Last night we lay down to sleep, as we have for several nights now, on the futon that we traded for. Meryl had been languishing badly on the mat of woven reeds that was all we’d been able to construct from indigenous materials. So several days ago, as we sat gathered round the morning fire, speaking of the hard choice that lies before us, and the things we would need to secure in either eventuality, to the surprise of all she turned away out of modesty, then reached into an inner pocket of her skirts and took out a hidden pouch. As she loosed the string and poured its contents into the palm of her hand we all gasped. For precious stones glittered there, a small fortune to be traded for anything we like. She apologized for not telling us of it sooner, but said her father had asked her to keep the jewels secret until real need arose.

Cassius began to mutter, “When, if not now. . .eating God damned lizards.” And, I’m ashamed to say, “rich Jews with their money up their ass,” until Ariel punched him in the shoulder, only half jokingly, and told him to be quiet.

To make a long story short, she gave one or two to each family, put the rest in my keeping, at which I was deeply touched, and asked if we could trade them for better beds, food and clothing, as well as local currency in the event we decided to travel again.

So Cassius, Alexander and myself made a cautious journey into Cirta, the inland town. And finding it not yet conquered or in chaos, we traded the gems for local coin of gold and silver, and these in turn for feather futons, clothes, food and wine.

We also went to the waterfront, where we learned that boats still ply the river between here and Hippo, the way not yet blocked by invading armies, though many refugees have already taken shelter in the city, fearing the worst.

But last night as the three of us lay together, myself on the outside to protect them, Sarah curled up comfortably between us, while Meryl slept nearest to the wall. . .she remains terrified of predators, though both gates, front and back are nearly complete. That very afternoon she’d seen a lion hunting down by the stream at the foot of the ridge, and hasn’t ventured from the cave since…..

Forgive me if I don’t know how to say this. My mind still will not concentrate as it should, and words seem so trivial in face of miracle. Yes! Somewhere in the night, huddled among the sheepskin blankets, our positions changed. Somehow, in the midst of dreaming about her, I found that Meryl lay in my arms. Unconsciously I embraced her and, still thinking it a dream, began to stroke her arm with mine, to warm her. Yet to my astonishment, I slowly became aware I was no longer asleep. First—for my subconscious had been reliving the night after the shipwreck, when hope and fear alike were too much to face—I found that she lay facing me. Next that my hand, of its own volition, had slid down to the small of her back and on between her buttocks, which roused me strangely. And third, as I opened my eyes and saw her face close to mine, realized that my phallus was hard and erect—for she was naked—and that she herself was aware of it.

As I withdrew the hand and tried to apologize, thinking I had somehow sinned against her virtue—myself a Gentile, and she still in mourning—she only whispered, “No,” with tears in her eyes.

Then her hand swept low to engulf me, the fingers encircling, then gently stroking up the length of my phallus. I let out a gasp and shivered at the silken touch. I quivered again, and no power on earth could restrain the words, “I love you.” This seemed to give her pause, but only for a moment.

“It’s all right,” she said, in a voice so sad and womanly that I thought my heart would break. “I want you to make love to me, Gaius. Make me feel good again, the way I did with Malachi…..”

I thought that she would sob, and the moment be lost forever. For her beautiful face had drawn back from mine, cruel punishment for my transgression. But it soon came near again. I felt her lips upon mine, our tears mingling in a sacrament of love for which no words exist. Then her mouth was at my throat: kissing, licking, her other hand caressing my breast. So great was the pleasure as her fingers slid across me that I felt myself a child again, being petted goodnight by my mother…..

Yet this was but a foretaste. Her sweet face continued down, sliding across my stomach, my quivering abdomen, as my sex brushed against her cheek. “Meryl!” I whispered, in shocked ecstasy. Her lips were about me as she lovingly kissed, stroked and suckled. I no longer knew where I was, who I was, only that my Angel had come for me at last and I was free. Free! Can you possibly know what that means after a lifetime of impotent love?

Then came a pause in which the pleasure stopped and I returned, doubting, to the world of reality and endless disappointment. “Meryl,” I begged, reaching for her in confusion. But she had only changed position. She lay on her back now, drawing me on top of her. Or had I done it myself, rolling her over, and parting her legs with my own? Again her hand found me, as I strove blindly for the soft wetness that would make it all come true.

And now she was guiding me in. I prayed with all my being…..

I was inside her! The bliss returned and now, all uncertainty gone. . .I was inside her. She was mine! I tried to thrust gently at first, not wanting to hurt her. But her hands were upon my lower back, drawing me in. She kissed me, half biting my lip and whispered, “Harder!” I could not have resisted if I wanted to, as my hand and mouth, of their own accord, cupped and kissed her small and lovely breast…..

Then in an enchantment for which no words exist, the passion rose in me, dominating, overpowering, as I thrust into her again and again.

I don’t know how long the surging tide flowed, or if I gave her a tenth of the pleasure she gave me. Only that the blissful waters closed over my head, devouring all reason. I felt the climax approaching and suddenly, beyond control wrapped my arms about her legs, thrust deep and hard and cried out, wordlessly at first, then finding the only name that I would ever need again.

As the orgasm racked me again and again. Till I lay utterly spent and unmoving in her arms. Tears flowed warm down her cheek as I lay against it, breathing hard. Or were they mine? Only that I kissed her, so gently, unable to restrain either breath or words. For they were the same, eternal.

“I love you, Meryl. I’ll never let you go. I’m going to take care of you, protect you, and give you everything you need.

“My Angel. My Meryl. My wife!”

II

“Man proposes, God disposes.”

We never had the chance to execute our plan. The wind turned in the night, blowing hard from the south, and kept us from sailing out of the harbor and into the open sea. But that did not prevent the Celts from coming in.

Alexander and Cleades saw them first, amorphous shapes in the gray light of dawn. They immediately called Cassius, who in turn ordered the women and children to get below and stay there, the men to seize their weapons and move to action stations. “Christ!” he cursed beneath his breath. Even the indomitable Greek, who braved the hurricane for days on end, was all but paralyzed by the sight. He knew we could not escape them. Their smaller craft surrounded us, a score at least, and we could not defy the laws of physics: there was simply no room in the harbor to tack against that Judas wind. And even if we could, two larger ships, at least the measure of our own, blocked the bottleneck entrance completely.

So much for laying low, or meeting them on our own terms.

The emotions of a husband (which I am not), and a father (which I am). are indescribable at such a moment, with those you love completely at the mercy of strangers. None of us knew whether to fly or fight, talk or threaten, live or die.

But the thoroughness of the natives, both in plan and execution, allowed us no such choice. To a man they handled their craft as if they knew these waters like the face of a loved one. As indeed they must. After gazing at the growing swarm of boats around us, the two ships beyond, Cassius himself, who had stood, outnumbered ten to one before the walls of Rome itself, was at a loss. Finally he said to us:

“It’s no good. Cast loose the sheets, as a sign of submission, and let’s hope they’re not after blood.”

When this was done, a vessel of moderate size, constructed of some wood that had faded nearly white, came forward and drew up alongside. A tall, elderly man in a white robe, his long hair flowing in the wind and a pale staff in one hand, held up the other in token of peace or command. It was impossible to know which. Cassius’ jaw tightened, and he clenched the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were as white as the Druid’s beard. But it was no use. After a moment’s impotent rage he nodded to the brothers, who moved amidships to lower the gang-rope. We all felt as naked and helpless as a bound wolf dangling from the hunters’ pole.

Two other men, middle-aged and more martial in appearance—long swords at their belts, thick leather jerkins studded with iron and shields slung over their backs—refused the proffered hands and climbed sternly over the gunnel and onto the deck. Then drawing their weapons they gestured for us to lower our own, which we did—Cassius last and most reluctantly.

But what could he do? What could any of us do? They could have sent a hundred men swarming over the sides if they chose to. The younger of the two, who by look and mannerism might well have been brothers, glanced back toward the boat and nodded that all was secure. Only then did the priest, or wizard, or whatever he was, come aboard.

When he had made his way gracefully over the side, the old man looked at each of us in turn with expressionless eyes the color of the sea, set in a forehead high and proud. But somehow the overall effect, even through our racing fears, was not one of threat or intimidation. Austere and lordly, to be sure, but not as one who sought to dominate and control. No North African bishop, to be sure.

He seemed to identify Cassius as the leader (or certainly the warrior) among us. He nodded to him gravely, but still without menace. Then he moved to stand before the twins, Cleades having sought the shelter of his brother’s arm, and seemed wholly fascinated by them. Then on to Jacob, the two men appearing similar somehow, though their features could not have been more different. For the Druid was tall, nearly six feet, and Jacob a full head shorter. Their eyes met. Some kind of recognition passed between them, and Jacob smiled tentatively. And lastly, on to myself and Cassius. For I had moved to stand beside him, not for protection (at least not my own), but as a sign of unity. If I may say it, though there was little time for thought, it was an act of true courage and loyalty: something to hold on to when I begin to doubt myself.

Finally, to our astonishment, he said in a kind of mingled Greek and Latin: “I am Nechtainn, High Druid of Erainn. This is Magnus Maghonach, our Lord, and his brother Aengus, Commander of Ships.”

At this he paused, and Cassius, speaking in simple Latin, replied. “I am Cassius, son of Drusus, once a soldier of Rome, now head of the company, and leader of our…..”

“Expedition?” the Druid suggested.

“Yes,” he returned, finding the distortion—or was it in fact the truth?—less dangerous. “The brothers (here he used the Greek, ‘adelfos’) are from Athens.”

“Gemini,” said the older man, with a half smile in their direction, “the twins. And these?” He indicated Jacob and Malachi.

Cassius hesitated, then told as much of the truth as he dared.

“Our spiritual leader, and a pilgrim of. . .the Middle East,” he ended lamely.

“Juden?” asked Nechtainn in perfect German. At this the breath caught in my throat. But the man only smiled, as if this too was known to him.

“Yes,” said Cassius sullenly.

At this the Druid spoke to the others, saying something in Gaelic. Only Alexander, who had studied their language through years of secret preparation, understood what was said.

When Nechtainn turned back he seemed to read this (or something like it) in the young man’s face. For he addressed him directly in the language of Eire-land, and the rest of us were left in the dark. After a brief exchange, Alexander acted as our interpreter, saying:

“He asks me to tell you.” A pause as he listened again. “That they have been expecting us.”

“How?” asked Cassius, incredulous.

Alexander translated, waited for the response. “They have been aware of us since we first arrived. . .and were watched upon Sharcaen.”

“The sacred site? By who?” demanded Cassius, in growing anxiety. Then before Alexander could translate, “Do they mean to kill us for it? By God, they’ll count a heavy toll—”

Alexander gestured sharply: be silent.

At this Nechtainn asked what was said. And after hesitating, unsure, Alexander sighed heavily and told him. The two warriors growled, but the Druid only nodded gravely, seeming more reassured by the young man’s honesty than angered by the threat.

“Other Druids may have done so, in Erin and beyond. But we of Earth Communion do not kill in the name of our Faith, though I have seen it done.” His face clouded as at some distant memory. “But to us that would be sacrilege.”

Cassius exhaled and straightened. He had begun to reach down for his sword, the ruling brothers to move toward him. The Druid held out his hand to stop them, though all remained tense. Nechtainn shook his head sadly—as if such scenes had been all too familiar in the course of a long and difficult life—continued.

“We try to be tolerant, when we can. Be at peace. We did not come here to kill you and yours, though whether or not we allow you to remain…..” Cassius’ eyes widened in disbelief. Nechtainn turned toward him. “Has not yet been decided.”

… “Thank him,” said our leader haltingly. “And apologize for my. . . you know I was only trying to protect….. Tell him.” Alexander translated.

The Druid nodded his understanding. “But the seas grow agitated, even here in the sheltered harbor. Won’t you come with us to the island, where we can speak at greater ease?”

“With whom, and to which island?” asked Cassius suspiciously.

“My friend,” he said patiently. “If we intended to kill you—I have told you that is not our intention—we could have done so without your consent. I mean to this island, Oileán Cléire, with Magnus, Aengus, and a few of the tribal chieftains to witness what is said.” He indicated the circling shore. “And you need not all come—certainly not the women and children. The leaders only.”

“All right,” said Cassius, still trying to master his emotions. “But men only, and in our own boat.”

If Nechtainn felt any irritation at his caution, his lingering mistrust, he did not show it. And though perhaps I read too much into his outwardly benevolent manner, yet still I hope…..

“Shall we go?” he asked, with the same half-smile at me, as if he’d read the thought in my mind. I nodded, as Cassius exhaled heavily, trying to gather himself for yet another crisis.

The Celts returned to their boat, the ruling brothers (for so I now know them to be) standing guard as Nechtainn handed down his staff and descended. Then they cast off, making for the shore. We drew up the launch, boarded her warily, then did the same.

While much of this is second-hand—Alexander, as I said, being the only one who understands Gaelic—here is what I have since been able to piece together, a rough translation of what was said.

When Cassius asked Nechtainn whether he or Magnus was the ruler of the lands roundabout, he did not at first seem to understand the question. Alexander then offered a second translation, and he nodded his comprehension, though not his assent.

“You are Roman,” he said, “and responsible for the lives of your company, so I forgive the misunderstanding. You are no doubt accustomed to Emperors, Governors and Generals. But there was a time in your history, was there not, when Rome was a Republic, and power did not rest in the hands of one man? Our Shannachis—keepers of the oral tradition, history and legend—also speak of Democracy, a true sharing of power, among the Athenians. Is it not so?”

Alexander translated, then as Cassius hesitated, nodded proudly for both of them.

“Then surely you can understand that while I am respected, as much for my age and experience as for my place as High Druid of Erainn—that is the country you are in—is blessed with leaders, not rulers, who do not seek absolute authority. Each man here (indicating the two already introduced, and the other clan leaders who stood in a circle about us, as a we sat before a fire in the sheltered hollow to which they had led us) will have his say, and together we will decide what is to be done. I speak now, for myself only, because it is simplest and most direct. Then we will discuss among ourselves all that is said, and what is to be done.”

Cassius tried to take this in, did so with difficulty, still fearing that we had been lured into some kind of trap. Jacob, who had accompanied us as a spokesman for the Jews, saw things differently. Indeed, the two men seemed to understand one another as the benevolent, and ultimately nominal heads of their respective congregations. He said:

“Please tell him we are sensible of his kindness, and grateful for his magnanimity.” Alexander did. “And that it is a great gift not to have to hide our Faith. As you may know, we seek no converts, or to teach any other our ways and our beliefs.”

Nechtainn nodded, even smiled, confirming their mutual surmise.

“But tell me,” continued Jacob, in a spirit of interest and curiosity. “How do you know of my people? Our rabbis and historians, of which I am one, do not speak of any meeting between us.”

“The Celts have had dealings with many peoples outside the realm of Erin, and of Caloch Donae, which the Romans name Caledonia, or Scot-land. It is taught, through the Shannachis, that we first came here, long centuries ago, from the heart of Europe itself. Also, there are the Saxons in Britannia, the Romans who once occupied it, the Franks and Goths from Gaul, and still others who have come down from the Northern Hinterlands. And the Vikings”—his face clouded once more—“who have raided from the frozen north for time out of mind.” He looked away, or possibly within, and the shadow seemed to pass. “And while I have not heard of a direct meeting with the Israelites (he knew the word, and even pronounced it correctly), there is a first time for everything, is there not?” And the gentle smile returned.

“Yes,” agreed Jacob warmly, though Cassius remained tense, myself uncertain. Nechtainn may have been the salt of the earth, but as he said, he spoke only for himself. The hardened faces around us were neutral at best, some openly hostile. Only Alexander was now completely at his ease—from understanding or delusion it was impossible to say.

“May I ask,” said Cassius cautiously, “how you knew we were here, and what you intend to do with us?”

“You were spotted from the watchtowers the morning you first arrived. There are several on the mainland, and two you may not have seen on Sharcaen itself. Also,” he added frankly, “it is my home.”

Cassius nodded, beginning to realize, as he had first done when he came upon Jacob and the mountain refuge, that here were a people every bit as subtle and determined as the Romans, and with a knowledge, even a wisdom all their own. “I thought they were only rock formations.”

“As outsiders are meant to. Also, there are the Vestal Virgins, who live and worship on Sharcaen.” At this Cassius said nothing, sensing the danger.

“As for what we are going to do to you, the answer is this: nothing we could not have done already, if our hearts were as black as you seem to fear. As for what we are going to do with you, that is what we are here to decide. Come. Tell us plainly. What do you intend in coming here, so far from your various homes?”

Before Cassius had time to gather his thoughts (and perhaps the half-truths that might be seen through, to our ruin), Alexander answered for him. For all of us, really.

“We have suffered much, each in our own way, at the hands of the peoples of Europe, and the barbarians who came down from the North, of whom we share a similar distrust. I brought us here,” he said, with a fierce pride that no humble words could conceal. “We come seeking peace, freedom, and a life without fear. And shame.”

The Druid studied him for a long moment, seeming to read, even to empathize with the youth who had been so marred by his life of slavery, and of the very worst kind at that. For this, too, he could read plainly. He nodded his understanding.

“But my gentle friend, I have to ask. Do you speak for the others? And do you seek these things for yourselves alone, or for others who may come after you?”

“There are no others,” said Alexander sadly, a tear starting at his eye as he realized, in turn, that the old man sensed something of his pain, his past, and was sorry for it. It took him a moment to gather himself.

“We are orphans, outcasts, slaves and refugees. Most Mediterraneans do not believe that Erin exists. I had trouble—even with the written account of Liolus, the trader whom your people met and treated fairly—trying to persuade my friends that I did not lead them on a fool’s quest. . .but to a land…..” He nearly choked with the sudden emotion that welled in him. “…..where abuse and slavery would be forever banished.” He could no longer restrain his tears, though he remained hard and unmoving as a statue.

Jacob, who was nearest, put a hand on his shoulder in silent support, as I would have done, had I not been rendered helpless by fellow feeling. What a tortured life he and his brother must have led, and from the time they were mere children!

Cassius was clearly dismayed by the show of emotion. But as I looked into the old man’s eyes, and even at the softened expressions of the chieftains roundabout, I did not believe it would be held against us. Indeed, though I was afraid even to think it, I hoped it might tip the scales in our favor. For what he said of all of us was true.

The Druid seemed to weigh this carefully, looking again into the young man’s eyes.

“You move me, Alexander. And yet I must know. Do you speak the whole truth, with nothing held back?”

“The whole truth,” was his honest reply, as he cuffed away the tears. “No one wants us, and no one follows us.” Nechtainn nodded his acceptance.

“I too am grateful,” said Cassius, when Alexander was calmer, and this had been explained to us. “I sense your wisdom and compassion. But I see others here about us, men like myself—soldiers, husbands and fathers—who are fiercely determined to protect and preserve their own. How can I know….. Are you certain there will be no reprisals? For I cannot even think—”

At this the emotion rose in him as well, though he brutally choked it back. Then, brave man that he is— I have never doubted it—even pushed forward. “And will they really consider. . .letting us stay?”

“That is the question,” agreed the Druid. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then continued.

“The Celts of Erin, and even we Druids, are as many and various as any other people. The watchword of our Faith, is tolerance. But tolerance must be tempered by caution, or all is lost. Too often, in our long history, have we learned this bitter truth.

“We of Erainn,” he continued, “have been blessed with a bountiful land and sea, in some measure free of the perils and persecutions of the continent—which we still visit at times, seeking news, though warily. Seldom now do we venture far inland, since the barbarians you speak of came down from the north to change, and even destroy the balance of power, such as it was, in what you call your Roman Empire. And now that the turmoil, the chaos which drove you here, has spread far and wide, engulfing all of Europe, we must be doubly cautious, never speaking of our distant island home.”

“But you say you have come here alone, and for my own part I believe you. Though how you came to possess such a ship, as only the wealthiest of men could afford, is a story that remains to be told.

“Yet your actions are not those of scouts or invaders, who would not have brought their women and children with them. Perhaps you will be permitted to stay, though I cannot promise it. Indeed, the greater danger may lie in allowing you to return, carrying word of a rich green land, largely untouched by the collapse of your once proud Empire. For then, surely, others would follow.

“You have given us much to consider,” he concluded, “and many more words must pass between us. But for now you may return to your ship. None will be harmed, of that alone I can promise you. The worst that we would do—and I will speak against such a course—would be to keep you prisoner.”

Cassius again began to bridle—a lion’s loathing of the cage—but kept his feelings in check, knowing that he must. We rose together, and Nechtainn held out his hands. As each of us took them in our turn, he studied us carefully, seeming almost to see inside our minds. His eyes rested longest on Cassius—whether because he is our leader, or for some other reason, I don’t know.

He came to Alexander last, put his arms about him, and seemed to feel a genuine affection for him. At first the youth stiffened at the embrace—from experience, no doubt—then relaxed and returned it. If there had been anything untoward in the old man’s actions, no doubt the former slave would have sensed it. But he did not. Instead, when Nechtainn released him, he went down on one knee and bowed his head before him, seeking the Celtic blessing of a father to a son. The old man smiled and laid his hands upon the curly head, bestowing it gladly.

Alexander rose, and seemed to smile at him with a heart no longer wounded, and a warmth he had previously shown to no one save his brother. “I knew that we should come here,” he said. "I knew it.”

“I, too, believe that it was meant to be. Surely you and your brother step out, as through the mists of time, from the myths of your ancestors. Perhaps when the others have decided, we may exchange our histories and legends. There is wisdom in the old tales, yes?”

“Yes,” said the young man smiling, and with an undefiled love that surely moved all who saw it. He gets in you deep, our Alexander.

We moved back down to the shore, and on to the boat. And rowed in silence back to Aphrodite. Our families, who had not been in any way molested, welcomed us with relief and gratitude.

And now we wait.

I

The morning after had to come. I woke to find my love had slipped from my grasp as furtively as she had entered it. I raised my head in alarm, but saw Meryl a short way off, sitting hunched before the fire with her arms about her knees.

I’ve never been so grateful to have the small needs of my daughter to think of. For in truth I did not know what to say to her, or how to read the strange, veiled expression of her eyes. I could almost have believed our passionate love-making a dream. But no, it was real. Then why….. And what now?

A little later in the morning when Cassius and I went out to hunt, trade, or whatever would transpire beyond the southern slopes, I tried to tell him of my quandary: that I loved her, had pledged my life to her, but did not know how to read. . .if not her coldness (for she had not been that, smiling at me forlornly as our eyes met over the coals), then her emotional distance. And my underlying fear.

“Is it because I’m a Gentile?”

Cassius, who had not failed to hear our passion—which would, in his words, have waked the dead—actually laughed. “You haven’t got a clue how their minds work, do you?”

Stung, I could not help pointing out that Ariel seemed to manage him pretty well. For a moment his face clouded with anger. Then he shifted the great spear to his left hand and punched my shoulder with the right—too hard to have been entirely in jest—but followed it with a wry smile.

“So, you think the bull is tamed? Leave me alone with that vixen of yours for an hour, I’ll put a hole in that illusion. And her.”

“Stop it!” I raged, flinging down the bow and wrapping my hand about the hilt of my new sword. With this all levity left him.

“Do you want me to kill you, Gaius? Leave me to ‘dry her tears and soothe her fears?’”

I tried to glare back at him, but found him in deadly earnest. Had I not faced the Vandals on the battlefield I would not have believed such a thing possible: he had no qualm whatever about ending my life, would in fact enjoy it.

“Why do you have to be this way?” I cried, exasperated. “I’m trying to confide in you as a man; you mock me and threaten the woman I love!”

“Not with anything more deadly than my cock.” And the mischievous glint in his eyes returned.

“You’re incorrigible,” I said, sitting back in a heap against the stony slope, and covering my face to hide my shame..… “I don’t know what to do.”

After a pause he came and sat beside me. “All right, then. As a man.

Say it.”

“What did you mean, I don’t understand the way their minds work?”

“Just that,” he said, ruffling my hair in his maddening way: sudden humanity after threatening death, and meaning it. “She’s no troubled angel, if that’s what you think, trying to resolve some deep inner conflict. She knows she has you, and wants to see how far she can push you.”

“You don’t understand,” I said miserably.

“Don’t I? You think Ariel has never tried it with me?”

At this I looked directly at him. His family was strictly off limits, or had been until now. “And I’ll tell you something else,” he went on. “Don’t let her get away with it, or she won’t respect you at all. She’ll look for a stronger mate. And she won’t have to look far.”

“Alexander?” I demanded, as fierce jealousy burned through me. “But she’s seventeen, and he’s only—” My heat betrayed my uncertainty. I gathered myself, pushed on. “But she gave herself to me. We made the sweetest, purest love. You heard us, for Christ’s sake.”

“Yes, Gaius, but I’ll tell you a secret. Women keep a cooler head in their passion, as we cannot. It is their one power over us. And even when they do love, which is rare, they’ll still use cunning and manipulation to get what they want. They have to, to survive.”

“You make it sound as if last night was nothing more than a. . . transaction. . .and this morning mere haggling over the price. How can you think that way and still live?”

“The world won’t change for you, Gaius, no matter how badly you want it to. You have to adapt yourself, to it.”

“Now you’re my father?” I said mockingly. But he had made his point, and we both knew it.

“I don’t know,” he said, rising. “What does your mother look like?”

At this I lept up and seized him by the tunic—or whatever these Arab garments are called. “Don’t you ever speak ill of my mother.”

He regarded me calmly. “Ariel said that to me once, but she didn’t lay hands on me. Do that again—”

I turned him loose, flailed the air in frustration. “You’re the most exasperating man I’ve ever met!” He only smiled.

“Don’t you really mean that she’s the most exasperating woman?”

“I love her!” I cried, just able to keep my voice low enough not to

draw attention, and therefor danger.

“You think I don’t love Ariel?”

This brought me up short. “I know you do. But what am I supposed to do, with the woman I…..”

“Want to marry?”

“Yes,” I said, the intention as uncertain in the light of day as it had been inexorable the night before. “But how can I? Only Jacob could have married us in her Faith.”

“As to that,” he said, starting down the hill again. I hesitated for a moment, then re-slung the bow and followed. “No ceremony was ever performed between Ariel and myself, as you wrote in your little melodrama.”

“You’ve read it?” I tried to stop again but he wouldn’t let me. He kept on, forcing me to do the same.

“Entertainment is in short supply, as you may have noticed. And you can only fuck your wife so many times, especially when she’s pregnant.”

“How can you speak of Ariel that way?” He kept walking, as if this didn’t deserve an answer. “So…… What did you think of it?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“I’m no scholar,” he said plainly. “I couldn’t read at all—my father didn’t want me to—until my best friend taught me.” His mind seemed to drift back, and I was startled to realize that such things still mattered to him. “I just thought an aspiring officer should be able to read and write dispatches.”

“Don’t change the subject,” I said awkwardly, realizing with equal suddenness that he sometimes thought of me this way. Cassius as a friend? Was that even possible?

“You’re the one who changed it. Weren’t you really going to ask me to marry you in the Roman way?”

I stopped dead, my breath coming short. “Can you do that?”

The distance between us had grown to where his answer was barely audible. Perhaps he wanted it that way. “I am a Centurion. A Captain, actually, now that my own is dead.”

I ran down the hill after him. “Do it, Cassius. Do it now!”

“After the hunt,” he said with equal frankness. “Survival must always come first.”

Frustrated as I was, it came to me that this was what he’d been trying to teach me since the day we met. Had I finally learned it, hard as it was for a dreamer, and a man who, in spite of all, still sought after God?

Survival must always come first.

And he was right.

We didn’t return to the cave until sunset, though we brought with us a good-sized sheep that had wandered from its flock. “Something for your wedding feast,” Cassius said in good-natured sarcasm.

Ariel welcomed her husband with love and gratitude. Meryl began to move away. But at an almost imperceptible nod from Cassius I understood, or at least thought I did. I went after her, taking her by the arm and, despite her protests, moving her deeper into the cave, to a place where we could not be seen or heard by others.

“I want to marry you,” I said, determination and sympathy warring inside me as never before.

“You’re hurting me,” she said. I released her arm.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. When I called you my wife. . .last night when I said….. Surely it meant as much to you.” She turned away. “Please, Meryl, I’m in agony!”

At this she seemed to gather herself. She looked at me, as if weighing my resolve.

“I can’t live like this,” she said simply.

“Then we’ll leave here.”

“And go to the city?”

“Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Her resistance seemed to melt. She sighed heavily, and I thought that she would cry. “Then I’ll lie with you tonight, and give you my answer in the morning.”

I reached for her, and though she tried to draw back, took her by both arms and pulled her to me. Then as real fear showed in her face I kissed her softly, so softly. “Don’t you know that I love you?” This time the tears were undoubtedly mine.

“Tonight,” she said, kissing me and then quickly drawing back, moving back toward the others. “Tonight.”

II

That night we met again. For we had still received no answer from the Celts. They had made no attempt to board, and now seemed to be giving us room to breathe—or perhaps to try to escape, thus testing our honesty. Before going below, Cassius and I had watched the smaller craft go ashore, and campfires spring up across the island. Clearly the place is well known to them. But the two larger ships remained at their stations, virtually blocking the entrance of the lagoon. Perhaps we could slip between them, but with the wind now from the southeast, it was unlikely at best. The two women remained anxious, though with her underlying, almost manly courage Ariel was better able to carry on, and even to calm her husband in their unique, reserved fashion.

Meryl could not. “They’re taking so long,” she said again. “Is that a bad sign?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cassius honestly. “I only wish to God I’d offered them the ship.”

“Why are you so intent on giving it away?” said Alexander, the strain beginning to tell on all of us. “I saw admiration in the eyes of the mariners, but nothing more. They already have two stout ships of their own.”

“I know that,” said Cassius irritably. “But we’re asking a lot of them, and offering nothing in return. It’s not only a beautiful island, but strategic as well.”

“It’s uninhabited,” the youth chided.

“That’s what we thought about the first island. And remember the ‘abandoned’ watchtower on the southern spit of this one? You think they never use it? I’m just glad we didn’t stay on Sharcaen. Nechtainn can talk all he wants about tolerance. Sacred sites and vestal virgins are nothing to fool with.”

“Why do you say this island is strategic?” asked Jacob thoughtfully.

Cassius turned back to Alexander. “Tell him what Oileán Cléire means.”

… “Clear Island.”

“Yes, and they don’t call it that for nothing.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Jacob.

“Look where it’s placed,” returned Cassius, “at the far corner of the archipelago. It dominates all the others, commanding a clear view not only of its islands, but of the coasts to north and east, the open Sea beyond. You’ve seen the fog-bank that often blankets the mainland, the nearer islands. It rarely reaches this far out. And you’ve seen the watchtower on the point. I’m only surprised they haven’t done more with it. The tribal chieftains, and especially the sailors, seem to know the place all too well.”

“I’m scared,” said Meryl softly, clinging to her husband. Perhaps she meant it for Malachi alone; but Ariel heard, as I did. Their friendship has only grown stronger with time, and women aren’t as foolish about a loving relationship—including physical contact, comforting—as men. She went to her, and the two embraced. Then Ariel looked back to her husband.

“What will they do?” For she knew his face and form too well not to read the marks of deep anxiety upon them.

“I’m not sure,” was all he would say at first. Then, “I think if they meant to kill us they would have done so already.”

Jacob stirred from his reverie. “Understanding your caution, I will say this. I sensed no hostility from Nechtainn, even a kind of careful benevolence with regard to our hopes. He showed respect to each of us, and open affection for Alexander.” The young man nodded in agreement, then Cassius continued.

“Yes, and if he were their King—as I suspect this Magnus is, in everything but name—or anything like an absolute ruler, I would not be so anxious. But you heard what he said about, ‘Each man’s voice will be heard’, and all that nonsense about democracy.”

“Why is it nonsense?” demanded Alexander. “It worked for centuries in Greece, until the Romans came along.”

“Yes, but we did come along. Someone always does. The point is that the decision is not his to make. While I’m sure that as their spiritual leader he has his influence, I think that when the push comes he has little real power. That Magnus, whatever he is, his brother and the tribal chieftains, they will have the final say.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said, speaking for the first time. “If we were all Jews, and Jacob chose to assert his authority, I daresay that would give his views an added weight among us. Nechtainn’s people are all of one Faith—Earth Communion, as he calls it—and I find his place among them far from nominal. Remember, he did nearly all of the talking.”

“Yes,” agreed Alexander. “And even Magnus came aboard first, to be sure that it was safe for him to follow.”

Cassius couldn’t dispute this, but his fear for his family was like a backstay in a rising gale. He seemed ready to snap, and for once I wouldn’t have blamed him. To feel those you love and have sworn to protect in dire danger is simply not something that can be expressed in words. Ariel returned to him, and for the first time (in public view), he not only let her embrace him, but leaned his head wearily against her. I must admit I felt a pang of loss (and jealousy) as I witnessed the depth of emotion between them. I’d thought myself beyond that. I guess there are some things, some loves, you never truly get over.

“There’s nothing more you can do tonight,” she said gently. Then to the rest of us. “I’m sure we’ll have their answer tomorrow. They haven’t tried to hurt or intimidate us, and that’s something. We should sleep while we can, and let the world turn without us.”

Jacob nodded in agreement (and love), recognizing both the quotation, and the wisdom it contained.

Oh, Ariel. Why does the mere writing of your name bring such passionate tears to my eyes?

Because I love you, and I always will.

“All right,” said Cassius, at last letting go, and we dispersed again. To wait.

I

That night, for the first time since the killing storm came upon us, we were able to eat and drink to heart’s content. Lamb is beautiful meat when properly roasted; and Cassius and Ariel, having no notion of luxury or extravagance, have spent nearly all their share of coin on the immediate needs of their family: foodstuffs and cooking utensils, wine and spices. They are at home here, which only adds to my dilemma. For as I am painfully aware, Meryl is not.

She seemed to read this in my face as we and the brothers remained talking about the fire, Cassius, Ariel, and both of the children having already gone to bed. She put her arms about my neck, kissed my cheek and whispered sadly. “I know. I love them, too. Ariel is the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever known. But we have to think of our own family now.”

Alexander heard this, and nodded gravely. “This is not the life my brother and I would have chosen. Cleades can’t remain hiding in the cave forever, never tasting the free air, or sailing between sea and sky. We mean to speak of it to Cassius in the morning. If they are happy here and wish to stay, so be it. We mean to travel to Hippo by river, from there to buy a boat if we can, or sign on as sailors if we must. The sea is our home, our only hope of a better life.”

My emotions were a whirlwind: the company was breaking up, and so soon after tragedy. I could not help but feel that our fellowship, begun by Jacob in the meeting hall so long ago, had failed. That I had failed somehow.

But when the twins too had gone to bed, when Meryl put her hand beneath my tunic and began to stroke my breast, I could not resist her. And when she kissed me, then her cheek touched mine and she whispered in my ear, “Make love to me, Gaius,” no voice of body, mind or soul spoke against it. This was my fellowship, my sacrament.

Sarah lay sleeping on the far side of the bed, so we took the near. We had gently undressed each other standing, and lay together as before. My phallus needed no coaxing this night, nor do I think it ever shall again, now that the spell is broken and it longs for Meryl so. Soon we were locked again in love’s embrace. I cannot say what it was to her, but to me it was like soaring through the clouds, into Paradise itself. Less shy and self-conscious now, more intimate and knowing, I made love with a longing and ecstasy for which no words exist. And as we lay together afterward, as she said the words my soul longed to hear:

“Yes, Gaius, I will marry you,” there was, and ever more will be, only one truth in all the world. I love her. She is my home, my family, and nothing else matters.

“Do you still want to go to the city?” I asked. For a moment she drew back in apprehension, as if I had changed my mind. “That’s not what I mean, Angel. Only that if it’s what you need, I will gladly give it to you.”

Her answer came not in words, but in tears. She buried her face against me, said, “Yes,” but sorrowfully, almost in despair. What does this mean, I half wondered? But only half. For at last I know my place in the world, and read without confusion the beauty of her heart. For I am her husband, Sarah’s father, and there is nothing in heaven or earth I would not do for them.

I don’t know why her tears stirred me so deeply. Only that I felt my sex hardening again, and was abashed when I knew that she could feel it. “I’m sorry,” I said, shame and desire coursing through me together, the one only heightening the other.

“No, Gaius,” she said. And she kissed me. “Make love to me. Take me away from this hell.” I wasn’t sure if she referred to a place or an emotion, but by this time I was lost in passion again. Her moist eyes and vagina were more than I could possibly resist. And I didn’t want to.

For she, unlike any woman I have ever known, has freed the man inside me. Can you begin to understand what that is after a life of thwarted longing: not being able to give the girls I lay with and loved the passion that they needed? Now I’m free! Free, do you hear? And with a woman I love more than I have ever loved anyone….. Save Ariel, and she will never be mine. We made love again, this time longer, more gentle. So tender, so full of affection. And when at length the climax drew near for both of us, so singular and yet so separate, only three words existed in all the world.

II

Though I did not think I would sleep this night either, between the fatigue, insomnia and long anxiety that led up to it, I slept as I have seldom done, with Sarah nuzzled against me. We woke together to the sound of a boat bumping alongside.

Realizing suddenly what this meant, I told her to remain below, kissed her forehead and ran up on deck. Cassius was there ahead of me, helping the Druid to board, his white robes and flowing hair tinged orange by the rising sun. Only one other came with him this time: Aengus, the Master of Ships. And as he looked possessively about Aphrodite, I wondered if this was not a very bad sign, indeed.

But when Nechtainn read something of this in my expression, he looked directly at me and said, “Be at peace. Magnus waits for us on shore. We have decided to let you stay.”

Those who have not known what it is to live without a home—exposed, vulnerable, feeling safe and wanted nowhere—may find this hard to understand. But the rush of feeling, like the breaking of a dam, was almost too much to bear. Tears pushed at my eyes as I struggled for the breath to calm them. Cleades wept outright. But Alexander stood straight and clenched his fists, eyes shining as at the realization of a lifelong dream.

Cassius, always the pragmatist, went to the Master and held out his forearm. The man took it slowly, but without animosity.

“My brother would like to speak to you,” said Aengus simply, “about the defense of the island.” He thanked Alexander gruffly for translating this, then said to him, “As I would like to speak to you, about our sea defense. We are blessed with a fertile land, and it is my duty to protect its shores from raiders, and other enemies of Erainn.”

Alexander nodded, though cautiously.

“Yes,” said Nechtainn more kindly, as if he knew what we were feeling. “You are free to live among us, so long as you volunteer your service and prove your loyalty. When you’re ready we will go ashore and discuss—”

He had to stop because Ariel had come out and, hearing what was said, ran up and embraced him with tears in her eyes. I could sense Cassius’ foreboding—allowing the Celts to see her, along with the gratitude we felt.

But for once his caution was unfounded. When she drew back the old man smiled warmly, as he would upon a daughter.

“Sweet child.” And laying his hand on the swell of her abdomen he added. “And blessed be the life that grows inside you. I will send a skilled midwife to help deliver the babe safely when your time draws near.”

“Thank you,” she said, with a sudden love in her eyes I would have died for.

But enough of that. The dawn of a new day, a new life, is no time for darkness. She then embraced her husband, and even the stern expression of the seaman softened. Young mother, sweet song, can you begin to understand the gentle affection we all hold for you?

But I must not forget my own blessings. Again Sarah ran to me from the top of the ladder, and I knew in my heart that I was truly home.

“We can stay,” I said, lifting her. And when she squeezed my neck and said simply, “I love you, Daddy,” I no longer had any wish to stop the tears. Thank God, by whatever name you call Him, Her or It. Thank God.

Nechtainn gave us a moment, then said, “Will you come ashore? All but the chieftains and some of the sailors are returning to their homes.”

This only confirmed the tale of our eyes. The many boats that surrounded us so quickly the day before, had taken to their oars and were pulling steadily out of the harbor. Once in the offing, they set their sails for home, riding currents of air and water both with remarkable skill. Of the two ships that had blocked the entrance, the smaller—still at least the size of our own—also departed, though after clearing the cape it bore away to the north on some mission of its own.

Alexander watched with appreciation the way it was handled, its smooth and true response to the wind—the nearest thing to a match for Aphrodite that I had seen, with innovations of mast and sail quite beyond my comprehension.

“A sweet sailor, is she not?” said Aengus, warming to the lad. “The Tyrion is neither so fast nor so graceful,” he went on, indicating the larger ship, which remained. “But she holds more men, more weapons, and can grapple with any ship afloat.”

“I believe it,” said Alexander, marking her tall sides and stout timbers.

“Shall we go ashore?” asked the Druid once more.

“Yes,” replied Cassius, not yet allowing himself to smile. But to those of us who have seen his weathered face in all its many aspects, it was clear he was at least as relieved as the rest of us.

Believing in nothing, too, has its price.

Aengus cast off with his party, and Jacob again joined us as we drew in the launch and went over the side. Only Malachi remained to guard the women and children—not out of trepidation, I assure you. The terrible scar at his neck speaks for his courage: his willingness to fight, and defend those he loves. Did Meryl’s timidity contribute to the decision? Perhaps, though let us not judge too harshly. Not all women possess the courage of our Ariel, lost treasure of my heart.

When again we sat before a fire on the shore, having eaten and drunk the meal left there for us, Nechtainn turned to Magnus. And whether or not he is their King, it hardly mattered at that point. For what he went on to say showed clearly that his had, in fact, been the final word, and was still of vital importance to us all.

I studied him now more closely, as he gathered his thoughts to speak. His hair was more brown than red, darker than his brother’s, though both men wore short and well-tended beards. And while someone had laid out royal finery on a stand of driftwood behind, he chose not to wear it, only his simple warrior’s garb. This seemed a further glimpse into the man’s character, or perhaps merely a statement to us. Perhaps both. But he was undoubtedly a king, and his commanding gaze made no bones about it.

I should add that though the sea-breeze was cool, and beginning to keen once more, none of the natives seemed to take the least notice of it. I must confess it will be some time before this Roman, for whom a cool sea-breeze has hitherto meant something else entirely—a refreshing change from the stifling heat of a lowland Italian summer—will come to regard such a climate as moderate.

“It was long, travelers, before Nechtainn convinced us that you were not a threat, even a possible ally. If you wish to feel grateful to someone, it should be to him. My purpose in letting you stay is strategic, and will be withdrawn immediately if I find that I have erred in my judgment.”

Cassius watched him closely, realizing that a kind of negotiation had already begun, and one in which he held few cards. For though I have spoken of him primarily as a warrior, the power of the Roman Empire lay not only in the might of its armies, but also the shrewdness of its diplomats. It would be a book in itself to tell you of Rome’s (at times benevolent) foreign policy, once the province in question had acquiesced or been subdued. And also beside the point, as her only strategy now is mere survival.

Magnus gauged the effect of his words, continued. “My brother Aengus will make similar demands of your Alexander, which are equally crucial to any agreement to remain.”

As the young man translated this with a sinking heart, I think we all began to wonder if Aphrodite were not the cost of our staying, after all. “The fleet of Erainn, of which you have seen but a part, has many duties, as you will learn. But we will speak of that later.

“You may remain on Oileán Cléire, but at a price.” This seemed to confirm our surmise, though he now turned directly to Cassius. “You fought the Celts of Scot-land, did you not?”

At this our leader froze. Had this all been an elaborate trap, some kind of vengeance for friends and family lost? For the Celtic peoples, whether here or there, remain one, and Magnus himself may well have fought the Romans in Britannia.

“Why do you ask me that?” said Cassius defensively.

“We are no longer adversaries,” returned Magnus levelly. “I do not seek to punish old wrongs. But you must answer my question.”

Cassius’ inner conflict was obvious. Should he tell the truth, or would this bring ruin on us all? Yet it was equally clear that this ruler’s insight was more than a stab in the dark. Whether Cassius had been recognized as a garrison commander along Hadrian’s Wall (which he was), or whether Magnus shrewdly guessed it from his understanding of their Celtic ways, in the end there was only one real choice. He had to tell the truth.

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, “though you drove us out in the end.”

The admission seemed to satisfy Magnus, as if his counterpart had passed some kind of test. “You won your share of battles,” he conceded, “and the construction of your defenses was brilliant.”

This I had heard for myself— that Hadrian’s wall, built to keep the Scot-landers from overrunning Britannia, was a work not only stunning in size and scope, but in the genius of its design, with skillful use made of every natural height, depression, forest, field and garrison, an engineering marvel from that day to this. Only superior numbers, and encircling it by sea, had been able to drive the Roman defenders, Cassius among them, out of Britannia: a bitter defeat on the long road home through Gaul, Italy, and finally, the fruitless defense of Rome itself: one horrendous, heart-rending retreat for Cassius, culminating in the death of his wife and son. I don’t know why all this has come to me just now, but it is true, and so must be recorded. No wonder you are the man you are, my friend. Such an ordeal would have killed all but one man in a thousand: yourself, the sole survivor of the once legendary Seventh Legion: a living, breathing piece of history.

Magnus had not paused in his words, only I in recording them. Here is the rest of what was said.

“But the reason I ask is this. As a former adversary, you will know not only our strengths, but also our weaknesses.”

I don’t know if Cassius relaxed at these words—I suspect he did not—but military strategy is something he loves, and has studied all his life. And now that Magnus spoke to him as an equal—or as much of an equal as possible while retaining his dominant position—Cassius was more than willing to discuss it with him.

“You didn’t have many,” he replied. “Some of the Bretons who came on us from the south fought like mere brutes, the reason they were so easily defeated. But your people, once past the wall. . .when you struck quickly, then melted back into land or sea…..”

There is no need to relate the details of their discussion, which went on for some time, both men seeming to lose themselves among the stories and stratagems. But when they returned to the matter at hand, Magnus said plainly. “We are going to build a garrison on the island, as we have long contemplated.”

“I thought you might,” said Cassius. For though the two had for a time set aside their high stakes game, which was no game at all, they took it up again at once.

Yet this decision raised a new concern for me, and one which I could not keep silent. “But won’t that pose a threat to our women and children? Forgive me, I mean not the least offense. But soldiers are not known for their. . .passivity.” I could find no other way to express it. And though I was aware of Cassius’ anger, the thought of our women being harassed, or even assaulted by lonely and violent men, was completely unacceptable.

“I understand your caution,” said Magnus without rancor. “I also share it. Isolated soldiers around other men’s wives and daughters seldom comes to good.”

“What do you propose?” asked Cassius mildly, taking the point himself.

“That only married men and their families be stationed here. And when we have agreed on the place where you will build your homes, my men will respect them as such.”

“What are our options?” asked Cassius.

“You’ve seen our watchtower on the southern point, which is also a holy place to us,” he added with a stern look.

“We will honor it,” said Cassius simply. Another will be built on the western spur, yonder.” He pointed. “The garrison will be built on the high knot of land between, the whole enclosed within a battlement wall. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” said Cassius. “That is the place I would have chosen myself. The one thing I would add—no doubt you have thought of this— is some kind of beacon on each tower, to give warning of approaching ships, and a way for the families living here to come quickly inside the walls at need.”

Magnus nodded. “Anything else?”

“I’d be glad to look at your plans when they’re ready.”

“And for the settlement?”

Clearly Cassius had ordered his thoughts beforehand. “The northeastern landmass gives us room and to spare to build our houses. I’d like your permission to build some kind of wall there as well.”

“Why?” asked Magnus cautiously. “We are trusting you, which we’re under no obligation to do.”

“Not to separate ourselves from you,” said Cassius, “but as some protection against those who might land at night to rob us. Coastal raiders,” he added quickly, seeing the other’s face darken. “And perhaps a causeway between our settlement and the stockade to provide quick access in an emergency. The barrier at the settlement would also provide some shelter against wind and weather. I am told the waters roundabout are referred to as Roaring Bay. No doubt there is a reason for the name.” Magnus nodded.

“One last thought on your defense of the island,” he went on, steering the conversation away from this possible point of contention. “Will you fortify the narrow point of the harbor as well? There are few other places where a landing could be made in force against us.”

“Yes,” said Magnus, “though exactly how it is to be constructed I will have to work out with my brother.

“But tell me,” he went on, seeming put off by the earlier point. “Do you really expect us to give you the whole of the headland? It forms the greater part of the island by far.”

“Now we come to it,” said Cassius, as calmly as he could.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jacob.

At this Nechtainn spoke. “There was some resentment at giving the island, or even the best part of it, to outsiders. And there is also this. If you mean to stay here, and truly be a part of our community, wouldn’t it be best to have other settlers—fishermen and the like—live alongside you?”

Cassius mulled this over thoughtfully, or at least appeared to do so.

“And there is also this,” said Magnus, his stern manner returning at our apparent reluctance. “If we remain divided, with military families in the garrison, and just yourselves on the other side of the island…..”

“It would surely lead to strife,” said Cassius quickly, knowing he could delay no longer.

“I agree,” added Jacob. “We have no wish to remain outsiders.”

“All right then,” said Magnus, still somewhat agitated. “We have long contemplated both the armed and unarmed settlements, or we would not even be discussing this. You have brought none of this about by coming here uninvited.”

Nechtainn put a reassuring hand on his King’s (and apparently friend’s) shoulder, nodded gently, and Magnus went on more calmly. “But the sight of your ship, and the ease with which your young man brought her in among us, uncontested if not wholly unseen, have acted as the stone that starts the landslide. Clearly we must act on this, not let an enemy do the same. We must build up our defenses, one way or the other.”

“You have our gratitude,” said Cassius, “which we do not mean to express in words only.” This with a stern look at Alexander, to translate exactly. “I am equally grateful that you will house your soldiers’ families with them….. Other settlers would make the island more hospitable as well.”

“It is well that you agree, but not enough to seal our compact. A tribute must still be paid, oaths sworn, and services rendered.”

“Yes,” said Cassius firmly, though Alexander lowered his head and spoke softly, anticipating the blow.

“Must we surrender the ship?” he asked dejectedly. “We are one being, Aphrodite and I. I don’t know how else to say it….. Is there no other way?”

Magnus glanced at his brother, then back to the young man. “We were hoping you would join forces with us willingly.”

Alexander nodded sadly. “But may I not remain aboard her, as pilot at least? No one knows her ways, can make her swim as I do.”

“I do not doubt it,” said Aengus, “but you mistake our intention.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You said yourself that no one knows her better.”

“Yes.”

“Could anyone fight her better, if it came to it?”

“No,” said Alexander. “But there are so few of us…..”

His voice trailed off. A look of wonder came over him as he began to understand: a chance he hardly dared hope for. “What are you saying?” he asked breathlessly.

“That we would like you to command her.”

And now Alexander could not breathe, overcome by emotion. “I command?” he just managed. Then shook his head severely. “My ship?”

“Yes,” said the Master of Ships, knowing the emotion firsthand.

Alexander gave a strangled sound, and covered his eyes with his arm. Cassius nodded for him, remembering his own first command, as Aengus had done before him.

We all gave him time to compose himself. And when he finally lowered his arm, his face shone with fierce pride. It was clear that while he had not dared to dream of it, he was taking the challenge in both hands: that he was more than willing to be the captain of a fighting ship: like Ulysses, or even Alexander the Great, for whom he had been named.

Perhaps I overstate the case, but not in his mind. You should have seen the look in his eyes. I’ve said it before: Alexander has the power to stir the heart, and it is impossible for any man to remain unmoved by his passions. Especially now, at what must have been the crowning moment of his life.

“I’ve mustered a number of men on Tyrion,” said Aengus, warming still further to the lad. “Perhaps you’ll come with me to inspect them.”

“Yes.”

Magnus turned back to our leader.

“It shall be so,” he said simply. “We can discuss the details later. Are your people ready to come ashore with their belongings? Skilled craftsman will come in a day or two to build the garrison. Treat them well and perhaps they will help in the construction of your homes.”

“Thank you,” said Cassius, rising and offering his forearm. Magnus took it firmly, proving yet again the final decision had been his. Jacob and I rose as well. Aengus nodded to his brother, then walked with Alexander toward the launch of the Tyrion.

The rest of our company came ashore. And I’m not ashamed to say that when we stood atop the eastern headland, surveying it now at our ease, I was overcome by emotion. I bent down and kissed the ground that was finally, finally my own. The oath poured from me along with my tears, into the blessed earth of Ireland.

“This will be my home, and the home of my children’s children, forever.”

I have no words to tell you.

I

When I first woke I felt elation—for Meryl lay in my arms, and she had consented to be my wife—then despair, as I remembered that she was not happy here. She seemed to read something of this in my face, because her first words were:

“You haven’t changed your mind?” There was no accusation in her voice, or if so it was subtle, only a kind of disappointment and dismay.

“Have you changed your mind about marrying me?” This seemed to wound her, so I added quickly. “Then I haven’t changed my mind about leaving. It’s just that I don’t know how to tell Cassius and Ariel. They’ve been with us through so much.”

She put her face against me and cried a little. “I know. Don’t you think I’ll miss her?”

To that I had no answer. I could only look past her toward the fire, where all save the children had gathered, and now looked back at me. Sarah and Franzi were in a nook a short way off, playing their favorite game of sticks and stones. I suddenly realized that theirs might be the hardest parting of all.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s just do it and have done.” I helped her up, and we moved to join the others. After a light meal, we began the debate that all knew had to come. Seeing that I hesitated, Alexander spoke first.

“Cleades and I are leaving. For better or worse, the sea is our home.”

“I know,” said Cassius stoically. Ariel’s eyes shone with unshed tears, though she said nothing. Then they both turned to me. Meryl, too, waited for me to declare myself. A sigh escaped me, though it made the words no easier.

“We’ll be going with them, at least as far as Hippo.”

“No,” cried Ariel, shocked. “It’s too dangerous!”

“It’s at least as dangerous to stay,” said Alexander. “You know better than I what monsters the Vandals can be. And the Visigoths, supposedly. Your husband nearly killed us all—no doubt at your bidding—in trying to escape them. And destroyed my beloved Aphrodite.” He made no attempt to hide his bitterness. “I’m tired of running and hiding. We’re going back out to sea, not cringing in this hole because you’re pregnant.”

As determined as Alexander can be, as grievous as was the loss of his ship, in many ways his soul, Cassius and I were startled that he had chosen to make this personal. Why vent on Ariel? Not only was he questioning Cassius’ leadership—this much at least I could understand, as the natural competition between two men born to lead—but he seemed to be blaming her for all that had happened. Why? She had been nothing but kind to him, even (though she may not have realized it herself ), more than a little attracted to him. Was some demon of his past—resentment toward women, perhaps—rearing its ugly head? Or has something fine been lost in all of us?

But if I was puzzled, Cassius was furious.

“You do what you want with your own slave’s ass,” he snarled, “but leave my wife out of this!”

“Please,” I said, trying to head off what could surely come to no good. “All our nerves have been stretched to the breaking point. Let’s just discuss this like civilized men. Really, Alexander. What can you be thinking?”

At least my words broke off the deadly stare between them. But now the youth glared at me, unrepentant.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said bluntly. “We’re leaving. Come with us or stay behind. Aside from the journal”—here he paused, but only for a moment—“you’re the most worthless so-called man among us.”

I was shocked. Was he angry with me now? What a horrid beginning to the new road that we must travel together! At this Ariel gathered herself, intervened.

“Alexander,” she said, drawing his gaze to hers. “I don’t know what we’ve done to upset you, but Gaius and Meryl are our friends. You’ve said that you and your brother are leaving, and we’ve accepted that—”

“It’s not you,” he said, rising and beginning to pace. “It’s this place, and all that’s happened. And the nomads to the south, with their burning eyes. I long for the sea: for the escape, and the promise it provides. With dangers pressing from north and south…..”

“There’s no danger to the south,” I said quietly. “Or no more than any other place where men are men.”

“Not to you, perhaps. But you’ve seen the way they look at Cleades. I swore long ago to protect him, and would have killed Asterius if I could….. Think of what the Vandals might do to your women, then you will understand.” The images of sexual violence against Meryl and Ariel (as he no doubt intended) were almost more than I could bear.

Cassius silence was eloquent. I’m not sure he wanted them to stay. But when Ariel, her beautiful eyes full of entreaty, turned to him, our leader was at least willing to argue the point.

“If the Vandals do venture this far inland, which is unlikely, we slip out the back way, move south and then east. The Arabs and Berbers aren’t hostile unless you give them a reason to be.” Now I wondered if he wasn’t speaking with his heart rather than his head. “Of course some of them would like to bed your brother; that doesn’t mean they would force him to it.”

“And what’s to keep the Vandals from driving on into their lands, and attacking them?”

“They might try it, but they would never succeed.”

“Why is that?” asked Ariel, not because she doubted him, but because she wanted to understand.

“The Europeans will never cow, let alone dominate these people,” he answered. “And they’d never follow them into the desert. It would be suicide.”

“Why?” I asked simply. For the Vandals had hitherto been stopped by nothing and no one, but destroyed all who stood in their path.

“The Romans tried it. Why do you think the Empire, even at its height, always stopped here, and made no inroads further south?“

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“You’ve seen their temporary settlements. Whether in small family groups or vast tribes, their tents can be struck and loaded onto their camels’ backs in a matter of minutes, traveling a hundred miles in a single night, and knowing the desert as no one else can. Their horsemen move like the wind, invisible among the dunes, and can come upon you as suddenly as a desert storm. And while no man, let alone an entire people, are wholly fearless, they’re as close to it as any men I’ve ever known. One of them on his own ground is worth a dozen dazed and water-starved outlanders. And when united against a common enemy, they fight like the desert demons they worship. God help us if they ever find a Prophet, a Messiah of their own, to unify them in a single, implacable belief. Now, for the most part, they fight among themselves. But once they turn their hatred on you, there is no escaping it.”

Alexander whirled from his pacing. “That’s exactly my point!” I myself remained unsure of Cassius’ logic.

“I don’t understand,” I said to him. “You feared the Vandals like death incarnate when we were in Spain. Yet here in Africa you’re willing to remain less than a hundred miles from the coast they’re bound to invade. What’s changed?”

“Ah, now you’re thinking like a tactician,” he said. Again it was borne in on me that this hard man, with whom I had so often disagreed, had begun to think of me as his friend. “It’s about time,” he added, and I realized again what unfamiliar ground he was on: trying to convince us to stay for Ariel’s sake, though I make no doubt he would rather see the others gone. If this hadn’t included my Meryl I would have agreed with him. “Well. Now that we’re at the edge of a barren desert, as they see it, I don’t fear them as much, for two very good reasons. In Spain there were clear boundaries to east and west, and we were right in their path, as they descended in a body from the north, or returned from their brief campaign in the east. Of course they were going to overrun us. Here there are no such boundaries, and space is all but limitless. They can scour the coastal plain from one end of Africa to the other, with no need whatever to come up into these dry and inhospitable mountains.”

“And the second reason?” I asked.

“In Spain, the obstacle—the Pyrenees—had already been overcome. It had to be, to get to the spoils. There’s no booty on the other side of these mountains, so why would they cross them, or even come up into them?”

“So there’s no reason for them to come here?”

“None whatsoever.”

“But isn’t it possible that some renegade group…..” I began doubtfully.

“It’s possible you’ll find a beautiful woman lying naked on a sand dune; that doesn’t mean you will. And I don’t plan on letting my guard down. At the first sign of trouble it’s out the back way, as I keep telling you.”

“But—”

“Think like a soldier, Gaius. You were starting to. From everything we’ve heard, the Vandals landed in a body several hundred miles to the west. That gives them the entire coast for a thousand miles in either direction, even down the western coast of Africa, which is said to be all but endless. Why on earth would they come to raid these barren hills, where the spoils are non-existent, and the natives fierce as hornets?” He drew a breath, fixed me with the angry glare I knew so well.

“You’re not flying from danger by going to Hippo,” he insisted. “Maybe the twins are, if they get there before the Vandal fleet, and take to the sea at once. But you’re putting yourself right in the dragon’s jaws.”

“Hippo is a walled city,” I said weakly, “well defended.”

“So was Rome,” he answered bluntly.

To this I could make no answer. I realized then that Cassius was warning me against the tragic mistake that he himself had made….. No, for he had not taken his family into the city and tried to make his stand there, but left them unguarded in the hills while he fought for Rome one last time. What would he do differently now, if he had the chance?

But even as I put the question to myself, not daring to put it to him, I knew the answer. He would have taken them away, to some place the barbarians would never think to come. Somewhere like here…..

I almost changed my mind, and decided to stay. But looking toward my beloved—consciously or otherwise she had risen, and taken a step toward Alexander—her unspoken, perhaps unrealized message was clear. If you won’t take me away, then Alexander will. Looking toward him I saw that his face was set and determined. He had meant to leave from the outset, and was simply not interested in Cassius’ arguments. He wanted to escape it all by sea. While this made sense for the brothers, as Cassius himself admitted…..

What did I want? I wanted Meryl. Even in my exalted state the night before, I knew myself well enough, was honest enough to admit this. She had stolen my heart, my will, and I would do anything she asked. And she would not stay here.

I felt a man torn in two. My love for her had not, could not diminish what I once felt for Ariel. What I still felt, though I knew it was hopeless.

But. . .damn it. What was I to do?

Alexander cut across my indecision, going for the kill.

“I’m going,” he said flatly. And turning to Meryl. “I’ll take you to Hippo, or anywhere else you like.”

And to my horror I saw that there was, if not acceptance, then something close to it in her eyes. Rage filled me, and this time was not checked by what I knew and felt for the others.

“You will not!” And before anyone (including myself) realized what had happened, I leapt at him, caught hold of his throat and threw him to the ground.

We fought like wild animals, he to preserve his own life, myself for the woman I could not live without. For in that moment there was no thought of love, only need, and a desire that had grown maniacal from years of loneliness and denial. I honestly believe I would have killed him, if Ariel had not intervened.

“Cassius!” she cried. “Do something!”

For the brute had merely watched. Whether from moral indifference (so much for our friendship) or professional curiosity….. Whatever the reason, he had done nothing until then, would have done nothing without her impassioned cry. At that he made no effort to separate us while the issue was still in doubt, merely hovering to be sure no serious injury was done.

But for all his native strength, his fierce desire to live, Alexander was unarmed, and I was not. As I began to feel my strength failing, my animal instinct took over, caring nothing for honor, still less right or wrong. I had felt my sword beneath me as I rolled, and when our bodies would allow it, ripped out the blade, quite ready to stab him to the heart.

I was, therefore, not altogether sorry when Cassius took that wrist in a crushing grip and pulled me bodily away, Alexander letting go because he had seen the blade, and the madness in my eyes. Was he afraid of me? I cannot believe it. But he knew that the fight, for now, was ended or he was slain. Of course he stopped. And when Cassius hurled me back and turned to face the youth—his strength and ferocity in battle are terrible to see and feel—Alexander held up a hand in surrender, or at least a conditioned servitude. He knew he had faced death in my hot rage, as surely as he now faced it in Cassius’ cold fury. For they had nearly come to blows in the past.

In any case, he gave Cassius to understand that he would do no more, had no intention of fighting either of us in this fey mood, let alone both. In short, he wanted to live. While I wanted, had been prepared to kill and die, for Meryl.

Meryl, who had been startled beyond the power of utterance by our sudden violence, seemed slowly to come back to herself. And after hesitating for a moment—surely it was shock rather than indecision—ran to me as I rose.

To me. So much for education and enlightenment. I roared like a bull in my triumph. Though as I did, clutching Meryl to me in defiance, I saw something cold and terrible in Alexander’s eyes that evaporated the surge of fierce joy. Without saying a word, he had told me: I yield for the moment only; and I will have my revenge.

But at this (and contrary to his seeming indifference) Cassius stood over him, and delivered a blunt message of his own.

“This is my home, little man. Gaius is my friend, and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you even think of hurting him.”

Before his withering fire Alexander crawled backward, as shorn of certainty as I had been a moment before. There had been the thought of death in his eyes. But there was literal Death in those of Cassius: the black place where thought and emotion perish along with the flesh. How well I knew that look, and what it meant. He rose awkwardly as Cleades, woman-like, ran up to take his arm and help him stand, then urge him to withdraw.

Cleades. It was the first time in that mad struggle I had looked at, or even been aware of him. No, that was not quite true. Now that I thought of it I had glimpsed him once, perhaps more than once, during the melee and immediately afterward. He’d stood stricken, white as a ghost, as if….. There is no other way to say it: as if the only two people he loved in all the world were trying to kill each other, as indeed we had been. In the heightened state of all our emotions, his duality of feeling struck me like a physical blow. Was he. . .in love with me? I could find no other explanation. Nor could I begin to deal with it.

I walked stiffly back to our sleeping place, my arm firmly about Meryl’s waist. The far more important question was decided. The woman I loved was leaving this place…..

With me.

II

Well. Here we are ashore. But I find our celebration (or at least mine) was premature.

Yes, we’ve found an island to call our own, though of course we share it with the Celts, the native Irish. And this is probably safer. The walled fortress is under construction, and any raiders would now have not just our small company to deal with, but a fully armed garrison. The natives have been kind enough, the soldiers building homes for their own families, as we are, the fisherman doing the same, and slowly teaching us the only living that will answer here.

In my euphoria I believed we could farm the land and tend our flocks: an idyllic existence, like that of the ancient Greeks. But though the settlers have brought a few sheep, and promised to sell us a lamb or two when they are sufficiently grown to live without their mothers, there are no new pastures to drive a flock onto once they’ve grazed the local grass to the roots. And the notion of farming, on an island subject to the constant wind and weathering of the sea. . .is simply not feasible. And having endured several storms—many times magnified at sea, or on an island at the edge of one—I can see why the locals found my idea of a wooden house equally amusing. It would have been knocked down, or weathered to pasteboard in a year, if that.

And herein lies the challenge. Building stone homes is back-breaking work, and none of us but Cassius have any experience trying to earn our daily bread from the sea. And even his, admittedly minor skills in fishing and shoaling are limited to having fed himself on his two-year exodus. Alexander and Cleades don’t count, as they remain aboard Aphrodite with their crew, and are paid in coin for their services. They’ve shared some of it with us, and the settlers have been generous, or we’d be eating nothing but roots and berries.

In short, starting over and communing with nature, while they may sound romantic, are in fact quite arduous, especially when it means starting from scratch.

But I should not complain. While Cassius and I struggle in his boat by morning, to net a quantity of fish without capsizing it, while our women wade in the harbor and sea shallows with the others, holding broad shallow

baskets in one hand while stooping for cockles and mussels with the other, and Jacob and Malachi strain every muscle and wear their hands raw loading cartfuls of stone for our houses, which together we use to build them when our inglorious, and often unsuccessful fishing is done….. I say, at the end of the day as we gather for a communal meal, we thank our lucky stars we are in a place where no barbarians are going to come sweeping down upon us, burning our homes, raping our women, and selling our children as slaves. For that thought alone makes this torturous existence bearable.

We still have the bit of treasure that the twins were able to secrete, and Meryl and Malachi must have some private means of their own. For after gallantly wrecking his health in the attempt, Malachi has now hired laborers to complete the work on his home and ours. Cassius’ frugality with what remains borders not only on the miserly, but the fanatical. Does he harbor some secret fear that we may have to leave yet again, and suddenly? In his defense, he does not wish to tempt our neighbors with the thought that we are rich; but I for one do not have enough left at the end of the day to buy anything but the barest necessities, like shepherds’ bread, a little fruit and hard cheese from the mainland, along with warmer garments for my daughter and myself.

But here, I am indicting fate, as I have no right to do. We are safe enough, and able to toil for the things we need. And if now, writing in the light of a single candle, in a one-room home whose furnishings are all but non-existent, my mood is one of sullen determination, so be it. The important thing is that we have hope, and can dream of a better life without deluding ourselves, while our children, already adapting—learning the language and taking to the natives far faster than we—will almost certainly have it.

Sarah and Franzi have always been close, yet now they are inseparable. Each morning they go with the women and children to shoal, then in the afternoon to the island school, albeit out-of-doors until together we can construct a schoolhouse. During rough weather, obviously they (and we) remain at home. Franzi of course wanted to go fishing with his father, as many of the other boys do; but Cassius was adamant, not wanting him to drown through our lack of skill in handling the boat among the strong winds and currents of these difficult waters.

Their schooling, since they are both young and do not yet speak the language fluently, lasts but an hour or two. Then in the afternoon they run off to play with the children of the soldiers and settlers, engendering much good will, but also absorbing everything around them as we cannot, our minds being worn with our labors, and sometimes set in the old ways of living, and of looking at our world, our lives. Cassius had warned us that the Celts most dominant characteristic was one of dogged stubbornness. But given the hard lives they live, in this difficult, even extreme environment, it is the one thing that sustains them. And us, if we can ever get used to it.

But back to the children; it is they who teach us at night. For example, Sarah chides me: “What do you call it a spoon for, Daddy? The right word is plata,” and so on.

In point of fact, something of a discipline problem has arisen from their close friendship. For now their always wanting to be together doesn’t end with the day: they want to spend the night in the same house as well. And of course Malachi wants to be sure his niece is safe and well cared for. We were at a loss how to accommodate them until Ariel suggested (to the children it was more like an ultimatum) that they sleep in the same home on a rotating basis: several nights with she and Cassius, then with myself, Meryl and Malachi, etc. Honestly, I think we are all grateful for the rest, as coming home exhausted while they are anything but, can be quite trying at times.

Listen to this. I am grumbling like an old man—with apologies to Jacob, who does no such thing. What is it about human nature that allows us to endure danger and hardship without protest, but when relatively safe and well-fed, leads us to complain? For I have now had time to reread all these entries (on Saturdays, the Jewish Sabbath, our one day of rest), and I find that even in my most desperate moments I was not given to self-pity and indulgence—yet now I am. Do our souls expand in times of crisis, allowing us to survive and overcome, while in easier times (relatively speaking, to be sure) we fall to grousing?

One explanation only can I find. Passing through the perils of Vandal-occupied Spain with Cassius and Ariel, Jacob and the other refugees, then again with the twins aboard Aphrodite, there was always close female company. Adult female company. All the women of Oileán Cléire (including our own) are either married— the wives of soldiers and settlers—or mere children. And Cassius has warned me on pain of death (not literally of course, but you’d never know it from his lectures), not to become too familiar with the two or three adolescent daughters of the same. As if I would.

So here I am, at the height of young manhood, fairly bursting with amorous longing, and no maiden even to talk to, let alone court and make my own. And when I try to tell Cassius about it we are almost always off-shore in his boat, struggling to learn the local currents and places where fish gather, and he is in no mood to listen or to empathize. This evening, at least, he was more sympathetic, and said I could speak to Jaminis, the head of the colony, about the possibility of an arranged (and completely supervised) courtship and marriage.

“Just don’t aim too high,” he added. “In their eyes we’re still untried foreigners. The best women always go to the leaders—the high-born, the wealthy and powerful—so don’t expect too much.”

I could have strangled him! This is so completely opposite my hopes and dreams—falling in love with a deep and beautiful young woman (like our own) and winning her to me—that I am repulsed by the very notion. Perhaps that was his intention, I don’t know.

At least the toil leaves me so exhausted at the end of the day that I do not, cannot dwell on it. But I must confess that the animal inside me—we all have one, alas—is far from satisfied. What to do?

There is of course my past problem making love. I am a virgin, and not ashamed to say so. Because my hitherto impotence with women was not physical, I assure you. Not to be coarse, but the parts are all willing and able. I must believe that with a young woman I loved and was comfortable with, it would only be a matter of time. I wake each morning stiff as a spar…..

But this entry, which should have been relieved and thankful (I do know it), has become, tedious even to myself. Perhaps I will speak with Jaminis—a rotund and genial man whose round, ale-reddened face is sharply contrasted by his short white hair and beard—not of an arranged marriage, but just a trip to the mainland, in whatever social setting their customs, and our status, will allow.

Until then, work and sleep must take the place of love. A poor substitute, to be sure.

I

As we prepared to go, Ariel approached us. “You’re set on leaving?” she asked ruefully.

“You’ve seen how it is,” I said sadly. “Meryl needs a real home.”

“I’m sorry,” said Meryl to her friend, and they embraced tearfully. But as Ariel drew back, I could see from the way she tried to compose herself that this was not the only reason for her presence.

“Gaius,” she said, her eyes still glistening. “I have to ask you to be very unselfish.”

I could not imagine what she meant. What could be more selfless than leaving my second family, and Ariel, more than family, all for the love of my future bride? Yes, bride. For while I was all eagerness to be married in the Roman way, Meryl insists that if our union is to be blessed by God it must be performed by a Rabbi, and that there are sure to be any number of them in Hippo.

“You know I can’t refuse you,” I told Ariel awkwardly. For Meryl is not unaware of my feelings for her friend.

“But this is something, someone, very dear to you.” I looked at her in confusion, as Cassius came to stand beside her. Obviously this was something they had discussed together.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

… “Leave Sarah with us,” she said quietly. “At least until you’re sure it’s safe.”

I was shocked. “But she’s my daughter, and Meryl’s niece!”

“You can always come back for her,” Cassius interposed. “If you and Meryl want to risk your own lives, that’s one thing—”

“Please,” said Ariel more gently, “until you’re sure.”

I was going to refuse outright, when I felt Meryl’s body against me, her two hands encircling my arm. “It might be best,” she said softly, “at least for now.”

“But…..” I could not believe this was happening.

“Think of the danger,” said Cassius sternly. “Remember what nearly happened to her at the refuge, if you must.”

At this Sarah herself approached, Franzi following like a loyal dog. I felt a gentle pressure as she took my other hand in hers.

“Daddy Gaius? Do we really have to leave?”

I found I could not speak. Because they were right, all of them. How could I take her from the relative safety of the cave, into a foreign city where I knew no one, and had not the least idea how things really stood? But oh, what a heavy price to pay!

Of course I could always come back for her when we were married, had established our home and knew the lay of the land. But to leave without my Sarah, until so recently my only reason for living…..

“Do we really have to go?” she asked again, looking up at me. I went down on one knee and embraced her tenderly, tears blinding me.

“Do you want to stay here?” I somehow managed, “until Aunt Meryl and I can find a home for us?”

Now she was crying. “Will you come back soon?”

“Of course, precious. Of course I will.”

“If you’re going to go, don’t drag it out,” said Cassius.

The brothers now approached. “The longer you take, the more it will grieve her,” said Alexander, who seemed to have forgotten our quarrel in the face of this fresh sorrow, perhaps even reliving some parting of his own. A mother who had borne them, only to let them be taken away? Was that the source of his anger toward Ariel?

“What am I to do?” I asked helplessly.

“Just shoulder your pack and go,” said Cassius. “She’ll be safe and well cared for.” I looked to Ariel, who nodded sadly.

I cannot tell you with what heartache I obeyed. To lose Ariel, and even Cassius, who for all his gruffness had been a better father to me than my own ever had, was hard enough…..

But in my damaged heart I knew that they were right. If I had to leave her, and for her own sake I must….. Best to smile, tell her I loved her, and go.

And so I did.

I don’t believe, for all our recent hardship, that I have ever been so low as when I turned away from them, Sarah crying in Ariel’s arms, and Cassius looking at me like the greatest fool who ever lived. For how could I deny it?

Alexander and Cleades stepped into the sunlight first, with Meryl and I behind them, each of us bearing packs that would have been heavier had we not lost nearly all our possessions in the shipwreck that had ruined our lives. But how much more than things had I lost! God forgive me, I’ve never felt myself so torn, or less in the right.

But now it was done, and we were sliding down the hill. I looked back once, but Cassius would not allow a second parting, a further wound inflicted on the child. My daughter! They remained out of sight inside the cave, and I honestly didn’t know if I would ever see them again.

*                          *                        *

Again I must submerge all emotion, and try to tell this as dispassionately as I can.

We walked the dozen miles or so to Cirta, largely in silence. The only facts worth noting (unless I imagined them) are these. Alexander and Cleades walked in front, with Meryl and I a few paces behind. And while the more manly twin would not look at me at all—his resentment seems to have returned—Cleades would, glancing back every now and again with a sympathetic, even wistful expression. Forgive me my friend, but I cannot begin to add your confused affection to the burdens I already carry. Also that Meryl, who may simply have been giving me time to recover from the emotional shock of leaving my daughter….. I cannot even write it. Enough to say that she seemed distant.

We approached the gates cautiously, but not without hope, having been in the town so recently. The guards asked us to state our business, which we did with the single word, “Trade,” and they let us through without further comment, perhaps remembering Alexander and myself. Perhaps desiring Meryl and Cleades, too, judging by the looks they both received.

This is a cosmopolitan township if ever there was one, with people not only from every part of the Empire, but Africans of every race, from the polished ebony tribesman and fierce-eyed Berbers, to the wealthy Persians and inscrutable Egyptians of the Middle East. As such our own appearance—a Roman, two Greeks and a Jewess—did not, of and by itself, arouse undue attention.

Unfortunately, even as Alexander suggested, the presence of the strikingly handsome twins, one virile and the other effeminate, did. Not only did hungry glances from both sexes follow them as we entered the marketplace, but a Turkish trader of obvious wealth and self-importance, thinking me their owner, offered me “the wealth of the Orient” in exchange for them.

You can imagine how well this sat with Alexander—which is to say, not at all. He began to reach for my sword until I stopped him. And it’s well I did, for two enormous body-guards, dressed in puffy pantaloons, sleeveless vests, turbans and bright scimitars, drew their weapons and would have cut him down where he stood. It was all I could do to apologize to the man, and tell him that if he named his price I would consider it. To have flatly refused him under the circumstances might have cost Alexander dearly. Instead I ushered him away, with many promises to the trader of an interview the following day.

But in time we made our way to the marina. As we approached it, Alexander boldly asked Meryl for the money to buy a boat rather than hire one, as this would give us far greater control as we approached and docked at Hippo. While this was a sensible precaution, I was offended for her at the aggressive and bald-faced way he asked, and the only excuse I could find for it was his obvious desire to be shot of the place, and have no further dealings with a people who so openly (and even violently) wished to possess and dominate his brother.

I fully expected her to say no, but was equally surprised when she first asked me for the purse (which I gave her), and second, asked him unreservedly how many of the remaining gems he would need to purchase it. He said it would depend on the craft, and our shrewdness in bargaining for it. He even worked out a strategy for doing so.

Need I tell you that I was desolate throughout, thinking not of what lay ahead, but behind? I write this in the only way I can, for my soul is dead inside me, and each word like a pebble tossed into the bottom of a well, trying to raise the few inches of stale and rancid water high enough to drink. As if I have any wish to do so.

To make short shrift of it, we found a craft that would suit, and executed our plan—with myself as the disinterested owner, trying not to indulge a spoiled love-slave. I must say there was a good deal of subtlety on the part of Alexander, who was aware of my mood; and it took no effort of will for me to appear cold and indifferent. In the end we worked the excitable little man down from five lesser gems to three, and sailed our small but sturdy craft a short way down the river, before anchoring it in a shallow backwater as the sun set and night drew on.

The Greek, in his implacable way, had also bargained for food and wine; and as I sat disconsolate, my head down and with Meryl beside me, he motioned for Cleades to join us, and himself served out the cold mutton and flatbread, then started the wine-skin circling among us.

I could not eat, but drank perhaps more than I should, wanting only to drown the crushing sense of loss. If I had been capable of feeling anything else, it might have been the confusion and disorientation of strange surroundings and a new vessel. But I was not. Nor was I able to take much comfort in Meryl’s presence, or the fact that Alexander again seemed to have laid aside our quarrel, and to be trying in his rough way to comfort me. Cleades regarded me with forlorn pity, which I did not want, even crying silently as his eyes met mine.

But there is no way to soften the blow. I became quite drunk, and apparently passed out. For the next thing I knew I was on the riverbank, the slow dawn revealing that I was quite alone. The boat, my bride, were gone.

I stood up with a start, only to double over again in a paroxysm of misery, vomiting my wretchedness onto the muddy bank.

As I regained my physical composure—for my emotions were in an even more violent state of flux—I began to rage aloud, indicting heaven and earth for the abduction of the woman I loved.

But then I felt something brittle rasp against my chest, and reaching inside the crossing swathes of my upper garment, found a folded sheet of parchment. I opened it, and to my utter horror and humiliation, read:

“My sad, sweet Gaius. Forgive me but your heart is not in this, and that will never do. For I am determined to find a better life with a man who will protect and provide for me without endless introspection and self-doubt. I’m sorry but that man is not you. Perhaps it is Alexander, perhaps not, but for now his is the stronger hand. With equal parts regret and resolve, Meryl Weisman.”

I sank down upon the bank in dismay and disbelief. For though I tried to convince myself otherwise, the handwriting was undoubtedly hers. Perhaps the villainous Greek had forced her to it? No. The style, the mood, the laceration of my hopes and dreams. . .were Meryl’s alone. My sad, sweet Gaius—as if both characteristics revealed an incurable weakness, while Alexander’s lack of either somehow showed strength and nobility. Before the wreck of Aphrodite he may have been a good man, certainly courageous, and protective of his brother. But now? I said earlier that we had all lost something precious. Had he lost his soul? Had she? Did she really think that, the way he was now, he would care for her feelings, her needs, at all? She was to him a desirable woman, nothing more: a sexual conquest, an open purse. How I hated him now!

The expression most often used to describe shattered love is ‘a broken heart.’ But that is not what I felt. My heart was intact, but all the wounds of a troubled existence were open, and each time it beat the blood flowed out of me, leaving emptiness, and a soul that was dying of pain and disillusionment.

How could she use me like that? Did all my love mean nothing? Again in bitterness I saw the scroll: still in its leather cylinder, projecting from my pack, which had been propped against a tree. For what possible use could they be to me now, but to torment me with the knowledge, not only of the futility of life, but of my own hateful ineptitude and naïveté. Why had Alexander not taken them? Perhaps—and this was to me the surest sign that he was not the man he had been—he no longer chose to play the part of the tragic Greek hero, or in a moment of brutal self-honesty had realized….. I don’t know and I don’t care. He left the scroll, as I felt in that moment that I must leave, abandon it forever.

But it seems my will is no longer master. I suddenly became aware of a large and sinister shape in the muddy waters but a few feet in front of me: a monstrous crocodile. Clearly it had waited for me to bend down to drink, like an unwary animal, at which moment my life would be forfeit. I almost wish I had. But when it found I looked back at it in horror, and realized in its slow and stupid way that this would not work, it came ashore like the nightmare it was, with every intention of killing me there—out of its natural element, but still quite capable of doing so.

And what did I do, who but a moment before had been cursing myself, the scroll, and the God who had abandoned me? I ran to the tree, seized my pack and scrambled up into its branches as if I saved something precious: not my life, but the meaningless words I had scrawled.

The crocodile stayed at the base of the tree for more than an hour, during which time I found no other diversion—once I was sure it could not climb after me—than to prop the pack between a crook in the branches and examine its contents. And this of course brought me to the scroll. There being nothing else to look at but that cumbrous killer, the very archetype of cold indifferent death, I resisted the temptation to hurl it down at its gnarled head, and read my last entries instead.

To say I found no comfort there, sick and bereft in the most ludicrous position imaginable—or what would have been, had death not waited hungrily below—would be an understatement. What a damned fool! I could hear Cassius’ laughter ringing in my ears till in near hysteria I began to cackle myself.

But this would never do. I still had several quills. The ink, though some of it had spilled, was still serviceable; and so, as a penance, I made my pack into an uneven table and wrote, trying to bring myself up to the present. And a more fitting metaphor for the absurdity of my efforts I could not well imagine.

At length the mindless brute relented, and slunk bank into the slime from which it had crawled. After watching it slither off upstream, I climbed down and moved away from the river, toward the road that ran more or less parallel to it. My mouth felt like the dried and caking mud through which I stepped, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate by going back to the same spot to drink. At length I came upon the rutted track that ran from Cirta to Hippo.

It is of no use telling you further the emotions I experienced that morning, for they are of the blackest. Suffice to say that many times in the Minotaur’s labyrinth of my mind I went from sorrow and confusion into rage, the swearing of vengeance, and I have no doubt whatever that if Alexander’s throat had been in my grasp, I would have strangled the life out of him.

But despite my flash of violence in the cave, I am not at heart a hurtful man. And while my returning passivity galled me, self-reproach raining down like Noah’s flood, two things slowly brought me back to myself. First, the fact that Alexander had not taken her by force. She had gone willingly, even—did I imagine it?—mockingly. And second, I still had a daughter who loved me, and for whose sake I would not throw away my life in the pursuit of meaningless revenge.

But when I stood upon the road I was confronted by yet another impossible decision. For I had to choose my way: north or south. North (unless she had followed the brothers out to sea, which I doubted) lay my erstwhile bride; and Cassius’ warnings of the dangers to a Jewess in Hippo could not be discounted. South lay family and friends, but also defeat, loneliness and desolation.

I stood for what seemed hours as the arguments for and against, the charges and counter-charges surged back and forth inside me till I felt on the brink of madness. What was I to do? My heart told me to go back to my daughter, but I no longer trusted it. For hadn’t it told me that Meryl was my life: that we were a family, the three of us? How could I forsake one for the other? But she had forsaken me! Yes, but only out of trauma, and the jarring of all reason. The wreck of our ship and our fortunes had been a terrible blow to us all, but it was upon her head that the cruelest hammer-stroke had fallen. To lose a husband: what could be more devastating? Perhaps her broken mind had sought revenge against Providence itself, and so tried to turn the tables on Fate. Perhaps in order to survive she had to hurt someone as she had been hurt. Yes, that must be it! An image came to me of her lovely body naked on an altar, chained hand and foot while a mad priest raised the dagger of Death above her.

I started down the road to Hippo, then stopped just as suddenly. For another image had come to me, less fantastic and far more likely: Sarah crying, asking Ariel again and again when Daddy Gaius would come home. I whirled about and moved in the opposite direction until I saw Meryl again, lashed to the stake, flames licking at her feet as she screamed. Oh horror, naked and black! For this was no mere fancy, but the way many Jews had been ‘purged’ in cities where the Christians—once oppressed, now oppressor— had sought to gain control, and vent their hatred on a people who dared to claim the role of God’s Chosen. Money lenders! Christ killers! Death (and pillage) to them all!

This too had happened, and though madness, was not my madness, but that of religious fanatics with no one to stop them. And who was to stop this Augustine, who’d ruled as iron-fisted Archbishop for thirty years? No one.

I simply could not choose. Had Meryl earned a reproof? Certainly. But did anyone, let alone the love of my life, deserve such a terrible death, simply for being a Jew, because her heart was broken and her reason overthrown?

In the end, I could not abandon my only love while there was any question of her heart—her feelings for me—or her safety. I could not and do not claim virtue in this. How much of my motivation was base animal desire I cannot say. Yet if this had been all there was, I could have overcome it, let go. But there were two strong currents pulling me back toward her.

First, undoubtedly, was desire: the undeniable instinct to take and keep a beautiful woman as my mate. All my life I’d been denied the bliss I knew as I made love to her. But this was not all. There was also my yearning soul, and the stubborn romanticism that had kept me going for so long: my dream of true and lasting love. To give up that lifelong quest, to abandon the woman I loved when she was most in need, was shameful and abhorrent.

Sarah was safe, or as safe as she was likely to be anywhere in this Age of Darkness, with Ariel to nurture and Cassius to protect her, Franzi to ensure her child’s spirit was not alone. All Meryl had was an embittered, untried Greek youth and his effeminate brother, themselves as likely to be set upon by vigilantes as she.

Was I imagining dangers that did not exist? Had I imagined the crocodile? How much more lethal a killer is Man—one man, let alone an enraged mob.

I could not let her go. God help me, I could not let her go.

The decision was made. This, at least, was something. But how was I to find her, and rescue her if need be? I reached down to the inner pocket of my leggings where I kept the purse. Gone: Meryl’s jewels, which I expected, and my own coin, which I did not. Alexander’s revenge? While this infuriated me still further, I realized ruefully….. It had been taken so that I could not follow: would have no choice but to return to the cave alone. Kindness or cruelty, who can say? Probably both.

But was I going to do it? Those who say yes simply do not understand romantic/sexual obsession. Even then I knew this for what it was. And yet I could not stop. I did not want to stop. Such are the scars left upon us, and the madness of the tortured human heart.

My sword had been taken as well.

Must I then enter a strange city in time of crisis, alone, unarmed and destitute? It seemed that I must. I rummaged my pack once more to see what resources, if any, I possessed. To my irritation I found nothing of the least value: just the old, Spanish garments that Jacob had given me, and the leather cylinder that held the scroll. Removing the tight-fitting cap, I drew it out to cast it on the ground and trample it into the dust….. But couldn’t. Again I raged, until a quiet voice said inside me:

“You can only be yourself, Gaius. This work is part of you.”

It was true. For this was my journal, my saga. Jacob had asked me to keep it, and while at times I railed against it, feeling forced to a hard and thankless task, I could not now abandon what had cost me such pains to create. And if a man is given no choice as to the time and circumstance of his birth, the larger forces at work around him, he can at least speak of them

honestly, without apology, or shading the truth. The truth.

I rolled the scroll carefully, put it back into the cylinder, the cylinder into my pack, shouldered it, and set off to do what I must. Whether folly, or even insanity, this was what I had to do: what I am, if I am anything at all.

I took the road north, away from safety and security, into danger and despair. For I would not be denied my love, my own, self-made Destiny.

II

It is again Saturday (adapted from the pagan ‘Saturn’s Day’), our day of rest. For while the Christians may have borrowed the Sabbath from the Jews and moved it to Sunday to celebrate their Savior’s resurrection—as they placed Christ’s birth in late December to displace the Winter Solstice—we keep it in its original form. “On the seventh day God rested.” And so we rest.

Is my own Christianity beginning to wane? I don’t know. I only know that through the subtle influence of a people who embrace rather than deny the Earth that gives them life, who embrace that life itself, rather than forsaking it in favor of some nebulous afterlife…..

I feel the Sea that daily surges beneath our boat, the great womb from which all life arose. I feel the wind in my hair that is the very breath of life, the sun on my face and the blood coursing through my veins. And for neither Sarah nor myself will I forsake the blessed life that is given us: this life. Hard, frustrating and even dangerous as it can be, our lives and how we live them define who we are, the one thing that we can truly call our own. And I intend to live mine undarkened by superstition and fear.

Something of a long introduction to this entry, but so be it. Nor am I going to diminish the events of the day by foreshadowing them—the one fault I find in my narrative so far. Something has happened, and you shall learn in due course what it is.

Today is our Sabbath, as I said, which the Celts respect. They themselves gather for ritual ceremonies four times a year, on the Winter and Summer Solstices, as well as May Day and Harvest Day, all of which make perfect sense. And of course there are lesser festivals and holidays throughout the year, all a celebration, rather than denunciation of life.

But back to the present.

“Look to this day for it is life, the very light of life.” A bit of Judaic wisdom, like the Roman, “Carpe diem.” Do I wax philosophical this evening? Perhaps, but I have good reason. For today…..

No. No lessening the event by presaging it. Here is what happened.

I recently asked Nechtainn—who comes to our island from time to time to see how we are getting on—if we were forbidden to set foot upon Sharcaen. This of course through Alexander, who was on leave and agreed to translate for us. You should see him now, so strong, sure and confident, a man in every sense of the word. Well can I believe that Alexander the Great, for whom he is named, set out on his first campaign, and founded his first city at the same age of fourteen.

The Druid looked at me knowingly. His may be the illusion, rather than the gift of reading one’s thoughts. Or not. But with his vast experience

of Nature, humanity, and how the two interact, they amounts to one and the same thing. He said, in answer to my query:

“It depends on what leads you there. If you go in mockery, or with the intention of desecrating—”

“Never!” I ejaculated.

“I believe you,” he said simply. “But tell me. Do you intend to honor our Faith, our sacred places?”

“Yes,” I said solemnly. “To tell the truth, I’m curious…..” But at this my face flushed. I felt I was speaking of his deeply held beliefs as if they were some kind of oddity for my amusement. Again he seemed to know, if not my thoughts, then the emotion that lay behind them.

“I have heard that curiosity is frowned upon by Christians. It is not so with us.”

“You know of our Faith?” I asked, incredulous.

“Only a little,” he admitted, “learned from Liolus when I was but a boy, a novice. But what I do know does not lend itself to wisdom….. Do I offend you by speaking plainly of your religion?” he asked in turn.

“No, please. Go on. I’m beginning to question it myself.”

“Very well, then.” He settled more comfortably against his stone, staff in hand, as I sat upon the ground at his feet. I found nothing awkward in this, the classic posture of master and student. For that is what I felt myself to be.

“Your beliefs are strange to me,” he began. “The tale of creation, for example, contains much that is wise. And yet it portrays the first woman, from whose womb all mankind issued—much like our own Earth Mother—as evil, and the reason for Man’s downfall. This is, to me, is like saying all of Nature is evil. Strange. Look around you at the earth, the sea, the plants, flowers, birds and animals. Or the beauty of young womanhood,” he added with a knowing glance.

“In Nature, as nowhere else, can the living Pattern of the Creator be found. And how can woman, the very font of Life, be evil?”

How could I disagree?

“It goes on to say that Eve—a beautiful name for a beautiful being—was seduced by a serpent (a creature not found in Erin) who ‘tempts’ her to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and understand all things. Again I am at a loss to understand. The longing for knowledge—curiosity—is a large part of what makes us human. How can that desire, or Desire itself—the cornerstone of Life, when not corrupted—be wrong? And how can we know anything without experience: trying new things, and learning for ourselves what is right and wrong?

“It’s true,” I said, abashed.

He smiled at me, reflecting a soul in which there seemed to be a perfect balance of physical and spiritual being, an understanding of both spiritual yearning and animal desire, sun and moon, golden day and silver night. Of course he is human, but still….. An easy man to admire, our Nechtainn.

“And as for knowing the difference between good and evil, is that not what separates Man from the animals?”

“Yes.”

“Mind you, I don’t want to be separated too far. For the birds and beasts are like younger brothers and sisters: their minds not as subtle, their hearts not as wise (or as foolish) as ours. We are not their masters, and they were not put here for our use (another strange belief), but a more intelligent and powerful friend, responsible for treating them fairly. “Dominion over the creatures of the Earth?” In a way, but certainly not as it seems to have been translated or interpreted. They are every bit as alive and aware as we are, and just as entitled to live their lives without persecution.”

I couldn’t agree more.

“So. Eve eats of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, as does her husband, and for simply being what they are—human—not only are they driven from earthly Paradise, but banished from the celestial Heaven, and cast into a ‘purgatory’ that is only one step short of Hell. And this Hell, a place of eternal torment: a truly awful idea, and one which I cannot reconcile with the will of any loving God, let alone one who purports to be our Father…..” Here he made it personal, driving the lesson home.

“If your child did something wrong, wounded you in some way, would you harm a hair on her head, let alone condemn her to burn for all eternity?”

My whole being recoiled at the thought. Despite his usual calm, I could see that Nechtainn himself was roused: angered, driving on as through a fire, bearing in his arms a child that he loved.

“And the only way their descendants can be ‘forgiven’—stained as they are by ‘Original Sin,’ rather than the innocent babes we all are at birth—is through human sacrifice. Appalling!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not immediately following.

“First, Abraham is asked to sacrifice, to kill his only son. Barbaric, unthinkable to any loving father. That an angel’s voice stops him while the dagger is raised is beside the point, because he has already murdered him in his heart. I’m sorry for my passion, Gaius. But this, and the worship of the torture and murder of Jesus Christ—God’s own son—are to me beyond all understanding.”

I nodded, as if seeing the underlying darkness for the first time.

“And this ‘Savior’ must somehow appease his father’s wrath, for His own creation to be forgiven. And how is this accomplished? I speak now of what I can only call the Christian myth.”

Again I nodded, in peril of my faith, but unable to deny the simple truth of an honest man, considering our beliefs objectively.

“First, the Messiah is born of a virgin: denying the sanctity of marriage, family and childbirth. Why is he thus removed from the most poignant reality, the one true miracle of life: that a man and woman, joined in love, are given the immeasurable gift of creating a new being, a beautiful co-mingling of them both, a man- or woman-child to carry on when they are dead? Why, if this Jesus Christ is to have the first idea what it is to be human? He may in fact have been a great and loving man—I suspect that he was—but his message has been distorted beyond all recognition. “Then, in order for his vengeful Father to be pacified, he must be scourged, crowned with thorns, bear his own cross up the mount to the jeers of the crowd, there to die as slow and horrible a death as can well be imagined. As a father myself, to see a son so abused, and to have his followers subject themselves to the same suffering in his name. . .is madness! Only if you torture and kill my beloved son will I forgive you, and spare you the everlasting pains of Hell? The blackest pagan who ever lived could not conceive of such a thing.”

I looked down at the ground in dismay. For the earlier point had stayed with me, pervading all else. Here I must tell you plainly that if any God, man, or fear-inspired religion asked me to ritually murder my Sarah…..

Never.

Never.

Never.

“I hope I have not offended you,” said Nechtainn more gently. “I am a simple man, and speak only what I feel in my heart.”

“As you should,” I told him, the pent-up tears beginning to flow. Then I looked up at him, as a child who had been rescued from dire peril. Perhaps, not having lived my life, orphaned now in every way, alone, even when surrounded by my closest friends, tormented by the fears and ruthless precepts of my faith, you cannot understand what I felt. But he had touched me, freed me, and I meant what I said with all my being.

“Thank you.”

He leaned forward and placed his hand on my head, the native blessing of a father to his son. And for all my love of Jacob, and even Cassius, to be thought of this way by him, if only in gesture….. I was overwhelmed with love. For I had never felt so close to God, or man. I hid my face in my hands in a paroxysm, an ecstasy, of what I knew not:

Then he gestured to Alexander and the two of them moved off, leaving me in peace. With the living Earth beneath me, the Sea beyond, and the Breath of Life stirring in my hair.

God within God.

And this, but the first of the day’s miracles.

I

Supplemental

What follows was told to me by Cleades, filling in the blanks with my own experience, and knowledge of the characters, as I was not there to see it.

The river grew wider as it approached the delta, the currents more uncertain. The salt tang of the sea beyond came in wisps, though the smells of the city were stronger: the smoke of cooking fires, the close-packed odor of animals in pens, and human refuse thrown into the streets to be washed away, eventually, by rain. But as no real downpour had occurred for weeks, the smell was acrid and disease imminent.

The margins of the stream grew suddenly wide as it entered the deep, knife-slash harbor. A cross-rip as the boat glided into it whipped the stern about and nearly swamped them. Alexander had anticipated it in part, and so with several powerful strokes of the steering oar, paid off before the freshening land-breeze, and faced them once more toward open water. Meryl had not anticipated. Her dreamy gaze far ahead, the violent motion caught her by surprise and sent her tumbling to ribbed floor of the scow. Cleades helped her up, as his brother must still negotiate the unfamiliar waters.

When she had regained her feet, Cleades pointed to starboard. Hippo Regius was in sight, its sand-colored walls rising high above the stone quays nearer at hand.

Meryl regarded it in wonder and disappointment. For it was not at all what she expected: neither so large nor so grand as she had imagined it. While its walls, crowned with battlements, were stout enough, too high and thick to be scaled or knocked down without great engines of war, in her fevered imagination she had expected a kind of second Troy, with herself in the role of Helen. “The face that launched a thousand ships.” Hadn’t she, too, forsaken a smothering husband-to-be, to be with the young prince who loved her? Such was the power of her delusion.

Conversely, Alexander had eyes only for the port itself. It must have been quite busy once, with inbound ships unloading while the outbound took on cargo and supplies— dock-hands bent beneath their burdens, captains bellowing orders, buyers and sellers haggling over prices of grain and goods— yet now, was strangely shorn of vessels. Had so many already fled before the oncoming storm: the ever-growing fleet of the Vandals?

If he’d had a ship himself, a larger craft, built for deep water rather than the shallows, he might not have stopped at all. He longed with all his being for the freedom of the open Sea. But aside from short trips between ports, and even then in calm weather, the Slug (as he had facetiously named the new craft) would founder at the first agitated wave. And also the woman, whom he desired but did not respect, wanted to at least have a look at the city.

And so, choosing a pier closest to what he assumed was the customs house—a broad, two-storied edifice of stone—he guided the boat gently in. The harbor-master, whatever his personal prejudice, would surely be open to the customary bribe, and could probably tell them of a sea-going vessel they could either buy, or at the least, take passage on. And though there was no hope of finding anything like Aphrodite—he felt a hollow in his chest as he always did when he thought of her, lying in the surf with her back broken—perhaps there was an older vessel, sound if not nearly so sweet-sailing….. And if Meryl’s purse was truly open to him—

He felt some kind of insect, probably a hornet, sting his chest through the tunic. But when his hand moved to brush the thing away, it was met instead by a solid object: the shaft of an arrow. And found that he was on his knees. He was dimly aware of sack-cloth shapes running out of the building, then fell forward, breaking the shaft under him with a wrenching, stabbing pain. He rolled off it, stared at the sky, and lay dead in the bottom of the boat.

Meryl screamed as Cleades ran to him. Men were throwing grappling hooks and pulling them in, though there was no one left to resist them.

The abbot had chosen his target wisely, and the native hunter, able to bring down a sparrow flying, had not needed a second shot. Straight through the heart. Now his monks had secured the scow, and were handing over the side a shrieking woman—probably a Jew, and therefor with no rights at all—and a beautiful boy who offered no resistance, but only wept broken-heartedly at the fall of his more manly twin.

Father Grieg felt his member stiffen. For while vague thoughts of tormenting the woman lurked somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it was the boy who aroused him. Bound by a vow of celibacy, believing (as his Master did) that Woman was a temptress and a tool of the Devil, it was on boys alone that he could sate himself. Not that he would have put it in these words. So complex a perversion of body and soul required whole tomes, carefully acquired over the course of years. For they must somehow defend the indefensible: the sexual assault of children, who came to him in innocence, seeking spiritual guidance. Though probably not the first priest to do so, and certainly not the last, he had in time accomplished the feat: sex with women would be a violation of his holy orders. Sex with boys would not.

And so it was with no remorse at all that he ordered the shackles, iron collars and accompanying lengths of chain to be put on the remaining captives. His one regret was that, as thorough as the Archbishop was in such matters, there were sure to be spies among his own men, and he would not be able to sodomize the youth before turning him over to the Monsignor. Ah, well. He still had the novices, and fantasy was the next best thing. His next victim would have to be crying to complete the effect, but they usually did in any case.

As they started to lead the prisoners away, Cleades strained his neck to look back at his brother. This in the vain hope that he would rise, pull out the arrow and defend them. He hated himself for his weakness more in that moment than he ever had in his life. So in a final attempt to avenge him, he pulled the neck-chain from the hands of the monk who held it and tried to surge back into the boat, to seize hold of his brother’s sword.

But a hard blow at the base of his skull drove him to his knees, his face leaning out over the water. There, after partly recovering sight and consciousness, he saw the fire-blackened ribs of a ship, resting at the bottom. For all sea-going vessels had been put to the torch by order of Augustine the Great: so that none could escape, but must stay and defend his City, a last island of Light and Virtue amid a raging sea of Darkness and Evil.

The portcullis within the great gate was being raised on creaking chains with a sound that was the perfect accompaniment to the horror of Meryl’s surrealistic nightmare. She tried to wake herself again and again, cried out for Malachi, Gaius, her father. But as the dam which held back the flood of her fears was breached—as her tortured mind began to summon instead the God of her fathers—the cry was stifled in her throat.

For over the marble arch, in letters of inlaid gold she could just translate from the Latin…… She found that He was there ahead of her. For the inscription read (there could be no mistake):

Hippo Regius

City of God

II

So it was that the High Druid, in his own time and way, informed me that Sharcaen was not forbidden, so long as my motives were curiosity and yearning. As indeed they were.

After the dismantling of my Christian beliefs—for though I still love and honor Jesus Christ, whose teachings jar so heavily against the domineering darkness that has since been preached in his name—I cannot as a loving father find any sympathy whatever for the idea of human sacrifice, or for those who wield fear and damnation as weapons to keep the faithful in line. Rather will I seek God through love, and find my own answer to the questions that make us who and what we are. And if that search is to have any meaning, it must not begin with the belief that man and woman are inherently evil, doomed or damned. No more ‘fear of God’ (or God of Fear) for me.

As I began to say—for I too have become quite passionate about this—with my Christian beliefs in ruin at my feet, I felt compelled, with every part of my being, to go there. And so, with the native curiosity that makes us human, I did.

I did not take Cassius’ boat. I knew what he would have to say about my going. Instead I went to Jaminis and asked if I could borrow one. He is a good-natured man, as I have said, and he allowed me to do so. Was there a twinkle of understanding in his eyes as he did? I don’t know, nor is it an important point. I had sought and received Nechtainn’s permission, Jaminis lent me a boat, and I made no attempt to hide where I was going or why.

Were there risks involved? Absolutely. Adventure is synonymous with danger. Those who go questing must know this from the start, and understand that whatever treasure they may find is equally fraught with peril. Because returning from strange places, whether in the physical world or that of the mind, home is never quite the same.

What did I seek? I honestly don’t know.

It is not far from one island to the other—that is to say, from the nearest points between them—with little more than a mile of sea between. That I sailed from one inlet to another added two more, but by now I had a better idea of wind and current, and the crossing was accomplished without mishap.

Indeed, I’d never felt more alive. For now that I am used to it, the sea breeze no longer chills but invigorates. And only someone who has sailed in open water, felt the harmony of canvas, keel and tiller, propelling you in an intricate balance of sea and sky….. Alas that I have no better words to tell you. Perhaps it is something you must experience for yourself. To me it is a sacrament, a gentle union of wind and wave, dangerous and even mortal as they can sometimes be. Perhaps that is why men still venture out to sea, in spite of the danger. That, and the very thing that now drove me: the need to see, to feel, and to know something more than what I already held in my hands. For is that not what makes us men?

I entered Sharcaen’s sheltered harbor once more, this time without my former trepidation. I was nervous, of course, the manifestation of living. For I was still on alien, even hallowed ground. But it was something that had to be. I marked again the finger of stone upon the beach, and this time made straight for it. An honest man, coming here openly, could do no less. Again, and this time without the derisive presence of Cassius, mine was the only boat upon the strand.

When I had securely lashed her, I started inland. I did not go straight toward the upland vale: the Stone Circle and the Sacred Grove. Instead I turned right, to north and east, away from my own island, toward the mainland. Why that way? Because this headland, and the greater land beyond, were two things I had never explored. Perhaps on some subconscious level I hoped to meet someone from the mainland there, but also because it was the harder climb: the undiscovered country, the secret garden.

Do I wax philosophical again? Perhaps. But I was living, exploring, taking chances. Perhaps that is something that you, gentle reader, must also experience for yourself. Forgive me if I seem self-satisfied; but the simple truth is I faced my uncertainty, and attained something I would not otherwise…... But here, I anticipate again. You shall decide for yourself what I attained, and what further risks are involved.

The slopes leading to the summit of Sharcaen are far from gentle, so that as I reached the high plateau, itself broken into many hillocks and hollows, my heart was pounding. I ventured on to find the ground thick with vegetation and noble projections of stone, laboring as I went, trying not to make a sound, and therefor draw unwanted attention—or even an unseen arrow. For surely there were guards…..

Yet what I encountered as I stopped to catch my breath did nothing to calm me. For I heard. . .could it be? Yes. Young women’s voices: one laughing playfully, the other protesting. Were these the vestal virgins Nechtainn had spoken of? It was not unlikely. Did I slink quietly away? Did Hylas? Would you?

I could not immediately see the maidens in question, but found myself stalking like some jungle cat, though without the least thought of harm. I also found that I was wrong in thinking the island treeless save for the Grove. Whether to call the holly that grew here tall bushes or smallish, tight-packed trees I don’t know: something in between, their twirling branches rising to a height of twenty feet or more. The nymphs—for so my imagination cast them—were somewhere within. My snatch of Gaelic would only translate a few of the words as they spoke:

“…..your dress,” I think. “Don’t,” or its native equivalent. Then, “childish” or “childlike,” though this last was said not in reproof but affection.

This was all I could make out. But through the screen of serpentine branches I could now perceive their general form. One appeared to be partly naked: the top of her gown unlaced, and hanging about her waist.

My heart pounding thunder, I moved a little closer. A large stone, as I moved toward it, allowed me to conceal all but the top of my head, and even this was screened by thinner brush, a magical veil upon the sunlit clearing.

There I watched the two adolescent girls, the first kissing, and playfully touching the other. It was the second girl—I’d put their ages at sixteen and fourteen—who resisted. Again I can’t be certain what was said between them, but imagine it went something like this.

“You’re so silly, Brigid.” Gentle laughter followed by a kiss, and a hand stroking within the soft shoulder of the other’s white gown. “So childish.”

“But Sianna, and Nechtainn…..”

“They don’t care, silly.”

“Be we must remain virgins until the ritual joining with our husband!”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t make love…..” This last, I admit, is pure conjecture, though borne out by subsequent events. “We mustn’t penetrate, that’s all. Kiss me, you foolish girl.” A kiss, a further stroke, and the sweet breast of the younger appeared and was caressed.

“Are you sure, Moll?”

“Ask Celeste. We’ve done it.”

At this Brigid flushed angrily. “You can’t! You’re my friend. You love me.”

“I’m only teasing.” And so on.

It was the most beautiful and stirring thing I’d ever witnessed. For by this time Moll had completely disrobed. She’d spread her gown carefully, lovingly on the ground, and was gently tugging the younger girl down beside her. After a final protest Brigid surrendered, lying with her and giving herself up to passion. Their long hair, golden and strawberry blonde, mingled sweetly as they kissed, caressed. Between their pulsing bodies the tip of a finger found its mark, evoking soft and plaintive moans.

In time I returned to Clear Island, my solitary home. But I lay long awake, the words of the Druid—of loving life, and living it unashamed—mingling with the beauty and bliss of what I’d seen: two young women, veritable Eves in Paradise, who had no notion of evil or Original Sin, were not tempted by the Serpent, but only lay together beneath a sunlit sky because they loved, longed and were alive.

Am I in love as well? I don’t know. It isn’t poetry and roses, or the yearning for Angels I feel when I think of Brigid, the sweet younger girl….. Or is it? And what if the two—gentle love and hard desire—are one? A voice came to me then, warning:

“You will lose your soul, Gaius, thinking such thoughts, and dreaming of what can never be.”

Then let me lose it. Or find it, in the fullest expression of life that is given to man and woman—earthly love—and if somehow I can make her mine, the creation of new life.

XX

I

I walked for hours down that hot and dusty road, alone with my fears, till I was near fainting from dehydration and the beating of the sun. I do not often drink to excess, and my foolish indulgence the night before had not only allowed Alexander to execute his plan, but left me weak and ill, when I needed all my strength, both physical and emotional. I had neither, nor did it seem in that moment that I ever would again.

Then all at once the question which had gnawed at my subconscious broke through to the surface. Why alone, on what should have been a busy thoroughfare? Was this the calm before the storm, the local inhabitants bracing for imminent invasion? Had the Vandal fleet been spotted, or was a powerful force moving overland? I was at a loss.

But I was also aware of a stubborn voice, far less tentative, telling me to mind my own defense. Much as I had railed against it, against him, I could not have spent the countless hours around Cassius without some of his fatalistic caution rubbing off on me. Something was afoot, and as angry, wretched and determined as I was, I dare not throw my life away rashly. Sarah still loved and needed me, if no one else.

No one on the road. The little impromptu bazaars, so common in northern Africa, were wholly absent. The few homesteads I passed, set far back amid fields of grain, were boarded up, and as silent as the grave. And now I could just make out the outline of the City, seeming to take shape slowly from the illusory heat-waves I dared not trust until then. A man can see anything in the nebulous space between what is real and what is not—mirage (and delusion)—and not the least of my concerns were the images my mind had begun to project: Meryl walking toward me, scantily clothed as a native dancer, Ariel nude, leaning over someone (was it me?) as she had in the holes, Alexander staggering toward me with a spear in his chest. This last I was least proud of, though I could not deny it. The most persistent (and terrifying) was that of a great white elephant, thundering toward me and yet drawing no closer. Or was it? Granted I was not myself, but this was too much.

When I’d heard the word city, especially in relation to a Mediterranean port, I’d thought of a vast capitol, walls rising one behind the other and crowned with battlements. Such, certainly, are the major coastal cities of Italy: Rome, Naples, Venicia. Not so here. Hippo Regius, though surrounded by its not inconsiderable fortifications, was on nothing like the same scale. This darkened my thoughts still further. As far as being able to withstand a determined assault by the Vandals, I did not think it could do so. Also, in a vast metropolis one might hope to go unnoticed among the wharves, back-streets and alleyways. Not so here. It seemed to have only one major dock-yard, and to house not more than twenty-thousand people. If this Augustine had established intelligence networks like the Emperors of old, there could be no such thing as an unnoticed stranger…..

I had to stop. My mind was running away from me. Surely my deduction was off: I underestimated the size and power of Hippo, while exaggerating her Prelate’s influence. This had once been a thriving Roman port, and was surely not much smaller than Barceno. And how could a Consul, Magistrate or Bishop know of every stranger that came and went? Still, the twins excited comment everywhere, and Meryl was clearly a Jewess. If they were not careful…..

As my gaze returned to its former line, the elephant melted (thank God) into the shape of a large white tent by the side of the road. I spied a well before it, and to my great relief, an old man in Arabian dress standing in the open door-flap, which also served as a canopy. Here was much needed refreshment, and a chance of news. I had to find out what was afoot before I went blundering up to the gates. The man remained placid, making the best of shade and breeze, his camels tethered a short distance off.

I approached him slowly, not liking the way he seemed to stare into vacancy. Was this his idea of welcoming a potential buyer? And as I drew nearer, my sense of well-being, tentative at best, evaporated altogether. I remembered I had no money of any kind. But this was not the main cause of my uneasiness. For the sun-darkened face, deeply lined and nearly toothless, did not smile, did not react to me at all.

Then I saw the eyes. A whitish film spread across the pupils, and the brows had been singed clean off: a blind man, possibly the result of torture. I realized then that I had been walking as silently as I could. Why? Did my instincts sense danger where my weary mind could not? One of the camels gave a disgruntled bellow, and only then did he cry out:

“Who’s there?”

What answer was I to make? “A weary traveler,” I said. And then, as if this was not enough. “I was hoping for a drink from your well.”

“Can you pay?”

I had to admit that I could not. But rather than becoming angry and threatening, as desert nomads are likely to do when it comes to their water, he gave a queer sort of laugh. Then said, “You’re young.”

I could see no reason to deny it. “Yes.” Then as he only gave a mad, gap-toothed grin I added, “Where is everyone? Has the plague been here?”

Somehow the words had preceded the thought, but now the realization hit staggered me. What other explanation could there be? But now the old man was laughing, out of time, as at some inner prompting. Clearly there was nothing more to be got out of him. I moved toward the low, uncovered well, and tossed the bucket down. Then after giving it time to fill, began to reel it in hand over hand.

I felt more than saw him coming. His scimitar drawn he seemed to gauge the distance exactly. In the split second it took for me to elude the sidearm slash, I wondered if he was in fact blind. Yet as the blade whistled past, missing my ribs by inches but slicing the rope clean through, he wheeled and searched as in a game of blind man’s bluff.

I moved carefully away, defeated. I had to enter the city now, or die of thirst.

Yet this last only confirmed my surmise: I was not thinking clearly. What about the river? Gazing westward I saw not the water itself but the reeds and rushes that grew thick at its margins. Further north I could see it angle back toward the harbor, itself partly hidden by an out-wall. So careful

not to give the lunatic a second chance, I moved away and made for the life-giving stream.

Life-giving and life-taking. As I moved among the high, puff-headed reeds that grew in the flat, marshy ground surrounding, I remembered the crocodile. And snakes, and God only knew what else. How much more perilous than the rivers of Europe! As the thought continued of its own volition, it was again borne in upon me what a strange and unearthly place is North Africa. Nothing was familiar, and even the sky was different, more white than blue. No wonder Meryl’s heart had lost its anchor, her mind and moods become disconnected from reality.

But her mind was not the problem now. I had to stop and gather myself. My thoughts were racing again, making concentration difficult, almost impossible. Yet this was no time to be hypersensitive, or let my own imagination take over. My head was light from heat and lack of water, my emotions jarred by her sudden….. What? I could not find the word to describe it. Had she betrayed, or merely abandoned me? It hardly mattered. I knew what I felt, as I knew I had to try and find her. And to do that I must keep body and soul together.

So cautiously approaching the brackish water, only inches deep at its muddy edge, I scanned the swamp all around. No snakes that I could see, and the water here too shallow for any large predator to be lying in wait. I hoped. But there were hundreds of frogs, to judge by the sound of it, whole clouds of gnats and mosquitoes. I bent down, cupped my hands, filled them with muddy water and drank. In other circumstances I would have called the taste foul, repulsive. But in my present need such words had no meaning. I drank again and again. Then just as cautiously backed away.

Yet as first the reeds, then the riverside trees, some of them palms, with many more toward the ocean, whose sighing and clacking I could just make out….. As the trees thinned and failed, I looked up at the sun to get some idea of the time, and was startled by two discoveries. First, that several hours of daylight remained. And second, that it seemed to be setting to the south rather than the west. For a moment I doubted my senses, had to calculate time and direction amidst a rush of anxiety.

All right, I told myself, all right. Direction first. I remembered a rough map of Hippo I had seen in Cirta. The river flowed north, then bent to the east….. Yes, that was it. A hard bend in the coast put the oceanfront not north of the city but east of it. Thus the sun was not setting beneath me (as the south now seemed), but westward as it should.

My sense of time was not so easily reconciled. I must have woken, or come to, about an hour after dawn….. Time in the tree could have seemed longer than it was, with that monstrous reptile looking up at me. . .and I had not walked above four or five hours on the road….. No. My grasp of the ordinary was not broken, and I must not indulge in fancy.

I took a new track toward the city, having no wish to encounter the madman, but also because the outskirts might provide some cover at least. Huts of sand-colored stone began to appear, then multiply. But these too were deserted. How strange. At least the effects of last night’s debauch were wearing off: I no longer felt dizzy and light-headed, though my stomach was not at all happy with what I had just imbibed. All right. I had to prepare myself for the city walls, the eyes within, which could not now be more than a mile away.

It was evening as I approached the city’s western Gate. I’d found no one in the outlying village, which was just as well, as I remained unclear in my mind as to what approach I should use. But again there was the eerie sensation (along with others) of a world deserted. Every window was dark and shuttered, some boarded-up completely. Or have I already said that? But there were no random corpses lying in the streets, which ruled out violence or plague. Or did it? I couldn’t be sure of anything now.

My sense of time and place had again gone astray. I’d sat down in the shade of a wall to rest, thinking it mid-afternoon, and got up to find the sun gone, replaced by twilight. Had I slept? I thought I’d been awake, thinking things out. Or had I got sleep and waking confused, out of turn? Was I dreaming now? I had the same feeling—or rather, no feeling at all—of moving without a body, through disjointed scenes with but one common theme: that of emptiness and desolation.

Let us say it and have done. Fear is the most insidious enemy, because it comes from within. It knows everything you know. It is a part of you, can create worlds all its own, and you can never escape yourself. This too I felt, wishing I could leave the troubling thoughts and feelings behind, knowing I could not.

Only the noises beyond the city walls as I approached, told me some reality remained. But even these were subdued, aside from the hammering of blacksmiths, now nearer, now farther off, the tramp of feet and the shouting of orders.

I slowly approached the Gate. With the sun long gone, the deep arch lay in still deeper darkness. I couldn’t make out whether the gates themselves were open or shut. Finally, squinting, an irrational thing to do at the edge of night, and coming as close as I dared, I saw they were not, but that the iron portcullis barred my way.

At the realization of my presence, a challenge rang out.

“Stop in the name of Christ, and declare yourself!” This in Latin.

I’d prepared my answer in advance, and it was well that I had. For these angry, denouncing words worked on my psyche like a hammer-blow. In the name of Jesus Christ declare myself? As what: a priest, a prophet, a heretic? I was just a weary soul upon the road.

“Tiberius Gaius,” I said, remembering Cassius’ maxim about telling as much of the truth—

“Roman?” the voice demanded.

“Yes.”

“Native or traveler?”

“Traveler,” I said, as calmly as I could. For the black shapes leaning down over the parapet could only be archers and spearmen, aiming their piercing points at me. “I come from Rome itself,” I added as an afterthought. True enough, though it left out all the days between that and this. There was a muttered debate, as if they did not believe it, so I added, “The son of Antony Tiberius, Senator of Rome.”

At this the murmur increased, until a figure robed in purple approached the grating. I had been moving forward as steadily as I dared, having no wish to be skewered from above, until now I stood just within the arch itself. The light of torches now illumined beyond the portcullis both the military guard and the man of higher, Holy Orders. He could have been nothing else. Though his shadow, because the torches were held behind him, was huge and unsteady, its black heart looming like a path into blackness before me.

“Open it,” came the voice.

“But Monsignor—”

“Do it now!” he hissed, snake-like, and I saw several hands move to the spokes of a great double-wheel, heard the chains grow taught as it turned, then the click-click-click of the stops as the portcullis began to rise.

The figure did not step out, but waited for me to step in. I hesitated.

This was the fateful (why had my mind said fatal?) moment, no question. Did I enter, and become part of a city bracing for imminent attack—there could be no other explanation—or remain outside it: free, but naked and exposed…..

“Mea culpa,” said the high priest in a monotone. I made no reply, my mind blank. “Mea culpa,” he repeated, more insistent. I was by now so worn with fear and exhaustion, that rather than an intentional reply, I simply thought the words aloud.

“Mea maxima culpa.” The response from the Latin Mass. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

“Christian?” came the voice, still wary.

“Yes.” In my weariness I’d almost said, Of course.

“What sect?”

“I know no sect—”

“Gnostic?” the Inquisitor demanded, “Donatist?”

“No,” I said defensively, jarred by his vehemence. “Catholicae Romano. The one true Church,” I added for his benefit.

The figure stepped aside, gestured with a stiff hand for me to enter.

“For Meryl,” I whispered, knowing now that her danger was real. If this ‘Monsignor’—paranoid, if not positively demented—divided the Christian world into two groups—Roman Catholic and heretic—what would he do to the hated Jews, unbelievers who, in such twisted minds, had wantonly crucified Christ?

For the record, Pontius Pilate, the Roman Governor, had sentenced him to death. Roman soldiers had scourged him and put upon him the crown of thorns, made him carry his own cross up the Mount, nailed him to it, gambled for his clothes, and even posted the placard above him, “King of the Jews,” which the Scribes and Pharisees had found so shocking and offensive. How then do such men claim that the Jews were in control, and the Romans mere puppets, dancing upon their strings? The Romans were not the puppets of anyone, and the Scribes and Pharisees were no more representative of the common Jewish people than my father and his decadent aristocrats were of ordinary Romans.

This, of course, came to me later, as at the time I felt nothing but an anxiety that was all but physical. Was physical. I stepped into the light of the torches thrust forward to examine me, some so close it seemed a foretaste of Hell, as the grating was lowered behind.

“Why have you come?” said the man, thin and pale, with straight oily hair and a severely cut beard. As I studied his face above the purple robes, my worst fear, at least, was not realized. This was not Augustine (of whom I’d seen illustrations), but one of his minions.

I had this answer ready as well, though the piercing yet faraway gaze nearly drove it out of me. “To help defend the City of God.”

“Can you fight?”

“Yes. I served under Count Asteria in the Spanish campaign.”

“Against the Vandals?” he fairly shrieked, his suspicion redoubled. “How do I know you’re not one of them: a spy, a Trojan Horse?”

Was he serious? Was he mad? Was any of this really happening?

“No Vandal would know the responses of the Mass, and I can quote them word for word.” For I had copied out scores of missals.

He tested me not only on this, but on the Baptism, Communion and Confessional rites as well. Then he asked where in Rome I had lived, under what Captain I had served, until my head was fairly spinning and it felt like emotional sodomy. Oddly—or perhaps not so, as one who focused so intently on details that the overall picture was lost to him—he did not ask the critical question: how had I come from the inevitable disaster in Spain, to be standing at his gate?

At last he relented, and beckoned to a Centurion. “Arm him, and send him to the east wall.” Then to the guard. “Close and bar the gates. No one gets in or out. No one.”

“Yes, Holiness.”

And so it was, desperate for fighting men and in terror of the world beyond its walls, the City of God had let me in, swallowed me up. I was the last man to enter it before the storm broke.

And what a storm it was, no less within than without.

II

Time passes. I grow more in love with both land and sea. The vastness of the ocean might become oppressive but for the time we spent upon it on our journey here, out of sight of any other reality, and the hypnotic effect it continues to exert. I wish I could tell you what it is to me, or to anyone who has felt its otherwordly call—the cry of gulls, the breaking of surf on sand and stone, the intermingled breath of sea and sky—so alive. The tidal pools as I walk along the strand, crystalline worlds unto themselves. Working the boat in waters that never rest, but surge and sweep and push and pull, at first a torment and a peril, but once understood and made proper use of, life itself to fisher-folk. Not the earthly paradise of mythology, but deep and real: emotion so strong that at times I can hardly bear it. And the loneliness of one who interacts smoothly (or otherwise) with the people around him, but never feels as one of them—unable to touch, to feel, to be.

Thoughts of Brigid grow more insistent with each passing day, however irrational. Have I become cynical of poetic love, desiring instead its more earthy counterpart, the physical joining of man and woman? Would you blame me if I had? For I have spent all the years of my youth striving for the first—striving, and never finding. Am I to pine forever for some ideal never to be realized? Perhaps I have only stopped looking beyond the Earth: for Angels, Madonnas, and other mystical beings that have never been.

I freely admit my obsession, desiring a young woman I have never met or spoken to, a vestal virgin at that. But what am I to do?

What a genius for self-inflicted wounds! Tormenting my filled and empty, ever yearning, ever denied body and soul. For whatever the Christians may say, in a land such as this the spirit and flesh are one.

Alexander sailed into harbor two days ago, Cleades with him, of course. Most of his men are set ashore on the mainland to be with friends and family, but they will not stay long. For no life, no wife or mistress can overawe the siren’s call of the Sea. But it is good to see them both, and last night, to shelter them under my roof. Be it ever so humble, I am quite fond of my small island cottage, a place that I can call my own.

Nechtainn has invited us all to spend a day and night upon Sharcaen. Only Cassius will be unable to attend, having re-injured his collarbone in a fall against the gunnel. And Franzi, who refuses to be parted from him. Ariel offered to stay and look after them, but he insisted that she go—which should tell you how much even he has come to trust the High Druid—not wanting her to be caged with him while he is in a vile temper: in pain, angry and frustrated with himself for his carelessness. For she will be cloistered soon enough, and brought to bed with her natural child. One last excursion, a last glimpse of true freedom before the loving bondage of mother and infant, will do her good. And I welcome her company. To no one else can I confide the storms that rage within my breast.

We are to go in Aphrodite, that lithe and lovely vessel that means so much to all of us, but is life itself to Alexander. He is a man now in every way, as I think I must have said. For you see, I no longer go back over these entries, endlessly correcting for the day I will copy them out fair, just as I no longer look back upon days that are gone. I think of my sweet mother, of course. I wonder where she is, and if I will ever see her again. Just as I think of Brigid, and wonder what she is doing, thinking and feeling. I’d thought to write to her, have in fact done so, though the letters remain unsent. Though I loathe my own caution, if I did try to contact her in her present state as Vestal Virgin, it could bring grievous consequences for all of us. I am not such a fool, not so selfish as that.

Perhaps with Ariel’s help—for he too cannot resist the gentle warmth we all feel for her—I will find a way to speak to Nechtainn of my dilemma, if only in general terms. It seems such an affront to his Faith and generosity, but what am I to do? Love makes fools of us all. But this love….. Beauty or madness I can no longer say, only that it burns inside me, a fire that will not be quenched. I must find a way.

Morning dawns, a sweet and soulful June day. We make our way with unexpressed affection and fellowship, down to the launch. I shove off in the motions that are now so familiar to me: the sheltered harbor, to the side of the ship that carried us so far, quite literally from one world into another. Sweet Aphrodite. Some changes have been made to her, a true fighting ship now. But the billowing sails, the sweet deck, the stately rise and fall of her bows that evoke such memories, are largely as they were. Alexander no longer stands at the tillers like Hercules, that job being handed to a true brute of a man so that he can give his orders to all, while Cleades swarms into the rigging like the beautiful and graceful Olympian he is.

Alas, I have made an oversight. It’s strange in that, before I saw Brigid I would never have done so, feeling her absence too keenly. How the heart changes, though this change had to come. For she is another man’s wife. Meryl remains behind as well, with Malachi. He told us some days back that she too is with child, and struggling with the morning sickness. As such, she can hardly be expected to take to the waters of the aptly named Roaring Bay. More surprising still is that I have neglected to mention Sarah’s absence, my own adopted daughter. She too will remain, for she and Franzi are just as inseparable…..

No, that is not why. The company as a whole have begun to worry about a little girl in the care of a young man. I was infuriated when I first heard this; but as they had the wisdom to send Ariel to convey the news, my anger quickly turned to despair. Because I understand their concern, however unfounded. Malachi, who has that right, has said that until I am married it is better that she stay with them. Yet another goad to do what I must.

Ariel, never far from my thoughts, even in my passion, is, meanwhile, touchingly shy about her burgeoning womb, but also deeply proud. For in this wiser and more natural culture, every element of childbirth is hallowed, as it should be everywhere. To see her with the little German boy—once so hard and self-contained, but now released, as it were, from a prison of lost childhood—to see him as he stands by her on the shore, holding her hand and leaning against her as Cassius and I return from our daily toil…..

There is such love between the three of them, as between Meryl and Malachi, that I find myself green with envy. Family. I never knew how much that word could mean. How it pricks my heart with longing, and a loneliness that is deeper still to be among such fortunate friends.

Jacob approached me just now. I write as we sail, and he reads over my shoulder as he has often done, the trust between us complete. As I pause and look up at him, he thanks me again for my efforts, though I could not now forsake the journal if I wanted to. It is a part of me. Wise and patient Rabbi, to me there can be no better man, though I think he too is wistful. I would say forlorn, but for the underlying peace I know he feels at having brought his people out of bondage, though so many were lost upon the way. He said just now that I too have played my part, and I find myself overcome with emotion. I? This confused and aching mask of flesh? Surely life does not know its own strength.

God love you, Jacob. I have never known a truer or more generous soul. For though Nechtainn possesses many of the same qualities, he does so on his own ground, respected and revered. How much more difficult for the proverbial (and actual) wandering Jew?

On to Sharcaen, and the mystery that awaits. For I am resolved to speak of my love to the High Druid, whatever the cost to myself. Whether some of the native stubbornness has worn off on me, or merely brought out a part of myself hitherto submerged, is beside the point. I will have Brigid as my wife, a whole and healed family of my own, or I will have naught.

If a day could be said to be perfect, or almost so, this was that day. For with all its beauty and wonder, I am still alone.

Ours was not the only boat this time—far from it. Some feast day approaches, and the island fairly swarms with activity. Nechtainn had promised that one of the Shannachis—keepers of lore and history through the oral tradition—would exchange songs and tales with Alexander. And so today he made good on his word, taking us to see Reuel, one of the oldest and most revered Lore Masters of all Erin, along with his promising young apprentice. We came upon them, Master and student, in a secluded dell at the northeastern edge of the island: in the lee of a sheltering wall, where the

surf could be heard as a melodic background, a gentle breathing that in no way detracted from their voices. Nechtainn’s wife—for there is no mad separation between priesthood and family among the Druids—set out food and drink, which likewise was no hindrance to the tapestry of interwoven songs and tales. For if legend could ever be said to carry us out of ourselves, into a world so poignant, so beautiful that our own would never be the same, such was the gift of the Master, revealed through the narrative, the living poetry, and the skill of his pupil on the lyre.

We were not introduced to them as such, nor was there any theatrical beginning or end, no performance of any kind. They simply were, as much a part of the place as earth and sea, sun and wind, and we did nothing to distract them. For Reuel, as intimated earlier, is quite old, soon to return to the elements, as he himself says. But he is determined to pass on his knowledge: collective memories that reach far back into the fabled past, wreathed in myth and mystery.

And so he pours it, like finely aged wine, into the waiting cup of his apprentice, the living oracle to come: gentle Burgess, seventeen, whose melodious voice and instrument….. Alas, I do not have the words to tell it: the living magic of story and music. I can only hope that some small part of it was passed on to me.

For until today I had thought this journal as simply the written record of our journey—albeit I had infused it with a good part of myself. But creative composition, even art? Dare I hope it? I begin to believe it is possible: beautiful, meaningful. For between this blessed land, and the high value its people place on history, poetry and myth….. I am truly humbled to think I may be one of them, a Storyteller, and I have rededicated myself to the task: to tell you of our lives—our hopes and fears, love and longing, triumphs and tragedies—to the very best of my ability, as powerful and poignant as my limited gift allows. God and Erin give me strength to do it.

I must say it again. For there was an echo, a double meaning to all we heard and imagined, a déjà vu for which I can find no words to tell. We watched them as they are every day now, the older passing on to the younger all that he has learned, like a cutting planted anew, to grow and blossom afresh, its roots in the rich earth of the past, its questing leaves reaching ever for the sun and sky of days not yet imagined.

We were privileged to glimpse a small part of that rebirth, basking in the light that fairly shines from the old man, albeit he is blind. I wish I could tell you a tenth-part of the mighty tale he told of The Ossians, a veritable Odyssey unto itself. Perhaps someday I will, in another work. But if lore can ever be said to contain the heart and soul of human existence, then I have been given the greatest gift of my life.

Forgive me if I exude. I feel as those privileged to witness the Sermon on the Mount. One does not take in such blessedness and remain unmoved, nor can a man experience truths as deep and profound as these without emotion surging like the Sea inside him. Now as never before I feel the inadequacy of my own words, having sat at the feet of a true master. For I tell you, unashamed, I have walked upon hallowed ground, and touched the face of God.

Here, then, a glimpse through the key-hole. And if what I here relate loses something in the translation, that is not the fault of the long chain of Shannachis, who told their tale so true.

#

It was upon a misty summer morning as Finn and Ossian, with many companions, were hunting on the shores of Loch Lena, that they saw coming towards them a beautiful maiden, riding on a snow-white steed. She wore the raiment of a queen: a circlet of gold she wore upon her head, studded with white gems that shone as with a living light. Her mantle of purple velvet, set with stars of red gold, fell around her and trailed lightly on the ground behind. Silver shoes were on her horse’s hooves, and his mane seemed to shimmer with the light of the sun.

When she came near to Finn, she said:

“From beyond the Sea I have come, and now at last I find thee, Finn, son of Cumhal.”

Then Finn said to her:

“From what land do you come, Lady, and what do you seek of me?”

“My name,” she answered, “is Niam of the Golden Hair. I am daughter of the King in the Land of Youth, brought hither by the love of your son.”

Then she turned to Ossian, and spoke to him in a voice that was musical and mystical, like the gentle fall of water in a pool beneath the Fountain of Life.

“Will you come with me, Ossian, to my father’s land?”

And Ossian, moved by her great beauty, said:

“Verily, and to the world’s end.” For the fairy spell so wrought upon his heart that he cared no more for any earthly thing, but only that he must have the love of Niam of the Head of Golden Hair.
Then the maiden spoke of the Land Over Sea to which she now summoned her lover, and as she spoke a dreamy stillness fell over all. No horse shook its bit, no hound would bay, nor the least breath of wind stir in the forest trees until she had made an end. And what she said seemed sweeter and purer as she spoke, than anything they could afterward recall. But so far as any could remember, it was this:

Enchanted is the land beyond dreams
Fairer than aught thine eyes have ever seen
There all the year round is fruit ripe upon the tree
And flower among the meadows, blessed be

There with wild honey drips the hive
And store of wine and mead forever live
No pain or sickness knows the dweller there
Death and decay come never in the air

There beast shall run, and never chase will tire
Nor song of love, fail upon the lyre
Like gold and jewels, the Land of Youth
Outshines all splendors, deep in truth

There run horses of the fairy breed
And hounds to lope beside thy steed
A hundred chiefs shall follow thee in war
And maidens sing, who are the score

A crown of Kings thy brow shall wear
A magic blade beside thee fair
The Lord of Youth, so will thy name be told
And Lord of Niam, with the Hair of Gold

Delightful is the land beyond dreams,
Fairer than aught, thine eyes have ever seen.

As the magic song ended, the folk of Finn beheld Ossian mount the fairy steed and hold the maiden in his arms, and ere they could stir or speak she turned her horse’s head and shook the ringing bridle. Down the forest glade they fled, like sparkling water over fall. And never did the Fiana behold Ossian, son of Finn, on mortal earth again.

Then Burgess took up the lyre, and sang in his sweet, tenor’s voice:

One morning I went Questing

‘pon Erin green and proud

Looking up I saw a mountain

Crowned by shimmering cloud

I heard a song call down to me

From the vales so far above

Saw the vision of a white horse

Its rider wreathed in love

Way up on Spirit Mountain

I lay my lady down

Way up on Spirit Mountain

She gave to me my crown

It seemed of gold and diamonds

While my lady walked with me

But changed to thorny roses

When she flew across the sea

I heard her voice call back to me

As she told me the reason why:

I was born to be a sailor

And search the mountains of the sky

For she was not of earthly making

And her spirit could not stay

But through her love of me, immortal

I’d come to her someday

So I spread the wings she gave me

Flew into the sky above

Where I’ll call just like the lonely sea-bird

Until I find my love

Way up on Spirit Mountain

I lay my lady down

Way up on Spirit Mountain

She gave to me my thorny crown

It seemed a thing of diamonds

While my lady stayed with me

But changed to bloody roses

When she flew across the sea

I see the islands far below me

And sometimes I linger there

But the maidens there all shun me

And it fills me with despair

For none are liken to my lady

None can see my wings and crown

None will hear the songs I sing them

And it only brings me down

So I’ll build a ship of white wood

Lighter than the earth and sky

Set sail upon the west’ring wind

Searching till the day I die

For Niam of the Golden hair

She came to me in Youth

And laid her doom upon me

Until I find the truth

To take back to Erin crying

There to set the children free

Only then could I come calling

For the bliss she’d given me

Way up on Spirit Mountain

I lay my lady down

Way up on Spirit Mountain

She gave to me my crown

It seemed of gold and diamonds

While my lady lay with me

But changed to blood and roses

When she flew across the sea

And he set down his lyre, eyes glistening.

“Beautiful,” said Reuel simply.

The attentive reader will perceive at once that the two renderings vary: that Niam represented one thing to the old man, and quite another to the young. And yet all the former asked of his protégé was that he preserve both versions, and pass them on as such. Because both understood that if this legend was to live and breathe for a new generation, so must it grow and put forth blossoms of its own.

Cleades wept softly, who had listened with such longing to Burgess’ song, which spoke so powerfully of his lonely calling, his aching soul. Nor did the latter turn angry eyes upon the youth, quite helpless with emotion, because he searched for love in men, rather than women. Instead he rose, came nearer, and held out his hand to him. The young Greek took it, rose and embraced him tearfully. Then drew back, hardly daring to hope. But Burgess nodded, and the two looked into each other’s eyes, searching. Then Burgess kissed him gently. The affection, the attraction, was mutual. And together they walked off, Cleades more joyful than I have ever seen him, than I had ever thought to see him, given the abuses of his past. Yet still, somehow, his love survived.

Alexander looked hard at me, as if expecting disapproval. But I felt no such thing. How could I? How can one who searches so desperately for love, find fault in another who has found it? I wanted cry myself, my emotions had been stirred so deeply….. I hung me head.

I am alone.

Then to my astonishment, Ariel reached out and took my hand in both of hers. I looked at her, eyes gleaming, as she said.

“You once told me that you loved me.”

“Yes.”

“And I had to tell you. . .that it could never be.”

“Yes.”

For a wild moment I thought her heart had changed: that she had

loved me in secret all along, and could no longer bear to be parted from me.

She read something of this in my eyes, and looked away sorrowfully.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you love your husband, your family, more than your own life. Please say what you were going to. I’ll understand.”

“Will you?” she asked the wind, her eyes filling with tears.

“I swear it.”

She leaned over, and cried softly on my shoulder. I held her gently. Oh, sweet communion!

Then she said. “I do love you, Gaius, and always have, from the first time you looked up at me with such guileless love, as if I were an Angel.”

“You are,” I tried to say, but she put a finger to my lips.

“No, Gaius. I’m all too human. You must not expect a woman to be more, or you will always be disappointed.”

“Never in you,” I said passionately.

“Yes. Let me finish.” And again her voice was firm.

Must my honest affection always have this effect on her? But once more she seemed to soften. She was trying to reach out to me, and though I implored the Heavens, I knew she must do it in her own time and way.

“I do love you, Gaius. Not as a husband or a friend, but something in between. And I have wished you happiness from that day to this.” I could no longer restrain the tears, and this time she comforted me.

As she drew back I put her hand to my heart, but no words would come. “How can I tell you,” I finally managed, “how much you mean to me?”

“You just did.” And she gently kissed my forehead.

“If there is anything. . .that I can ever do, ever give…..”

“You give too much, Gaius.” She looked as if she wanted to say more—about the nature of man and woman, perhaps—but did not. Instead she looked straight into my eyes, her expression serious. “Now, will you let me give something to you?” I nodded helplessly.

But to my confusion she rose, and moved to stand before Nechtainn, whose wife nestled against him, both quietly taking in the beauty of the setting sun.

“May I speak with you?” she asked, gesturing for Alexander to come closer to translate.

“Of course,” he said. Then the three of them walked off together, his wife giving me a sympathetic smile that was in no way intrusive.

I turned and watched the sun set across the golden ocean, as another master once called it: so poignant, so glorious, so sad. For was it not setting on my heart as well? How could I ever love anyone else?

When the others returned, Nechtainn lit a fire in the lee of that lovely, moss-covered wall. Slowly the others went off to the places they would spend the night, leaving me with the Druid, Alexander remaining patiently to translate.

“Tell me,” he said simply. “Would you consider becoming one of us? A Nature Worshipper, I mean.”

I looked at him in astonishment. Was this some kind of test? A trap? What was he offering me?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I have the deepest respect for your Faith and your beliefs…..”

“But you still find truth and wisdom in the teachings of Jesus Christ?”

“Yes.” How well he read me. Whether he knew of my feelings for Brigid, specifically, I suspected there was little that happened on this island (or any other) he could not learn of if he wished to. “If I did—”

I had to stop. His faith, his vocation, were not to be trifled with, nor my own changed suddenly by the thought of such a reward.

Yet the truth was, I had thought of it. Theirs is a deep and ancient Faith, like Judaism. I looked up at him, the question in my eyes if not my words.

His answer framed itself in a question. “Do you trust me?”

This time I felt no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Then come.”

He kissed his wife, whispered something in her ear. She looked at me intently, then quizzically back at her husband. He said something to her in a voice at once soft and searching. Clearly together they weighed some difficult decision.

What was happening? She rose and, alongside him, came closer and seemed to study my eyes, my expression.

“Have you ever hurt a woman?” she asked simply, intently. “Struck her, or forced her to lie with you?”

“No.” I was not bridling at a perceived insult, but only felt defensive of something I would never, ever do. She looked to Alexander, and I believe he said words to the effect of:

“No, Brianna. He is a good man. A dreamer perhaps, as I was.”

The woman looked to her husband again, and I was startled to see a tear roll down her cheek as she hesitated. Then she nodded, and rested herself wearily against him. Though both were old, clearly they still loved each other deeply.

Then without explanation, Nechtainn gestured to me, and together we walked toward the center of the island.