As Sure as the Dawn(135)

“No, no!” Caleb said, mouth quivering.

Rizpah brushed his hair back from his face and kissed him. “The fire is to the northeast of us,” Theophilus said, leaning against the trunk of the border pine.

Rizpah approached and looked at the symbols carved there. Wolves surrounded a three-headed man with breasts and distended male genitals. In one hand, he held a scythe, in the other, a sword. A horned male figure stood beside him holding a framea. Runes were carved between. Frowning, Rizpah leaned down and touched one. “Atretes wore a pendant with this symbol on it.” She had seen it when he removed his clothing beside the spring.

“Does he still wear it?”

“No. When I asked about it, he took it off and threw it away.” She straightened up, then took Caleb’s hand and moved away from the tree. She didn’t want her son near it.

“He’s coming back,” Theophilus said.

Atretes ran toward them, weaving between trees with the grace of a born athlete. “I saw the white horses,” he said, hardly out of breath. “A new path heads northeast. The village must be that way. Two miles, maybe three from here if we go straight across.”

“We go around,” Theophilus said. “I’ll put no stumbling blocks in the way of the gospel. When the Chatti accept the truth, Atretes, Tiwaz will lose his hold upon them and this wood will have no more importance than the land around it.”

“Then we’ll have to push hard to make it before nightfall.”





32


They found the outer reaches of the village at dusk. Several men in coarse woven tunics and trousers were herding cattle into a longhouse for safekeeping. Atretes’ shout scattered the cattle and brought the men at a run. When they came closer, their war cries changed to boisterous greetings.

“Atretes!” Without releasing their weapons, they buffeted him joyfully while he laughed and gave as good as he received.

Rizpah stood by, staring, alarmed by their violent greeting. She had never seen men so rough looking and boisterous. When she glanced at Theophilus, she was relieved by his calm amusement. When the men’s excitement eased, they took full, bold notice of her and then looked at Theophilus. A tense silence fell.

“You bring a Roman with you?”

When the man stepped forward, Atretes made a swift movement, bringing the tip of his framea just below the man’s chin. “Theophilus doesn’t come as a Roman.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“I say it does.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he lowered his weapon. Atretes withdrew the framea, his own manner changed. “See to your cattle.”

The three men walked away, cold but subdued. Atretes watched them for a long moment and then glanced at Theophilus. Jerking his head, he took Rizpah’s hand and started down the road again.

Theophilus saw that the settlement wasn’t rundling style as he had expected, with homesteads grouped in a ring about a center space. It was a sackgassendorf, with buildings arranged on both sides of a central street. He counted eight large longhouses and more than twenty smaller dwellings, not including the grubenhaus, the meeting house. The far end of the street was blocked off for defense purposes.

Their arrival was noticed immediately, and news spread rapidly as adults sent children on the run from longhouse to longhouse. People came out of their homes and poured into the street, surrounding Atretes, talking and shouting all at once while he laughed and embraced one after another.

A blonde woman pushed her way through the crowd. “Marta!” Atretes cried out, and she flung herself into his arms, weeping. Atretes held her close while a man pounded his back. Laughing and crying, Atretes held her at arms’ length. Seeing someone else, he let out a shout and pushed his way through the crowd to a tall, powerfully built man who limped toward him. “Varus!” The men embraced.

Men, women, and children were talking excitedly, words rolling over one another, nothing understandable, and then a hush fell. Atretes and Varus still talked rapidly, not noticing as people moved aside for a woman in white. She walked sedately, nodding as people touched her lightly and moved back in respect. Her gray hair was braided and wound into a thick crown held by gold pins, and she wore a large amber stone encircled with gold and suspended on a thick gold chain.

Varus saw her first and clasped Atretes’ arm. Atretes turned and released his breath in surprise. “Mother,” he said and reached her in two long steps. Going down on one knee, he embraced her, his head resting against her breasts.

Weeping, Freyja stroked her fingers into his hair and tilted his head back. “My son,” she said, tears pouring down her pale cheeks. “My son has come home!”