As for herself and her women, Padrec had never seen them dress their hair beyond a gold circlet from fhain treasure. They washed and combed it out and let it hang loose to the waist. The style was preference, not lack of imagination. A Prydn woman did not put up her hair before or after marriage. It was simply not done.

119.

Scrubbed and shined, the horses curried and gauded ; in treasure from their ancient chest, fhain set out early in the morning for the village to the west. They would not have to spend much time explaining their needs; Padrec had seen to that. It was a good day to trade or visit, the air crisp and just a trace of overcast as the sun rose higher.

The gates stood open, one young man on guard, trying to look more casual than he felt at their approach. Dorelei pointedly avoided the dark skins stretched on the stockade wall. She trotted her pony ahead of the others to rein up before the gate.

"Have come to trade," she requested gravely. "Do ask to enter."

"Oh?" The garishly tattooed young warrior swept low in a mock bow. "And what will you trade with, Faerie girl?"

Dorelei kept her face a blank mask. "Be nae girt but a gern. Do come in the peace of Earth and Sun, thy gods and mine."

"And the blessing of God and Jesu Christ." Padrec walked his horse to Dorelei's side. "You know me. I came yesterday to speak with Naiton. We have his welcome."

The young man stroked the iron charm hung about his neck. "Well, then, come in peace."

Padrec wondered why Dorelei hung back, then he saw the iron bar laid across the gate opening and the sudden revulsion and fear in her eyes. The young lout was testing her courage with something she could not cross.

You mean little bastard . . . and five extra prayers tonight . for the indulgence of my ungenerous thoughts.

The Taixali waved again, mocking Dorelei. "Come in."

She wouldn't cross the bar and the Taixali knew it;

she was to be humiliated at the start. Already some of the villagers had gathered inside the gate to enjoy the sight.

Padrec dismounted and approached the Taixali, hands open and spread in friendship.

"You play a silly joke with your iron. Gern-y-fhain, who has more magics than the tree has leaves, will not deign to play with you. As you wouid not dare the hills at night where the spirits of the air and dark are her ser-

120 vants." Padrec picked up the iron bar and tossed it to one side. "And my God has magics. Think you a God who felled the firstborn in every house in Egypt, who cured lepers and raised the dead will tear the toy-trick in a piece of iron? You waste your time and that of Naiton, boy."

Padrec waved Dorelei past him into the stockade.

It was a day of learning for Padrec. He saw with bemused humor how exotic each people were to the other.

The scant costumes of fhain women were as fascinating to Pictish dames as their motleyed and checked gowns were to Prydn. All trading was done in the longhouse of Naiton the village elder, a thick-bodied man who lolled in his moEhy ceremonial chair, belly hanging over his belt, pick- ing his teeth while fhain bargained. Dorelei and Gru had organized the trading for efficiency, not wanting to tarry longer than needed. Cru, Matgon, Artcois, and Bredei would inspect and trade for the vetch they needed. Oil fell to Drust and Guenloie, bolts of woven wool were the province of Dorelei and Neniane. They wanted good qual- ity and measure for their gold. Behind his studied inso- lence, Naiton was eager for trade. He didn't see gold very often.

"There is that which is beside the wool," he announced casually. At a sign, one of his fat wives unrolled a bolt of linen and spread it for inspection. Padrec heard Neniane's little oh of admiration and pleasure.

"Dost like it, small cat?"

"Oh, aye. So soft. Could make much from it." Her wise hands danced over and through the linen, twisting it this way and that, catching it into shapes, already measur- ing and cutting. "Swaddling for child-wealth."

"Who will come soon to Neniane."

Dorelei fingered the linen. "Thee knows fine cloth, Padrec. Be worth our gold?"

The linen was coarse but as good as one would find north of Eburacum. "Fair quality."

Neniane clutched at the prize of it. "Sister, please?

But a little?"

Dorelei saw the wanting in her sister's appeal. Neniane desired it for swaddling, as if the mere possession would bring a child to wrap in it. Lovely stuff, but a luxury and far too flimsy for nding. She never saw it outside the 121.

lowland villages. Dorelei already felt a blasphemer for spending Rainbow-gift, and yet her hand smoothed over the soft material in a natural caress. So white. It would be as snow against her skin and necklace of blue stones, and Padrec would know a new word for beauty in women, regardless of his peculiar attitude toward it. If it were not too costly . . .

"Perhaps." She put the bolt firmly aside. "Will think on't."

Padrec asked his leave of Doreiei and enjoyed a stroll about the village. Compared to fhain, even Taixali were dvilized in some ways. He stopped to watch a potter busy at his wheel, a blacksmith with sparks exploding from hammer and anvil. TaixaU houses were sturdier than their thatched roofs belied, the timbers well cut and joined with iron tools. He looked in on Cru, Malgon, and Bredei weighing out vetch, then paused to drink at the well, noticing the middle-aged couple staring at him. Like all isolated folk, their curiosity was direct and a shade loutish, but he greeted them civilly.

"Give you good day."

Still they stared. The specific objects of their concen- tration were the heavy gold bracelets on his wrists.

"That which you wear," the man pointed. "Is it gold then?"

"Yes."

The man turned to his woman. "Did I not say so? I've seen gold weight in Corstopitum, but none like that. Very little dross, I will be bound."

"A little to harden it," Padrec confirmed.

"Where is it that such gold comes from?" the woman asked.

"From Gern-y-fhain. Faerie queen."

"Ah, the young one. And from where to her?"

Padrec spread his hands. "Who can say? They have had it always. Gift from Rainbow, it is said."

Their expressions opened wider with wonder. "Ah ...

magic, then. There have been such tales as that."

Padrec replaced the dipper and wiped his lips. "You have been often to Corstopitum, then?"

The Taixali man straightened and became palpably official. "It is myself that does the trading with Vemcone and Romans."

722 The wife gave her husband a proprietary smile from which several teeth were conspicuously absent. "Eight fine horses that he loads and that carry back the goods from Wall."

The first rays of a dawning idea struck Padrec. "When do you journey again?"

"Soon, soon." The Taixali rubbed his hands and cast a look at the sky- "While the weather holds."

"Would you carry a letter for me?"

Well, now, for a consideration, for a half notch of gold, mild robbery and Padrec knew it, the man would oblige. Aye, and toss in to the bargain the wherewithal to write. In his house he proudly laid before Padrec a supply of quills, passable ink, and tattered sheets of dark vellum, thin with washing and much use. The trader couldn't write at all. He toted his accounts in a picture code of his own; nevertheless, he felt quite literate owning such materials.

"And there is tea to the fire," the wife blandished as Padrec dipped his quill.

Patricius to Caius Meganius, bishop of Eburacum, that you may know of me and my mission. Ave and the blessing of Christ to your grace.