his grandfather, had been crowned Emperor two
years ago, Emperor of Britain.  Honorius had never sent back the
legions; indeed, as Gaul sank further into anarchy, it was quite
likely the legions didn't exist to be sent back.  Still, Constantin had
scraped together enough troops to replace them, and sent some raw
levies in the place of some of the men of the last legion that had
remained, in order that the remaining legionnaires could train new
ones.  It had worked, at least for now.  The land was still safe. 
"The Picts haven't breached the Wall in decades.  They probably
don't even know anything has changed."

         "I have been thinking...of running away."  Julia said
hesitantly.  "But I don't know where to go."

         Cadfael's Bridge would have shook his head, but he didn't
have one.  "What would you do?  Where would you live?"

         "I'm thinking of going to Glastonbury and joining the nunnery
there."  She sighed.  "Don't tell my mother."

         "She'd probably hurl herself off me into the river if she heard
that," the Bridge said.  "I won't tell Mother.  But are you sure it's
what you want?"

         "I'd rather hurl myself off you into the river than marry this
man Mother wants me to marry.  And I don't have any other ideas. 
At least at Glastonbury, I won't have to marry anyone."

          The river started to chant "Jump!  Jump!  Jump!"  over and
over again.

          Julia laughed. "I take it you wish to marry me?"

          The river began its usual spiel of claiming to be a god. 
Cadfael's bridge had heard this routine a few too many times.  "Oh
shut up."

          "I'm not worthy to marry a god," Julia said.  "Although I
suppose that's what I'd be doing if I went to Glastonbury."

          "Go to the lake of Glastonbury," the river said.  "There are
those who would help you.  Take a boat on one of the eight sacred
days, and you will pass through the mists to their home."  He
sighed.  "Once, you could do it on any day, but something...the way
is harder now, and long.  Not since the days when I was properly
worshiped as I deserve has anyone been able to pass to Avalon
except on the holy days, but I remember the days when all passed
freely.  That was back before your time, Bridge 45."

         "I am Cadfael's Bridge!  Not Bridge 45!  I don't care how
many bridges you've seen!"  Cadfael's Bridge said.  The river
wouldn't use his name, which seriously irritated him.  

        "Now I remember Bran's bridge.  Now THAT was a bridge." 
The river began to ramble, as usual, and Cadfael's Bridge once
again regretted that he was incapable of moving or plugging his
ears (since he didn't have any).  

****************

        There was no wedding.  The last that Cadfael's Bridge saw of
his sister for many years was the sight of her riding west on a horse,
alone without even her servant.  Cornelia ranted and raved and sent
out search expeditions, but she was never found.  Only a single
letter came, saying that Julia had joined the Ladies of the Lake,
some group of priestesses of the old gods of Britain.  Cornelia
wasn't sure whether to be pleased that Julia hadn't run off to a
nunnery, or displeased that her daughter served some old barbarian
gods instead of the gods of Rome.  

         Cadfael's Bridge was simply pleased that his sister was happy. 
Years passed, and things began to change, slowly at first.  His
brother Cornelius had three children by his wife Marcia: Cadfael
Minor, born ten years after Cadfael's Bridge, Marcia Minor, who
was born when Cadfael's Bridge was thirteen, and Cornelius Minor,
born when Cadfael's Bridge was sixteen.  He had other nieces and
nephews too, but his brother Owain couldn't come to visit often,
and he never brought his children.  

         There were rumors of war in the north, and war in the east,
and war in the west, for the Irish were beginning to raid across the
sea into Cambria to the far west.  Still, Emperor Constantin held the
line, but it grew harder every year, as money seemed to vanish and
the land grew poorer as trade with Gaul declined.  A few of the
aristocrats fled to Armorica across the Channel, but for the most
part, life went on.  The inn had a few less visitors, and a few less
wagons crossed the bridge every year, but Dagwaldus Cadfael was
still strong, and so was his son.  Their lands flourished, and every
year a few more coloni drifted in, fleeing coastal raids.  The
Dagwaldus family bought more land for their new coloni from some
of the harder pressed families, and they prospered.

        Only slowly did Cadfael's Bridge begin to notice something
strange seemed to be happening to his father and mother.  Slowly,
their hair was turning grey, and he began to see less of them. 
Often, they wouldn't leave their house up on the hill all winter long. 
So one day when his niece Marcia Minor came to talk to him, he
asked her why Cadfael Major and Cornelia's hair was turning grey. 
She didn't know, in fact, she didn't know it had ever been any
different.  Still, she was only five, and he remembered how little he
had known when he was five.  Five years later, he thought he had
figured it out from watching the trees.  Each year, their leaves
changed color, and then fell out, and for a time, the trees were bare,
but then in the spring, they grew new leaves.  He had seen bald
people before; he finally made the connection.  It must just take
longer for humans.  Their hair would eventually fall out, and then
they would eventually grow new hair the right color again.  

       Thus, he was not worried at the signs of age, for the trees did
much the same thing every year, and every spring, they were right
as rain again.  More years passed, and soon Cadfael's Bridge was
twenty three years old.  He was surprised when dozens, maybe
hundreds of people came to the great villa on the hill.  They seemed
to be making preparations for a party, but everyone seemed so sad. 
He tried to ask what was going on, but no one could hear him but
the trees, who cared little for humans, the river, who was more
concerned with the fact that it was raining upstream, and the Inn
just kept crying for no apparent reason and wouldn't say anything
coherent.  Marcia Minor was too busy to answer his questions, and
hardly came close enough for him to ask; she was busy with other
tasks.  She was ten now.  Marcia Major, his brother's wife and
Marcia Minor's mother, was everywhere, ordering guests about and
driving the slaves and some of the children of the leading coloni
mercilessly to try to keep all the guests supplied with food and in
good order.  

           There were too many guests for the villa, and they spilled
out into tents and hastily erected shelters across the yard, wrecking
the great gardens that his mother loved so much.  Yet, she didn't
come out and yell at anyone, which surprised him.  Indeed, he had
not heard her voice in days, and even then, it had been faint and far
away.  He had scarcely seen her since the snows had begun to fall;
he disliked snow, for he had few visitors when it was around, and it
was even more brainless than the river.  

         Night fell, and more guests straggled across the bridge.  As
the air cooled, a mist formed over the river.  Cadfael's bridge was
used to it; this happened all the time around here at night.  Then
something happened he had never seen before.  No one bothered
boating this far upstream on the Test; you could catch fish from the
bank and nothing larger than a rowboat could float in it.  A boat
was coming, a wide, flat barge, which just barely could stay afloat. 
It was rowed by a bunch of cranky looking young girls that
Cadfael's bridge guessed were between fourteen and twenty or so
in age.  An older  woman was giving them orders.  Her voice was
familiar, but her garb was not.  She wore a tunic that went all the
way down to her feet, billowing out below the belt around her waist
to give her more room to move her legs (or so he guessed).  She
wore a silver tiara upon her forehead, with a small blue gem set in
it, and golden bracelets that resembled intertwined serpents upon
her forearms.  The sleeves of the tunic billowed out, but stopped at
about her elbows.  She could have been anywhere from twenty to
forty in age, not old or young, with bright brown eyes and long
black hair that spilled freely around her shoulders and down her
back.  

         He knew her, but he did not recognize her, and this left him
confused.  For a moment, he wondered if she was a Saxon.  He had
heard stories of such creatures, but they had sounded like
rampaging beasts, not humans.  It would explain the boat, though.  

         Recognition came only when she hailed him.  "Hello, brother. 
I have come for our mother's funeral.  How have you been?"  It
was Julia, his long departed sister.  

        "Her what?"  he asked.  He had heard the word, but it meant
nothing to him.  

        Julia frowned.  "You do not know?"

        "Know what?"  Perhaps her hair has finally fallen out,
Cadfael's Bridge thought. 

       She gave some directions to the cranky rowing youths, then
said to the Bridge, "Our mother is dead."  Her voice was sad.  "I
hoped to arrive before she departed, but I did not succeed."

       It took a while for the idea to sink in.  Dead.  He knew the
concept; he'd seen animals die.  But it hadn't happened to anyone
he actually knew.  Especially not to...he would have cried, if he
could.  "I just...she...she can't be dead.  She isn't that old."

        "Blessed is the woman who lives to see her grandchildren,"
Julia said, getting off the boat.  "She has lived sixty years.  At least
I shall see Father while he still lives."

         It was hard to speak, for an awful thought had struck
Cadfael's Bridge.  "Is he...going to die too?"

        She walked over, and put a hand on the bridge, trying to offer
comfort, which isn't easy to do with a bridge.  "Not yet, but soon,
far too soon."

        "I...I just thought...it would be like the...like the trees.  They'd
just go bald, and then they'd be young again."  They were going to
die.  Everyone he knew would die, while he would go on.  Or
would he?  "Will I...Will I die one day?"

        "You'll outlive us all, but the family will go on.  Yet, even you
will die one day.  But death is not the end, only another beginning. 
Nothing is forever."

        "I am immortal!  I am a god!  I cannot be killed!"  the Test
River proclaimed triumphantly.  "As long as there is rain, I will be
reborn."

        "Until someone dams you.  Or the land turns to desert as it did
in northern Africa," Julia said.  "Yes, my brother, one day you will
die.  So will I, and so will everyone.  But there will be our children,
and our children's children.  New life will spring from us, and
perhaps, one day new life will spring from you.  Even if you
crumble, one day, you might be part of a mountain or a house, or
some other creation."  She walked up to her old favorite spot and
sat down.  "We can either despair, or we can do what we can, while
we can.  Do not waste your life worrying about a death you cannot
prevent."

        He had much to think about.

*************

       Seasons came, and seasons went.  He mourned his mother, and
he mourned his father three years later when Cadfael Major died. 
More years passed, and soon Cadfael's Bridge was thirty years old. 
The river still didn't shut up, the trees lived, died, and lived again as
usual, but more changes came.  Traffic had dropped off further, but
now some of the coloni were beginning to clear the trees closest to
the river and build houses, which pleased the bridge, for he liked
company.  

         The year brought good news and bad.  Cadfael Minor had
married a year ago, to a local aristocrat named Lucius Nia, and now
Bleddig, their first son, was born in the spring of the Bridge's
thirtieth year.  It was a joyous day, for the family would go on.

           The next day, Cornelius, father of Cadfael Minor, had ridden
off east, then north with his brother-in-law Burcanius Tertius, the
Praetor of Venta Belgarum, to go to Eburacum, the capital of the
province of Britannia Secundus, and the second largest city of all of
Britain.  Emperor Constantin was there, along with the Comes
Brittanicorum, the commander of his armies, Praetor Vortigern of
the Gewissi.  The Picts were expected to attack, and so the Praetor
was taking a small force north to aid him, bringing Cornelius as his
second in command.  

         Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.  As the
snow began to fall, the Praetor returned, bearing a body.  During
their audience with the Emperor, a Pictish spy had killed Emperor
Constanin, then killed Cornelius and two other men before the
Emperor's guards finally slew the assassin.  Cadfael's Bridge
listened as Cadfael Minor walked through the gardens, now only a
shell of what once they had been, and discussed what would happen
next with Praetor Burcanius.  

         "Well, Constans is likely to succeed him, but he's hidden
away in a monastery, while his younger sons, Ambrosius and Uther,
are just too young.  But Vortigern will be the true king, at least at
first, whatever happens.  The army will follow him; what's left of
it."  Tertius sighed.  "I do not wish to see Vortigern rule us, but I
think we have little choice."

        "What does Gorangonus think?"  Cadfael Minor asked,
frowning.  "He doesn't like Vortigern, and if the Count of the
Saxon Shore rebels..."  He shuddered.  "The coast would be
defenseless except for whatever levies we can scrape up.  It has
been too long since the Belgae truly fought."

        "The Cantiaci will not bare their throat to the enemy just to
thwart Vortigern, I think.  Though there will be trouble, mark my
words."  He stared off to the East.  "Tomorrow, I ride to
Londinium, where the Supreme Collegium will meet.  And then, if
we don't cut each other's throats first, we will elect a new
Emperor.  If only Ambrosius was old enough; he will be a great
warrior one day."

         "One day is not soon enough," Cadfael Minor said.  "We
need an Emperor now.  Especially with the Picts up in arms. 
Thousands came this year, and breached the wall.  It will be worse
next year.  We are safe here, for now.  But that safety is likely to
end soon.  How is Aetius doing in Gaul?"

        "He drove back the Burgundians, but he had to invite in the
Huns to do it."  Tertius sat down on a cold stone bench.  "We can
expect no help from Rome, not for decades, and likely not ever. 
Honorius' children are more pathetic than he was, and Aetius is like
a man trying to herd horses with a small rock and a piece of string
as tools.  I'm amazed he hasn't been murdered yet.  And I pray that
we do better."

        Cadfael stared off to the north, beyond the villa and the many
fields and small houses that spread north and west of it.  "So do I. 
As long as the Wall and the Shore hold, we are safe.  But how long
will they hold?"

 ****************

         More years passed, and while the lands around Cadfael's
Bridge flourished, the flow of visitors diminished to a trickle.  It
was rare that he saw a face he didn't know.  But there were always
children, and new buildings to talk to, and so he was content, even
when the bad news flowed in from the outside.  And there often
seemed to be almost nothing but bad news.  

         Emperor Constans ruled for only three years, dying at the
hands of the Picts.  Everyone around him was sure that Vortigern
was to blame, so Cadfael's Bridge accepted their judgement; he had
never met the Emperor or Vortigern.  Constans' brothers, Uther
and Ambrosius, fled to Armorica, across the channel.  Vortigern
became Emperor.  Shortly after, Praetor Burcanius Tertius of the
Belgae died, and his son, Burcanius Antonius, took the title of
King.  Vortigern did not challenge him, nor did he challenge the
other leaders of the old tribes who took new titles upon themselves. 
Cadfael Minor became a Consul of the Belgae, and a leader of
armies.  Not very large ones, though.  He was often gone, and his
son Bleddig grew to maturity with little guidance from his father.  

         Cadfael's Bridge knew little of the battles.  Wild rumors flew,
and now all the travelers through the area were soldiers rushing
back and forth.  Saxons came, invited in by Vortigern, who married
one of them, granting them lands in return for them fighting their
fellow Saxons.  Lands that belonged to the Cantiaci, defenders of
the Saxon Shore.  The end result was a revolt of the Eastern tribes,
supported by Vortigern's own children, who feared being
supplanted by Cerdric,  Vortigern's child by his new Saxon wife,
Rowena.

          Cadfael wanted to support the revolt, but his lord, King
Burcanius, was supporting Vortigern, hoping to gain more land
from the rebelling tribes, and so he reluctantly marched off to
support Vortigern.  Battles raged far to the east, and the war
surged back and forth.  King Burcanius switched sides, and now
Cadfael was able to follow his convictions, fighting against
Vortigern as he had long desired.  

        Finally, in the fifty second year of the life of Cadfael's Bridge,
King Burcanius came to Cadfael Minor's villa along with other
important leaders of the Belgae to make plans in secret for the
offensive planned for when the snows melted.  It was not the first
time the Bridge had seen them.  Many had come to the wedding of
Cadfael's son Bleddig, who had married Burcanius Glesni, the
King's eldest daughter, the previous summer.  Now he saw them
again.

        They were dressed in their best finery, which wasn't so fine as
compared to Cadfael's Bridge's  memories of past regalia.  They
wore tunics, usually checkered, with King Burcanius clad in the
royal colors blue and yellow, and trousers of dark cloth.  The main
thing distinguishing them from the coloni farmers was that they
wore linen instead of wool, and had brighter colors and less holes. 
Simple jewelry and well made cloaks completed the outfits, with
King Burcanius wearing royal purple.  Cadfael Minor and his family
dressed in their colors, blue and red.  

        There were few servants at the gathering.  Cadfael Minor had
freed his slaves long ago, for he could no longer afford to keep
slaves simply to maintain his vanity.  A few had remained as
servants, but now free to go when they pleased, while others had
become his bodyguard, receiving land for their families, and the
services of several of the coloni to help their families farm when
they were gone, which was often.  They were horsemen, clad in
simple leather armor with spears and poorly made swords, but it
was the best that could be done.  Cadfael Minor himself had only a
shirt of chainmail, a helm, and a nicely made sword and spears for
war, along with a sturdy wooden shield.  The mightiest horse of the
herd was his steed.  Cadfael's Bridge thought he looked very
warlike, and could hardly imagine how anyone, even a fire
breathing monster like a Saxon, could stand against his nephew. 
Cadfael's son Bleddig had a suit of metal armor too.  He had been
riding with his father for six years now. 

       Cadfael's Bridge couldn't hear the meetings, which took place
inside the Villa and the Inn, but the Inn and the Villa were happy to
tell him what was going on.  Vortigern's son, Vortimer, was
organizing a big push to drive the Saxons out of the lands they had
seized from the Cantiaci during the rebellion against Vortigern, the
lands they had named Kent.  For many days they argued over how
many men to send.  A man named Quintus Secundus Titus, the
King's butler and treasurer, argued against sending very many men,
for the budget was tight, and he did not believe Vortimer's plan
would succeed.  There were rumors that Vortigern was going to
lead an army south from his lands to the northwest into the
Atrebates and Belgae lands; best to be ready for that.

         Aeron of Bristol, leader of the levies of foot from the western
Belgae lands, on the other hand, spoke in favor of aiding Vortimer,
for while he feared Vortigern, he feared the Saxons more.  He
believed that the Irish would likely keep Vortigern busy with their
raids again this year as in the last few years.  

         The argument raged for hours, and Cadfael's Bridge listened
at second-hand, trying to decide for himself what he thought.  He
knew little of military matters, and while he had seen soldiers and a
few fist fights, he had never seen a battle, or even the killing of
anything but cattle and sheep.  He wished Constantin, his grand-
father as he thought of him, had never been killed.  There had been
nothing but trouble since that day.  

         As he thought, young Owain came out to play.  He was
Bleddig's younger brother, only twelve, and quite a young scamp. 
He and his friends, two of the sons of his father's bodyguards,
started chasing an unfortunate rabbit back and forth over the
bridge, who watched and smiled.  The children had no weapons;
they needed only to run and shout to spook it.  Finally, most of the
boys grew tired and went inside, while Owain leaned on the bridge
and started scraping off some of the built up dirt with a stick. 
Cadfael's Bridge hadn't realized how dirty he had become until the
boy started muttering to himself.  "I wonder when the last time
someone cleaned this bridge was."

        It had been years, he suddenly realized.  They simply hadn't
had time to clean him, or they would have, he was sure.  "A long
time," he said.

        Owain nearly fell over the side.  "Hello?"

         "It's me.  Cadfael's Bridge," the Bridge said.  He was used to
this.  As people got older, they seemed to go deaf to him somehow,
but even the younger ones were usually startled the first time they
heard him speak.

        The boy seemed confused.  "The bridge?"  He looked around. 
"Is this one of your pranks, Briant?"

        "Briant went inside.  Do you think the army is going to be sent
to help Vortimer?"

       "I don't know.  Daddy made us all go away while the
grownups argued," he said.  "I wish I could go with them like
Bleddig.  I want to fight the Saxons too."  He waved his stick like a
sword.  "If you're the bridge, what are all these weird faces and
stuff on you?"

         Cadfael's Bridge was stunned.  "You can't recognize them?"

        "Well, one of them looks sort of like Daddy."  He pointed to
the face of Cadfael Major.  "And I think this one is some goddess. 
Juno, maybe."  He pointed to Cornelia.  "And I think this is some
kinda goat guy."  He pointed to a satyr.  "But I don't know most of
these people."

         Owain seemed quite stunned to discover his grand and great-
grandparents were the people on the bridge, along with several
gods and goddesses.  "How did they get the gods to come and
pose?"

         Cadfael's Bridge blinked.  He had no idea.  "I suppose they
went to visit them in Londinium."  He was guessing; the entire
question had never come to mind.  "I can't remember anything that
happened while I was being made."

         "Well, neither can I," Owain said, and laughed.  He threw a
rock in the river.

        "Ow!  Will you people STOP that?"  The river shouted. 
"Would you like it if I threw rocks at YOU?"

        Owain didn't hear the river, or maybe he didn't care, as he
threw more rocks.  Finally, the River simply shut up and pouted,
silent for perhaps the first time that Cadfael's Bridge could
remember.

*************

          The army went east to aid Vortimer.  Vortimer won, but was
poisoned by his mother-in-law, and died.  The Saxons, driven out
briefly, returned the next year, and helped put Vortigern back on
the throne.  Finally, a great peace conference was called.  The
Supreme Collegium would meet with the Saxons near Sarum, just a
day and a half ride west of Cadfael's Bridge.  And thus it was that
Cadfael's Bridge came to see Saxons for the first time, as their
envoys passed west over him.

      They marched on foot, traveling in small bands of tall warriors
with strange pale hair in shades of yellow and red, muscular men
who sang and laughed and seemed far too happy to be the ravaging
beasts of the stories the Bridge had heard.  Virtually all of them
walked, even their leaders, and they spoke a strange tongue the
Bridge could not understand.  With only shields and leather and
axes, marching and fighting on foot, they seemed no threat, and the
Bridge could not understand why they were such a danger.  He
tried asking Owain, but Owain didn't know.  

        They came in a trickle at first, and then a tide, a steady stream
of bands moving west, interspersed with bands of Cymric horsemen
accompanying their leaders on the way to the conference.  That was
what many of the natives now called themselves now, the Cymru,
the comrades.

        One day, as a band of Saxons were passing through, Cadfael's
Bridge was arguing with the river again.  The river said that the
secret of the Saxon power was that they lived across the sea and
came on boats, striking where no one could stop them, and then
leaving, but Cadfael's Bridge couldn't understand how the ones
who had taken over the Cantiaci lands could win any battles, then.   


        They were both surprised when an old one-eyed Saxon leaned
over the side and said, "We win because we are better warriors. 
We have no horses to feed, and we can go where your horses
cannot.  And more importantly, every man of us fights instead of
relying on others to protect him.  We are warriors born, and your
land is full of men made to be ceorls."  He turned to go, and almost
left before the Bridge and the river recovered from being stunned
he had heard them.

        "Wait!"  The Bridge shouted, and the old Saxon turned
around.

        "I have little time, if I am not to be left behind," he said.  "And
I have much to do soon."  He leaned on his long spear, which had
several strange sigils or runes carved on it.

        "But why do you invade our lands?"

        "Vortigern invited us here, and we claim only what is rightly
granted to us for our service to him.  And more importantly, we are
warriors, but we are also farmers, and we need more land.  Only
those strong enough to defend what they have deserve to keep it. 
If you cannot defend yourselves from us, you do not deserve to
keep this rich land."  He looked around.  "I look at all these men
who live like sheep, who will not lift a finger to defend themselves,
and I get sick.  Do not get me wrong.  I do not say every man
should slay and war with one another.  I am no Oathbreaker, no
berserk, no nithling.  But a nation of sheep must expect to be
preyed upon by the wolves, for the wolves must eat to survive, and
they must eat sheep.  Not until your land is strong enough to
deserve peace will you have it."

          He turned and ran, trying to catch up with the rest of his
band.  Cadfael's Bridge frowned.  It wasn't true.  They had fought
to defend themselves.  His family had been warriors for decades,
though all they had wanted was peace.  And there was more to life
than war, he was sure.  He did not like the Saxons, but he could no
longer quite see them as monsters, either.

************

         Days passed, and weeks.  The time of the peace conference
came, and everyone left behind was on edge.  Owain kept walking
round and round the house until his mother, Nia, told him to stop
before he dug a trench around the villa.  Nia herself took a large
box from the house and went out into the fields one night and
buried it.  Cadfael's Bridge tried to ask her what was in it, but like
most adults, she could not hear him.  He still was not sure why
some knew him, and others did not.  There seemed no pattern to it.  

          Bleddig had not gone to the conference, but he was often
gone, riding down to Venta Belgarum, and patrolling the road.  His
wife, Glesni, the King's daughter, walked through the yard of the
Villa, trying to tend the flowers, and carrying her one year old son,
Bran.  Bran would look very much like his father with the same
light brown hair and dark eyes that had marked every Dagwaldus
since the dawn of time, at least as far as Cadfael's Bridge knew. 
His mother had the stark black hair of the Burcanius family, and the
usual light blue eyes as well.  Her hair was braided, a new style
among the locals, and interlaced with several gold and silver pins. 
A finely made brooch fixed her cloak in place, displaying the blue
and yellow stripes of the Burcanius family.  Her tunic was longer
than a man's, down to her knees, covered with red and blue stripes,
and gathered at the waist with a nice leather belt.  She was a good
three inches taller than her husband, one of the tallest women the
Bridge had ever seen, and it was thought likely her children would
be tall as well.  

         She had a knack for gardening as well, and the garden was
beginning to perk up.  Cadfael's Bridge was pleased.  You could
almost judge how well things were going by how well the garden
was kept.  The flowers were blooming, and all was well.  He was
even getting a long overdue cleaning; Glesni and Nia had sent
Owain and several of the other local children to clean the bridge to
get them out from underfoot.  He felt good, clean and shiny when
they finished.  

         Two days later, a rider came from the west, riding like a
madman.  He did not stop or answer questions, galloping over the
bridge at full speed.  No one recognized him, but others came after
him, a few hours later.  A tiny band stopped to get fresh horses, and
brought bad news.

        Nia was in the garden.  She was forty-three, getting fat and
getting gray, but still the incarnation of Roman dignity.  Like a
queen, she faced the men standing.  "What news of the conference
and my husband?"  Cadfael Minor had ridden with the King.  

        "We have been betrayed.  The leaders of the Cymru and the
Romans are dead or dying.  The Saxons betrayed us.  Our only
consolation is that they tried to slay Vortigern as well, but he
escaped, fleeing toward the Dubonni lands to the northwest.  Still,
we slew a few Saxons, but they are coming hard on our tail.  We go
now to Venta Belgarum to tell Natanleod that his father is dead,
and he is king of the Belgae now.  I suggest you flee to Venta
Belgarum; they do not have the strength to take it.  We will escort
you, if you desire."

         "What of my husband?"

          "He is dead.  Only Fabius remains of his bodyguard, and he
stayed with the men who have rallied to defend Sarum, for his horse
is dead.  You must flee, for they will surely come through here and
burn this villa."

          Her voice was hard.  "This is my home."

         "Then at least let us escort your children to safety."

         "My son will be home soon.  I will consult with him."  Her
voice was hard, but tight, and Cadfael's Bridge could see her strain. 


          Her will was stronger than theirs.  They stayed, ate, and rode
on.  Her son Bleddig, however, was another matter entirely.

         "Mother, staying here is suicide.  The Saxons will be here in
hours.  If we're lucky, they might stop to sleep before they get
here.  Take only what you can carry with you on a horse.  We are
withdrawing to Venta Belgarum.  Glesni's brother will happily put
us up in the Praetorium."  Being the King's brother-in-law had its
advantages, after all.

        "This is my home.  I will not be driven out by barbarians." 
She stared at him, folding her arms in front of her chest.  Cadfael's
Bridge recognized the gesture; his mother Cornelia had done
exactly the same thing frequently with her husband.  Usually, she
somehow ended up giving in.  

         Perhaps Nia was made of sterner stuff.  Bleddig sighed. 
"Whatever.  I cannot force you to go, but I am taking my wife and
children, and what is left of my men, and we are living.  If you
choose to die, I cannot stop you.  And if they leave anything of
your body, I will give you a proper funeral."

        "Coward." she said.

       "Old fool.  The wise man learns when to fight and when to
run."

        "I saw those Saxons.  There were not so many of them that..."
she began.

        "They killed over three hundred men on the Salisbury plain a
day ago!  They smuggled more men in up the rivers!  I have ten
men, I cannot battle hundreds.  Even if I armed the coloni, which I
can't, since I have no weapons to give them, they would still
outnumber us horribly.  I have told the coloni to hide in the woods
until they pass.  The harvest is too green for the Saxons to eat, and
the food will be hidden.  If we are lucky, they will simply pass
through if they are not resisted, and once we can combine with the
Atrebates, THEN we can fight them, once they are tired and
hungry.  But this is not the time or the place."

          She would not listen, and finally, he left, riding off eastward
across the Bridge with a wagon full of goods, his children, his
siblings, and his wife.  Glesni begged Nia to come, but she would
not go.  Instead, she stood in the yard with a spear in her hand,
reciting some ancient text to herself quietly in Latin.  She had tried
to rally the coloni to fight, but they had fled to the woods.  None
would stand with her.  Cadfael's Bridge wanted to help her, but all
he could do was watch.

         The sun was setting behind them, and at first, the Saxons
looked like a blot on the sun.  There were hundreds, marching in
bands behind leaders wobbily riding horses they clearly had little
experience with.  Every band was singing a song and trying to
drown out the others.  Every band also drove a band of men before
it, Cymru and Romans, loaded down with various kinds of goods,
and a few wagons with plunder and food.  They stopped a ways
down the road, and it was clear they were arguing over who got to
plunder the villa and the farms.  Finally, one of the bands
approached the villa while the others fanned out across the fields,
heading for the small houses.  

         Nia stood, spear in hand, in front of her house.  She had no
armor, but she had found a shield somewhere.  The band of about
eighty men approaching the villa paused, looking slightly confused,
and finally their leader spoke in bad Latin.  "You the Eorl of this
Hall?"

         Some of the men laughed and others shouted various things
that were likely insults, but not very effective as Nia could not
understand the Saxon tongue.

        "Yes." she said.  She leveled her spear at the leader.  "If you
want it, you will have to fight me."

         He laughed loudly.  "Your followers have abandoned you. 
What sort of an Eorl are you?  You are old and fat, I am young and
strong.  Do not make me kill you, woman.  I could use a woman
who knows how to weave; my wife drowned on the way over
here."

         "Do not taunt me because you fear me," she said.  Her voice
shook slightly, but she kept up the glare.

         For a moment, the Saxons were silent, and then whispers ran
among them like a wave, and the laughter began.  The leader turned
red, and glared at his men.  "I do not fear you."

        "Then why won't you fight me?  If you are so decrepit, you
can pick one of your men to fight for you."

         That did it.  The laughter was more than he could bear.  He
vaulted off his horse with a great shout and charged her, axe held
high.  If he hadn't been so angry, he would have won easily.  As it
was, he did one of the most foolish of all attacks, the 'hold your
weapon high over your head as you charge forward at someone
with a long pole with a blade on the end' maneuver.  She hardly
knew what she was doing, but she didn't have to.  All she needed to
do was to aim for his throat and let him do the work.  She dropped
the spear before it went all the way through him, since the force of
his charge was too much, but by that point, his throat was ripped
open, and all she had to do was stay out of arm's reach until he bled
to death, which happened swiftly.  

         The men simply stared in shock.  Whispers ran through them,
then silently, without saying a word, they took up the body of their
leader, then turned and walked back towards the road, and then to
the bridge, where they waited for the other bands, who seemed
quite confused by the unburnt state of the villa.  Certainly, they had
done their work.  There was much shouting in Saxon, and then,
they gathered together and burned the inn, then marched off east
across the bridge into the night.  

        Nia watched them go, then went, took the leader's horse, and
stabled him.  She went down to the river and washed her spear
quietly, then went back into the villa. Weeks later, Bleddig
returned, and was very surprised, to say the least.

*************

         More years passed, and thankfully, there was not another
'Night of the Long Knives' as the massacre of the leaders of Britain
had come to be called.  Nia lived ten more years, dying quietly of
some strange disease that smote Saxon and Cymru alike in that
year.  Owain grew and became a soldier, moving to Venta
Belgarum to serve in the King's guard.  Vortigern was overthrown,
and Emperor Constantin's son, Ambrosius, was invited to come
over and become High King.  They brought new weapons and
armor from Armorica, and with them, the institution of
Knighthood, elite cavalrymen who used a new invention, the
Stirrup.  For a time, they stemmed the Saxon tide.

           But the wars did not stop.  No matter how many times
Cadfael's Bridge heard of the death of Picts, Saxons, and Irishmen,
there always seemed to be more.  Bleddig built a great wall of
wood around the villa, and trained his coloni with weapons, that
nothing would happen such as his mother had faced.  But they had
little time for training, and the weapons were poor.  Even Nia did
not trust them.  

         Bran grew up, and had many brothers and sisters, and learned
to be a knight as best his father, often absent on the King's
business, could teach him.  He married the daughter of another
knight, Belletor Julia, who was tall and beautiful, with long brown
hair and a knack for song.  Music filled the air frequently now, and
she taught her daughters to sing.  Her first son, Julius, died of a
plague at the age of five, but Brian, born in the eighty second year
of the life of Cadfael's Bridge, thrived.  

          The wars continued, and the Saxon, Irish, and Pictish tides
advanced.  Some Irish seized lands along the coast of Cambria. 
More of the Cymru tribes collapsed, and Angles, Jutes, Saxons, and
Franks took control of their lands along the eastern and southern
shores.  They grew ever closer to the land where Cadfael's Bridge
lived.

       Ambrosius died, and Uther succeeded to the throne.  He did no
better than his brother, and probably worse, but he fought on, a
brave, but controversial king.  The best example of this was his war
with Duke Gorlois of Cornwall, which rumors claimed was the
result of his lust for Gorlois' wife, Ygraine.  A remarkable level of
lust for an old man, if it was true.  Given that he married her as
soon as Gorlois died, it likely was true.  On his way back from
Cornwall, Uther and his new wife, Ygraine, stopped at the manor
of Sir Bleddig of Cadfael's Bridge, Constable of the Belgae, on his
way to visit King Natanleod in Venta Belgarum.  

        Sir Bleddig put on his finery to meet the High King and his
new wife.  He wore the family colors, blue and red, a fine linen
tunic trimmed with blue ribbons and tougher wool trousers dyed
brown.  His cloak was of high quality wool and pinned with silver
and gold brooches, several more of which adorned his tunic, and he
wore a gold ring on each hand.  His belt was fine leather, dyed
black, with gold buckle.  He was a wealthy man, well provided for
by the King, though most of his money went to the band of cavalry
he commanded and to the small house he maintained in Venta
Belgarum, where he stayed while he did his duties there.  The old
bathhouse had been cleaned up by frenzied children and the handful
of servants he could afford to maintain, and by labor extorted from
the coloni.  The garden was spruced up as much as they could
manage, which wasn't much.  The stable was cleaned as well, and
the ruins of the old inn finally repaired and turned into a temporary
stable.  

        One could tell High King Uther was rich in two ways.  First,
he had a retinue larger than some armies.  Secondly, he was the
best-dressed, or at least most expensively dressed man in England. 
He was a huge barrel chested man, thick rather than tall, with black
hair turning grey cut short and simply.  Intense green eyes stared
through everyone he looked at, fixing them in place with a glance. 
His physique was the best that could be managed by an old man in
an age before body-building, and fairly impressive even by later
standards, it was said he could crack a pecan in the pit of his elbow. 
He was dressed in fine silk, a tremendous rarity in this day and age,
clad today in green with elaborate embroidery work in red and
yellow, especially along the hems.  A red dragon was embroidered
onto his tunic above his left breast, and a white one above the right. 
His belt was made from some sort of red scaley hide; rumor claimed
that Merlin had made it for him from the skin of a dragon; certainly
no one knew where the red scales had come from.  His pants were
an odd mix of wool and linen that Merlin had supposedly invented
as well.  They looked sturdy and were as black as a cavern with no
exits.  Rings lined his fingers, and he wore a great gold necklace
with an opal set in the middle, and a silver U inlaid into the opal. 
His clothing was worth more than some men's lands.

        Uther's wife Ygraine shone brightly as well.  She was a good
twenty years younger than Uther, or perhaps even more, despite
having three daughters already: Morgause, Elaine, and Morgan.  All
three were traveling with her.  Morgause was sixteen, the same age
as her mother when she had wed Gorlois, and destined for marriage
to a rising king of the North who Uther wished to bind closer to
him, a fellow named Lot who ruled a strange new polyglot kingdom
of Picts and northern Cymru.  Elaine was fourteen, and Uther had
someone in mind for her as well.  Morgan was the youngest, only
six years old, and completely unexpected.  There were rumors of a
fourth child as well, for Ygraine had become pregnant in the last
months of the war, but the baby was gone, and she would not speak
of it.  

        Ygraine had dark black hair, and so did her daughters, but her
eyes stood out, a bright violet in color, which was quite unusual. 
Elaine had her father's brown eyes, but Morgause and Morgan had
their mother's eyes.  They were sorcerer's eyes, either great good
luck, or greatly bad.  They were all dressed in finery, even little
Morgan, silk and linen and good wool cloaks.  Ygraine was
dripping with gold and silver, but her children were less adorned in
that respect, though each had at least one ring.  Each wore Uther's
badge as well, the red dragon against a black background. 

        Most of them were escorted inside immediately, but Morgan
stayed out in the yard with Tercia, Dagwaldus Bran's second
daughter.    They were the same age, and similar in appearance,
except that Tercia had green eyes instead of violet, both with short
black hair and much the same height.  Even their faces were similar,
though Tercia had a Roman nose and Morgan did not; she had little
Roman blood in her, coming of the line of the Cornovi rulers of
Cornwall.  

        "Do you know any good songs?"  Tercia asked, smiling at
Morgan, who stared about her quietly.

        Instead of replying, Morgan quietly looked around, then
pulled a brooch out of her belt pouch.  It was made of silver and
showed crossed swords over a tiny castle.  She put it on over her
left breast, where her cloak nearly hid it.  Finally, she spoke, saying
"Mommy isn't very good at music.  I don't know any songs."

        "Have you seen my bridge yet?"

       Morgan blinked, looking confused.  "You have your own
bridge?"
        
        Tercia dragged Morgan across the yard and over to Cadfael's
Bridge.  "It's really pretty!  We even cleaned it up before you came. 
That took forever."

        "I had not been cleaned in a long time," Cadfael's Bridge said. 
"Hello, little one."

        Morgan was neither surprised nor scared.  She walked over to
where she could see the carvings on the side.  "Who are all these
people?"

        They had a long conversation in which Cadfael's Bridge
carefully explained each of his pictures.  Morgan listened quietly,
soaking it all in.  Tercia listened as well, although she was getting a
little impatient towards the end.  Finally, she asked, "So these are
all dead people?"

        "The gods live still," Cadfael's Bridge said.  "And my sister
Julia may still be alive; I do not know; it has been long since I've
seen her."  

        "I thought there was only one God," Tercia said.  "But I don't
see him on here."  

        Cadfael's Bridge laughed.  "Well, if you listen to the river,
you'd think that."

        "I am the almighty Test River!  Bow and worship!"  the river
shouted.

       Tercia laughed and bowed to it.  "I wasn't talking about the
river.  I was talking about the one who lives in the church we go to
when we visit Venta Belgarum.  The one whose son died.  They say
he's the only one."

        Morgan sighed.  "My step-father makes Mommy say that, but
Mommy knows better.  We used to do magic stuff with her and
Daddy before my step-father killed Daddy, but now she claims that
never happened.  I think Elaine's too stupid to realize Mommy isn't
right, and I think my big sister is just playing along, but I really wish
a dragon would eat my step-father, but I think he is one."  She was
rambling and staring off at the woods.

          Cadfael's Bridge said, "Your step-father killed your Daddy?"

         She nodded, crying a little.  "I can't even wear the badge
Daddy gave me anymore.  Mommy tried to throw it away, but my
friend, Enid, dug it out of the garbage pit for me.  Then her
Mommy got mad at her for being stinky."  She clutched the badge
with one hand.  "I think Mommy helped my step-father kill Daddy,
but no one will listen to me, and I don't understand why she did it." 
She was crying harder now, and Tercia hugged her, trying to offer
comfort.

          Cadfael's Bridge wanted to comfort her, but didn't know
how.  He knew enough about little children to know what she really
needed was to think about something else, and she'd bounce back
soon enough.  At least, he hoped that would help.  "Would you like
to hear a story about..."  He tried quickly to think of a story
without any death.  "The fox and the grapes?"  It was a nice little
story, even though Cadfael's Bridge really wasn't sure what a grape
was, since he had never seen one.  He told the story, and it seemed
to do the trick.  Morgan stopped crying, and eventually, he taught
them some new songs.  And everything was happy again.  

************

       Three years passed, and the land had as much peace as it ever
got.  Battles continued, but far away and of little consequence to
this corner of the world.  Bran's younger sister, Glesni, married a
young urban knight of Venta Belgarum, a cultured man named
Lucius Sejanus Flavius, a man of nearly pure Roman stock.  Bran's
son Brian grew older, and began to toddle about the yard and chase
people with sticks, announcing he was High King Brian of Britain. 
Flavius and Glesni had a child as well, Glesnia, who showed signs
of inheriting her mother's great beauty.  
         
      Tercia and Julia, her older sister, grew older, and their skill at
singing increased, and with it came some small fame, as many
knights came as much to hear them sing as to visit their father, who
was prospering, and their grandfather, who was getting old and
starting to become fat, but remained vigorous, guarding the roads
of the lands of the Belgae in his old age as he had in his youth. 
Often, he was gone and his wife, Burcanius Glesni,  ruled the roost
with an iron hand as her mother-in-law, Lucius Nia, had ruled
before her.  Julia was growing to be much like her mother, while
Tercia ran wild and free, a dreamer who still talked to anything that
moved, and much that didn't, at the age of nine.

        It was the eighty-fifth year of the life of Cadfael's Bridge when
this time of peace ended and a darkness greater than any that the
Bridge had seen settled upon the land.  The Saxons were up in arms
again; that was no surprise.  But they were a closer threat now. 
Nearly twenty years ago, the Belgae's southeastern neighbors, the
Regnensis, had fallen to the Saxons after the battle of Cymenesora,
and their once proud land was now Sussex, the kingdom of the
South Saxons.  Its king, Aelle, had thwarted every effort by first
Ambrosius, then by Uther, to drive him out.  The king of the
Atrebates had died fighting them, and his kingdom declined to a
Duchy, surviving only by the aid of Uther.  The Trinovantes had
fallen, and now their land was known as Essex, the land of the East
Saxons.  Yet, not all had been disaster.  Two great Saxon kings,
Octa and Eosa, had been defeated by Uther and imprisoned.  

     Unfortunately, even that turned sour.  The king fell ill and could
not ride forth to battle, and Octa and Eosa escaped, raising an army
and defeating King Lot, now married to Morgause of Cornwall,
then defeating the King of the Brigantes at Eboracum.  Their army
was marching down Watling Street towards Londinium now, but
Uther had risen from his bed to lead an army against them.  Sir
Bleddig had joined King Natanleod in riding to Uther's aid, while
his son Bran now rode the roads with a handful of men, trying to
keep order and watching for Saxon raids from Sussex.  

        Everyone was tense, from the poorest coloni to Glesni,
Bleddig's wife (and sister to the King), the queen of the household. 
She stomped about, snapping at people and screaming at Julia
Major whenever she started singing, which was often, as that was
her own way of relieving stress.  Julia Minor and Tercia were
silenced, and spent much of their time hiding.  Julia Minor usually
ran off into the woods, while Tercia would hide under Cadfael's
Bridge and chat with him.  

         She was there when a rider came galloping out of the east at a
high speed.  It was Cibno, one of her grandfather's cavalrymen. 
Her grandmother, Lady Glesni Major, was down by the river,
directing some of the coloni, who were building a mill.  Sending it
to Venta Belgarum to be ground took too long in Glesni's opinion,
especially with the roads in poor repair.  The river was complaining
loudly about the stuff being stuck into him as the coloni worked. 
The coloni complained loudly as well that this wasn't one of their
duties.

         Cibno rode over to Glesni and saluted, then dismounted.  "I
bring good tidings and bad, my lady Dagwaldus.  The good news is
that the Saxons have been defeated.  Their armies were scattered to
the winds."

        "And the bad news?"  Her face showed she already knew what
was coming.  

        "The Saxons poisoned Uther and many others at a victory
feast afterwards.  High King Uther is dead without an heir, and so
is the king of the Cantuvellani.  Many other leaders have died as
well.  The Supreme Collegium must meet to select a new High
King."  He paused and stared at the ground.  "And your husband is
dead.  He was among the victims of the poison."

         Tercia ran out of her hiding place, over to Cibno, a short,
ugly, burly man with short brown hair and grey eyes.  He was the
most friendly of her grandfather's men, often playing with the small
children, lifting them over his head and twirling them about. 
"Grandpa is dead?"  Her eyes welled up with tears.

        He sighed and knelt, hugging her awkwardly.  "I'm sorry,
child.  Your uncle, the King, lived, though.  Natanleod is ill, but the
doctors and priests are sure he will recover.  Give thanks to God
that he lived.  I'm sure he'll come to see you soon.  And your
cousin Robert is okay as well.  He only had a little poison."  

         Tercia perked up.  "Julia Minor will be happy.  I think she
wants to marry him when they get older."

        "His father has other plans for him, little one," Cibno said. 
"Although they may not work out.  He was supposed to marry a
king's daughter, but she was poisoned and died.  Now he and his
father are fighting over who he is to marry."  Cibno sighed, then
stood up and turned to Lady Glesni.  "Where is your son?"

         "The Saxons raided the coast while everyone is gone, and he
rode off with the Marshal to deal with it."  Lady Glesni sighed. 
"Bleddig's father was murdered by the Saxons too.  And his father
before him died at the hands of the Picts.  It has been long since any
of us died in bed, but I hoped..."

        Tercia shouted, "The Saxons are EVIL!  Why do they keep
killing us?  Why?  Why?"  She was starting to cry again.  

        "I wish I understood the mind of barbarians, but I don't,"
Lady Glesni Major said.  "They're just wicked pagans, killing in the
name of their evil gods.  Monsters from beyond the sea.  We have
to kill them before they kill us."  She sighed.  "Go and find your
sister, Tercia.  We must prepare for the funeral."

***************

          Julia Minor and Tercia sang together at the funeral, a
Christian hymn.  It was a beautiful song, although Cadfael's Bridge
scarcely understood it.  The family began to build a church
afterwards, and Lady Glesni Major began to force the coloni to
attend it, though they scarcely understood what was going on.  The
building made Cadfael's Bridge nervous, because it wouldn't talk to
him.  It talked; it understood what was going on, but it wouldn't
speak to him, and he didn't know why, and as a result, didn't
understand what went on inside it either.  The priest was a quiet
man with a shaved head named Dubricus.  He was from Silchester,
the son of some leading family, though he had renounced his status
and family name to join the growing Christian church.  Crosses
were become more frequent adornment on the rare travelers, and
even some of the passing soldiers wore crosses, or placed them on
their shields.  

         It was a rare year that soldiers did not march back and forth
across the bridge.  A few wore tattered and battered legionnaire's
outfits, marching under the banners of Aqua Sulis, which men were
beginning to call Bath, of Bristol and Portus Adurni, and of Venta
Belgarum itself.  Many of these bore the crossbow, a weapon which
Ambrosius and Uther had introduced into Britain many years ago,
but which were expensive to make and slow to fire.  Far more were
shoddily armed warriors, clutching a spear and an axe or dagger,
wearing boiled leather, and perhaps a metal helm.  And finally, there
were the cavalrymen like Cibno, with spears and short swords and
well made wooden shields and armor of hardened leather or leather
covered with metal studs, riding swift horses and fighting in the
saddle.  Their elite leaders were the knights, the men who could
afford chainmail armor and snug metal caps, along with an actual
metal shield.  

         There were battles everywhere, though none too close to
Cadfael's Bridge.  The raids of the Picts had diminished; the rise of
King Lot had put an end to the weakness of the North.  But as the
North grew stronger, the South was dying.  The kings feuded, and
kingdoms fell apart.  The Dubonni had been killing each other since
Vortigern died, and so did the kings of Cambria when the Irish
weren't killing them, although a rising king named Pellinore had
ended the feuds in northern Cambria, and some thought it likely he
might rule all of it one day.  Cornwall, ruled now by Idres, feuded
with the Durotriges to their east, and the Durotriges with the
Belgae and Dubonni.  The Atrebates and the Belgae feuded over
boundaries and whose fault it was that Sussex kept growing.  The
land needed a High King, but it had none.  Pellinore would not
submit to Lot, nor Lot to anyone else.  Uther had left only
daughters, and they were not even his, but only those of Ygraine,
whose husband had only been a Duke.  And so the land sank into
chaos as Cymru fought Roman, Roman fought Roman, and Cymru
fought Cymru, while the Saxons fought everyone.  The fact that
they fought each other as well, and were still few in numbers
compared to the land's ancient inhabitants was all that kept them at
bay, and still they advanced.  

          King Natanleod of House Burcanius was growing old, and
his battles with his heir, Robert, grew worse.  He favored his
illegitimate son, Cadwy, by a woman named Dwynwyn, who had
once been a serving maid, but was elevated by Natanleod through a
marriage to Sir Amig of Bristol, who willingly let his wife sleep
with the King in return for the King's favor.  He raised Cadwy as
his own, but all knew that Natanleod was Cadwy's true father.  The
Bishop of Venta Belgarum ranted and raved, but Natanleod was
Christian only when it suited him, and he ignored the
condemnation.  

          Cadwy was not the main reason why Natanleod and Robert
fought, however.  Natanleod wanted Robert to marry the Praetor of
the Durotriges' daughter and end the feuding between their lands. 
Robert, however, hated her.  She was loud and vain and looked
down on House Burcanius because her Roman blood was purer
than theirs.  He thought it wiser to marry one of Duke Ulfius of
Silchester's daughters, and end that feud.  But King Natanleod
hated Ulfius with a passion and found the Praetor of the Durotriges
merely annoying, and thus they squabbled endlessly.  

          Julia Minor wasn't any happier with her potential husband
than Robert was with his likely future wife.  Quintus Secundus
Alexander was the son of the King's Butler, likely to inherit the
position his family had held for generations, and possessor of large
estates in the southeastern Belgae lands.  Like his father, he was a
martinet, stiffly disciplined and lost in a world of numbers and
figures that most men found bewildering and that Julia found to be
boring beyond belief.  

         He had come to visit many times, and always ended up
discussing ways to improve the family's finances with her
grandmother, Lady Glesni Major, who essentially ran the household
and estates for her son, Sir Bran of House Dagwaldus, the
Constable of the Belgae.  Indeed, it would have been easy to
mistake them for mother and child, if only she had been younger, or
he older.  

          Julia disliked her grandmother and hated her future husband. 
She wanted to marry Robert, but he was her cousin, and even if his
marriage wasn't destined to be a political one, the Church frowned
on close marriages, and even her mother, Julia Major, who was a
romantic, wouldn't stand for it.  Cadfael's Bridge wasn't sure what
Robert thought of Julia.  Robert had visited many times, but
Cadfael's Bridge had never seen Robert and Julia together in
private.

          Certainly, she was beautiful enough.  Her hair was long and
black, kept clean and shiny by some herbal potation that her mother
knew how to make, well combed and adorned with several blue
linen ribbons.  Her eyes were the same deep brown as her mother's
and she had a strong Roman nose.  Medium in height, her figure
was excellent, and she knew how to dress well.  Women's tunics
were getting longer, and she wore hers nearly to her ankles,
gathered at the waist with a belt of leather dyed to resemble bronze. 
It was checked red and blue, adorned with several gold and silver
brooches, including her favorite, a silver dove which King
Natanleod had given her as a present the previous Christmas.  The
neckline plunged deeper in front than her grandmother liked and
was trimmed with golden cloth embroidered in dark green and
black to look like ivy on gold.  Her grandmother had given her the
cloak she usually wore, warm wool died with the blue and yellow
colors of House Burcanius. It had a hood, which she rarely used,
because it was too big and tended to slump down over her eyes.  
She wore a copper cross on a leather strap that Tercia had made for
her with the help of the local blacksmith when they were both
younger; she wore it because it pleased her grandmother, but also
because she appreciated the hours of work that Tercia had put into
it.

        Now Tercia was putting hours of work into weapons practice. 
Julia approved of it because it drove her grandmother insane.  Their
mother, Julia Major, didn't quite seem to know what to think of it. 
Her husband, Sir Bran, was gone so often that he probably hadn't
even noticed.  Cadfael's Bridge approved.  He remembered her
great-grandmother, Lucius Nia, and how she had battled the Saxon
chieftain and how dangerous it had been.  If that happened again, he
wanted his family to be able to defend themselves.  Tercia had
browbeaten Cibno into training her.  He was Sir Cibno now,
detailed by Sir Bran to watch over the estate and command the
coloni levies if it became necessary, and knighted as a reward for
his years of honest service by King Natanleod.  Brian followed
Tercia around and tried to learn from her, but he was still too
young, really.  

        In the ninetieth year of the life of Cadfael's Bridge, Julia
Minor was seventeen, Tercia was fourteen, and Brian was a very
loud eight.  He had no idea how old Lady Glesni Major or Julia
Major were, but he guessed they were sixty and forty respectively. 
Sir Bran was thirty-eight, and his younger sister, Glesni Minor, was
thirty, but she had moved away to Venta Belgarum with her
husband, and Cadfael's Bridge rarely saw her or Glesnia, their
daughter.   King Natanleod was fifty eight, and his son Robert was
only nineteen.  (His first wife had been infertile, but he had waited a
long time before he had finally forced her to enter a monastery and
taken a new wife, Robert's mother Alys, a daughter of the King of
the Iceni.)  

         One Spring night that year, a small band of knights rode up to
the estate from the east, crossing Cadfael's Bridge under the light
of the moon.  They were young, just barely adults by most
definitions, and no adults at all in the opinion of some.  Cadfael's
Bridge recognized one of them, however.  He bore colors of House
Burcanius upon his shield, along with a green stripe across the top. 
He was Sir Robert of House Burcanius.  The other knights bore his
colors, and Cadfael's Bridge did not know them, although he heard
Robert address one of them as Jaradan.  

         Lady Glesni Major was NOT pleased to have them show up
in the middle of the night, especially when they announced they
intended to stay for a week and hunt in the forest.  "Well, your
Highness, I intend to send a message to your father, who you no
doubt are running away from again.  But since I cannot simply cast
you out to howl in the darkness as I desire, be welcome in my
house with your court fools."

          Robert simply laughed and smiled at her.  "I thank you,
Queen Glesni, for allowing me to visit your empire."  He bowed
deeply, as did his friends after a short pause.  He gestured to one of
them, who went to his horse.  "And I have brought you a gift in
gratitude for your hospitality."

        One of the men, a young knight-to-be named Brianz, opened a
large sack tied to his saddle and produced a huge book bound in
leather, carefully wrapped in linen to protect it.  "A copy of the holy
scripture for your church, Lady Glesni of House Dagwaldus."  He
handed it to her.  "My uncle's monks copied it from the Bishop's
copy."

          Lady Glesni's eyes widened and she stared in shock, nearly
falling down.  For a moment, Cadfael's Bridge wondered if she
would survive seeing it; books were as rare as hen's teeth now,
though he remembered that his father, Cadfael Dagwaldus, had
owned nearly two dozen at the time of his birth.  He wondered
what had ever happened to them.  "Father Dubricus will likely die
from joy," she said quietly, then smiled.  "Thank you, Brianz."

         He blushed slightly.  "Your piety is renowned.  My uncle is
trying to make sure every church in the Belgae lands has its own
Bible.  Too many of the priests must make do with memory or with
a short scroll that simply has the order of the Mass upon it."  He
sighed, then yawned.

         Lady Glesni smiled for the first time in a long time that
Cadfael's Bridge had seen, and brought the young knights inside. 
They stayed for a week, and Julia followed them around like a lost
puppy.  So did Tercia, but for different reasons.  It caused trouble
in both cases.  Lady Glesni Major practically locked Julia in the
house, trying to keep her away from Robert.  After the first three
days, Cadfael's Bridge knew Lady Glesni's usual lecture on the
virtue of Chastity by heart.  

        Tercia, on the other hands, fell to feuding with Cadalius
Gessius, one of Robert's companions, a young knight to be of
Roman descent.  The thought of a female knight filled him with
horror, and he had taunted and made fun of her the moment he first
saw her practicing at swords with Sir Cibno.  He chewed out Sir
Cibno as well, for training her, until Robert finally dragged him
away, embarrassed by the entire episode.  After that, she kept
following them around and harrassing Gessius in subtle ways,
spooking his horse and sabotaging his saddle.  

        On the fifth night of their visit, Cadfael's Bridge was quietly
watching the stars and half-listening to the river talk about the
really pretty blue fish it had seen downstream.  The humans were
sleeping; Cadfael's Bridge had never understood why they did that,
except maybe because they would run into things in the dark.  He
had never been tired or sleepy in his life.  The land was quiet, and
thus the opening and shutting of the front door of the villa had
resounded like a clap of thunder to his ears, though likely not to any
less sensitive human hearing.  Two figures crept out of the house
and slipped across the gardens, flourishing this year, unlike the last
few, to the mill, which was now silent and empty.  It was Robert
and Julia.  Cadfael's Bridge was innocent of many things, but not
quite so innocent as to not guess what was likely going to happen. 
He thus closed his ears to the running commentary that the Mill
tried to give everyone as to what was going on.  

         The river on the other hand, started betting with the Mill as to
how fast various things would happen.  More of the surroundings
started arguing, and thus Cadfael's Bridge almost failed to notice
Tercia come out of the villa.  She was wearing her helmet and the
leather armor she wore during her training sessions, and carrying
her spear and her sword.  The sword was crudely made, essentially
a long slab of metal with a handle, but the spear was more finely
crafted.  Her great-grandmother had once wielded it, and Tercia
was quite proud of it.  She looked around, and Cadfael's Bridge
wondered what she was looking for.  Unfortunately, she didn't
seem to be able to hear him anymore, not for several years now.  

        She wandered slowly down the hill towards the bridge,
opening the gate in the wall which had now surrounded the villa for
many years, just as her sister and Robert had done a few minutes
earlier, and wandered towards the mill, the church, the bridge, and
the old inn, which was now half a stable and half a storage building
for grain and other foods.  

        Gessius was there, though Cadfael's Bridge was confused as
to how he had gotten there without leaving the villa.  He had no
armor, but did have his shield, and his sword, a better one than
Tercia's.  He laughed as she approached.  "I assumed you'd go
hide.  Maybe you're merely inept, instead of inept AND cowardly. 
I've had enough of your pranks, kid.  You ready?"

        She pointed the spear at him.  "I'll do to you what my great-
grandmother did to the last bastard to come through here. 
Surrender now."

        He laughed and charged, but not nearly as foolishly as the man
Tercia had spoken of.  Cadfael's Bridge watched in horror as they
fought.  The end was a foregone conclusion from the start.  Tercia
was good, better than most knights in training at her age, but she
was six inches shorter than Gessius, who was at the cusp of youth
and adulthood, come into the full physical power that comes to
those who train in arms from youth.  In skill, she came remarkably
close to him, but a fourteen year old girl couldn't beat an eighteen
year old boy who was stronger, taller, heavier, and faster without
much greater skills, and he was better than her.  

       They fought for five minutes, and it only lasted that long
because he was playing with her.  She lost her sword, and then her
spear, and finally, her dagger.  He knocked her down and kicked
her side as a bird began to caw near the mill.  It was an ugly black
crow, and its companion was sitting on the roof of the old inn,
watching the fight.  Cadfael's Bridge was screaming for someone to
help her, to help his relative, but no one could hear him but the
buildings, the trees, and the river, none of which could move.  

          "Admit I'm better." Gessius said.  "And that a woman
shouldn't be a knight."

          "A better bully maybe," she said, spitting at him.

          He stomped on her face, and she bit him on the ankle.  Then,
he lost it completely.  He slammed her head into the ground
repeatedly, then kneeled on her stomach.  "I'll show you what
women are for."

         He didn't get the chance.  The crow plunged off the roof and
jabbed him in the back of the head, then began to flap and jump
around his head, pecking at him.  He had to get up, and staggered
about, trying to hit the crow with his sword without hitting himself. 
Finally, the crow flew up to the roof, fleeing his blade, its violet
eyes glinting in the moonlight.

         He turned back to Tercia, only to find a half-clad Robert in
front of him, and an even less clad Julia kneeling by her sister.  The
villa was stirring, and several people came out of it and started
down the hill.  "I can explain," Gessius said.

         Robert glanced down at Tercia, who sat up and croaked out,
"He was going to rape me."

         Gessius backed up a step.  "I...I was not!  You can't prove
it!"

         Lady Glesni Major didn't care about proof.  Gessius was
forced to saddle his horse and leave immediately, alone.  After that,
she did nothing to stop Tercia's lessons, but she did take measures
to deal with other problems.  Robert was sent home as soon as she
could.  Lady Glesni Major soon followed him to Venta Belgarum,
dragging Julia in her wake.  A few weeks later, she returned
without Julia, and three months later, the marriage of Julia to
Cadwy was announced.  The Bishop had granted a dispensation on
the grounds that Cadwy being the King's son was merely rumor
and not proven fact.  Julia didn't look very happy when she passed
through with Cadwy, and her mother fought bitterly with Glesni
Major after that.  Some of the fighting was over Glesni Major's
efforts to find a good husband for Tercia, which wasn't easy. 
Robert was married off as well, stuck marrying one of Ulfius'
nieces, Katherine of White Horse Vale, because his father decided
he had to be married NOW, and the Praetor was dragging his feet.

        Unfortunately, Sir Dafydd of Levcomagnus, had coveted
Katherine's lands and took them by force when his suit to get her to
marry his son, Nidian.  He took them by force, and this started a
war between the Atrebates and the Belgae just as the Saxons
attacked the southern Belgae lands.  Natanleod was too old to
fight, and he let his sons and his officers carry his standard into
battle while he mostly sat at home, sick.  

        Years passed, and Julia and Cadwy had their first child, while
Katherine seemed as infertile as her father-in-law's first wife had
been.  Brian grew older and trained in arms, and was sent to study
with Sir Amig of Bristol, who was now the Marshal of the Belgae. 
His father Bran was usually gone as well, and only Tercia, Julia
Major, and Glesni Major remained, having nearly endless screaming
matches while Sir Cibno stood embarrassed and tried to pretend he
didn't really exist.  It saddened Cadfael's Bridge greatly to see his
family unhappy.  He was quite irritated with Bran for being gone
constantly; it was his job to settle such things, but he largely let
Glesni Major do what she wanted while he was gone, then undid it
all when he returned.  

        
       
         Cadfael's Bridge was ninety-seven when Tercia first rode off
to war, and much relieved when she came home safely that fall. 
The next year, she rode off with her father again; there were rumors
of a major Saxon offensive, and King Natanleod had finally risen
from his bed to ride off to battle.  Things were tenser yet at the
Dagwaldus estate, and Lady Glesni Major and Julia Major were
both on the verge of exploding every five minutes.  Spring passed
and the crops began to grow, and by inches, they relaxed.  The
summer brought good news and disastrously bad news.  Five years
ago, the Saxons had crushed the squabbling Canteluvani and
overrun Londinium.  Now, the citizens had risen up and massacred
the Saxons in a single night.  Lady Glesni Major celebrated this
victory with a great feast.  

        Five days later, two riders came from the east, bolting across
the bridge without stopping and galloping off westward.  In their
wake came first a few knots of cavalry in flight, then larger groups,
and a body of battered foot soldiers, some in boiled leather, but
more in the battered remains of old Roman armor or in the now
popular leather with metal studs.  Bands of knights straggled in as
well, carrying the banners of Sir Amig of Bristol, the Marshal, of
Robert, who his father had made the Count of Salisbury, and of a
handful of towns.  They made camp around the bridge and the villa,
the church and the mill, a ragged band of desperate men.  

        Lady Glesni Major brought Robert and Amig and the other
leaders into the villa, feeding them as best she could, while Julia
Major and Tercia circulated through the army, trying to find out
what had happened to Sir Bran.  No one had seen him fall, or
perhaps no one would admit it.  But most agreed that if he had not
escaped, he was dead.

        Sir Jaradan, one of Robert's friends, told Julia Major and
Tercia the tale of what had happened that day as they stood on
Cadfael's Bridge, looking out east towards what had once been the
great city of Venta Belgarum.  "The problem was that the infantry
failed us.  Our first charge was a success.  We broke the line of the
Saxon shield wall.  Then the infantry should have moved into the
breech.  Unfortunately, most of them were cowardly peasants, and
the ones who weren't cowards were archers, and weren't expecting
to make any charges.  Too many of our good footmen are off
watching the border with Silchester when they should have down
here fighting Saxons.  And the Venta Belgarum 'Legion' broke and
ran the first time a Saxon threw an axe at them.  Damn incompetent
Romans."

        Julia Major snorted at that, while Tercia simply nodded her
head.  "Then some Saxons got around us and torched the town, and
the infantry all panicked and ran for their lives.  I was sent with
some people to try to fight those Saxons, and then the rest of our
knights and cavalry got surrounded.  When King Natanleod's
banner went down, our cavalry fled too.  The ones who got out."

        "The last I saw of your father, he was near King Natanleod,
who was trying to hack his way through to Cerdric.  He might have
succeeded; I know Cerdric's banner fell, and the Saxons didn't
pursue us.  We managed to rally what was left of us west of the city
and withdraw."  He sighed.  "We might have won this if only we'd
had all our men.  And if Sir Amig hadn't left the Bristol and Bath
centuries to guard the west coast from the Irish.  We couldn't beat
them without either more cavalry, or more infantry, and we could
have had more footmen."  Jaradan leaned over the bridge and
stared down at the water.  "I think Robert plans to knight you,
Tercia.  And your brother, if we can find him."

        "My son!"  Julia Major blurted out.  "I...I can't believe I
forgot he was there too!"

       "He was in the city.  It's quite possible he escaped, but..." 
Jaradan sighed and shook his head.  His shiny brown hair was still
short, but growing longer from lack of time to cut it, and it swished
about.  "I wouldn't count on it."

        Tercia held her mother as she cried, while Jaradan tried simply
to not stare.  "Cadwy lived, though, and fought well.  He saved
Robert's wife from the burning of the city, and some other
noblewomen as well, escaping to the north.  He'll probably show up
in a few days.  I think the army will make its stand here.  If we can't
keep the Saxons from crossing the Test, we'll have to fall back to
Sarum.  I hope the walls hold there."

        They held.  The Saxons seemed content with their conquests. 
Cerdric was not dead, merely badly wounded.  He leveled Venta
Belgarum and sowed salt among the wreckage.  Saxon farmers
began to move north from the coast, and occupied the area, which
they named 'Wessex', the land of the West Saxons.  The Test was
the border now.  

         More changes came now.  Recriminations flew as to who was
responsible for the disastrous battle of Venta Belgarum in the year
that would one day be called '508 AD'.  Cadwy asserted his claim
to the throne, and so did Robert, and there was nearly war between
them.  Instead, a bitter peace followed, and the Kingdom of the
Belgae split.  Cadwy became the king of Somerset, the lord of the
West Belgae, while Robert claimed only the title of Earl, asserting
he would not claim his royal title until he could do so in the capital
of the Belgae, Venta Belgarum, which the Saxons now began to
call 'Winchester', turning it into one of their forts.  

         Tercia was knighted, and so was Brian, who had escaped with
Cadwy from the city when it burned.  To the surprise of all, Bran
escaped Saxon captivity and returned, nearly naked, a year later. 
There was much rejoicing, and they had a great feast, which Earl
Robert attended.  It was at that time that he confirmed Sir Bran as
the Constable of Salisbury and gave him the title of Baron.  Brian
was formally engaged to his second cousin, Lucius Sejanus
Antonia, and Robert gave the order that a great stone tower and a
stone wall around that would be built here to guard the river
crossing.  It would be called 'Du Plain', for it would guard the
great plain of Salisbury to the west.  More lands up and down the
river were granted to the Dagwaldus family, land forfeited by
families who had sworn allegiance to Cadwy and been forced to go
west with him.  Tercia was granted lands as well, and Robert
inducted her into his personal guard.  

         It was a day of joy after much pain, and Cadfael's Bridge was
proud for his family, rewarded for long service.  Sir Cibno was in
charge of the construction of Du Plain Castle, and he worked hard,
though he was getting old, and the castle was virtually complete by
the falling of the snow in 510 AD.  The family still lived in the old
villa, however, for it was more comfortable, and still used the
bathhouse, though it was crumbling and needed repairs which no
one was capable of anymore.  It was the army which used the castle
the most, with five knights and fifty footmen, professional soldiers,
stationed in it.  It could hold more, but it was hard enough to feed
that many men, even from their expanded estates.  And the coloni
were becoming restless, for the additional work and demands were
grinding them into the dust.  Lady Glesni Major's imperious manner
with them didn't help, nor did the frequent absence of their lord,
Baron Bran, who often had to go north and patrol the border with
Silchester, where the lord of Levcomagnus was sponsoring bandit
raids.  He was the last of five brothers, four of whom had died
fighting Natanleod's armies a few years back, and his actions helped
keep the old feud alive.

        It also didn't help that the foot soldiers and the knights treated
the coloni like dirt, practically as slaves.  Nor did they have any
respect for Lady Glesni, who they basically ignored.  They would
answer to her son, but he was usually gone.  Late in the fall of 510,
however, Baron Bran and Sir Brian and Sir Tercia (She hit anyone
who called her Lady Tercia) all came home, and the soldiers
behaved themselves.  They held a great outdoor feast despite the
cold, and celebrated.  The coloni got more free beer than they could
handle, and that was good enough for them.  

        The occasion was the upcoming tournament in London.  It
was a new sport, invented in France in an effort to end the endless
round of slaughter that had followed upon Clovis' death.  He had
briefly united the Franks, but on his death, each of his sons had
grabbed a part of the land once known as Gaul.  The Visigoths he
had subjugated in the south of Gaul had risen up as well, led by
kings like Ban and Bors in the region known as Ganis, who had
thrown off Frankish rule.  Now, a king named Claudius had arisen,
who had created the tournament, a sort of war with rules within
fixed boundaries, to settle disputes in a less destructive manner.  

         And thus, the Archbishop of London had called a tournament
to be held in London.  The winner would become High King of
Britain.  In addition, the old meddling sorcerer Merlin, one of
Uther's advisors, rumored to have played a major role in his
relationship with Ygraine, had found Uther's sword and thrust it
into an enchanted anvil.  Whoever could pull the sword from the
stone would be the true king of the Britons.  It was a major topic of
conversation at the dinner.

        "I think they should just have everyone try to pull out the
sword," Cibno said.  "Better than wasting lives in a tournament."

        "That's the whole idea!"  Tercia said, pausing from stuffing
food in her mouth.  "Tournaments don't waste lives because you
use blunt weapons!  And you don't burn down each other's houses
afterwards."

        "I think deciding who rules Britain by who can pull a sword
out of a rock is ridiculous," Lady Glesni Major said.  "Merlin is the
Devil's son; we cannot trust him.  I think King Lot should be the
High King."

        Everyone stared at her; it was rather like someone at the
Democratic National Convention declaring that he'd rather vote for
Dole.  Finally, Baron Bran said, "Robert is our Lord.  We should be
rooting for him, mother."  His voice hinted he would brook no
contradiction.

         Lady Glesni Major wasn't noted for taking hints.  "Robert is a
boy, barely older than Tercia.  Even if he wins, and I find that to be
unlikely, given we have done nothing but LOSE battles for the last
forty years, do you really think that Lot or Ryons or Pellinore or
Idres would stand for being ruled by a man who couldn't save his
own inheritance from his illegitimate half-brother?"  Her voice was
withering with scorn.  "He's a good boy, and I wish now that I'd let
Julia marry him.  I made a mistake; I never thought Cadwy would
do that."  That silenced everyone.  They'd never heard her admit
once she'd made a mistake, ever.

        For a few moments, everyone was silent, then Brian said
quietly, "So why didn't you let her marry Robert?"

        Cadfael's Bridge listened carefully to what came next.  He'd
been wondering about that; it had not made much sense to him. 
Humans bred brother and sister animals to each other all the time. 
He had some awareness of the concept of political marriage, but he
thought it foolish.  Not that he would ever marry himself; who
could a bridge marry?

         "Because they were first cousins.  It would be sinful.  And his
father would NEVER have agreed to it.  My brother was incredibly
stubborn, and not susceptible to reason like myself."  Only respect
for age and a certain amount of inbred fear of her kept them from
laughing.  "I learn from mistakes, if slowly, Natanleod never
learned from his.  This tournament will only work if someone
strong enough to not be dependent on the goodwill of others and
old enough to gain respect wins it.  Mark my words.  If either Lot
or Idres or Pellinore or maybe the Centurion King doesn't win it, it
will come to naught, magic sword or no magic sword.  I think Lot
is best because he is married to Idres' cousin, Morgause, and the
Northern Kings will follow him, especially since they're married to
Morgause's sisters, Elaine and Morgan.  It's only a pity that he's a
pagan, but..."  She took a deep breath.  "It won't matter if we're
pagan or Christian if we all die at Saxon hands."

         "Who do you think has the best shot at winning?"  Brian
asked his father.

        His father put down the hunk of wheat bread he had been
chewing on.  "I will fight for Robert, but I think Lot or Corneus are
the most likely contenders.  Pellinore's men are good at fighting in
mountains, not a level field.  Corneus has a good army, and they are
well set up to fight under these conditions. However, Leodegrance
has been showing some promise..."  He rambled on, running
through various kings, dukes, earls, counts, chieftains, and warlords
for a very long time.  Bran rarely talked, but when he did, he never
shut up.  Imagine a typical football playoff pregame show, but with
discussions of 'beheading averages'.

         Tercia sung that night with her mother; it had been years
since Cadfael's Bridge had heard her sing, and he sang as well,
though none could hear him and the Mill begged him to be silent. 
Even Lady Glesni Major sung, her voice shaky, for once showing
the age she denied with her every action.  Music filled the night,
and on the morning, they rode off west to Sarum, where they would
join Earl Robert to ride northeast to Silchester, and from there to
London.  Only Lady Glesni Major remained behind with Sir Cibno
to 'hold down the fort' and run the estates through the winter. 
Even Julia Major had left with her husband for once, for she had
never seen London, and he wished to have her nearby to see him
fight just once.  

         Tensions began to build again, and not even Christmas time
could defuse it.  Soldiers feuded with coloni, coloni feuded with
Lady Glesni, and Lady Glesni feuded with the soldiers.  She called
them Cymric thugs and the soldiers called her a Roman tyrant.  Sir
Marchlew did little to restrain his men from harrassing the coloni,
and they reciprocated with rocks and pranks.  

        The new year came and went, and it seemed likely that an all
out war was going to erupt.  Finally, five days after the new year
had begun, the brawl that had been feared began during Mass.  The
chapel caught fire, and two knights burned to death.  The soldiers
crushed the coloni, slaying twelve and scattering the rest back to
their homes, locking up a dozen leaders inside the 'castle' itself. 
Lady Glesni tried to end the fighting and ended up being put under
house arrest with Sir Cibno inside the villa.  

         Thus, when a rider hurled from the west at breakneck speed,
Cadfael's Bridge saw it as simply the icing on the cake.  It would be
bad news; no one had ever come within his sight at high speed
bearing good news.  Thus it was, that he was quite surprised when
the rider rode up to Sir Marchlew, who had come out to meet him
and announced, "The Tournament has ended.  The Sword in the
Stone has been drawn!"

        Sir Marchlew stared at him.  "What?"

       "A lad from Cambria did it, the ward of some knight named
Ector.  Arthur.  Rumor has it that he is Uther's son."   The
messenger was breathing heavily even though his horse had really
done all the work.  "All the knights have been summoned to come
and see the sword drawn again at Candlemas.  Already
Leodegrance of Cameliard, and Hervis de Revil, heir to Icenia, and
Prince Lanceor of Estregales in Cambria and Sir Brastias, who slew
that man-eating lion in Gloucester, and many others have sworn to
him.  And the Archbishop of London and Merlin are both standing
by him."

       "I'll be damned."  Sir Marchlew said.  "But where has the boy
been all these years?"

       "Merlin foresaw Uther's death and hid the boy away until he
came of age, it is said.  No one knows for sure, but a dove came
down from heaven when he drew the sword and proclaimed him.  I
saw it myself."

***********

        Sir Marchlew had much to think about, as did all Britain in the
months to come.  He would be thinking about it in a cell; Baron
Bran had him arrested when he returned, and freed his mother.  

        Months passed.  The sword was drawn again at Candlemas
and Easter, and many lords came to pay homage to Arthur as their
king, the king of Logres.  Robert of Salisbury, Ulfius of Silchester,
Corneus of Lindsey, Cador of Cornwall, Bishop Baudwin, Gilbert
of Hertford, Praetor Jonathel of Dorset, the Duke of Clarence, the
Earl of Jagent, the Earl of Wuerensis, and many others knelt to
Arthur.  The Supreme Collegium was called to meet in Carlion and
pick a new High King for all of Britain as well, but some kings
would not attend.

        Cadwy of Somerset, Idres of Cornwall, Ryons of Norgales,
the Centurion King of Eburacum, and many others rejected
Arthur's claims, and there was war among the Britons, four long
years of war.  Aid came from the kings of Ganis, and the rebel
kings were put down, but it was not easy.  Most of them died and
were succeeded by sons who swore fealty to Arthur, but none knew
if that fealty would last.  The final war was precipitated by the
mysterious kidnapping of the children of many of the northern
lords.  Many blamed Merlin, and Lady Glesni Major was among
them.  There had almost been peace with Lot before that; his wife
had come on an embassy to King Arthur, and it was said that they
got along quite well.  Lot agreed with Lady Glesni that Merlin and
ultimately Arthur was behind the loss of his youngest son, a baby
named Mordred, and he lead the kings of the North in one final
challenge to Arthur's rule.  He lost.  The King of Malahaut was
defeated and slain before Lot could come to his aid, and at the
battle of Terrabil in 513 AD, he was slain by King Pellinore, who
had gone over to Arthur after some sort of duel between himself
and Arthur, though how he had gotten into the middle of Arthur's
lands by himself to fight such a duel, no one knew.  

         Lady Glesni Major ruled the estate without exception now,
for the new castellan, Sir Martin, a knight of Roman descent,  knew
the fate of the old one, and all other Dagwalduses except Julia
Major were gone constantly.  Brian's wife, Antonia, wasn't even
present, as she lived in Sarum, the capital of Salisbury.  They were
beginning to worry that she might be infertile, as she and Brian had
no children yet.     

         Tercia married a knight named Sir Nigel, who she had met in
the wars, but they had no time for children.  Cadfael's Bridge had
never seen him, and was quite curious as to what he looked like. 
He finally met him in 514 AD, when peace finally came upon the
land.  The entire family came home again to celebrate peace and to
prepare for the High King's upcoming wedding to Gwynhwfar, also
known as Guenevere, the daughter of King Leodegrance of
Cameliard.  Lady Glesni was determined to attend it, and she called
in tailors and weavers and many other experts to properly dress up
her family for the wedding.  

         They struck quite a distinctive sight as they assembled in the
yard of the villa to prepare to depart.  Sir Brian and his wife would
be staying to run the lands and watch the border, for some feared
the Saxons would raid, so they were not dressed up, but the rest
wore the latest French fashions.  Baron Bran had finally cut his hair,
which was starting to grey, and he wore two tunics, one under the
other.  The undertunic was red with long sleeves that billowed out
slightly at the wrists, made of fine linen, but mostly covered up by
the overtunic.  The overtunic went down to about his knees, and
was blue in color, with the symbol of his house, a red tower on a
blue background, worked into the fabric repeatedly.  His leggings
were thick wool and dyed a deep blue, running down into leather
shoes and tied in place with red straps.  His cloak was checked red
and blue, knotted and pinned with a great gold brooch of his house
sign on his right shoulder.  His face was clean, well shaven and
washed, and his deep brown eyes flicked about, gazing upon his
family.  He wore a gold ring with several small gems set into it on
his right hand, and a gold medallion showing the rampant horse of
Salisbury, the sign of his post as the Constable.  

        His wife was quite impressive in her outfit as well.  She wore a
green undertunic that was much like her husband's, though
decorated with black and silver embroidery of birds and flowers,
and a long overtunic called a bliant.  It was checked red and blue,
her husband's colors, laced up one side, and tight at the waist, then
flowing out into a long skirt that ran down to her ankles.  It was cut
low in a wide V in front to show off the elaborate embroidery on
the undertunic, and had a hood in back, though it was down, since
it was a warm spring day.  Her black hair was turning grey and she
had bound it back into a great pony-tail that ran down to her mid-
back, neatly combed and shiny clean.  She wore three belts with
various pouches hanging off them, nicely made leather slippers and
a long green cloak tied with a cord around her neck to secure it. 
Several gold and silver rings decorated her fingers and she wore a
nicely made silver plated crucifix on a silver chain.  

         Lady Glesni was dressed similarly to her daughter, though her
undertunic was blue with yellow trim, the colors of her family, and
she wore a badge with the sign of House Burcanius.  Age was
trimming off her fat, and she looked better than she had in years,
though the figure of her youth was gone.  Her son, Baron Bran, on
the other hand, was getting hefty, as was his wife.

         Tercia and Nigel, on the other hand, were in their prime. 
They dressed in similar styles to the elder Dagwalduses, with her
clothing in the purple and blue she had chosen as her colors, and his
in the green and black of his family, an Armorican family that had
come over with Ambrosius and Uther nearly half a century ago.  He
was tall and ugly, built like a brick, his head squarish and his hair
reddish-black.  His grand-mother was said to have been a Saxon,
and he was big enough to be one.  His nose was bent, the result of
losing an argument with his first horse, and he had enough scars to
satisfy anyone.  He was crude, but not rude; unskilled in etiquette,
but polite and respectful to all.  To Cadfael's Bridge, he usually
looked like he was in a daze, perhaps at having married up in the
world.  

        Much to Cadfael's Bridge's surprise, Lady Glesni Major liked
him instantly.  Perhaps it was the fact that he bowed to her on first
meeting her and listened to everything she said.  Maybe she was
just happy that Tercia had finally married.  Maybe she was simply
finally mellowing in her old age.  He couldn't tell, but it was
pleasant to see her smile.

        They talked as they prepared to depart.  Nigel asked, "So
what will Arthur do now that he is getting married?  Are we to have
peace, or do you think he'll fight the Saxons next?"

        "I pray we'll march on the Saxons," Tercia said.  "They need
to be killed, every last one of them, and their bodies tossed in the
ocean.  We'll never have peace until we kill them all."

          Cadfael's Bridge agreed.  He remembered the Saxons.  They
only respected force and strength.  

        Baron Bran said, "I think we need to make sure he has an heir
before he risks a war with the Saxons.  If he was to die without
children, then there would be no one to carry on, and certain to be a
civil war."  He stared right at Brian and Antonia as he said that, and
they both blushed slightly.  Antonia turned away and stared at the
ground, clenching her hands.

         "I think Bretwalda Aelle won't wait," Julia Major said
quietly.  "He'll want to challenge Arthur before Arthur is ready for
him."  Aelle was the High King of the Saxons, the king of Sussex. 
He was getting old, but was still strong.  

        Tercia nodded.  "Hmm.  Then again, waiting for Aelle to die
might be best if it doesn't take too long.  Without him, we can
probably pick them off one by one."

         The argument raged on as they mounted up and rode off,
leaving Brian and Antonia behind.  Brian watched them go, while
Antonia stared off eastward towards the Saxon lands.  She ran a
hand nervously through her long light brown hair.  It was naturally
somewhat curly, and she had begun to curl it more, making it a
mass of cascading swirls.  She had to shade her sky blue eyes from
the sun, which was shining brightly.  For a time, there was silence,
and then she said, "I'm trying as best I can, Brian."

        "I know," he said quietly.  "It would help if I wasn't gone so
often.  No one can bear children if they never see their husband. 
Perhaps we'll finally succeed with us both here?"

       She smiled a quirky smile.  "We won't know if we don't try." 
They strode off to the villa, arm in arm.

**************

       Anthony Dagwaldus, son of Brian and Antonia, was born
eleven months later, early in 515 AD.  Arthur's wedding went off
without a hitch, but soon afterwards, the Saxons and the Picts were
on the march, and war resumed.  Arthur came to the aid of the
Northern Kings he had fought in the years before, and finally earned
their loyalty through his deeds.  The North Saxons were broken and
chased into the swamps east of Lindsey, but the Angles, the Jutes,
the East and South and West Saxons banded together with Aelle as
their leader and made war on Arthur.  

       They came in a great tide, expected, but not expected in any
particular place.  Arthur gathered together most of his forces at
Silchester, from which he could respond to an attack from any
direction.  Du Plain was stripped of troops, with only a few men at
arms, the peasant levies, and Sir Cibno to defend it.  Lady Glesni
was beginning to suffer some strange disease which caused her pain
when she moved, and so she stayed when the other ladies evacuated
to Sarum.  

        The first inkling of trouble was when the river suddenly fell
silent.  Cadfael's Bridge was stunned.  Nothing ever made the river
shut up.  He was starting to worry when he heard the oars.  Five
boatloads of Saxons had rowed up the Test and suddenly emerged
into the moonlight.  He tried to shout and warn the people, but
none could hear him.  The sentry had fallen asleep.

        All he could do was watch as they set the villa and its wooden
wall on fire and tried to climb the wall into the castle.  The result
was anarchy.  The coloni tried to organize to fight, but they came
on in small clumps, easily crushed by the Saxons.  Sir Cibno tried to
get Lady Glesni into the castle, but the Saxons caught them and
killed them both.  The castle fell and the remaining soldiers
scattered.  More Saxons came from the east the next day, an
endless sea of Saxons pushing west with banners that Cadfael's
Bridge didn't recognize, a sea of men in leather armor or mail
shirts, armed with spears and axes.   Every leader had an elite guard
of sworn thegns, men who wore metal armor and carried huge two
handed axes.  They plundered the estate, stripping it of food,
burning the church and the mill, and looting the villa and the tower. 
The coloni fled into the woods, and many died.  

       And Cadfael's Bridge cried and cursed the Saxons and pled to
the gods whose visage adorned him.  But the tears saved no lives,
and the curses took no lives, and the gods were silent.

*************

         A month later, small bands of Saxons streamed through the
wreckage, scattering the coloni who had begun to rebuild under the
command of a small warband of Saxons who had declared
themselves the lords of 'Ingburh'.  And on their heels, came a tide
of knights and soldiers, bearing dozens of colorful banners, lead by
kings and dukes and earls and counts.  And at their head rode
Arthur, the High King of Britain.  Tercia was with them, leading an
advance party that seized the bridge, cutting off the group of
Saxons who had taken up residence in the castle.  Twenty knights
of Salisbury sat at the base of the bridge, wearing battered, dirty
chainmail shirts and pants with battered helms on their heads.  They
had long spears called lances, and as the Saxons charged out of the
castle, trying desperately to get over the bridge before the
approaching army arrived, they used them, spurring their strong
horses, called chargers, to high speed.  The Saxons died in droves. 
Tercia drew her sword and rode about screaming, trampling
Saxons, even one who tried to surrender.  She slew Ing, the would
be Eorl of Ingberg herself, dismounting and fighting him woman to
man in the very spot where once she had fought Gessius.  Things
were different now.  They threw Ing's head into the Test, which
grumbled loudly.  

         The army marched on, and the Saxons crumpled.  It took a
year, but the Saxon kings were dead, and so were the best warriors. 
Only cowards and people too slow to arrive in time had survived
Badon among the Saxon ranks, and the Saxons themselves had
contempt for survivors, naming them Nithlings who had deserted
their kings and eorls to whom they had sworn loyalty.  

       By the middle of 519, the Saxon kingdoms were dead, divided
up among the victors.  King Arthur took the ruins of Venta
Belgarum and the lands around it for his own, naming it Hampshire
and planning to build a great city.  Many Salisbury nobles and other
loyal followers were granted great fiefs in the conquered lands. 
Tercia received four great manors in Hampshire, and Earl Robert
awarded her two in Salisbury as well, whose lords had fallen
without heir.  Baron Bran had fallen at Badon, but Robert made
Brian his Constable, and he inherited his father's title of Baron. 
Robert granted them new lands as well, and Theodoric of Ganis,
the new lord of the Southports, granted Robert lands there as well
to help him meet the expenses expected of a Baron.  Du Plain was
rebuilt in the years that followed, with a great square stone tower
and a new great hall, as well as a better, larger outer wall.  The villa
was abandoned, and the bathhouse had to be dismantled to provide
stone for the larger castle.  Cadfael's Bridge was sorry to see them
go.  

        It took a few more years to mop up the Saxons and the Picts,
but now peace had come.  The renovation of Venta Belgarum
continued, but it bore a new name now, Camelot.  Baron Brian
rode there often, for he had been named to the Round Table.  The
gardens were rebuilt under Lady Antonia's care, for she usually
dwelt at Du Plain now.  They built a great mausoleum in its center,
where once the villa had stood, and buried Lady Glesni there, and
Baron Bran and Julia Major when she succumbed to influenza one
cold winter.  

         But the gardens were also full of children, for Antonia and
Brian finally caught up on lost time, and the knights who guarded
the castle began to bring their wives there, and they had children as
well.  The children grew and peace spread.  Arthur was challenged
by the Emperor of Rome, but that war was far away and did not
disturb Logres.  Merchants began to move along the roads, and the
old inn was rebuilt, bustling with business, and a second inn and a
third.  And Cadfael's Bridge saw more travelers than he could
believe were alive.

        Most of them were coming and going to and from Camelot,
and many a famous knight rode over Cadfael's Bridge.  Sir Kay and
Sir Gareth, once called Beaumains, Sir Gawaine and all the
Orkneys, Sir Tor and the rest of Pellinore's many children, Sir
Dodinas, Sir Sagremore, Sir Tristam, and of course, Sir Lancelot all
crossed him once, twice, dozens of times.  While this was not
usually a place where adventure was to be had, there were times
when even a simple stone bridge could be a place of adventure.  

       While Baron Brian was often gone, riding the roads with a
patrol of men and driving off the bandits who occasionally rose in
the dark corners of the land, his son, Anthony, grew to maturity and
departed to serve as a squire to finish his training in the knightly
arts.  Thus, Lady Antonia, his wife, was often 'alone', though in
practice she had many friends come to visit and more children to
care for and all the ladies of the castle to keep her company.  She
often spent winters in Sarum with her husband, and it was one such
winter when a knight rode up the road from Camelot and spread his
pavilion on the far side of the river.  Clearly, he was a wealthy man,
with five squires and three ladies attending him.  He would not
come to the castle, sending his squire William with an apology.  "I
beg your ladyship's forgiveness, but my lord has sworn an oath
never to rest inside four walls until he finds the knight who has
wronged him and defeats him in combat."

        Lady Antonia was intrigued by this, and she asked, "Upon
what knight does he seek vengeance?"

       "He does not know.  The knight rode with a strange shield.  It
bore a flaming yellow head on a blue background.  The knight
never spoke, but his squire claimed he had been ensorcelled and
was a knight of the Round Table.  So, since many Round Table
knights come this way, my lord hopes to challenge them all until he
recognizes the man who beat him."  William was short, but strongly
built with dark brown eyes and bright yellow hair.  Antonia was
curious as to his parentage, for he had the build of a Cymru but the
hair of a Saxon.

      "What is your master's name?"

       "Eric of Portchester."  The squire said.  

       "Hmm.  Doesn't sound like an Occitanian name."  Admiral
Theodoric, one of the exiles from Ganis after King Claudas had
finally conquered the Occitanian rebels against his power in the year
of Badon, had been given the lands south of Camelot, the
southernmost of the old Belgae lands, after Badon, in order for him
to have enough revenue to support the navy which he commanded
now.  Almost all of the nobility of the South Ports were Occitanian
by birth.

        "He was adopted," William said.  "He was very young and his
father died at Badon."  He sounded a little nervous.  "With your
leave, my lady, I will return to my master."

        "Perhaps I shall come and visit him some day when it grows
warmer," she said.

        He twitched.  "That is very gracious of you.  Goodbye."  He
left, turning into running once he got out the doors of the great hall.

        Lady Blandine, who was herself Occitanian, the wife of one of
the castle's knights, said, "Now he has made me curious.  Perhaps I
will send my husband to joust with him to test his mettle."

       "An excellent idea," Lady Antonia said.  "Sir Raoul needs to
get more exercise, anyway."

       On a day when the snows broke, the ladies and knights came
out to see Sir Raoul and Sir Eric of Portchester joust.  Sir Raoul
was dressed in nicely made chainmail with a full helmet, shirt, pants,
and a coif on his head under the helmet.  He rode a strong charger,
deep brown in color.  His saddle was made of leather and decorated
with blue and green trim, his colors.  His large metal shield was
decorated with a green tree against a blue background.  Over his
armor, he wore a long surcoat made of blue linen with an
embroidered, highly detailed tree in true colors (the bark was brown
and the leaves green, rather than being a green silhouette like his
shield).  His hair was brown and came down to the nape of his
neck, curling at the ends, and