by M. K. Hume
‘Hadn’t you better get in the water before you bleed to death?’ Lorcan demanded, his dark eyes dancing with humour.
‘Is he yours?’ a portly citizen asked as Arthur waded awkwardly out towards them, his face contorted as the hot water rose up his thighs.
‘He’s ours, in so far as we’re his teachers,’ Germanus replied cautiously, his eyes lazily scanning the affluent-looking, well-fed gentleman who watched Arthur so intently. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I organise gentlemen’s amusements. Wrestling, boxing – you know the type of thing. I don’t suppose . . . ?’
‘No!’ Lorcan and Germanus said as one, grimacing, as Arthur slid under the water, emerged again and moved into the tepidarium with visible relief.
‘Such a pity,’ the citizen murmured as he took in Arthur’s sculpted shoulders, mane of dripping hair and beautifully etched, muscular abdomen. ‘The scars, I mean,’ he added hurriedly. Lorcan grinned wickedly.
‘You may be of some use to us, sir, if you’re of a mind to assist strangers in your city,’ he said. The two tutors looked at each other with unholy glee. ‘We have a duty as the boy’s mentors . . .’
‘But in an unfamiliar city . . .’ Germanus’s voice faded away.
‘And as a priest, my experience in these matters has been quite limited . . .’
‘Oh, you’re looking for a good brothel?’ the portly gentleman said, the confusion clearing from his plump features. ‘Of course, your lad will need the very best.’
‘Of course,’ Lorcan and Germaus chorused in unison.
‘The house you need is Aphrodite’s Altar. There’s no better brothel in all of Aquae Sulis, for it’s Roman in style,’ the citizen murmured appreciatively, and licked his pink lips.
‘Shaved?’ Germanus asked.
‘Waxed!’ the citizen answered, and shuddered deliciously.
He told them where the brothel could be found, and the tutors clapped him on the back in thanks before sliding into the tepidarium like large pale seals.
‘Come. It’s time you learned what it is to be a man, young Arthur,’ Germanus said in a jovial voice that held more than a trace of mockery.
‘But first we must bathe in cold water,’ Lorcan added, ‘and put a comb through that mop you call hair.’
Bemused, Arthur tried to make sense of his tutors’ teasing. Then, with another hot flush, he began to understand. ‘But I don’t know what to do, and I haven’t any money. You can’t just dump me in some brothel and hope I figure out what I’m doing. Can you?’
‘It’s time you learned, laddie. You’re a great lump of a boy, all hair and teeth, so let’s see if the ladies can soften you a little.’ Lorcan patted him affectionately on the head. ‘You need to become a man, so we’ve organised an excursion for you.’
Arthur blushed and looked terrified. He had not forgotten the tales of his friend, Eamonn pen Bors, who had been taken to a street prostitute by his cheerful older brother. He felt his stomach settle somewhere around his bare, bony toes.
‘Never mind. All you need do to impress the ladies is speak the truth, compliment them often and be very, very grateful,’ Germanus told him. ‘Women are different from men and they don’t think the way we do. You’ll learn that their minds can dance around a half-dozen different subjects without wasting time on logic. Bless them, we men can rarely understand them.’
‘So maybe we should put off this meeting to a later date,’ Arthur suggested desperately. ‘I’ll forgo the experience. After all, I won’t miss something I’ve never had.’
‘And spoil our amusement? No, it’s time you met your fate, young Arthur. The servant girls come close to raping you every time you take off your tunic to wash that torso of yours. If I were a few years younger, I’d be jealous.’ Lorcan’s face became serious as he beckoned over a merchant who traded in ales, ciders and wines. Economically, he raised three fingers to indicate the number of drinks he wanted to purchase. Arthur watched in amazement as he fished a copper coin out of his mouth and washed it casually in the frigidarium before handing it over to the vendor.
Small tin mugs of some pungent brown liquor were thrust into the hands of Lorcan and Germanus, who handed the third to Arthur. The lad sniffed the liquor doubtfully, but Lorcan swallowed his draught in one gulp. The priest shuddered convulsively and his eyes immediately began to water. ‘Damn me, Germanus, but that’s excellent liquor. It’s some kind of country brandy, but I’d rather not ask too many questions about how it’s made. Drink up, Arthur, because it will turn your adventure into great fun.’
Arthur sipped at the liquid and almost choked as its power took his breath away. Fearing he’d disgraced himself entirely with the small group of naked men who were already smiling knowingly at him, he tossed the rest down in one determined gulp. When he stopped coughing and spluttering and managed to catch his breath, he could feel the liquor spreading hotly through his veins, warming his stomach and making his fingertips tingle.
Lorcan winked. ‘Oh, and try not to upset any of the girls if you can avoid it. Women have much nastier dispositions than men and take offence at any little thing. All whores carry knives and they’re likely to gut you if you say the wrong thing.’ He paused, then added seriously, ‘Don’t insult them, and don’t laugh at them, for their lives aren’t easy.’ It was a flash of sensitivity that Arthur would never forget.
Then, dawdling through nervousness, Arthur and his companions dressed and left the baths, following the portly gentleman’s directions until they came to a villa where two tall body-servants carrying cudgels and staves guarded the entrance. Judging by the bulging biceps and oiled upper torsos of the guards, the house was both secure and discreet. No signs, loud music or drunken customers lowered the tone of the quiet lane. A large sculpture of Priapus erect was the only indication of the purpose of the establishment, and Arthur blushed once again.
Lorcan and Germanus swaggered into the open atrium of Aphrodite’s Altar. A group of girls sat around in various stages of undress, several of them playing desultorily on flutes, citharas and small brass finger cymbals. The resultant sound was not harmonious, because the girls were amusing themselves rather than playing in unison, but it invested the scene with gaiety. The girls’ flimsy draperies and wide smiles added to the festive air of the evening, a mood that Arthur found easy to absorb and enjoy. He felt his face fill with heat at a glimpse of a rosy, painted nipple, or a hennaed palm lingering on a delicate, plump thigh.
With easy charm, the lady of the house greeted them. She was a jolly woman whose plump frame and double chins suggested motherliness and good humour rather than overt sexuality, although Lorcan detected a sharp edge of calculation in her limpid brown eyes. She was a businesswoman and she did not choose to hide it.
‘Greetings, gentlemen. Welcome to Aphrodite’s Altar. I am Crislant, the proprietor of this establishment, and I personally guarantee the cleanliness, charm and graciousness of all my girls. You’ll not be robbed or cheated in this establishment and the young ladies are accomplished, for I insist that they should be educated. After all, a girl can’t remain young for ever.’
There was no appropriate response to this obvious truism, so Lorcan explained their visit with a few well-chosen words.
‘A virgin!’ Crislant squealed excitedly, and the girls suddenly became more animated, especially when Arthur moved into the lamplight. Nine pairs of eyes ringed with long blackened lashes took in every inch of his tall frame, lingering on the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his abdomen.
‘My, but you’re an excessively handsome young man,’ Crislant whispered throatily as she looked up at his hair and features. ‘What should we call you?’
Arthur blushed in earnest now, for Crislant’s hands wandered embarrassingly across his back and down to the tautness of his buttocks. Short of slapping her hands away, he couldn’t think of a single means of extricating himself.
‘I am Arthur,’ he whispered after a valiant effort to clear his throat. ‘You
r young ladies are very attractive, Mistress Crislant – as are you,’ he added, remembering Lorcan’s hint that women love praise. As he spoke, he raised the brothel owner’s plump, painted paw to his lips and kissed her knuckles with nervous charm.
The woman patted his cheek with her hand. ‘I’d love to be young again, and I’d surely give these lasses some competition. Now, Arthur, is your preference for fair hair or red? Blue eyes or brown? You only have to ask, and Crislant will find someone to meet your needs.’
‘I don’t really know how to answer you, mistress. I already feel a little bit foolish, so I’ll place myself in your capable hands.’
‘You’re a clever boy, young Arthur. Did anyone ever tell you that you have a look of the last High King? I met him many, many years ago, and it’s said he grew to manhood just a few miles from here. But don’t blush at me, boy. If you share in the bloodline of King Artor you have no need to feel shame, whatever side of the blanket you were born on.’ She smiled at him. ‘Arduinna?’
Crislant’s voice had suddenly become crisp and businesslike. A tall girl, probably a few years past her twentieth birthday, uncoiled her long legs and rose sensuously to her feet. Her hair was the colour of aged oak and it fell straight from her hairline to her waist without a trace of curl or kink, even at the ends. Something golden seemed to shimmer just below her pale skin. That same gold found its way into her hazel eyes, so that the irises seemed to be made of amber and yellow topaz and the black pupils appeared unnaturally large and jetty. Her eyes guarded her thoughts well and Arthur, who had been taught to read the expressions of opponents, had no idea what she was thinking behind her smooth, unlined face.
Arduinna took Arthur’s hand and led him along a tiled passageway leading to a small, spartan room whose only concession to luxury was a high, narrow window that let in the sounds of the night. Arthur felt as if every nerve ending in his body was exposed and sensitive, and he was suddenly less frightened of the coming experience than excited by the prospect of it.
Trying to take the initiative and not sure how to do it, he attempted to put his arms about Arduinna, but she slithered out of his embrace, giggling. The sound was mellow and warm like thick golden honey and Arthur luxuriated in that intoxicating laughter, although he had no idea what to do now that Arduinna had refused his embrace.
‘Allow me, master,’ she murmured throatily and began to strip off his cloak and tunic, carefully releasing the catches, the cloak pin with its bronze spike decorated with Bedwyr’s tree symbol and his heavy leather belt, whose green and white buckle bore a similar locking device.
‘You wear the trees of Arden, master?’
‘Aye. And what of you, Arduinna? What is that necklace?’
She lifted a small golden figure that hung from a length of red-dyed cord. It lay between her breasts like a golden eye.
‘This is the goddess of the forests of my home across the water. We share the same name and she is a huntress. The Romans called her Diana, but we know who she really is, don’t we?’ She crooned to the tiny figure of a boar, vicious and charging. Somehow the idea of this lovely, golden woman and a hunting beast didn’t seem incongruous in the soft warm night, sweetened with the last fruits of autumn.
‘You’re still a virgin, my lord. All whores dream of teaching the art of love to a man like you, for no man will ever forget his first woman. He will love many women in his lifetime, but the first is special. So, my lord, you only need to obey Arduinna and I will make you into a man. You should have no fear that I will think you foolish or ignorant, and I shall not mock you. On this night I am blessed, and I thank you for the gift I am about to receive.’
Then Arduinna proceeded to teach Arthur the delights of manhood. Amazed and surprised by his lesson, Arthur learned quickly that women are creatures of subtlety, so neither force nor aggression gives them pleasure. She showed him that time spent wooing a woman was worthwhile, for at first women are less ready for lovemaking than men. She explained every small action and every trivial caress so that Arthur understood the effect of what men do so casually for their own enjoyment, thoughtless of the woman between whose legs they lie. She taught him in those long hours that sexuality is a gift, a tool and a weapon, depending on who wields it, and why.
‘But we are the lucky ones, aye? You and me: Arthur and Arduinna. We do not love each other, so we can give to each other without shame or pain. I will give you knowledge and you will give me pleasure. Do you see what I mean? Some gods demand the sex act as part of worship, and I can understand why the ancients thought in that fashion, because we can be ennobled by such worship. But where the heart is cold and power is all that is desired, we women are despoiled and become creatures of the darkness. You must remember that women are what you make of them. If you treat them with less respect than your horse or your dog, they will turn on you as all abused beasts do. And, sweet Arthur, you must remember that women are your lovers, your wives and your mothers. If a whore can be all those things to a man, surely she is worthy of some respect.’
She smiled down at him, and a stray shaft of moonlight played halo-like with her glowing hair. ‘You’re a sweet boy, Arthur, but the time has come when you must leave me. I hope I never see you again, so I remain young and beautiful in your mind for ever.’
‘You will always be beautiful, Arduinna, both in my memory and in fact. Everything about you is golden and lovely, and I would take you away from here if I could. My heart hurts in my breast to think of you as the prey of the men who frequent this place.’
She laughed gently, but sadly too, and when Arthur raised his fingers to her face he could feel a narrow track of tears snaking from her eyelids to her jawline.
‘I will grow old quickly. Women do in my trade. If I am fortunate, I will save enough money to move to a village far from here with sufficient coin to lead a respectable life. If I am not, I will lose my teeth and my looks, and survive as best I can. Whores don’t live long, sweet Arthur.’
‘But you are Diana, the Huntress, and she survives without men, Arduinna. I have no doubt that you are clever enough to do so too. After all, Crislant chose you to educate me in your arts. I don’t think she’d have picked a foolish young girl. I’m not being vain, but my father was a close servant of the High King.’
‘All men have heard of Bedwyr of Arden.’ She laughed, and the sound had humour and hope in it. ‘Perhaps you’re right, Arthur. I will think on it, but now you must go back to your life.’
Only one thing still teased at Arthur’s mind as he dressed, even while he joked with Arduinna as they walked hand in hand back towards the atrium where desultory music was still playing.
‘What is it, Arthur? Is something still bothering you?’ Then she gasped and began to giggle in earnest, masking the sound by covering her rich, full-lipped mouth with her fingers.
‘Don’t laugh at me, Arduinna. Please. You’re making fun of me . . . and I can’t help making a fool of myself.’
‘You were as all boys are when they learn the ways of love for the first time, my dear. I’ll not lie to you. But you were very sweet and you were eager to learn. If you practise hard, I know you will become a wonderful lover.’ Then she punched him on the shoulder, as if she were an older sister, before kissing him on the lips.
In the atrium, Germanus and Lorcan were sleepily waiting to go to their beds, although neither man was prepared to admit that he had grown so old that a good night’s slumber was preferable to the fleshpots. When Arthur sheepishly entered the room with Arduinna on his arm they rose creakily to their feet, winked at the mistress of the brothel and began to make their farewells. Arduinna kissed Arthur quickly on the cheek and ordered him not to look back when he departed. He obeyed her. Had he chosen to turn his head at the door, he would have seen that the girl with amber eyes had begun to weep quietly against the wall.
Morning came as the three men recovered from their entertainment in a pleasant inn on the outskirts of Aquae Sulis. There was a promise of rain in the air
, and grey clouds scudded across the sky from the direction of the sea. Even in these temperate climes, the light breeze held a hint of cold to show it had teeth ready to bite the unwary. Arthur looked through the drawn shutters of their shared room and remembered Crislant’s casual comment that the High King’s youth had been spent near this town.
‘Germanus? Master?’
Germanus was still asleep. Spring and summer had been hard work at the Warriors’ Dyke, as the young aristocrats and their entourages had made one last push to complete the major section of the ditch before the onset of winter, when the frozen earth would be impossible to penetrate with their crude implements. Other groups would build off the main construction in the coming years, but, as Taliesin explained, those secondary walls and ditches could be constructed at any time. Meanwhile, the five major tribes of this area had agreed to provide a rotating guard of twenty warriors who would live and work at the Warriors’ Dyke itself.
Germanus was really too old to be digging vast expanses of ditch, especially in deep and clinging black mud, but he was the only person to find one of the truly ancient sea shells. While digging, he had felt his hoe strike a hunk of indigenous rock. Carelessly, he had thrown it onto the bank behind him and the clay had fallen away to reveal an odd circular shape.
‘What’s this, Germanus?’ Arthur had asked as he lugged a length of chain to a half-built hut which, when completed, would house the equipment used to raise and lower the defensive barrier.
‘It’s just a bit of rock that was buried in the clay,’ Germanus had answered casually, but Arthur, ever-curious, had soaked it until the last of the soil had washed away, revealing its true nature.