by M. K. Hume
When Julanna was less than a month from birthing and the start of summer was only days away, the three travellers returned once again to the villa.
Some days glister as if diamond dust is carried on the warm air. The fitful breezes had been hot all day and the family had spent most of the hottest middle hours in the atrium where the fountain offered some illusion of coolness. The ladies fanned themselves desultorily and gazed longingly at the visible square of sky that held no trace of cooling cloud. Even the birds were silent, as if the heat had robbed them of the power to sing.
The three noble visitors were a welcome distraction from the unseasonable weather. An excuse to laze in the baths and dress for the evening meal was a blessing after the hammer of heat that had bludgeoned the family throughout the day.
Ector greeted Myrddion, Luka and Llanwith pen Bryn with pleasure, for he realized that, thanks to these noble and powerful men, he now possessed a strong young steward who could safely manage his lands for many years to come. When Cletus died, the youthful Artorex immediately took complete control of the villa’s day-to-day life and was performing his duties with distinction even before Ector confirmed his promotion to the position. Much that Artorex now was, Ector knew, was due to the intercession of the three lords, and he was grateful.
The presence of Gallia caused some consternation on the part of the three noble visitors. Obviously, they had not anticipated other guests during their visit.
Gallia was agog with curiosity at the presence of the three visitors, and her golden eyes gleamed as she noticed every tiny detail that marked the strangers as powerful men of influence. Llanwith’s dragon dagger told her much, for if she was not mistaken the hilt was wrought from iron and pure gold. Luka wore a torque of antique shape and, although the metal was strange to her, the worldly little Gallia guessed that it was made of electrum.
As for Myrddion, who was now distinguished by a white streak in his black hair, Gallia recognized the manners of one who is used to daily contact with the mighty and the powerful. She knew a dignitarium, a high-ranking courtier, when she met one. He wore a pigeon egg-sized ruby on his thumb as if it was a mere nothing, and one ear was pierced and filled with a strange spearhead of gold.
Yes, very peculiar indeed were these men from far away - men who came infrequently to observe Artorex’s progress, and then departed as quickly as they arrived. Gallia knew there was some deep purpose behind their visits, for men of wealth and power never act impulsively. Gallia grinned delightedly. Mysterious strangers, rumours of the wider world of Britain and an opportunity to wear her best robes danced tantalizingly through her thoughts.
‘Anything that occupies Caius and reflects his words,’ she muttered aloud, sobering immediately. ‘The heat is making us all irritable.’
But Gallia could never be gloomy for long, so she danced away to her sleeping chamber to consider the deficiencies in her wardrobe.
CHAPTER V
BIRTH AND DEATH
As had become customary at the Villa Poppinidii, a feast was held to honour the arrival of the three dignitaries. Artorex kept the kitchen humming and nimble maids prepared bedchambers for the three visitors.
Gallia was obliged to sleep on a pallet in Julanna’s room. She did not protest, for she knew that Caius had recently grown increasingly morose and she welcomed the opportunity to guard her friend from his temper. Artorex was also uneasy, for it was clear to him that Caius was distracted and his moods were growing even more unpredictable. The noble visitors only served to put Caius on edge; Artorex overheard him swearing viciously at a manservant who was laying out a fresh tunic for the feast.
As Artorex strode through the colonnades, ensuring that all the small details of the meal met Lord Ector’s expectations, he saw Targo hovering in a patch of shadow near the stables.
The old man had swathed himself in a dark cloak so that only the keenest of eyes could spy him as he observed the comings and goings at the villa. Artorex noted that Targo carried his short sword and dagger in sheaths at his waist.
‘What tidings, Targo? Shouldn’t you be in your widow’s arms, or seated by her fireside?’ Artorex asked from the courtyard.
Targo looked alarmed at the loud greeting from his pupil. He raised a finger to his lips, and then pulled Artorex into the relative darkness of the stables.
‘Keep your voice down, boy. You could cause us both to be killed.’
‘Why are we whispering?’
Targo’s eyes gleamed in the half-light. Had Artorex not known better, he would have believed that the older man was seriously frightened.
‘I’ve just been told that another boy has vanished from the village, and his kin are terrified for his safety. The boy isn’t one to wander far from his home so they’re certain that he’s been taken. His father, the Smith, won’t wait quietly for his boy to be found. He’ll be here before too long, prepared to choke the life out of Caius if that serves to find his son. The other villagers are also angry, and rumours are rife. If they believe that Caius is involved, and they do, they’ll come here with the Smith to drag the master’s son away, whether he’s guilty or not.’
‘When did the latest boy go missing?’ Artorex asked abruptly.
‘Yesterday, at dawn,’ Targo replied tersely.
Artorex heaved a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thanks to all the gods - Caius hasn’t left the villa for two days,’ Artorex murmured with simple truth. ‘He’s been a damned nuisance, in fact, and is driving his family demented with his moods.’
Targo laughed ruefully. ‘Then I must be right when I say that Caius is a watcher of evil and doesn’t have the balls to carry out these crimes for his own gratification. I’d wager my left hand that he is involved, especially if he’s been anxious to visit his friend, Severinus. At any rate, the threat to the villa still holds. That’s why I’m here. It’s possible the villagers might turn against Ector and the situation could get completely out of hand if something isn’t done to stop it. These murders have gone on for too long.’
‘Then I’ll try to keep Caius at Villa Poppinidii where Lord Ector can provide some protection for him,’ Artorex decided. ‘If you can convince the villagers that Ector’s son was here at the villa at the time the young lad went missing, then perhaps we can avoid too much bad blood - for all our sakes. In this instance, you can tell them that I, Artorex, swear that the young master is innocent of this particular disappearance.’ He paused. ‘You’re aware that the three travellers have returned to the villa and are with Lord Ector even as we speak?’
‘Why does everything go wrong at the same time?’ the old man muttered. ‘It’s best then that I go to the village to placate the boy’s kin at once.’
‘Yes. And I thank you for your warning. I’ll watch Caius and ensure that he remains here at the villa.’
Turning, the old warrior took his leave, patting the trunk of his favourite alder tree as he passed.
Artorex stared after Targo until his form was lost in the deepening darkness.
The young steward returned to his duties, his sandalled heels striking down hard on the cobbles as he strode to the kitchens. He had work to do, and little time to ensure that no shame should be attached to the hospitality of the Villa Poppinidii.
That night, the feast had a tense atmosphere, despite the exquisite food.
Mistress Livinia had dressed with particular care in a peplum of pale blue that suited the remnants of her dark beauty. As was her custom, she wore few jewels, but the great pearls that hung from her ears and the two heavy bangles that encircled her narrow wrist were exclamation marks that emphasized her delicacy. Llanwith pen Bryn bowed his head to her when he recognized that his gift adorned her ears.
Master Ector was as hearty and as insensitive as ever, completely oblivious to the undercurrents of bad temper, nervousness and watchfulness that pervaded the triclinium. He lounged on his carved and painted divan and waved to his guests to join him.
Julanna had pleaded a sick headache and had taken
to her bed, but Gallia could not resist the impulse to observe the three visitors at close quarters. Caius seemed more distracted than was usual for him in the company of the great ones, while Livinia was occupied in surreptitiously observing her son, in spite of the gracious smiles and welcoming words she directed towards her guests.
Artorex summoned the first course of songbirds, glazed with honey and sweetened aspic of eggs and lamb’s tongue, and the meal began. He joined the family once the first course had been served, but made no effort to engage in the conversation. His presence was ignored by the assembled group, so he fetched the wines, just as he had done so long ago as a young boy. He served guests and hosts alike.
‘What news of the east do you bring, my friends?’ Ector asked, as was his custom.
‘It’s bad, friend Ector, very bad,’ Luka replied, as he daintily plucked a chicken wing from the meat platter and crunched its bones between his strong teeth.
‘Tell us, friends,’ Livinia asked in her gracious manner. ‘For we hear little of the outside world at our villa. I fear we are so caught up in our safe little world that we know nothing of the troubles of others.’
After a moment of wordless communion between the three friends, Myrddion spoke for all, and his words offered little comfort for the future well-being of Lord Ector and his family.
‘The Saxon hordes have invaded the eastern coast in large numbers and have taken Camulodunum and a number of smaller towns and villages. At the same time, the Jutlanders have landed in great numbers from the Metaris Aest. They’ve not moved far from their longboats and have held back from plunder - unlike their practice in the past. And they have brought their women and children with them this spring. We fear that they’ve come to stay.’
‘This is nonsense. How could a fortress such as Camulodunum fall?’ Ector protested. ‘It’s walled and garrisoned by the forces of the High King. How could the barbarians breach the rock walls of Camulodunum?’
‘We have warned you before, friend Ector, that the Saxons have excellent fighting men - and women,’ pen Bryn rumbled, as he waved away Artorex’s offer of more wine. ‘Many of their warriors are as large as Artorex here and they have spent their entire lives fighting for every crust and every slave since the day of their birth. They are ferocious, and their leaders control their soldiers mercilessly. When they hold the high ground, they’re virtually invincible.’
‘We’ve felt their ruthlessness before, during those days when Vortigern married his Saxon woman and opened the floodgates to her kin. The wars of Vortimer haven’t been forgotten - and the Saxons still live in the wilder parts south of Mona Island.’ Myrddion spoke gravely and with the conviction of absolute truth. ‘I myself felt the sting of Vortigern’s venom, and I experienced the Saxon lust for the land of the Britons when I was but a small boy. Did you truly believe that such a people would leave us in peace?’
Gallia shivered. This news was not the comfortable and interesting tales of the world that she had hoped to hear.
Luka observed her frightened face. ‘Well may you be concerned, Mistress, for the Saxons and their allies will not be stopped until they have spread from sea to sea. More raiders will come next summer now that they have a foothold on both our eastern and western coasts. And the year after that, more still will arrive. They will turn our towns to bloody, smoking ruins, like Camulodunum, and then they’ll build their wooden halls on our stone foundations. Our safe world is coming to an end, my friends.’
‘And what are our great lords doing?’ Caius snapped. ‘Where is Uther Pendragon, the High King, who is supposed to be protecting us?’
His mother flashed a quick, eloquent glance of warning in his direction, but Caius was too angry to heed her silent caution.
‘As usual, the Celtic kings are useless, just as they were when the legions defeated them easily in years gone by. What is needed now is a leader, one with the belly to put these curs to flight,’ Caius concluded, his face twisted into a sneer.
Pen Bryn would have answered, but Myrddion placed a hand over his friend’s forearm, and took up the argument smoothly.
‘It’s true that many kings of the Britons are frightened, Caius. But it is also true that it has only been the strength of Uther Pendragon that has held them together during these past decades of peace. It would only need a small mistake now for the lesser kings to break the High King’s treaty - so we live in perilous times.’
‘And Uther Pendragon sickens,’ Luka interrupted abruptly. ‘He is not the man he was last year, or five years before that. At sixty, his fires are almost quenched.’
‘Then we truly need a leader to put iron in the spines of our leaders and fear in the hearts of our enemies,’ Caius repeated. ‘It is only strength and fighting spirit that can give these cowardly weaklings the will to face the Saxons.’
‘Take care, Caius, or you’ll cause offence,’ Ector hissed.
‘I speak the truth, Father,’ Caius retorted.
‘You speak like a child, boy,’ pen Bryn growled and drove his dragon knife deeply into the wooden table; the gems in the dragon’s eyes winked balefully in the light of the torches.
‘Britain was ours long before the Roman legions came. It was ours when the Roman tribes crawled in their mud huts between the Seven Hills. And it was ours when it was under Roman rule. And they were quick enough to run when the barbarian hordes began to cross the Danube. You are half Celt, boy, so remember that you are only the bastard son of a family that was crawling in the dirt when my ancestors were kings in their own land.’
‘You must mind your manners, Llanwith,’ Luka admonished. ‘Still, I agree with this young man that we need a strong leader in these perilous times.’
Caius leapt to his feet.
‘Sir! I don’t care for your insults,’ he screamed. His eyes appeared half crazy in the light of the sconces. ‘How dare you insult my mother who is Roman to the core and who is also your hostess!’
‘Your mother is a Briton,’ Myrddion interjected. He turned to face Livinia. ‘Is that not so, my lady? You’ve never walked upon the streets of Rome, I know. In fact, Rome no longer exists as it was known in the past.’ Myrddion spoke carefully to remove the sting from his unpalatable words.
‘Our guest is right, Caius,’ Livinia answered. ‘I am a Briton, as are you. In Rome, we would have been as nothing to the senators, and even less than nothing to the curs who inhabited the subura. My great-grandfather followed the legions, and he made his home and his fortune within these walls. We will all live and die as Britons, for I fear the Saxons will not care to make a distinction between Ector and myself. ’
But Livinia’s words didn’t mollify her son, whose face burned with raw anger and hostility. Out of a visceral desire to destroy, he ripped apart a delicate cloth that had been laid aside for greasy hands and flung the fragments on to the floor. Livinia whitened in apprehension and resolutely turned away.
Myrddion turned to question Artorex.
‘And what say you, Artorex? What would you do if you were Uther Pendragon?’
‘I’d strike, my lord. And I’d strike hard with all my strength before the Saxons have a toehold in the west. A battle fought at a later time on our own fields could be disastrous for all the Britons.’
‘Yes, my boy, you’re probably right. But Uther is old - and has no heir to succeed him,’ Myrddion replied regretfully.
‘Then one must be found, preferably one of Roman lineage,’ Caius hissed through his teeth. He was almost standing over Myrddion in his rage.
‘Even as we speak, young man, the search for a successor to Uther Pendragon is being pursued by men of faith and principle. One fact is certain, the kings of the Britons would not be stirred to follow a Roman-born leader. Such thinking is over-proud and impractical.’
Caius dashed down his goblet on the table and the lees splashed over Myrddion’s tunic. The scholar merely mopped the wine stains from his garment and ignored the younger man. Ector started to apologize, and Livinia’s face
was stricken.
Caius stormed from the room, his fury a palpable, living thing.
Artorex was torn. Caius was in the kind of rage that made the man dangerous, but Ector had not given him leave to follow the young master.
Fate intervened, for Myrddion continued to address Artorex. He must stay.
‘Your foster-brother is a hot-headed young man, Artorex, but in these dangerous times such men are often needed,’ he said carefully. ‘I am curious. What qualities of leadership do you feel are necessary in our leaders during these troubled times?’
‘We should be searching for a warrior who has been trained from birth to lead. He should be one whom all Britons will follow because of his birthright - and through his strength of arms. You need a cold, calculating man such as the great Caesar, a man who will dare much and gamble everything on his will, and not just his anger.’
‘True!’ the friends agreed.
At this point of tentative agreement, the screams began.
The sound of those thin, wailing trebles would have chilled the hottest blood. The whole company stood in haste, hands searching out weapons, but Artorex and Gallia were first through the doorway. Both recognized the direction from which those terrified screams came.
Livinia was only a few steps behind them, and the guests brought up the rear.
Artorex burst through the doors of Caius’s apartments to discover Julanna curled up into a ball as small as her pregnant belly would allow, while a foaming Caius kicked out viciously at any part of her flesh that was exposed.
‘Stop, master!’ Artorex shouted and plucked Caius away from his wife’s bleeding face and body. ‘You must stop!’
Gallia immediately threw herself over her friend’s prone form and tried to cover her with her own small person.