The wreck of a princely Roman mansion had been hastily fitted for the reception of Ethne and her maidens. Ruined though it was, it was a fitting palace for the splendour-loving Ethne. Gilt bronze mingled with the oak shingles and stone of the roofs; and in the nobler portions of the house, were tiles of gilt bronze; the baths were of a size for royal use, and the walls were richly gilt, or lined with sheets of brilliant glass. Glass in place of mica or shell filled the windows, and brilliant glass was inlaid, jewel-like, in the walls and in the mosaic of the floors; the rich metal-work was by Byzantine workmen.
Ethne herself was clad, royally, in purple and ermine; bare arm and brow and neck clasped by Celtic torques. For ornaments she seldom wore the amber, rock-crystal and coloured glass with which most women were content, and now the long brooch that clasped her brat flashed with encrusted emeralds, set in by cunning Roman workmanship.
“Here let us winter,” she said, one brilliant autumn day as she sat in state on a carved golden chair. Above her, like a baldichino, hung an embroidered peplos of great worth and beauty—so old it had once decked the shrine of a temple to Apollo.
The marred walls about her had been hastily patched by fresh-hewn oak and beech from the surrounding forests; the gleaming trunks and red autumn leaves showed, side by side, with walls covered by sard and jasper and amethyst.
As protection from the wind skins of sheep and goats were hung around, mingled with tapestries that might, in their beauty, have been woven at the loom of Penelope; they were embroideries from Egypt—that country so lavish in her embroideries, that they worked on the sails of the galleys she sent to Tyre!
“Winter here? Not a doubt of it,” said Elgiva, bluntly. “And the crows will winter likewise. They will feast the winter long upon our flesh, and our blood will warm the winter rain.”
She was sitting on a low stool beside Ethne of the Raven Hair; with the old hound, Gelert, stretched at her feet. The creature scarcely left her side—night or day. He had never wavered in his devotion to her since the day she had saved his life. And just as much as he loved Elgiva, he detested Ethne; and though at Elgiva’s command he would try and curb his hatred, he would burst out into a low snarl if, by chance, Ethne touched him, or her draperies passed over him. Elgiva tried hard to break him of this habit and to teach him to love Ethne—but without avail; nor was he to be gained over by any advances that Ethne would make to him.
The affection between the two women seemed to increase each day; Ethne now professed Christianity, and declared she owed her conversion to Elgiva.
Cormac’s suspicions against Ethne had vanished; he took her advice on all points. It was upon her suggestion that he had chosen the Severn Valley as a camping-ground.
During the campaign Elgiva, with her more sober judgment, had opposed the descent into the plains. Nor could she see that it aided their plans—for Redwald and his men, it was believed, lay further to the south and the west.