“I have three goals, Regina. The first is to make this place safe.” He waved an arm. “Not just the dunon, but the area it will rule. Safe from the Saxons and Picts and bacaudae and whoever else might wish to harm us. I am confident I can achieve that. Next I must restore order—not for just this generation but the next, and the next. We need a civic structure, invisible, yet as strong as these walls of wood and stone. For example, I will tie the farmsteads to the central authority by renting them cattle. Perhaps other taxes can be levied.”

“The central authority. You mean yourself.”

He shook his head. “As soon as I can I will submit myself for election as a magistrate.” He used the Latin word, duumvirs. She guffawed, but he insisted, “I am serious. I tell you I am no warlord, Regina—or if I am it will not be forever.

“With order will come prosperity. We must make pottery—a decent kiln or two. And coins. I will start a mint. I have already begun the process of establishing an ironworks here. It is under the direction of my good friend Myrddin—you must meet him—a crusty old buffoon, but he knows the ancient wisdom that survived beyond the reach of the Romans, to the west of here. A marvelous man—so knowledgeable is he, some call him a wizard—my aim is to empty his head before he dies.”

“And your third priority—”

“To return the diocese of Britain, or as much of it as I command, to the Emperor. Only that way can the farthest future be assured. Even if I have to go to Gaul, I will do it.”

“How laudable,” she said dryly. “But you have chosen to come here, to reoccupy this centuries-old fort, rather than to go back to Durnovaria, say.”

“The town is dead. Its walls, even if restored, are feeble, its drains and water pipes clogged—and the system on which it relied has vanished. I mean the money, the flow of goods. We cannot buy metalwork from Germany or pottery from Spain anymore, Regina. We must live as our ancestors did.”

“And so we are abandoning the Romans’ towns and villas, and are creeping back to the old ways, the earthworks of our ancestors. How strange. How—wistful. You know, ever since I was a little girl, bit by bit, I have fallen away from the light, and into the darkness of this new, bleak time, where I recognize nothing.”

He studied her seriously, his dark eyes grave. “I do understand, you know,” he said gently. “I am no illiterate savage. I want what you want. Order, prosperity, peace. But I accept the times as they are; I accept what I must do to achieve those ends. I have told you my dreams, and my ambitions. Now tell me what you are thinking, Regina—tell me what you think of me.”