KingArthur:Dragon'sChild

M.K.HUME

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TableofContents

TitlePageCopyrightPageDedicationAcknowledgementsCHAPTERI-THEEDGESOFMEMORYCHAPTERII-THEBLADEANDFIRE

CHAPTERIII-CHILDHOOD’SENDCHAPTERIV-GALLIACHAPTERV-BIRTHANDDEATHCHAPTERVI-CLEANSINGTHEALTARCHAPTERVII-THEAFTERMATHCHAPTERVIII-ACONVENIENTMARRIAGECHAPTERIX-THEIDYLLCHAPTERX-ATVENTA

BELGARUMCHAPTERXI-TRIALOFSTRENGTHCHAPTERXII-TODIEINANDERIDACHAPTERXIII-CARRIONCRYCHAPTERXIV-OUTOFTHEMARSHFIRESCHAPTERXV-ENDINGSANDBEGINNINGSCHAPTERXVI-THEUNBORNCHILD

CHAPTERXVII-BLOODPRICECHAPTERXVIII-ACHILD’SRECKONINGCHAPTERXIX-UTHER’SLEGACYCHAPTERXX-GLASTONBURYCHAPTERXXI-THEKEYSTOTHEKINGDOMCHAPTERXXII-ASAXONSUMMER

AUTHOR’SNOTE

Thisworkisdedicatedtomyfriend, Julienne MarieGleeson,wholeft this lifeon5thFebruary,2004.

She was my belovedfriend, my second self, andmy unsung hero. Julie gaveme backbone when lifeseemed darkest, and shetaught me that there is greatbeauty in the struggle tofulfill a dream. She had

resolutely survived death,fierce adversity, animosityand violence, until cancerfinished her life strugglebeforeherfiftiethbirthday.

The fairest flowers are‘born to blush unseen andwaste their sweetness on thedesert air’, but I recognizedJulie’srarenessandcherishedevery memory of our timetogether.

This book belongs to her

because she fought topersuade me to write it.Without her, it may neverhavebeenborn.

Ave, Julie, where you restafter life’s suffering. I hopeyouapproveofmyoffering.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I appreciate the simple factthat many readers avoid thissection of any book. In thiscase, however, I hope youmakeanexception!

King Arthur: Dragon’sChild, as the first volume inThe Chronicles of Arthur:King of the Britons, would

never have seen the light ofday hadmy husband, ArthurMichael, not given it hisinimitable editing andcriticism, evenwhen battlingaseriousillness.Therearenowords to thank him for hissupport, even though his oft-repeated words, ‘What doesthis crapmean?’ will alwaysmakemesmile.

To Margot Maurice, andthose members of the

Independent Publishers ofAustralia Network whoassisted me to achieve mygoals - my thanks for yourprofessionalismandexcellentadvice when it was mostneeded.

I am indebted to all thegreat writers of ArthurianLiterature, from Gildas toCharles Williams andbeyond, who made KingArthur, the High King of

Britain and Dux Bellorum,suchafascinatingheroinmyimaginative other-life. Evenwhen I cursed the deadlanguagesIneededtolearntoknow him better, I becameobsessed with the glories ofhis epic as I struggled withpost-graduate research.Without those histories andliterary masterpieces writtenduring the past thousandyears to fallbackon, Icouldnot have hoped to write my

own version of Arthur’s lifeandtimes.

Without the supportofmyfriends, Penny Cranitch, LynBaker, Robyn Jones andPaulineReckentin, andmanyothers, I would havecrumbled long ago under theweightofthisproject.Tomyfriends-Ithankyouforyourlove and support, despitemymany faults. To those whowouldhavedonemeharm-I

thank you also, for you havetaughtmethevaluablelessonthat life is neither fair norjust, and that only byopposition to that which isimmoral and wrong do wegrow as people. I know youdid not intend to spurme onto achievement, but the endresultisultimatelythesame.

Mythanksmustalsogo tothe innumerable students atvarious High Schools over

the years that enjoyed mystories and shuddered at themore gruesome of my plotsand ideas.They always likedmy more eccentric and grimvisions, and they collectivelysetmeonapaththatavoidedthe pitfalls of writing storiesthat were simply ‘nice’ and‘acceptable’.

Finally, thanks tomy highschool English Teacher, MrsLapa, who tore my facile

essays and short stories toshredsandtaughtmetowriteforme,andformealone,andtogiveawhole-heartedeffortineverytaskIattempted.Sheonly taughtme for one year,andshenevergracedstudentsagain with her uniqueviewpoints. She was a greatloss to EducationQueensland, especially in thepublic education systemwhere the standards inteaching expertise are often

narrow and inadequate - atbest! But this excellentteacher of English taughtmehowtoswimupstream,andtounderstand that populistvisions usually involve acompromise. I hope thatMrsLapa, wherever she is, ishappyandatpeace, althoughshewillprobablyneverknowjusthowmuchIadmiredthisladyforherprofessionalism!

Of course, howdo I thank

my agent, Dorie Simmonds,or my publisher, JaneMorpeth,andthewholecrewatHeadline?Theyhavegivensubstancetoadream.

KingArthurof theBritonswas the second great love ofmylife,andhehasdrivenmehardforoverthirtyyears.Myinterpretations of how helivedandlovedarejustthat-mine alone - viewed throughthe kaleidoscope of time.

They are coloured by thedemands of our current age,one that has little time forduty and less inclinationtowardsnobility.

CHAPTERI

THEEDGESOFMEMORY

‘Foracertainorderembracesall

things,andanythingwhichdepartsfromtheorderplannedandassignedto it,onlyfalls

backintoorder,albeitadifferentordersoasnottoallowanythingtochance

intherealmsofProvidence.’

Boethius

The forest embraced the boylike an ancient cloak, raggedat the hems, but stillserviceable and strong in the

weave. The roots of the oaktrees twistedoutof thedeep,mouldering earth, and theirbranches were so thick andtangled that theboy felt as ifhe had plunged into cool,green water after the humidbrillianceofthefallowfields.Thethreat that thisadventurewould lead to sternpunishment meant little tohim, for he would bepunished anyway. If not forthese hours of sensual

pleasure, then some half-forgotten sin would stir hisfoster-fathertowrath.

Inadensecanopyofalderand oak, the trees starved allgrassofthenecessitiesoflife.The boy walked through aperilous coverlet of leafdrifts, fallen branchesembroidered with theverdigrisofmossandstrange,fleshy flowers that coveredhiddenbadgersetts.Theeerie

beauty of this half-lit worldfascinatedtheboyandsethisheartracingwiththepromiseof danger. Anything coulddwellinthesesuddenhollowsof almost midnight blue.Within the shadows, anyonecould be close enough totouch him in this half-imaginedlandscapewherehisfoster-father’s power wasreduced to less thandust.Hehimselfcouldbeanyone,andhe could dream whatever he

chose without hindrance.Here,hewasneithersafenorunsafe, but most trulyhimself.

The boy found a favourednaturalglade, some ten spearshafts across, where treetrunksmimickedpillarsandaslenderbladeoflightreachedto the forest floor. A greatrock, covered in white lacylichen, squatted off centre intheglade,andtheboyranhis

narrowhandsoveritssurfaceuntil he felt thewornwhorlsandlinesroughlyhackedintoits flank. For some half-instinctivereason,hechosetoseathimselfasfarfromthosebarely visible patterns as hecouldwhilehe staredhardatahollow,barelythelengthofhis hand, which had beenchippedoutof the rockat itscentre.Itwastiltedstrangely,for the boy had oncesacrificed a little liquid from

his goatskin water carrier tofill that shallow, manmadecup. He had watchedtransfixed as some of thewater drained away,following the spirals andwhorlsuntiltherivuletfellontotheforestfloor.

Something dark alwaysflexed its wings in the boy’smind when he touched thathollow. He could imagine asticky, viscous thread of

bloodsnakingaway fromhisfingers into the pattern, andfilling his nostrils with theunsettlingscentofiron.

‘Thingshavediedhere,’hewhispered to break thesepulchral silence of theglade.‘Buttheyaresoold...perhapsasancientasthetreesthemselves.’

He loved to frightenhimself with his imaginings,even though hewas a sturdy

boy who was taller than hisbirth age of twelve years.Already the shape ofmanhood was coming uponhim, and he drove theSaxonserving woman, old Frith,half crazy as he outgrew hisleather trousers and strainedthestitchesofhistunicsattheshoulders.

‘A great lump of a boy,’his foster-father explained tothe occasional visitor. ‘Half

wild as well . . . a littlewanting, if you take mymeaning.’

The master, Lord Ector,washimself tallandbroad inshoulderandgirth,butLump,as the kitchen slaves calledtheboyderisively,threatenedto towerwelloversix feet inheight.

‘A little barbarian,’ hisfoster-brotherwoulddrawl tohisfriends,fromhisadvanced

age of seventeen and theimpregnable reality of fullmanhood. ‘He scarcely usesthebaths-andhishair!Oncehis beard grows, he’ll be awalkingmop!’

The young men laughed,forCaius aped the airs of anaristocratic dilettante,although the Dracos Legion,thelasttoprotectBritain,hadbeen gone for many years.Roman by birth, as he

described himselfwith pride,Caiushadno time forLump,whoappearedtohavenoneofthe true blood in his veins.Caius conveniently ignoredhisownCelticpaternity.

‘Why my pater acceptedhimdefiesimagination.’

Caiussmoothedhisshiningblack hair which he keptmilitarily short and carefullycurledoverhisforehead.

‘Whenhewasaninfant,hecried constantly until thewomen put him in a linenchest. Then, when he grewolder . . . well, look at thatvacuous face. He’s learnedhisletters,it’strue,forMaterwouldnottolerateanignorantson,fosterorno,butheneverreads the scrolls or conductshimself as a well-born youthshould. Targo beats himregularly, for all the effect ithas on him, for Lump just

stands and takes the blowswiththatvagueexpressiononhisfatface.’

Caius and his Celt father,Ector,werewrong.

Theboyreadthescrolls inthe meagre scriptorium, butonly when the rest of thehouse was asleep and hecould steal a little oil for hislamp. The flickering lightmade the Latin words dancewith a life quite apart from

the ancient memories theysharedwith him. But he hadeaten the stale crusts ofcharity for every day of histwelve years, and they madean unpalatable andindigestible meal, scrolls ornoscrolls.

So Lump simply wentaway whenever he chose -either to thewoods or to thedeepestcavernsinhishead.

Theboystretchedhislong,

smooth legs on the rock’sspine. What hair his bodygrewwascertainlyverypale,sohislimbswereburnedtoarich bronze by hours in thesunlight.Hisfacewasneitherfat nor featureless, but wasbroad and already sharplyangular at the cheekbones.Hishaircurledsowildlythatno amount of combing couldcompletely tame thespiralledringlets that formed a red-goldnimbusaroundhishead.

His eyes were unusual in aworld of largely brown,hazel, green and black-eyedpeople, slaves and mastersboth, for they were so paleand grey that they seemedalmost blind in his smoothface.

Those eyes trapped thelight, but nothing of the soulbehind them escaped as awarning to those who wouldtormenthim.

With regret, the boy leftthe glade as the blades oflight narrowed, then slidbehind the dense foliage thattowered above him. The airhadasultryheaviness,asifastormwascoming.Hewouldhave welcomed the steadydriving rain from adownpour, but his emptystomach was warning himthathemustreturntothevilla- or else go hungry for yetanothernight.

‘Farewell, rock,’ hewhispered to the body-warmed stone. ‘Farewell,trees.’

Arriving in the forest wasalways more pleasant thanreturning to the villa. As theboy pushed his way throughthe waist-high grasses of thewestern field, avoiding thestinging nettles that grew indense patches, he put on his‘family face’ as he called it,

and assumed his accustomeduntidyshamble.

When he reached theoutbuildings of the VillaPoppinidii, his back wasbowed and his feet scuffedthe crazy stone pathwaysbetween the stables and thepiggery.

‘You’re wanted, Lump,’ apert housemaid giggled athimassheemptiedslopsintothe swine trough. ‘You’ve

been wanted for hours. Themasterhasvisitors.’

‘Ugh!’was the boy’s onlyreply.

Now he would have tobathe. He’d need to find aclean tunic as well, if Frithhad found the time to mendhissecond-bestclothing.

He eyed his filthy toes intheir ragged sandals with illhumour. He’d be late - and

Ector would not tolerate atardyfoster-son.

I’d best be moving then,the boy admonished himselfwith little enthusiasm. Hesought out Frith in thekitchenswhere shewasmostusually seated, warming heroldbones.

‘It’sagoodthingIamfondof you, young rapscallion,’the old woman mumbledthrough her broken teeth.

‘I’ve mended your tunic andfoundyoualeatherbelttofitthatwaistofyours.Anddon’tforget the perfumed oil,’ shecalledoutafterhim.‘Perhapsitwill train thathairofyours-it’sfulloftwigs.’

‘I thank you, good Frith,’he called back over hisshoulder.‘Sleepwellbyyourfire.’

‘That Lump will neveramount to much,’ the sour-

faced cook snapped as hefiddled with a brimming potfilled with boiled eels androotvegetables.

‘Ah, but it’s amazing howbalanced his temper is whenhe is treated with kindness,’Frith replied tartly. ‘It’s alsoremarkablehowagiletheboybecomes when he thinks nooneislooking.’ShehadbeennursetothelastRomanchildborn to the House of

Poppinidii,thesweetandtinyLivinia,andsheknewall thesecretsofthevilla.

‘Go back to sleep,Grandmother. You’ve beenout in the sun too long,’wasthecook’sacerbicreply.

Pausing only in his narrow,airless cubicle to gather uphis clothing, his old strigiland a small bottle of rather

rancid oil, the boy ran to thevery end of the eastwing ofVilla Poppinidii, taking careto skirt theatrium, theeatingcouches and the scriptoriuminhishaste. In truth, theboyloved to hear stories of theworldbeyondthevilla,whichonly visitors brought. Forhim, a little scrubbingwas asmallpricetopayforanightin the corner, listening to themen talkofstrangeandalienplaces.

Hastily, inthemosaicpoolof the calidarium, the boystripped and heated his skininthehotwater.Hehadscantregardforthepropercivilitiesandorderofthebathingrites,but concentrated on openingtheporesofhisskin,rubbinginthesicklyoilwhilehetriednot to breathe the stench inthrough his nose. The boythen dragged the old strigilover several days ofaccumulated dirt. He even

paid cursory attention to hisnails so that, eventually, theworst of the day’s excesseswereremoved.

Then, after a quick splashin the frigidarium to cleanseand close his pores, he gavehimselfaroughtowellingandattemptedtotiebackhiswet,wildhairwithaleatherthong.Finally, he donned a tunic,belt, loincloth and sandals,and ran through the silent

colonnadestotheroomwhereallvisitorswereentertained.

‘Thereyouare,boy,’Ectorsnapped.‘Atleastwemustbegrateful that you are clean.’He smiled at his guests tosoften the effect of his harshwords. ‘And now you canassist with the serving,’ heordered.‘Asisyourduty.’

Ectorwasabigman,thickin the body and broad ofshoulder, but his legs were

unnaturally short and bandy.His face was florid andalmost smooth of wrinkles,for the master of the houserarelyfellpreytoextremesofemotion. His mouth wasgood-humoured and his pale,blue eyes were slightlyprotuberant, giving his facean expression of perpetualsurprise.

But only a foolunderestimatedMaster Ector,

a man raised in the warriortradition, to which the hardmuscle of his body borewitness. Having served histime in the fortresses of thenorth,Ector nowenjoyedhisbroadacres,hisfatcattleandkineand thepeaceofaquietmiddle age.However, shouldexternal peril threaten hishouse, like an old battlehound Ector would rise tofightwithmercilessglee.

Ectorandhiswife,Livinia,their son, Caius, and threeunknown gentlemen were allreclining in the Romanfashion on carved couchesaround a low table that waspiledhighwithdelicacies.Eelin aspic, a boar’s headsplendidly presented withboiledbarley,aslicedhaunchof venison, salted vegetablesandperiwinklesthatswaminexotic sauces were displayedonthelow,centraltable.

Thediningroomwasquitelarge, as befitted the honourof Livinia’s ancient family,and gave directly on to theatrium where, under a palemoon, water danced andsplashedfroman imaginativebronze statue of amonstrousfish. Sweet-smelling oilsburned brightly in rare glassvessels, and the best torcheshung on heavy iron wallbrackets, yet no unsightlystains of oil smokemarred a

fine frescoofanolivegrove.EctormightbeabastardCelt,but he had married the lastchild of an ancient family,and had taken the Poppinidiiname as his own. In thenearest town ofAquae Sulis,hewasdeemedtobeamanofsignificant wit - andextraordinaryluck.

‘Yes, Foster-Father,’ theboy replied neutrally, thenbowedformallytoeachguest,

eventhehatefulCaius.

He sought out the villa’ssteward,aGreekslavecalledCletus, and collected largejars of honeyed wine fromGaul and the crisp, cleanvintages of Spain. Ector wasnoted as a connoisseur ofgood wines, and it was theboy’s task at these functionstoensurethatthegildedcupsof the visitors were kept fulltothebrim.

The boywas also adept atbecoming invisible. As themealprogressed,hispresencewassoonforgotten.

‘What news from the east,Myrddion?’Ector askedwithnolittleinterest.

‘Thewolvesfromover thenarrow sea come to pillagealmost every spring,’ a thin-faced man answered.‘Fortunately, the barbariansrarelyventurefarinland,butI

fear one day theywill arrivewith their women and theirbroods and build their ownsettlements.’

‘Then they will die here,’Caius drawled in a way thathe believed showed hissophistication.

‘Perhaps,’ the man calledMyrddionrepliedvaguely.

‘Oh, come, Myrddion.Whatareafewsavagestous?

Londinium, Eburacum, andCamulodunum are heavilyfortified, and the nativelegions are well trained.We’ll smash any nakedbarbarians like roaches.’Ector plucked up a sliver ofvenisonwithadaintyknife.

Another stranger, notablefor thelongbrownplaits thathung from his forehead,suppressedagrimlaugh.

‘I don’t think anything

amusing was said, Luka,’Ector retorted, his faceflushing under what was leftofhischestnuthair.

‘My pardon, friend Ector,’Luka replied. ‘I meant nooffence-buttheselittletoys,’he paused, and made theeatingdaggerspininhisneathands, ‘are nomatch for thewar axes of the barbarians.Their swords are almost ofyour height - and they have

iron,too,mybrother.’

Caius began to speak, butLivinia quelled him with animperial liftingofhernarrowbrows.

‘Thereisnooffencetaken,Luka. I served with yourfather on the Wall, and wesharedthesamewetnurseforsomeseasonsinLavatrae.Weboth grew tall hearing thehorror tales of Boedicca ofthe Iceni and the nearness of

hervictorywhensherebelledagainst Rome. But thatbloodstainedbitchwasoneofus. She was civilized in herfashion, and not someignorantSaxonpig-stealer,ora dog from Jutland whocomes hunting enough graintofeedhisfilthybrood.’

‘Lukaismerelyaskingthatweheedthewarnings,Ector,’Myrddion soothed, althoughhis expression, to the boy’s

mind, lacked compromise.‘Warned, we are strong;complacent,wearesoftinthebelly.’

‘Rome owns the entireworld, including Britannia,’Caiuscutinexcitedly.

Ectorshotaswiftglanceofdisapproval at his only birthson.

‘But would the might ofRome come to our aid ifwe

were under attack? I believethey’d leave us to our fate,’Luka replied, with a casualintensity that gave weight tohiswords.

‘Uther Pendragon stillholds the south and thewestof our land under his foot,’Myrddion answered. ‘But hegrows old and frightened.God help the west shouldUtherfail.’

Caius and Ector both

snorted. Neither possessed aflatteringopinionoftheHighKing who held the tribes totreaties won by bloodshedduringhisvigorousyouth.

‘I don’t think we shouldever discount UtherPendragon,’Lukaadded.

‘And your villa lies safebecause of the protection ofhisrule,’MyrddionremindedEctor.

‘Villa Poppinidii liesstrong because it is in myhands,’ Ector retorted, hisfacereddening.

‘And very well-provisioned it is too,’ Lukasoothed. ‘I admit I havelongedforacivilizedbedformany weeks during mytravels.’

Somewhatmollified, Ectorallowed the conversation toveeron to saferground,with

talk of fashion and trade inthe south. Lady Livinia,especially, was starved fortales of civilized Gaul, andshemanaged todominate theconversation for some littletime, mainly by right of thepurityofherbreeding.

The three travellersacknowledged Livinia’ssuperior qualities by thedeference they showed her.She was small, even for a

Roman matron, but herposture was so straight anduncompromising that fewvisitors noticed herdiminutive form. Like allgentle domestic tyrants, shewaspossessedofgreatcharmandwit,makingherahostessofdistinction.Gracefully,sheensured that MyrddionMerlinus and his friendswould find nothing amiss inthehospitalityofthehouse.

The boy filled the gildedwine cups from his jugs andlistened to the words of theguests with his senses allaquiver.

The third visitor, a dark-complexionedman, remainedsilent throughout theconversation that swirledaroundhim.

Llanwithpouredwaterintohis cup, brushing asideArtorex’s proffered wine jug

with a flick of his hugeberinged hands. His blackeyes were watchful andintent, even when the otherguests spoke of women’smatters, as if the VillaPoppinidii held the answersto secrets he had yet todiscoverthroughstealth.

The boy felt his stomachmuscles contract withnervousness when the dark-faced man stared covertly at

him across the succulentmeats and rich sauces.Blackeyesforcedgreyeyestomeetandbeexamined.

When the honeyedsweetmeatswere served, andthe men lounged in comfortwith the edges of theirdifferences blunted by goodfood and wine, the silentstrangerchosetospeak.

‘Whoistheboy?’heaskedin a voice that rumbled from

hiswidechest.Itwasavoiceof command that demandedananswer.

‘He is my foster-son,’Ector replied sleepily. Thevilla normally held to farmhours, and the water dialshowed that the hour wasnowlate.

The boy almost droppedthe Spanish wine in surpriseas all eyes flickered towardshim.

‘What is his name, goodEctor?’

‘Artorex. His name isArtorex.’

‘But we call him Lump,’Caiusgiggleddrunkenly.

‘He bears a noble name.Stand under thewall sconce,young Artorex, where I canseeyouproperly.’

‘He’s a good enough lad,’Ectormumbled.‘Buthe’snot

a sharpdagger,LlanwithpenBryn, if you take mymeaning.’

Llanwith son of Bryn, theboythought tohimself,ashemoved to carry out thestranger’s bidding. I’ll notforgetyouquickly.

‘He is a tall young man.Whatishisage?’

‘Twelve - I believe,’repliedEctorcarelessly.‘Yes,

hemakesfairtobestrongandlarge. But why are you sointerestedintheboy?’

MyrddionMerlinus smiledenigmatically and waved anegligent hand in Artorex’sdirection. ‘Bishop Lucius iscurious to know how thechildgrows.Heexpectedthatyou’d see to his learning sowe may assume he knowssome letters. We’re simplyfinishing what was started

whenwebrought thebabe toyou-howmanyyearsago?’

‘It’s been toomany years,old friend, too many years!’Ector was disposed to besentimental,butLlanwithwasstill staring at Artorex as ifthey were alone in thetriclinium.

‘Speak foryourself, youngArtorex,’ Llanwithdemanded.‘Areyoustrong?’

‘Aye, master, I’m strongenough,’ the boy repliedbluntly.

The stranger ignored theboy’s effrontery, althoughEctor frowned in hisdirection.

‘Are you fast, Artorex?’the stranger continued.‘Strongladsarerarelyfast.’

Caiusgiggled.

Theboyfelthisfaceflush.

Hestraightenedhisshouldersandraisedhischin.

‘Fastenough,master.’

The narrow eating daggerflashedfromLlanwith’slargehandacrossthelightinaneatparabola that was aimeddirectlyatArtorex’sheart.

Unblinkingly, the boywatched the blade arctowards him. Acting oninstinct, he moved to one

side, and dashed the bladeaside with his forearm. Theknife clattered to the floor,where it lay like a silverreptile with the dragonaglitteronitshilt.

‘Aye,youare fast enough,youngman,’Llanwithrepliedwith a laugh as the boyretrieved the dagger andhanded it to him, hilt first.‘Youbleed,boy.’

‘Itisonlyascratch,master.

A nothing.’ The boy’s facewas as inscrutable as thebland features of LlanwithpenBryn.

The other guests weremomentarily robbed ofwords.

‘These are strange dinnermanners for an honouredguest, my lord,’ Liviniachided.‘Iftheconversationisto be so surprising, I willleave you for my bed. We

keep country hours here,good sirs, and I mustsupervise thewool bleachinginthemorning.Come,Caius,you also would be betterservedbysleep.’

‘Iapologizeforthewantofmanners in my friend,’Myrddion replieddiplomatically.

LlanwithpenBryndidnotconcern himself with wordsof apology but simply

inclined his head towardsmother and sonwith a brief,regaldignity.

As Livinia and a sullenCaiusleftthechamberwithahiss of sandals on tessellatedfloors, the mistress pausedbrieflyatthedoor.

‘Don’tkeeptheboyuptoolate,Ector. Iwanthimfit forworkinthemorning.’

Ector merely grunted in

acknowledgement.

Silence fell after mistressandsondeparted.

Artorex shuffledawkwardly.Hewasuncertainhow to respond to thevisitors, so he stayed inpositionbeneaththesconce.

‘We now know that theboy is strong and fast,’Lukasaid conversationally toEctor. ‘But does he read?

Does he receive aneducation?’

‘Why this interest inArtorex, my friends? I tookthe lad intomyhousehold asa favour to Lucius ofGlastonbury when the childwas newly born. The priesthas never asked for word ofhim, nor has he shown anyinterest in the lad since thatdistanttime.’

‘I know his history, friend

Ector,’Myrddionsaid.‘ButIneed to know if the boy canread.’

‘Well,yes,hereadsaswellas can be expected,’ Ectorgrowled peevishly. He wasunusedtobeingquestionedsoautocratically in his ownhouse.

‘Maywe judge his ability,my friend?’Luka askedwithaconciliatorysmile.

The boy was totallybemused by the conversationthat was taking place aroundhim. He was conscious thathewasbeingtested,butwhy?He was just Lump, of littlemore value than a goodhound. In time to come hemight be considered worthyofbecomingasteward in theplace of Cletus, but whyshouldthesegreatonescareawhit for his strength, hisspeed-orhisintelligence?

‘Fetch a scroll from mybaggage, Artorex,’ Llanwithordered with barely a glanceintheboy’sdirection.

The boy stood, unsure ofhow to respond, or where tofindsuchanitem.

Ector, grumpily, waved ahand at Artorex to indicatethat he was to carry outLlanwith’sbidding.

Theboyranfromtheroom

to seek out Cletus who tookcharge of all domesticmatters.Heescapedfromthesuddenly dangerous roomwithsurprisingagility.

Cletus had obviously beeneavesdropping for hismaster’sorders,andakitchenslavehadalreadybeensenttothe guests’ quarters in thewest wing to collect thescroll.

The steward said nothing

to the boy, but glared at himsuspiciously.

Enclosed in a fine hidecase, the scroll was quicklyfound and thrust intoArtorex’shands.

‘Obey your masters, boy,’Cletus hissed, and Ector’sfoster-son slipped back intothediningchamberwherethevisitors were again speakingofmattersintheeast.

‘Master.’ Artorex offeredthe scroll to Llanwith penBryn.

‘Read for us, youngArtorex. For ourentertainment.’ The strangerdidnotevendeign to lookathim.

Artorex fumbled with thelacings, even clumsier thanusualinhisnervousness.Thescroll was eventuallyunbound, and the boy stared

downat theboldLatin scriptthat marched across the finehide. He was immediatelyseized by panic, for the textwastotallyunfamiliar.

‘Read,’ Llanwith repeated,his eyes on a stuffed eggspeared on the end of hisknife.

Haltingly,Artorexbegantoread the unfamiliar Latinscript, becoming faster as hebegan to recognizemore and

morewords.HehadheardofthecommentariesofthegreatCaesarintheGaulCampaign,but he had never thought tohaveacopyinhishands.

‘I want you to read thisscrollandtranslate it intothecommon tongue,’ Llanwithordered.

Hisheart inhismouth, theboyobeyed.

Despite his confusion and

fear, Artorex became caughtup in the blunt, forthrightdescription of the greatJulian’sbattlecampaign.

‘Enough!’ Llanwithordered. ‘Whatdoyou think,Myrddion? You are thescholaramongstus.Does theboyreadwell?’

Ector was staring at theboywithblankastonishment;there was more depth to hisfoster-son than he had ever

imagined.

‘Surprisingly well,’Myrddionreplied.‘Youaretobe congratulated, friendEctor,’ he added, turning tofacethemasterofthevilla.

‘I don’t see how, for Ineverheardhimreadsowellin the past.’ Ector may havebeenahardman,buthewasalsobluntlyhonest.

‘Have you read the

memoirsofthegreatCaesar?’Lukaaskedtheboy.

‘No, my lord. But I amcertainthatIwouldliketodoso,’ Artorex managed toreply.

‘Then keep this small gift,in payment for yourdiligence,’ Llanwith statedcasually, as if this strangeconversation had beeninsignificant. ‘Now leave thewinejarsandgetyourselfoff

tobed.Thatis,ifyourmasterwillgiveyouleave.’

EctorwavedArtorexaway,his eyes troubled andgleaminginthelight.

Clutching the preciousscrollanditscasetohischest,Artorex scurried to the doorand was gone. Yet somewickedness in his curiousnature caused him to pauseoutside the room andcontinue to listen. Even

though he was aware of thepresenceofthefaithfulCletusathisback,hecouldnotbeartomissthelastofthepeculiarconversation.

‘We have intruded uponyourhospitality,friendEctor,but you must believe mewhen I vow that we wouldnot have imposed on you ifour reasons were not of thegravest importance.’Myrddion spoke with a

statesman’s glibnessoverlaying a current ofurgency.

‘Nor can we explainfurther tonight, Ector,’ Lukacontinued seamlessly. ‘Greataffairs of state are marchingon, old friend, and you andyour family are a part ofthem, whether you will it tobesoornot.’

‘I don’t understand any ofthis,’Ectorgrumbledthrough

hisbeard.

‘You must trust us untilsuch time as we can revealmore of what is to come.Twelve years ago, the goodLucius of Glastonbury sentyou a gift, and asked you totakecareofit.Youhavedonewell with that charge,’Llanwithrespondedgravely.

‘Besides,’ Myrddioncontinued, ‘perhaps nothingwill come of our fears, and

you will have an admirablesteward to serve your familywhenyouaregone from thisworld.’

‘But itwouldbeprofitableforus all if childhoodceasesfor Artorex at this time,’Luka stated.His companionsnodded in agreement. ‘Weask that you commence toteach him those skills of thewarrior that we ourselveslearned as boys, old friend.

Blade and shield! Horse andfire!Painandbravery!Wouldyouundertakesuchataskforus?’

‘Aye,but—’

‘And the boy must nolongerbereferredtoasLumpby any member of yourhousehold,’ Llanwithinterrupted.‘Hewillbeofnouse to us without self-respect.’

Ectorrecognizedthesoundof command in the voice ofhisguest.

AsArtorex turned to leavehis listening point, he sawCletusbowhisheadlow.Theboy turned. Llanwith penBrynwas leaning against thedoorpost, regarding himwithfathomlessblackeyes.

‘Learn your new dutieswell,boy.Andrememberthatthose who listen to private

matters can sometimes hearmore than theywouldwish.’Then he grinned at Artorex,andreturnedtohisfriends.

‘He speaks wise words,young master,’ Cletus hissedwithfrightenedrespect. ‘Youcouldyetgetusallhangedifthatblack-eyeddevilhasanysayinit.’

Artorexran.

Back in his sleeping

cubicle, he tried to chase thefaces of the three strangersfrom his mind. Nothing hadchanged. He was still afatherless son, not muchhigherthanahouseslaveandonlypermittedtosleepinthemain body of the villacomplex on sufferance. Hedweltintheno-man’slandofRoman life, a foster-sonwithoutstatus.

Thenhereacheddownand

felt the scroll beside hissleepingpallet,andknewthathislifewaschangedforever.

CHAPTERII

THEBLADEANDFIRE

Although Artorex’s suddenchangeof statuswas the talkofthevillaforseveralweeks,masters and servants soonforgot him, and the narrowworld theboy inhabitedsoon

returned to its mundaneunswerving routine. Woodhad to be chopped intokindling for the kitchenovens, the kitchen gardensrequired persistent, tediousweeding and birds stole thenew fruit from the orchardsand must be deterred withwell-aimed stones. MistressLivinia ensured that Artorexwasneveridle.

Except in one significant

detail.

Each morning, afterdrawingwaterforthekitchen,currying the horses andfeeding the hounds, the boywas ordered to attend onTargo.

Targo was a scarredveteran of indeterminate racewho had served a lifetime inthe noble art of soldiering.Small, bow-legged anddeceptively white-haired,

Targohadbeenwashedupatthe river port of Glevum, atthe end of the Sabrina Aest,and had sold his skills toEctor as arms trainer to hisson and captain of the smalltroop of men-at-arms whoserved the dual roles of fieldworkersandprotectorsofthevilla.Theveteranhadmarrieda local widow from thenearby village, and was aman feared for his quicktemper when drunk, and his

evenfasterbladewhensober.Who he was, and where hewas originally born, wasunknowntoallsaveEctor.

The boy didn’t enjoy hismorning hours spent trainingwithTargo.Afterbeinggivena short,wooden sword and awicker shield, Artorex wasforced to learn the fightingpositionspractisedbytheoldlegions.

Inspiteofhisageingbody

and a limited reach, Targomanaged to beat Artorexblackandbluewiththeflatofhisswordeverydayuntil,outof sheer desperation,Artorexbegan to take his trainingseriously and to learn therudimentsofthrust,parryandguard.

At first, these simpleexercises in the farmyardwere a source of loudamusement for the servants

fromtheVillaPoppinidii.Asthey wandered out to thefields,orbroughtthecowstothebarnformilking,thefarmworkers were entertained bythe sight of young Artorex,awkward and frustrated,swattingatemptyairwithhiswooden sword, while Targodanced negligently away.Even Caius dallied on hisway to the stables to watchthe red-faced and sweatingboy as he tried to dodge

Targo’sflashingweapon.Butthe predictability of theentertainment soonpalled, soteacher and studentwere leftto practise the manipulationof blade, spear, shield anddaggerinrelativepeace.

Gradually, albeit painfully,Artorex realized that theexercises were similar innaturetoavillagedanceand,soon, he found himselfcaptured by the grace of

weapons drill. Then, just ashis superior reach began togive him a little confidence,Targo changed the rules and,once again, the boy foundhimself pinned to the groundor stripped of his weapon,with Targo’s sword heldfirmlyagainsthisthroat.

‘Remember, boy, any foolcanpickupaswordandlearnthemotions.He’lllivejustaslong as it takes for him to

meet an enemy who thinksfasterthanhedoes.’

‘Is that how you were cutacross the nose?’ Artorexpanted as Targo attackedfrom a new, and totallyunexpected,direction.

‘Ofcourse,boy.Youeitherlearnoryou’redead.’

‘Then I had better start tolearn.’ArtorexstifledacryasTargo used the flat of his

sword across the back of hisrightknee.

‘You are now crippled forlife.Whatareyougoingtodoto live?’ Targo asked, andswept the boy’s feet fromunderhim.

Artorexhitthegroundwiththebaseofhisspineandevenold Targo had the sensitivitytowince.

‘You’re cheating,’ Artorex

complained as he drove hiswicker shield towardsTargo’s nose, a move thatwould have smashed thatscarred feature if the blowhadeverlanded.

Targomerelytookonestepbackward.

‘That’s better. Remember,cheatingisjustgoodcommonsense.

Only a short-lived idiot

pretends to bring honour ontothebattlefield.’

Targo set Artorexstrengthening exercises withsmall ingots of lead to forcemuscle on to his growingframe.Theweightswere tiedtohiswristssothatcollectingeggsorpickingthelastoftheapples became a painfulchore.

NorwasArtorexpermittedtofightonlyright-handed,for

Targo would switch swordhands regularly and, onoccasion, would instruct hispupiltowieldhisswordwithbothhands.

Artorex soon learned thedeadly disadvantage offightingaleft-handedenemy.

‘If one arm is wounded,you must make do with theother.Nowraiseyoursword.’

Artorex underwent many

further weeks of bruisinguntil he learned to fightwithhis left hand.To build up itsstrength, Targo tied his rightarm to his side. Artorexsufferedinnumerablecutsandbruises as he endeavoured toseparate the whey from thecheese during threshing andas he struggled to keep hisbalancewhilefeedingjostlingpigs. He learned how to usethe distribution of hisweightto his advantage, just as

Targohadplanned.

Artorex’s days were nowmeasured by the severity ofhis cuts and bruises, hisweary muscles and the fieldwork that Targo invented tostrengthenhisspine.Reapingwas a particular Targofavourite and, in theafternoons, Artorex used hisrazor-sharp hook until hisbackwasone longscreamofpain. For the whole of

autumn, all household taskswere done at a run and,although Artorex dreamedconstantly of grinding Targointo splinters of bone andflesh, he was aware thatmuscles that had once beenwhipcord thin were nowbeginning to harden andthickenintoropes.

Meanwhile, his thirteenthbirthdaypassedunnoticed.

‘Will I ever be strong

enough to be an ableopponentforyou,Targo?’

‘Aye! Else we’re wastingour time. But are you fastenough,boy?’

‘Oh,shite!’Artorexswore,as Targo disarmed him onceagain.

Then, just as he wasbecoming comfortable withsword and shield, Targochangedtherulesonceagain.

‘A good fighter hacksaway with either hand,judginghisenemyaccurately,and predicting his nextmove.’

Artorex nodded, as Targogrinnedevilly,exposinglong,browncanines.

‘Butagreatfighterisagile,fast and unpredictable. Hechooses thegroundonwhichhemightdie,andheturnstheworst footholds into an

advantage.’

‘I suppose that makessense,’Artorexreplied,tryingto interpret Targo’s wordsanddiscoverwhatthislessonhadtodowithafarmboyontheoutskirtsofacity.

‘Doyouwanttobeagreatfighter, Artorex? Or simplygood?’ Targo asked, withouthisusualsardonicgrin.

The boy realized his tutor

wasindeadlyearnest.

‘I . . . er . . . great . . . Isuppose. I cannot see thepoint of all this effortotherwise. I . . .er . . . I sortofpromised...’

HowcouldArtorexexplainto Targo how the threetravellershadquestionedhim,their responses and the oddlook ofmeasurement in theireyes?

Targo had to look up intoArtorex’s odd grey eyes, fortheboyalreadystoodseveralinchestallerthanhistutor.

‘Asyouage,you’llbecomea big man, taller than mostwarriors who go to battle.And you’ll be strong - andyou’re faster than most.Mithras gave you the boneand the reflexes for bruteforce. But those skills are asnothing.’

‘SowhyhaveIsweated tolearn them?’ the boy askedplaintively and received acuff across his ear fromTargo’scallousedhand.

‘Tobegin,boy,tobegin.’

Artorex fell naturally intothefamiliarposeofaservantwho was being chided, andstared at his dusty feet. Hereceived a cuff across hisotherearforhismeekness.

‘ThegreatestfighterIeverknewwasaScythianwomanwho was no taller than myshoulder.’

Against his betterjudgement, Artorex smiledmomentarily - and found hisear really throbbing from aparticularlyviciousblow.

‘Youmight laugh, but shenearly cut my throat.’ Targopointed at a long scar thatbeganatthesideofhisthroat

and trailed down into hisrough tunic. ‘If she hadn’tslipped in a puddle of myblood, I’d have been wormfood before I was twenty. Iwasverygood,yousee,andIunderestimated her agility. Itwasmanymonths beforemywoundshadhealed.’

‘So what happened to theScythian woman?’ the boyaskedwarily.Hewasmakinga vain attempt to imagine a

female with warrior skillssuperiortothoseofTargo.

‘Islitherbellyopenasshewas fallingdown.Damn,butshe was one fine woman,’Targoreminisced.

Artorex saw the old mansmile fondly for just thebriefestofmoments.

‘What was her edge?’Artorexasked.

‘Agoodquestion,boy.’

‘Ow!’ Artorex yelped, asTargocuffedhimonceagain.‘Whatwasthatfor?’

‘A little pain now mightmake you think of mymistake at some future timewhen you believe you havean enemy at your mercy. Iunderestimated her. Youmightn’t get the secondchancethatIreceived.’Ashespoke, Targo scanned thefarmyard until his eyes

stopped at a rough fence,some five feet high, aroundthe field where the horsesexercised.

‘A test for you. Your lifedepends on it! I want youoverthatfence,asfastasyoucan.Now!’

Theboysawthefencewasjustalittletoohighforhimtoleap, and climbing wascertain to make him lookfoolish.

‘It’stoolate!You’redead!Theenemyhastakenyou!’

Targo tripped the boyneatly and Artorex felt hisbones rattle as he hit thepackedsod.

‘ButtoclimbthatfenceI’dhave to use my sword hand.I’dbedeadanyway!’

‘Your prime task is to getover the fence in one piece.’Targo whistled between the

gaps in his old teeth as hewalkedaway.‘Anddon’tyouever drop your sword again.Ifyoudo, I’ll giveyou threelashes.’

‘Oh, shite!’ the boy sworeunderhisbreath.

Ofasudden,asimplepostand rail fence seemed moreimpregnablethanthewallsofthevilla.

Artorexthoughtfeverishly.

He approached the fencefrom several angles andnoticed that the rails weresturdyenoughasabarrierforhorses but could easilycollapse under the weight ofhisgrowingbody.Thehorsessaw the fence as a solidstructure, so the rails wereallowedtoweatherandsplit.

‘Hurryup,boy.Thesun ismoving - and I’m tired. Idon’t want to find new

shade.’ Targo was sprawledcomfortably under the coolcoverofayoungaldertree.

The posts are the key,Artorex though desperately.ButhowdoIusethem?

The answer came to himsuddenly, so he decided tocharge at the fence postbeforehelosthisnerve.

Artorex’s left hand hit thetop of the post with a

satisfying thud, and he wasthrust upwards.Unfortunately,hisfeetdidnotrise quite as high as heimagined, and he clipped therailwithhisfoot,causinghimtotumbleinawildcartwheeltotheothersideofthefence.He landed squarely on hisbacksidewithenoughforcetojartheteethinhishead.

His developing instinctsensured that he kept his

sword firmly gripped in hisrighthand.

Targolaughedandleapttohis feet with far more speedthan his youthful pupil wasdisplaying.

‘Boy, once again you’redead, but you now have anidea that you canwork on. Iwant you to practise itsexecutionuntilyouperfectit.Forget haymaking for thisafternoon - and get this task

right. Consider today aholiday.’

Artorexgrewtoloathethatfence before the eveningmeal.Herealizedthat,unlesshecouldraisehiswholebodyparallel to the rail, he wouldcontinue to land on hisbackside or, as the daycontinued, on any other partofhisbodythathetreasured.

Targo wandered off in anunusually good humour,

leaving him to charge at thefenceuntilhisleftarmfeltasifitwouldneverbendagain.

Darknesshadalmostfallenwhen Artorex finally arrivedatthesolution.

He realized that he wouldhave to change sword handsto successfully complete thejump. Ifhemoved the swordtohislefthandduringhisrun,hecouldusehisstrongerrightarm in the leap, then lift his

legs high, land cleanly andchange sword hands onceagainduringthedescent.

Eventually, Artorexmanagedtoelevatehiswearybodyovertheobstinatefenceinthreesuccessiveattempts.

‘Excellentwork,lad!Well,perhaps we should saypassable.’ Targo laughedfrom the lengtheningshadows. ‘Tomorrow, youwill work on your technique

and you’ll learn to use bothhands.’

Over the long months ofhis training, Artorexdiscovered the true, manlypleasuresof theRomanbath.Themineralwaterseased theconstant ache of bruises andthe oddbroken toe or finger,while the oils released thetightly bunched muscles ofshoulder,thighandcalf.Eventhesteamemanatingfromthe

calidarium unknotted theabused nerves and tendonsthatstretchedlesswillinglyashis body grew. Where oncecleanliness was cursory, itsoon became a compulsoryelementinhisdailyroutine.

Master and servantsnoticed the changes in theroutineoftheyoungman,andthey delighted at hisdiscomfort on those manyoccasions when they gently

teasedhim.

‘If the boy holds out,’Ector joked, as Artorexlimped over to fill hismaster’s proffered wine cup,‘Targowill havemanaged towashhimclean.’

Artorex’s hands weretremblingwithwearinessandhebarelymanagedtoholdthewine jug steady. Ector tookthe heavy vessel from theboy’s unresisting fingers and

replaced it with a potterybowl of rabbit, rootvegetables and barley stew.Artorex smiled briefly withgratitudeandservedtheplain,workday food to themistressofthehouse.

‘IftheLumplivessolong,’Caiussaidquiteclearlytonooneinparticularfromhisseatalongsidehisfather.

Both Ector and Liviniaturned their eyes

reproachfully towards theirson.

‘I swore an oath that thename you have just usedwould not be spoken in thishouse, young man,’ Ectorhissed. ‘Youwill respectmywishes!’

‘I agree with your father,’Livinia chided Caius. ‘Youwill not be uncouth,my son,for Artorex has earned ameasure of respect for the

hard work he does. I mightadd that he doesn’t complainor whine, but attempts toconduct himself like a trueRoman warrior.’ She tappedArtorex’s hand gently withher index fingerashe servedherasmall ladleof thestew.Her touchwasrespectfulandaffectionate, and Artorex felthiseyesfillwithgratitude.

‘Eat, Artorex. This good,plain food will bring the

colour back to your face,’Liviniaorderedkindlyasshespooned out a bowl of stewwithherownhands.

In truth, Caius was moreembarrassed by his mother’sreprimand than by any debthefeltheowedtohisfather’soath. He scowled and wouldhave protested, but Liviniafixedhimwithherwide,darkstareandhelapsedintosullensilence.

Ector’s attention returnedtoArtorex.

‘I swear you grow longerin the leg than a barbarian,’he murmured. ‘You’ll be anasset tome, boy, if youholdto your training. Yes, aconsiderableasset.’

Artorex blushed hotly. Hewasunusedtowordsofpraisefromhisfoster-family.

Andsotheboylearned.

As fast as he defeated oneobstacle, Targo inventedanother to tease hisstrengthening mind. He wasset tumbling exercises fromwhich he must rise in attackmode,usingwhateverhandorweapon that Targo dictatedon that day. On anothermorning, Artorex was leftstanding on his hands for anhour, a dagger clenchedbetween his teeth, for noreason that the boy could

fathom.

Later still, Targo told himto fordadeceptively shallowstream that flowed throughthe western fields. Artorexalmost drowned in a deephole before Targo relentedand taught the boy therudiments of swimming.Then he must learn to swimone-handed, with his bladeheld high above the water.And, in his spare time,

Artorex was taught how tocare for his weapons, to oilthem against rust and tosharpen theold,pittedbladeswithawhetstone.

Artorex almost wished hehadbeenleftwithhisoriginalwoodensword.

AtmiddayonthedayafterArtorex had reached hisfourteenth birthday, two ofthetravellersreturnedtoVillaPoppinidii.Shortlyafter their

arrival, Artorex wassummoned to the practisefield.

Luka was speakingcasually to Targo, who wasuncharacteristically humblearound the younger man.Artorex saw the gruff oldwarrior bow his head as helistenedwithdeeprespect.

Both men turned toexamine Artorex as heapproached.

Luka was forced to raisehis eyes slightly to meet thegaze of the sheepish Artorexwhile his inscrutable, flatstare calculatedeverychangethat had occurred in theyoungman’sbody.

‘He’s grown since last Isawhim.’

‘Like a weed,’ Targoagreed.

‘Are you stronger now,

boy?’Lukaasked.

‘I’m strong enough,master,’ Artorex replied inthe same fashion as on thatstrange night when hisfortuneshadchanged.

‘And are you faster now,boy?’

‘I’mfastenough,master.’

‘Then let’s see, shallwe?’Luka stripped off his tunicand stood barechested in his

leather riding trousers andsoft boots.Hedrewhis shortswordfromitsscabbardwithalittlemenacinghiss,exactlylikethewarningfromamarshsnake.

Artorex had brought hisweapon, but neithercombatanthadashield.

Hemustbeveryconfident,theboythought tohimselfashe concentrated onmaintaining eye contact with

the stranger. But I dare notcut him - even though hecan’t imagine that I coulddosuchathingtohim.

Luka fell into the fightingcrouch.

Without any furtherthought, Artorex movedwarily sideways, circlinguntil the waning sun wouldstrike Luka’s eyes, and nothis.

‘That’s very good,’ Lukamuttered reflectively, andimmediately resumed theattack. The boy realized thatthis opponent was in deadlyearnest. One slip, and hecouldeasilybe filleted likeafish.

TheboyparriedandmovedashesearchedforaweaknessinLuka’sfightingskill.Targohad instilled in him the truththateverywarriorhada flaw

and that, once found, thatweakness could give hisopponentanedge.

Artorexchangedhandsandreversed direction, thrustingcarefully as hemoved into adifferentattackmode.

‘Very good.’ Luka alsochangedhands.

This is unfair, Artorexthoughttohimself.He’solderthan me - and he’s stronger.

Andhe knows I cannot fightback.

Then Targo’s steady voiceechoed in the boy’s mind:‘Fair doesn’t enter into thebattlefield! Life is unfair!Findanedgeoryou’redead!’

His mind suddenlyclarified, and theconsequences of failureoutpaced all the jumbledimages that were scramblingforprominenceinhisbrain.

This field of combat is allthere is. This man and hisweapon are all there is.He’smy enemy and he must bedefeated-byanymeans!

Soeasilycomestheendtochildhood.

Even as this coldnessoverpowered all otherthought,Artorexcontinuedtomove, his feet fallingnaturally into the patternsdictated by the shape of the

field.Oneparticularlywickedslash from Luka could haveremovedhisarmifhehadn’tevadedthebladebythrowinghimself into a tumbling arcandrisingtohisfeetalmostatLuka’sback.

Almost-butnotquite.

Luka’storsoglistenedwitha light sheen of sweat, andArtorex knew his skin mustalsobeslickandwet.

The minutes continued todrag on as eachmanprobed,until both were breathingheavily.

ArtorexnevertookhiseyesfromLuka’sface.

Suddenly, he found hisedge.

Luka showed the smallestfraction of his forwardplanning in his eyes and inhis free handwhich twitched

away from the intendeddirection of his nextmovement.

There! It happened again.Luka’s mind revealed thenatureofhisnextattack.

Now is the time to wearhim down, Artorex orderedhimself as he attempted tocontrol thethudofhiswildlybeating heart, although intruth he was near toexhaustion himself. I have a

height, strength and speedadvantage over him, Artorexreasoned. I must wear himdownuntilhemakesanerror.

And then, suddenly, Lukaloweredhissword.

‘You speak truthfully,Artorex,’ he panted. ‘Youhave strength and speedenough.’

Luka turned his back onArtorex and ambled over to

Targo. Artorex, still in thefighter’s crouch, was leftfeelingconfusedandfoolish.

Luka clapped the veteranontheshoulder.

‘Damn me, but he’ll begood. You are to becongratulated.’

‘I’ll grantyouhe’s agoodenough student,’ Targorepliedcomplacently.

Artorex shook his head to

clear his concentration, thensheathed his sword with anangrythud.

‘His eyes say nothing,Targo, not a blessed thing,’Luka muttered. ‘I think hehadmymeasure-andI’mnotreallyashamedtoadmitit.’

Targo noddedruminatively. ‘You’re right,master. I believe he’d haveheldoffyourattackforsometime.’

‘Good. Good. And now Ithinkweoldsoldiersdeservesomewine.’

After the men ambled offcompanionably, Artorex wasleft alone on the field ofcombat.

‘That’s it?’ he asked thedescendingsun.‘Nearlythreeyearsofwork-andthat’sit?’

Butthetrialbycombatwasnotquiteit.

The feast passed much asall such occasions did at theVillaPoppinidii.Asupplyoffresh fish had been deliveredto the villa and the mistresshadorderedthatthefinestseabass should be stuffed withspicy fungi and a concoctionofherbs,breadandchestnutsfor the banquet. Against allhis finer thoughts, Artorex’smouthwateredatthesmellofsucculent roast piglets andhoney-glazed venison

covered in sauces so exoticthat the villa cook hadscreamed curses at anyonebrave enough to interrupt hisministrations.

Serving women struggledunder full platters andArtorex followed in theirwake, checking the oilburners and wall sconcesautomatically. As usual, hepreparedandservedthewine,and exercised considerably

more deftness than on thefirst occasion when he hadmet Myrddion Merlinus andLuka.Theladtriedtoremaininvisible, as was his custom,but he was forced to hearhimself being discussedopenly as if he was meresmokeandshadows.

‘You have ourcongratulations, and ourthanks, friendEctor, foryourfoster-son has grown in

stature as a fighting man.’Luka smiled across at hishost.

‘We are quite aware thatthe training the boy hasreceived has been expensive,Ector.’ Luka crossed himselfsardonically for, like manysensible Celts, he paid lipservice to many gods. ‘ThegoodLuciushas sentapurseto recompense you for theeffort you have expended on

hisbehalf.’

Myrddion turned to faceLivinia.‘Ourfriend,LlanwithpenBryn,isacutelyawareofhis rudeness and failures ingallantry towards you, mylady,’ he said. ‘He sends agift as a peace offeringbetweenyou.’

Both Livinia and Ectorreceivedtheirgiftswithsomeperplexity.

When the mistress of thevilla opened the oiledwrappings, a pair of pearlearringscaughtthelightwiththeir extraordinary exoticlustre. Screws of gold weredesigned to fit through holesinLivinia’s ears andArtorexwinced when he saw thethickness of these plugs ofpreciousmetal.

Women are very strangecreatures toenduresuchpain

for physical adornment, hethought as he watchedMistress Livinia’s faceblossom delightedly at thegift. Then she rewrapped theoilskinsandhidtheirregular,refulgent pearls from sightwithasighofregret.

‘Icannotacceptsuchagift,Myrddion Merlinus. I’vedonemydutybymyhusbandand my family; courtesytowards my guests does not

warrantsuchareward.’

Myrddion waved anelegant hand in her directionasiftodismissherqualms.

‘Pen Bryn thought youmight refuse his gift on suchgrounds. So he asked me tothank you, in advance, foryour part in polishing thesocial skills of this youngman. Our plans for him aresuch that he’ll becomemuchmorethanafightingmachine

andshould learn the skillsofcourtesy, nobility andpatience.My friend asks thatyou accept these trifles as asmall reward for the effortsthat youwill spend instillingthesequalitiesintoouryoungprotégé.’

Lady Livinia bowed herhead in acquiescence, andArtorexgroanedinwardly.

Hismistressspentmuchofher day presiding over the

smooth running of herhousehold and weaving finecloth on her looms, andArtorex did not relish beingconfined to the villa at herbeck and call through thewintermonths.Any thoughtsof leisure when snowshrouded the villa were fastdisappearing in the pleasurereflected in Lady Livinia’seyes.

Ector expressed his

gratitude at the honourbestowedonhisfamily.

‘I ask that you thankLuciusandLordpenBrynforthecourtesytheyhaveshownour house, not only for yourfine gifts, but also becauseyou have given us what wemight never have anticipated- a strong arm to protect theVilla Poppinidii and keep itsafe if everviolenthandsareraised against us.’ With age,

Ectorhaddiscovered thathe,too,couldspeakwithasuavepolish, especially when hefelttotallybeyondhisdepth.

‘Of course, the boy stillneeds some . . . roundingout,’Lukaadded.

‘Of course,’ Ector agreedcautiously.

‘Wefeelthathorsemanshipisavitaltoolinthearsenalofthe warrior, especially as

barbarians always travel byfoot.’

Artorexgasped.

‘Er. . .yes,Icanseeyourargument,’ Ector agreed, hisconfusion now clear in hisbluff,redface.

‘But Artorex isn’t agentleman!’Caiusprotested.

All eyes, apart from thoseofArtorex,swivelledtowardsEctor’sson.

‘Young man, would thegood Lucius, priest of theChristian god at HolyGlastonbury, have sent thesonofaslavetoberearedbya man as worthy as yourfather?’

Myrddion’s words cut farmore deeply than Luka’sswordcouldhavedone.Theyslicedopentheyouthfulprideof Caius. He flushedunbecominglyandopenedhis

mouth to speak but, as one,the men turned away fromhim as if he was of noaccount.

OnlyLiviniastaredfixedlyat Caius, and she raised afinger to her small mouth tosilencetheyoungman.

She had no inkling of theimportance Artorex held forthese great ones, but sheinstinctively realized that hisperson was vital to them.

Villa Poppinidii, of all thegreathouses,hadbeenchosentonurtureacuckooinitsnest,and her husband and soncould only profit from thatchoice - especially if Caiuscould be forced to relinquishthe prejudices of hischildhood and birth. LadyLivinia lived and prosperedthroughherdutytoherhouseso, from this point on, shewould give Artorex thebenefitofherfullattention.

‘How old are you now,Artorex?’Myrddionasked,astheboyfilledhiswinecup.

‘Iam inmy fifteenthyear,mylord.’

‘So young,’ Myrddionmused.‘Andsotall.’

‘He’salittletootall,’Lukastated. ‘He will draw thegreatestwarriorstowardshimwhenheisonthebattlefield.’

‘Unless he’s truly

exceptional,ormountedonalargehorse.’

‘Itwouldhavetobeaverylarge horse - once the boy isfully grown.’ Luka laughed.‘Else it will soon growswaybacked under hisweight.’

As he listened to thediscussion flowing over andaround him, Artorex wantedtoscreamandshoutquestionsatthehonouredguests.Itwas

only with the greatest self-control that he managed toholdhiscuriosityincheck.

Although Artorex’s eyessaid nothing, they hadlightened with his mountinganger. He was still veryyoung.

Luka saw the start of redspots high on the boy’scheekbones.

‘These changes must be

difficult for you tounderstand, Artorex. Wecome out of nowhere, makedecisions that change theorder of your life and thendisappear without providingany explanation for ouractions.However,youcanbeassured we do have ourreasons for monitoring youreducation.’

Artorexliftedhischin.Hisface now reddened further in

embarrassment andconfusion.

‘Thatmaybetrue,mylord.But any man would wish tounderstand his place in theworldinwhichhelives.’

‘Then ask your questions.Ifitisinmypowertoanswer,beverysurethatIwilldoso.It is far better than listeningbehindcloseddoors.’

Now,Artorexflushedhotly

inacuteembarrassment.

‘Youwrongme,mylord.Iwas only a curious childwhen lastwe sawyouhere -one of no account. Youtreated me like an untrainedhawk, not yet fit for theglove.ButImustknowwhatis intended if I am to servewhatever purpose has beenordainedforme.’

‘The boy speaks truthfullyandLuka did resort to a low

blow.’ Myrddion laughedeasily.

Artorex clenched his jaw,for even the scholarlyMyrddion was still treatinghimlikeaperforminganimal.

‘Who is my father?’Artorexsnapped.

‘It is not in my power togive you that information.However,youmaybeassuredthat he was a man of

extraordinary gifts, else youwould not be here.’ Lukaspoke with conviction, andArtorex understood that, atlast,thenorthernerwastakinghimseriously.

‘WherewasIborn?’

‘Inafortresstothesouth.’

‘WhywasItakenfrommymother?Isshestillalive?’

‘Your mother lives. Youwere brought here to save

yourlife.’

‘Oh!’

Luka recognized thatArtorex’s size belied hismaturity, and thewarrior felta pang of sorrow as herealized that this amenableand talented young man hadno place in theworld to callhis own. A wealth of hurtfeelings and sad experiences,both past and present, werecompressed within Artorex’s

regretfulsigh.

Buttheboyalsoknewhowto speak with a voice ofunconscious command. Forone shortmoment, Luka hadalmost slipped under theforceoftheboy’spersonality,and had nearly revealedinformation that, for now,mustbekeptsecret.

‘So you must continue tolisten and learn, youngArtorex. Perhaps we shall

meet again soon, at whichtimeyouwillalmostcertainlybeable todefeatme inequalcombat,’ Luka added, withsurprisinggentleness.

MyrddionMerlinus leanedforward and engaged themaster andmistress, the heirand the foster-son with eyesthat were hooded andbrooding.

‘TheVillaPoppinidiiisfarfromthecentreoftheworld,’

he declared. ‘It’s also farfrom the deeds of the greatonesofBriton-andBritonisfar from the Rome that wasonce the centre of the worlduntil the barbarian hordesstripped the legions of theirinvincibility. You, Caius,speak ofRomewith pride asif itwill last forever.But theglory of Rome is gone, justlike the empires of theCarthaginians and theSpartansbefore them, so that

Constantinople is now theonly city in the world wheredreamsofpastglorystillhavesomeshadowoflife.Odoacerand his Germanic sons nowruletheForum,andthegreatfortresses of Gaul aredeserted.’He gazed round athis audience with eyes thatwere infinitely sad. ‘Thelegions of Rome will neverreturn. The end of times hascome.’

Ector shivered and Liviniaraised her hands to her eyes,but Caius shook his artfulcurlsindenial.

‘No,Caius,whatisdoneisdone! The barbarians havebeen nibbling away at yourworld for two hundred yearsand now the end is near.Dowe go down to the Saxons?Doesourcivilizationfadeandrot away under muddy,barbarian feet?Do not doubt

me!Artorexhasbeen trainedfor battle, for all men of theCeltic peoples must fight toensure that the world weknow is not obliterated, asRomewas!’

Blank, shocked eyes metMyrddion’s direct gaze andthen lookeddown at the finefood and the good wine onthe tables before them.Theirworld had changed, even asthey dined, because they

suddenlyunderstoodthatmenwere fighting and dying sotheycouldeatinpeace.

‘We’ve often talked ofUther Pendragon and hisfailuretostemtheSaxontidethat moves inexorablytowards our peoples. TheHigh King is old, and he isexhausted by a lifetime ofattemptingtheimpossible,forchaos has come upon us asthe wild hordes of the north

continuetheirmarch.WithoutCaius and his friends, andwithoutArtorexandhiskind,how shall we hold back thedarkness when you and theHigh King go to theshadows?’

Ector blinked, and thenshook his leonine head inunderstanding of whatloomed before the Celticpeoples. Livinia gripped hishandacrosstheeatingcouch.

‘Artorex, continue tolearn.’ Myrddion added, andthen smiled. ‘You will beneeded. But we must notforget to praise you for yourstudies, young man. Ourfriend, Llanwith pen Bryn,hadnodoubt thatyou’dpassany test that Luka coulddevise, so he sent you atrophyofvictory.Hehopesitwillbeasmallcompensationfor your many unansweredquestions-andourunspoken

motives.’

‘Did Lord pen Bryn trulyuse those words?’ Artorexasked. ‘Or do you embroidertheminhisname?’

Ector gasped at theeffrontery of his foster-son,but Myrddion simply rose,lightlytappedtheboy’scheekandofferedhimascrollcase.

‘Much to my surprise, hesaid those very words. You

havemywordonit,Artorex.Llanwith pen Bryn is in nodoubt of your value to ourplans.’

‘You should thank themasters,boy,andyoushouldremember your manners,’Ector ordered. He hadunderstood very little of theconversation except for theimminence of the Saxonthreat, but the purse sent byLucius had held seven

imperial gold coins, a vastamount, and Artorex wasobviously favoured byfortune.

Artorex did his foster-father’s bidding andcourteously thankedMyrddion.

Soon, the feast was overandthevillabecamestill.Thenight had a cool privacy thatenfolded the boy in his ownthoughts, lending him the

illusion of autonomy. In thequiet of his cubicle, Artorexopened the scroll case anddiscoveredanotherpartoftheCommentaries of the greatCaesar.He hugged the scrollwithapureandchild-likejoy.

On silent, bare feet,Artorex moved out into thecolonnades,andthencetotheatrium where he couldobserve the stars of theautumnnight.

Themidnightairwaschill,and Artorex wore only hisloincloth, but the gelid coldsteadied the hot blood thatthundered in his veins anddenied him sleep. The moonwas waning and now itappearedlikeasickleorsomestrange silver blade thatcurved low towards the roof.Artorex’s breath steamed inthe night. He was too wearyforfear,andtooconfusedforquestions. He must consider

the information Luka givenhim during the coming daysattimeswhenhisbraincoulddissect and measure themessagebehindhiswords.

And tomorrow, he wouldbegintolearntheartofridingahorse.

CHAPTERIII

CHILDHOOD’SEND

In the early morning, winterannounced its arrival withchill, white fingers that leftserpentinetrailsoffrostinthedrying grass. The daysshortened noticeably as the

corpsesofleavesfellingreat,scarlet carpets.A single gatebarred the path to the villa,although it was never lockedandanychild could raise thelong, iron tongue that held itclosed. The path was deeplyruttedbyfarmwagonsand,inwinter, itwasafrozenagonyof hardened mud and driedgrass. Settled firmly on deepfoundations, the villa and itsoutbuildings, its richstorehouses, its capacious

servants’ quarters and itsherds of horses, cattle, pigsandfowlhunchedonthelowhill overlooking the Romanroad, brooding in the fadinglight.

Provident masters of theVilla Poppinidii had scornedtohidethevillaanditswealthbehind a strong exteriorwallbut, ever mindful of thedangersinanoutpostcolony,they had built their home to

last. Over a foot thick, andlargely free of any openings,its frame offered a blind,uncompromising face to thecasualvisitor.Itsneat,fruitfulorchards, the fields thatwerea patchwork quilt of prudentagriculture and the verdantkitchen gardens mightpromiseawarmwelcome,butthe villa’s heavy, studdeddoorwasprudently lockedatnight. The Villa Poppinidiilookedinwardatitsfountains

and its atrium garden, ratherthanoutwardatthelongroadthatledtoAquaeSulis.Intheeyes of its inhabitants, theenclave was their wholeworldandwascompleteas itstood.

But, beyond the fertileorchards and fallow fields,the Old Forest brooded.Artorex’s refuge was aconstant reminder that thelandwasnot completely safe

and, now that MyrddionMerlinus had opened theireyes, Ector and Liviniasurveyedtheirsmallkingdomwith hearts that wereweightedwithforeboding.

Caius ventured into thiswinter landscape of greyskiesandmisty,skeletaltreeswith his customary elan.Unlike his parents, Caiusrefused to accept that Romewas dead, so he enjoyed his

days with the same carelesspursuit of pleasure that hadalways motivated him. Withhis hunting hounds and histrained hawks, he rode intothe wilderness to harry hisprey.He rarely returnedwiththe boars, the foxes or thestagsthathekilled,preferringto leave their corpses to roton the bloodstained, frozenearth. The local villagerslearned to follow his bloodspoor which unerringly

provided them with enoughfresh meat to last themthroughthewintermonths.

At other times, when hewas bored with hunting,Caius spent his days andnightswithacoterieofyoungmenwhowerenotedfortheirepicene habits and theirconscious, offensivearrogance.Wealthy, idle andbored, they drank, whoredand terrorized the villagers

with stupid pranks thatamused the young menhugely but embarrassed theirelders when complaintsinevitably came to theirdoors.

Butevenamuch-lovedandcosseted son couldn’t avoidall responsibility, and Caiuswas expected to put asideplaytolearnthedutiesofthevilla,althoughheprotestedatfirst.Maintaininginventories,

supervising crop rotation andplanning new villa facilitiescrowded the days of theyoung heir as he learned themyriad responsibilities of amaster.Ifhechafedundertheyokeofhisbirth,Caiuschosetohideany impatienceundera glacial, patronizingcomposure suitable to hisstation.

At the other end of thesocial scale, Artorex stared

out at the delicate winterlandscapeandenviedthefewscavenger birds that hung inthe fog-wreathed air likeblack rags. Their freedommockedhis busy schedule oftoil, study and the endless,irritating challenges that kepthim from the fields and theforest. Even the headypromiseofhorsemanshipwassmallrecompenseforalifeoftedious, inexplicable tasksthatleftArtorexconfusedand

frustrated, even when hesuccessfully completed themanytestssetbyTargo.

Gradually,Artorex learnedto ride the working farmhorses thatwere the pride ofthe Villa Poppinidii but hesoondiscoveredthatasteadytrot was the best they couldmanage, nomatter how hardhe beat the sides of theirflanks with the flat of hissword. Easy-natured as these

horses were proving to be,Targo attended to the youngman’s trainingwithhisusualorderandprecision.

When the old legionnaireled Artorex up to Plod, thefarmstallion,withhisfringedhooves and massive bayshoulders, the boy felt hisknees turn to jelly with fear.Thehorse stood ruminativelychewing grass with huge,yellow teeth, or piddling

amazing streamsofhoturinewherever he pleased. By thesize of the huge droppingsscattered through the stablesandfields,ArtorexdecidedhedidnotwanttobenearPlod’sbackside when he lifted hislarge,coarsetail.

‘He’sbig, isn’the?’Targostatedreflectively.

‘He’s too big for me,’Artorexsaidflatly.

‘People always think thatbig means savage,’ Targomurmured.‘Howmanytimeshave you been called abarbarian, boy? But it’s nottrue, is it?Well,Plodhere islikehisname,forallthathe’sastallion.He’sas sweetasanut,ain’tyou,youoldfaker.’Targo proceeded to beat onthe horse’s belly and flankswith his open hand, so hardthat dust rose from Plod’swintercoat in littlepuffsand

drifts.

Artorexwaited for Plod topound Targo into shreds ofraw, bloody meat, but thebeast simply snickered hisenjoymentat theattentionhewasgetting.

‘See?He’sapleasuretobearound, is this old boy. Buthe’suseless,mind,exceptforsiring more big bastards likehimself, or pulling logs fromthe forest. Now, lad, I want

youtomounthim.’

‘How? He’s as big as asmallroom,’Artorexretorted.‘I’llneedaladder.’

‘You won’t be finding aladder on the battlefield.’Targo laughed andwanderedoff in his usual, aimlessfashion.

Unwilling to even touchPlod at first, Artorexapproached the huge horse

from one side. Placing hishandsonthehorse’sback,theyoung man tried to jump onto its broad haunches as hehad done with the smallerfarm horses. He ended upsittingonthegroundwiththehorse’s tail switching in hisface.Plodturnedhisheadandeyed Artorex with a wide,long-lashed stare ofamazement.

Even thehorse is laughing

atme,Artorexdecided.

Then he gripped the baseof Plod’s mane in his lefthand and tried to hoisthimselfon toPlod’sbackbybrutestrength.

Inevitably, he fell on hisbacksideagain.

Plod continued to gaze atArtorex with a total lack ofcomprehension.

Think, idiot! Artorex

admonishedhimself,notevenbothering to rise to his feet.It’s like thepostand therail.Theremust be a trick to thisbusiness of riding a horse asbigasPlod.

Andso theboyconsideredhis position logically, for hewas by now becomingcomfortable with devisingsolutions to Targo’sproblems.Hedeterminedthathe needed to approach the

large horse from the front,grip themaneand leapon toPlod’sback,turningashedidso.

The solution worked andhewas successful at the firstattempt.

Plod ignoredArtorex oncehewasseatedpainfullyonthehorse’sverysharpspine.Theyoungmanwassoonslappingthe stallion’s shoulders andtrying to discover how to

enticeor,betterstill,orderthebeasttomove.

Plod continued to munchonsomegreenshootsnearthefence. If hebothered toobeythe command tomove at all,it was to search out sweetergrass.

‘Aaaah!’Artorexscreamedwith frustration after fiveminutes of fruitlesspummelling and shouting;Plod, being well used to the

strangewaysofhumans,tooknonotice.

Then, in pure frustration,Artorex kicked the beast inthe flanks with his heels.Abruptly, Plod obeyed, andArtorex,whohadnotthoughtto grip the stallion’s mane,fell backwards over thehorse’sflanks.

The horse stopped andturneditsheadtolookbackatthe boy as if Artorex was

mentallyretarded,agazethatwas mirrored in the laughterand expressions of twopassingfieldhands.

‘That’s the way, Artor -show him who’s the boss,’one guffawed as they carriedtheir reaping hooks and hoesouttothefallowfields.

For the first time, Artorexheard the shortened form ofhis name used by commonfield hands instead of the

regal-sounding name thatLuciushadchosenforhimatbirth.

Artorex persevered andsoon began to unlock thesecrets that allowed him tocontrol his horse. Hepractised hard and began toexperience the pleasure offeeling such a huge creaturemoveonhiscommand.WhilePlod’s great muscles surgedand bunched underArtorex’s

knees, he soon becamefamiliar with the exquisitepain that men experience astheir bodies become fused tothe unbending spine of ahorse.

Not surprisingly, Artorexmanaged to fall off theworkhorse on manyoccasions, and was almostcrushed against the fenceuntilhelearnedtomanipulatethehorse’shalterandpull its

head back when he wantedthebeasttostop.

Andsotheyoungmanandhisgianthorsebegantolearntherudimentsofriding.

Targoallowedhimnotimefor self-congratulation,because the veteran nowarranged forArtorex tomeetAphrodite.

This slightly smaller marehad a nasty disposition and

hatedallmen,especially tall,vigorous specimens likeArtorex. She gazed balefullyat him with a jaundiced,narrowed eye at their veryfirst meeting, and thenmanaged to regularly throwhimoff her backwith casualdisdain.

Aphrodite was definitelynot the Greek goddess oflove.

‘Who’s the smarter? You

or the horse?’ Targo asked,with a wicked leer plasteredoverhisseamedandwrinkledface.

‘I am,’ Artorex snarledthroughclenchedteeth.

Thenthehorsestoodontheboy’s foot. Artorex was sureshehadbrokenhistoe.

‘Who’s stronger?You?Orthehorse?’

‘Sheis-unfortunately.’

Targo laughed, coughedandthenspatontheground.

‘So how do you controlsomethingthat isfarstrongerthanyou?’Targoasked.

‘Cheat a little?’ Artorexsaidhopefully.

‘You must convince herthat you are stronger andnastier than she is,’ Targolectured. ‘Horses are likelittle children. And how do

you stop little children frommisbehaving?’ Targomimicked the slapping of anaked bottom. ‘For trulydifficulthorses,trainersuseaquirt, or a small whippybranch. They don’t use itoverlymuch,mind,forifyoubrutalize a horse you’ll onlymake it dangerous. Just ataste isallyouwillneed,notenough to hurt but sufficientto demonstrate to Aphroditethat you’re in charge.’ He

smiled. ‘Here’s a suitablebranch. I’ll return whenyou’vemasteredher.’

Targo walked away withhisusuallackofconcern,buthe had just handed the boyhis greatest test - and themostdangeroustemptationtodate.

Targo was a hard man, infists, in swordplayand in thebusiness of living. He hadfew illusions about the

goodness of heart of thepeoplewithwhomhemixed,norwas theremuch love leftin him. But to those he didlove,hewasfaithfulforever.

Duringhislonglife,hehadseenmenwhoappearedtobehonourableonthesurfacebutwho took unnatural pleasurein the infliction of pain andbrute force. Targo had neverunderstood such flawedcreatures, for he hardly

consideredthemtobehuman.Theybrutalizedanythingandanyone within the ambit oftheir power, so they wouldbeat a horse until it was aquiveringandbroken-spiritedcreature,simplybecausetheyhad complete mastery overtheanimal.

Targo didn’t know if theboywassuchaperson.Often,these human beasts had feltinadequacy as children, or

had been bullied andbrutalized themselves. Targoknew that Artorex had neverbeenforcedtoexercisepowerover anything that breathed,so he hoped that the boywouldn’tfailthiscrucialtrial.The snake-eyed Luka wouldbecertaintoaskthequestiononhisnextvisit.

Artorex could never haveguessed the fearful tenor ofTargo’s thoughts, so straight

wastheoldman’sbackashestrodebrisklyaway.

As was becoming hiscustom, Artorex approachedthis latestproblemwith logicand reason. He cut his ownquirtinfullviewofthewild-eyed mare, slicing his handwiththethinwandofalderintheprocess.Ithurt!

Yes,hethoughttohimself.Nohorsewouldenjoyablowfromthisweapon.

Then, for the very firsttime, he looked atAphroditewith real attention. She wasan ugly mare at best, and itwasobvious thatshehadfeltthe quirt before, judging bythe narrow scars on hershouldersandherflanks.

The horse looked back athim defiantly and Artorexrecognized that the mare’shatred was directed at thenarrowwand in his hand. In

clear view of Aphrodite’srolling eyes, he turned hishandanddropped thebranchtothegroundbeforeshowingAphrodite his bare palms.Then he swiftly leapt on toher back, grabbed her manetightly with both hands andwrapped his legs about herbarrelbelly.

Asusual,shetriedtothrowhim, but this time her heartdidn’tseemsosetondrawing

his blood and maiming him.Artorex pulled hard on hermane, thereby yanking herhead upward. The horsecorkscrewed and twisted, butthe boy continued to pit hiswill against hers. Evenwhensheeventuallythrewhimoff,he went through the sameprocedure as before, againand again, until, just whenArtorex believed his achingbones couldn’t bear anotherfall, Aphrodite surrendered

her will to his. He felt thesundering of her defianceflow through her body andinto his hands which werestill tightly knit into hermane. He kicked her flanks,and the horse broke into anobedient trot and then acomfortable canter. Artorexbegantoexultinthepurejoythat a man can onlyexperience when a powerfulcreaturegivesitselftohim,todowithashepleases.

When Aphrodite haddemonstrated that she was amore mobile and speedyanimal than Plod, Artorexthrew himself from her backand approached her frontallyto strokehergreatcheekandforehead.

At first, Aphrodite pulledher head away, and the boycould see all the whitesaround her untrusting eyes,but he persisted until the

horse reluctantly permittedhimtocaressher.

Anhour later,whenTargoreturned from the villa torejoinhispupil,hediscovereda guilty Artorex feeding thehorseastolencarrottopfromthekitchens.

‘So she took to the quirt,then,boy?’

‘You’re an evil old man,Master Targo,’ Artorex

replied evenly. ‘You knewthis horse wouldn’t respondtothatsortof treatment.’Hisvoicewasagentlemurmurtospare the horse fromnervousness.

‘You did very well withthis task, lad, and I’mpleased.’ Targo smiled. ‘Thebest horsemen I haveencountered had no use forwhips and quirts, butcontrolled their beasts with

the bridle, the reins and thesuretouchoftheirheels.I’veseenScythianswhocanguidehorseswith the reins in theirteeth-andempty-handed-sothat they can use theirmurderousbowswhileonthegallop.’ He grinned atArtorex. ‘Some men saythose devils were centaursoncebutIbelievethey’rejustexcellent horsemen whoregularlypractisetheirskills.’

‘Someone has scarred thishorseverybadly,Targo.Whoruinedher?’Artorexasked.

‘It’snotformetosay,boy.ButIthinkyoucouldmakeagoodguess.’

It’swhat I’dexpectofonesuch as Caius, Artorexthought to himself but, likeTargo, he wisely kept hisopinionstohimself.

Aphrodite and Artorex

graduallybecamefriends-ofakind.

The boy brought her acarrot every day, so thekitchen staff began to keepthe misshapen or slightlyelderly vegetables forArtorex’suse.Artorexalwaysrewarded her if she kept hertemper with him, and heknew that this was all theconsideration that he couldaskofher.Heunderstoodthat

she would never fully trusthim, for a damaged horse,like a betrayed child, cannoteverbequitewhole.

The next spring, afterArtorex turned fifteen andhad become quite acompetent rider, with orwithout a bridle and rein,Aphrodite broke one of theweaker fence rails andescaped. For a weary andinterminable week, Artorex

searchedforher,expectingtodiscover that she had beenkilled by boars or washobbling on a broken leg intheOld Forest. But when hefinally came upon her, hefound that she hadinexplicablyfoundherwaytohis secret glade in the forest,wheretheoldstonestilldrewhis eyes with its strangecarving, and the grass grewfreshandgreenwherever thesun’s rays penetrated the

treetops.

Amicably, Aphroditesubmitted to the bridle andplacidly followed him home.Behind them, in the deepestgroves, Artorex heard thechallenging whinny of astallion, as if some strangecentaur really did inhabit theancient places.Superstitiously, he didn’tlook back, and Aphroditequietly ambled behind him

withoutanyfuss.

In time, the mare bore acolt out of season, a long-legged, tiny thing, with slickblackhairandanunnaturallylarge head. Once Aphroditehad cleaned the curly coatand nuzzled the colt to herdugs, Artorex stroked theshort, wiry curls on the littlecreature’sflanks.

Aphrodite snorted herdispleasure just once, and

then permitted Artorex tofondleherfoal.

Thecoltgrewandgrew,asdifferent from Plod andAphrodite as Artorex wasfrom Caius. The smallcreaturewouldneverbequiteas tall as its dam, but it hadinherited the same length ofleg. It was also cleaner oflimb, with legs that wereunmarredbythickhairabovethehooves,althoughitsbody

coatwasstillroughandcurly.Its head was smaller andmoredelicatethanitsmother,yet, for all its apparentfragility, the young horseappeared strong and heavy-boned.

‘She must have foundherselfawildponywhenshewas in season,’ Targodecided. ‘Perhaps it was adescendant of the horsesbrought from Gaul, or it

might have been one of thehillside beasts that are stillfound in the high places. Idon’t know if he’ll be anygood, but he’s a handsomecolt.’

‘He’s beautiful, Targo,’Artorex breathed, as the foalnuzzled his arm with soft,questinglips.

‘I hope he’s not toobeautiful or else the youngmaster might be tempted to

take him off you,’ Targomurmuredregretfully.

‘Master Ector has alreadyordered me to become ahorseman, so could you askhim if I couldbe responsiblefor the foal’s training?’Artorexasked.

Artorex expected Targo torejecthisrequestoutright,butthe veteran pursed his lips,then bit on one callousedknuckle until, finally, he

cametoadecision.

‘I’ll ask him before theyoungmasterdecides to takethefoalforhisownuse.’

Privately, Targo hadalready determined that hewould keep Aphrodite’s foalsafe from the grasping handsofCaius.His gorge still rosewhenever he rememberedAphrodite’s coat, slick withblood and sweat, after Caiushadbeatenthemarealmostto

death.Targohadbelievedthemarewoulddiewithherspiritcrushed, but she had found awell of hatred within herbeingthatkeptheralive.Thisfoalwouldn’t be spoiled likeits dam if he had any say inthematter.

When Targo approachedLord Ector with his request,themasterwasinclinedtobegenerous.Forseveralmonths,Ector had been concerned

that Artorex’s riding lessonswere inconvenient for thesmooth running of the villaand this small, bastard horsewas of very little value,except to solve the problem.If his foster-son could makesomethingoftheunpromisingcreature,thenEctorwouldbeadvantagedonceagain.

AndsoCoal,as theyoungman named him, becameArtorex’shorse.

‘Whydidyougivehimthatparticular name?’ Targoasked curiously. He hadexpectedafarmoregrandiosetitle, even for such anawkwardlittlecolt.

‘Coalburnshotanditfirestheforgesthatmakeiron.It’sstrongerthanwoodandyetitis glossy and easily shaped.Yes,Coal ishisname,forheismyfire,’Artorexansweredwithperfectseriousness.

‘Well, he’s your horse,boy, so you can selectwhatever name you like forhim,’ was Targo’s non-committalreply.

Horsemanship was theleast of Artorex’s newlyacquired skills. Goldenlimbed, cleanly muscled andfairofface,Ector’sfoster-sondrew the eyes of the villawomen with little effort orconscious use of charm.

Perhaps his innocencecontributed to hisattractiveness,fortheladhadno notion of his sexualpower. But Lady Liviniarecognized Artorex’sburgeoning manhood and,belatedly, remembered herpromise to MyrddionMerlinus.

Towards the end of onelong, tiring day, as Artorextrudgedbackfromploughing,

slickwith sweat, soil and thecold water he had sluicedover his head and shoulders,Lady Livinia left orders forherfoster-sontoattendtoherin the atrium once he hadbathed. Artorex wassurprised,buthecompliedasquickly as he could, joiningLadyLiviniaandhermaidona limestone bench under asingle linden tree. LadyLiviniawasworkingherlargefloor loom while her maid

was spinningdegreasedwoolonasimple,woodenspindle.

‘You asked to seeme,mylady?’ Artorex askedcarefully, his grey eyeswatching the flicker ofcolouredthreadashershuttlepassedacrosstheloom.

‘Yes,Artorex.’She smiledinwelcome.‘I’vebeenremissin your education. As LordMyrddion explained, a truegentleman should understand

howtospeaktobothservantsand masters, how to practisecourtesyandeconomy,andtodisplaythegoodmannersthatoil the wheels of society.From tomorrow, you willattendme in the atrium eachafternoon after the noontimemeal.’

Shesmiledinwardlyassheglimpsed the frown ofchagrinthattheladattemptedtohidebydroppinghishead.

FromArtorex’spointofview,hard work was preferable tosuchpointlessactivities.

‘Don’t fear that I’ll keepyou from your duties to thevilla.Anhouradayshouldbemore than sufficient tocorrect any deficiencies inyour deportment ormanners.My woman, Delia, willoverseethemore...physical. . . aspects of youreducation.’

Artorexwastrulyhorrified.Thewords ‘physical aspects’had an embarrassing,terrifying ring and the ladturned to face Livinia’smaidservantwithtrepidation.

Delia was well past thirtyyearsofageandseemedveryold to Artorex, although herskin was still fresh and herhairwas richwith an auburnsheen. She had served asLady Livinia’s servant from

childhoodandwasdevotedtothe interests of her mistress,soArtorexhadknownherforyears,atleastfromadistance.AsDeliasteppedforwardintothe light of the setting sun,Artorexhadanopportunitytogauge the kindness in hermild,browneyes.

Deliahadbornefivelivingchildren and her body wasplumpand strong.Her handswere her great beauty,

although theywere callousedfromsewing,washingandthewomen’s work of the villa.Her fingers were long, withsensitive pads and almond-shaped, pale nails, while herpalms were unusually largeandwellfleshed.Thosehandswere clasped together firmlyas she smiled at the thunder-struckyoungman.

So, in the noontime,Artorex learned how to

dance, to turn a courtlysentence and to take a lady’sarm. He mastered courtesyand deportment, and foundnothing shameful inconversation with aninteresting and intelligentwoman. Lady Livinia’slessonswouldlasttheboyforthe rest of his life and servehim well as he grew tomanhood.

More importantly, Lady

Livinia taught Artorex thewoman’s point of view,filtered through the Romanmatron’sideaoffemaleduty.Without conscious effort,Artorex absorbed Livinia’svalues, her style, her respectfor family and heruncompromising ability toface painful truths. A singlecaress upon his hair, as lightasthistledown,wascherishedasheluxuriatedinherregard.

After an afternoon’s toil,ArtorexwouldreporttoDeliaat the servants’ quarters.There, over a period of twoweeks, the cheerful andmotherly woman taughtArtorex the pleasures of thebed. Her warmth, her goodhumour and her earthycommonsenserevealedmanyofthemysteriesofwomentothe round-eyed boy, and forthe first time he grew toappreciate the strength and

pragmatism of the other sex.Wisely, Lady Liviniacontrivedtoendthesespeciallessons before Artorexteetered on the brink oflovesickness, for this clevermatron understood thatteacherandpupilmightbegintocare foreachother if theirarrangement continuedoverlong.

Artorex continued withLady Livinia’s lessons and

discovered that he enjoyedhisnewfriendshipwithDelia.Although any sexual liaisonwas over, he discussed therelationship with Frith whoexplained that Delia lovedLady Livinia, not him, andhad takenhim toher bed forher mistress’s sake. Artorexshould be grateful to thesetwowomen of such differentstations, and free himselffrom any residualsentimentality.

Artorex examined Frith’samusedblueeyescloselyandsaw no sign of mockery orfalsehood in their cleardepths. As he kissed Frith’swithered cheek, Artorexrealized that women likeFrith,DeliaandLivinia,whoseemedsodelicateandeasilyshocked, were actuallystronger than iron and farmore ruthless than a mancouldeverbe.

‘Themistress is amarvel,’Targo informed the youngman after Delia hadcompletedhiseducation.‘Sheknows a boy needs guidanceor else he’ll likely developsomesillyideas.’

Artorex blushed hotly andwonderedwhatDelia had letsliptoherfriends.

‘Don’t colour up, boy.’The warrior smiled at hisprotégé. ‘I’m reliably told

you’ve no cause to beashamed of yourperformance.’

Artorex wished ferventlythat the earthwould swallowhimwhole.

‘It’s a pity that MistressLivinia didn’t see to theeducation of young Caius sosensibly.Hespendstoomuchtime with whores andcatamites.’

‘Gossip, Targo?’ Artorexgoaded, grateful that Targohadveered off the subject ofhis sexual education. ‘Ithought you disapproved ofidle sniping at your bettersandtheirhabits.’

Targo responded with aquickcliptoArtorex’sear.

‘Don’t be impertinent,Master Artorex. I seewhat Isee, and a wise man storesaway useful information in

case he needs it later.Mistress Livinia should haveentrustedherson tosomeoneworthy,likeDelia-ormeforthat matter. I’d have been abetter guide to the beds ofwilling maidens than thatSeveriniibrood.’

Wisely, and before Targobecame really cross, Artorexchangedthesubject.

WhenArtorex turned sixteenand the colt was a yearling,they made a unique pair.Artorexstoodatwelloversixfeet and was still growing,and his wild hair was nowplaited to tame its curls. Hewas shapely and strong, yetnot so fair as Caius in faceand form. But, alongsideArtorex, Caius seemedinsubstantial and a man ofstraw, although he was fiveyearsolder-andhadrecently

broughtawifetothevilla.

Coal was still outsized inheadandlengthofleg,buthiscoat shone from constantbrushing and he trotted afterArtorexlikeadog.Evenasayearling,nimbleandunafraidof the most treacherousterrain,hewasfasterthananyother horse at the villa, savefor theGallic gelding ownedby Caius. In the Old Forest,his coat made him almost

invisible among the shadowsof the trees, while he wassure-footed even where theforest was almostimpenetrable.

When Artorex reached hisseventeenthbirthday, and thefulldutiesofmanhood,Ectorset his foster-son to work.Cletus, the villa’s steward,had succumbed to a lungdiseasethatoftenkepthimtohisbed,sothemasterrealized

that the time had come totrain Artorex as hisreplacement. On his gooddays, Cletus taught Artorexthe role of stewardwhile theyoung man served as thesteward’s ears and eyesoutside thewallsof thevilla.Artorex rode around theestate checking provisions,supervising the rotation ofcrops and serving his masterwithdiligenceandspeed.

Artorex began tounderstand the responsibilityof leadership and thecommandofmen.

EctorblessedthedaywhenLucius of Glastonbury hadsenttheboytohim.

Mindfulofthepromiseshehad made to MyrddionMerlinus,Luka andLlanwithpen Bryn, Artorex stillpractised theartofweaponryandhorsemanshipwithTargo

on a daily basis, andconducted all farm businessfromthebackofahorse.

The young man’s dayswere full and he was nowpermitted, on rare occasions,to eatwith the family.Thesemarks of favour occurred atthose timesof theyearwhenhe was required to report onthesuccessoftheharvestandthe well-being of all thosesouls who lived at the Villa

Poppinidii. Unlike Cletus,whowasaslave,Artorexstillexisted in an odd no-man’sland, neither fish nor fowl,neither slave nor master. AsCletus weakened, Artorexlearned how to manipulatethe many cogs that made upthe machine that was theestate.Healsolearnedtoleadmen with firmness, fairnessand efficiency. He workedwiththem,whenneedbe,andthey appreciated the care he

tooktoprotecttheirinterests.

Atfirst,thefieldhandshadresented a young man whoissued instructions onirrigation, planting, croprotationandprovisioning.ButArtorexbrookednoinsolenceandwasonlyforced tobreakthe jaw of one malcontentbefore the men accepted hissuperior leadership qualitiesandstrength.Afterthat,hesetouttowinthemovertohim.

Nor did Artorex prove tobe insensitive to the constantdangersfacedbytheordinaryworkers who served theirmasters so faithfully at theVilla Poppinidii. When theservant,Brabix, fell from thecolonnade when securing aloose tile on the roof, helingered for a week beforedying. His belly swelled andhe howled in agony untilFrith mixed a draught madeofsapfromthebulbousheads

of poppy plants to ease hissuffering.Artorexkeptwatchover Brabix with the rest oftheservantsandpromisedthedelirious man that his wifeandchildwouldbewelcomedinto a lifetime of service attheVillaPoppinidii.

Liviniawasheardtosaytoherwomanthatthehousehadnot run half so well in thehands of Cletus, but Artorexwasalwayscarefultodeferto

the old, failing man whoseskinhadturnedtoparchment,and who seemed to beburningtoashfromwithin.

Onlyonecloudblotted theblue skies of Artorex’s life.The new wife of Caius,Julanna, whose fatherclaimed to be anunrecognized scion of theJulian line, came to theVillaPoppinidii boasting of thepurity of her blood. At first,

she seemed the perfect mateforCaius.

Themarriagewasarrangedbetween the heads of bothfamilies, and little Julannawasamerethirteenwhenshewas wed to Caius in the oldRoman fashion. She was apalelittlecreaturewithcloudsof soft, nut-brown hair, butbehind her initial arroganceshe was really a frightenedchild, completely over-awed

by her husband’s family andthe life into which she hadbeenthrust.

Her eyes were very darkbutwithout thehard shineofher husband’s pupils. Everyline of her face and herplump, soft bodywas curvedandgentlesothatsheseemeda negligible creature, unabletoholdherown in theworldoftheVillaPoppinidii,whereconversation was witty and

politically aware, andpersonalitieswerestrong.

Poor Julanna wasoutmatched. The servantsignored her, and themistresssmiledkindlyand treatedherlikeachild.Herhusbandwasbored within a fortnight,relegatinghisnewwifetotherole of an inconvenientvisitor.

Nor was Caius a kindlyhusband.Hesawnopressing

reason tochangehis lifestylenowthathewasmarried,andcontinuedtocarousewithhisfriends from Aquae Sulis onevery available occasion.Caius considered the runningof the estate to be an unfittask for a gentleman andspenthisdays,andsometimeswholeweeks,awayfromboththevillaandhiswife.

One morning, Julannadidn’t rise to eat with the

familyand,whenshefoundaquiet corner of the atrium towork with her distaff, onlyLivinia and a sharp-eyedArtorex noticed that she hadcoveredmostofherfacewithagauzymatron’sshawl.Bothmother and foster-son sawbruisesonhercheeksandjawthrough the sheer folds ofclothbut,whenLiviniaaskedhow she’d been injured,Julanna twisted the wool inher lap and blamed her own

clumsiness for an accidentalfall.

I’ll wager that Caius isbeing far too ready with hisfists, Artorex thought tohimselfbut,asalways,hedidnotdaretoquestionthewordofarespectablematron.

Livinia glanced upward atArtorex as he made his bowto the ladies, and herecognized the resignation inher large, still-brilliant eyes.

The mistress identified theweaknesses in her only son,the last of a long line ofhonourable Romangentlemen, and she wasashamed of what she’d seeninhisnature.

As for Artorex, he hadbeen kept far too busy foryears to even contemplatemarriage to any woman.Sexual adventures werelimited to hasty couplings

withkitchenmaidsinthecowbyre. These were satisfying,but hardly lasting. Love foranyfemalehadn’tyetenteredhis heart, and Artorex wascontent that this state ofaffairs should continue. Hewas happy, his horse grewswiftlyunderhistutelageandthevillablossomedunderhisguidance.Whatmorecouldayoung man of seventeenyearsdesire?

Time meant less thannothingtoArtorex,exceptforthe change of seasons, thefoaling, and the tasks ofsupervising a large andprofitable farm. He wouldhave been content with whathe held, were it not forrumblingsfromtheeast.

One autumn day, a raggedwoman camewalking slowlyuptheroadfromAquaeSulis.Her shoulders were bowed

withwearinessandherhandsand feet were wrapped inmakeshift mittens of rags.Her age was indeterminateinside the shadow of herhoodedcloak

Seated high above her onhishorse,ArtorexgreetedthebeggarontheruttedtrackthatleduptotheVillaPoppinidii.

‘Master,’ the womanloweredherhead.‘Thenightsgrow cold for a friendless

wanderer.MayIsleepinyourbarn before I continue myjourney to the north? I willworkformykeep.’

What one so ragged andweary could do inrecompenseforshelterdefiedArtorex’s logical mind, butthenightswereunseasonablycold and he didn’t wish herdeathonhisconscience.

‘Welcome then, mother.Villa Poppinidii can always

find a little extra food andsomewhere for a stranger torest.’

Artorexmissedtheflashofa pair ofmidnight-blue eyes,as she bowed her head oncemoreinsubmissivegratitude,for he hadn’t yet learned thefullmeasureofwomen.

‘Whenyou reach thevilla,you’ll find Cletus, thesteward, at thekitchens.Youmay tell him I’ve given you

leave to stay one night, andhe’llseetoyourneeds.’

‘AndwhodoIsaysentme,youngmaster?’

‘Artorex, foster-son toLordEctor.’

Thewomanslowlybowed,asifherspinepainedher.

As soon as she trudgedaway, Artorex forgot herentirely.

Thatevening,asthefamilysat down to dinner andArtorex began to supervisetheservingofasimplerepast,thewomancametohimoncemore. She was now swathedin black, obviously her bestclothing which she hadcarried in a sack during herjourney.

‘Master, I tell fortunesandcarry news of the world.Would Lord Ector and his

noble family desire a littleentertainment?’

‘I’ll ask them,’ Artorexreplied doubtfully. Theraggedbeggarappearedtobeyounger than he’d firstthought,althoughmostofherface was still concealed bytheshadowofherhood.

While Ector and Caiuswere uninterested in fortunetelling or women’s stories,Livinia chose to be charmed

by the offer of amusementand, with a quick glance atJulanna’s pallid face, shedecided that the child mightbeentertainedaswell.

‘Yes,Artorex,’ she repliedimperiously from her couch,forLiviniawas themasteroftheVillaPoppinidiiinallbutname. ‘You may send thewisewomanintous.’

For reasons that Artorexdidnotunderstand,theblack-

clad woman caused frissonsof fear in him and raised thehair on his arms.He usheredherintothefamily’spresenceand then stood against thepillarofthedoorway.

‘What is your name, wisewoman?’Livinia asked,withherusualblandcourtesy.

Thewomanraisedherheadandloweredthecowlthathadconcealed her face. ‘I’mcalledMorgan,mylady,’she

repliedevenly.

Even Caius, bored andslightlyhung-overafteradaywithhisfriends,wasdisposedto stare at the wise woman.Hefelthisloinshardenasherknowing eyes slid over hisbody.

Morgan was not old, noreven middle-aged; she wasbeautiful and timeless in thelightofthewallsconces.Butit was a beauty that both

attracted and repelled.Artorex was immediatelyreminded of Targo’s tale ofthe Scythian woman and hedecided, prudently, to watchher movements verycarefully.

Her hair was midnight-black with a long streak ofsnow that started at her righttempleandranthefulllengthof her head. Her eyes wereblue-black and strange, for

they sucked in the light andallowed nothing to escape.Her mouth was full-lippedand promised delicious,forbiddenpleasures.

Carefully, she removed asilvermirror, a long band ofpale, baby-soft leather and ahandfulofknucklebonesfromwithinherrobe.

EvenEctorleanedforward,curiousatlast.

‘Ask,’ she said simply.‘AndIwilltrytoanswer.’

Livinia deferred to herhusband.

‘Will the Villa Poppinidiiremain fruitful?’ Ectordemanded autocratically, forhe was a little afraid of thissmallwoman.

Morgan tied the narrowbandof leatheroverhereyesand stared sightlessly at the

mirror’s face. She croonedunderherbreath.

Artorex stared fixedly atthatnarrow,paleband.

What is it? he thought tohimself.Itlookslike...

Hismindwas too revoltedby the image of soft, humanskin to continue with histhoughts.

‘The Villa Poppinidii willlast for a long, long time. Its

fields will bear forgenerations to come and,when it is dead at all but theheart, still it will live on inlegend,untilmen ina farofftimewill find it andmake itbloomoncemore.’

‘Well, that’s a fairprospect,’ Ector replied,seeing none of the menaceandallofthegood-asusual.

‘WillIbearason?’Julannaaskedtimidly.

Once again, Morganseemed to listen to silentvoicesandseestrangeshapesinhermirrorwithhercoveredeyes,althoughArtorexsworeto himself that it was notpossible.

‘You will bear children,lady, in pain and travail, andyou will hold them in yourarmsandsucklethem.Yetnoson will live to spare youfromlaterpain.’

‘But will Villa Poppinidiihave children to hold itstrong, children that are ofmyblood?’Liviniaasked,forthis question meant more toherthananyother.

‘Aye, my lady. You willknow that they are yoursbefore your ending - andbelieveyourselfblessed.Youhave earned the forbearanceofthegods.’

Artorex shuddered, despite

himself. Why did the familysmile, refusing to recognizethe poison in Morgan’sprophecies?

We hear what we want tohear, Artorex heard Morganwhisperinhishead.

Not I! he thought,savagely.

Not you! was thesoundless,laughingreply.

Caius was restive for his

ownturn.

‘Will I be a greatlandowner and warrior?’ hedemanded. ‘And will myname live on after I amdead?’

Morgan stared hardthroughherleatherband.Herhands made strange patternsin the air, and Artorex sawthattheywerelong,cleanandcomely.

‘Under one form oranother, your name willenduredowntheages.

Youwillbestewardtoagreatkingandthewholeworldwillknowthetruthofyou.’

The truth of you? Artorexthoughtfuriously.SpareevenCaiusfromsuchafate!

But the young master wasdelighted.

‘Steward to a great king.

Renown for ever. Could amanaskformore?’

‘And what of you,MasterArtorex?’ Morgan askedsoftly. ‘Do you have aquestionforme?’

‘None!’ Artorex snapped.His responsewasfar rougherthanheintended.

‘Come,Artorex,it’sonlyagame,’Ectoradmonished.

‘Are you afraid to learn

that you will make me awealthy man, Steward?’Caius filled the title withenough venom and contemptto poison all the personspresent.

‘I fear nothing,’ Artorexretorted.

‘Then cast the bones,’Morgan demanded evenlyandwithoutchallenge.

‘Why should I do so?Can

younotseemyfuture,asyoudidforthefamily?’

‘My gift is not easilymastered. Cast the bones,MasterArtorex,andIwilltellyourfate.’

Unwillingly, Artorexpickeduptheknucklebones.

They were smooth andslick under his fingers andseemed to quiver as if theywere still alive. Instinctively,

Artorex knew they had oncebeenpartofahumanhand.

As the great Caesar hadcast dice many, many yearsbefore, Artorex threw thebonesontothemosaicfloor.

Morgan took off herghastly eye-band beforerockingandmoaningoverthepattern the bones had madeonthetiles.Hervoiceseemedtocomefromfaraway.

‘You bear poisoned blood,Great One. Beware of awomanwith yellow hair, forshewillleadyoutoruin.’

‘Surely you can give mesomething better than that,’Artorexchallengedher.

Morgan stared at himthrough the lamplight. Hervoice changed, and becamedeeper.

‘Greater even than thy

father, and greater than thyson,youwillsaveyourworldforatimebutitwillbeatthecostofallthatyouholddear.Time will not change you,norshatteryourpromise.Youshall live, though your bodybedead, longafter themightof Rome has fallen into thedust.’

The family was struckdumb by the enormity ofMorgan’s prophecy. Caius’s

mouth was twisted into asneerofjealousyandArtorexknewthemaster’ssonwouldmake him suffer for thepromise in the words of thiswisewoman.

‘You can spare me yourpromises,fortodayisenoughfor me,’ Artorex snapped,annoyedbytheriddlesinherwords. ‘And what of you,Morgan?Doyoudaretoturnyourgiftuponyourself?’

‘I will cast also,’ Morganreplied, still staringenigmaticallyintotheeyesoftheyoungman.

She swept up the bones inone eloquent hand, and castthemdown.

‘Blood calls to blood,whetherIwishitornot.Youshouldcallonme,shouldyoueverhaveneedofme.Mylifeskein is tangled with yours,andmy name will endure as

long as yours lives. I ambound inextricably to youbyoldwrongs.’

Caius rose to his feet. Histemper and resentment wasclearly exposed in his darkeyes and Julanna flinchedaway from his peremptoryhand.

‘Well, I’m sure this littlegame has all been veryinteresting, but Julanna and Iare for our bed,’ Caius

ordered, and ledhis reluctantyoung wife from the eatingchamber.

LiviniaandEctoralsorosetotheirfeet.

‘We thank you for yourgifts,’ Livinia said for bothEctorandherself.

As the mistress led herhusband away, Morganbowed low until she was adarkpuddleofshadowonthe

brightfloor.

Artorexsnappedhisfingersandservantsscurried toclearaway all signs of the familymeal. He noticed that thewomen gaveMorgan a wideberth and one oldgrandmother surreptitiouslymadetheage-oldsigntowardofftheevileye.

‘Come, Morgan.’ Artorexoffered his hand. ‘Thisevening’s charade is over.

When are you going to tellmewhatyoureallywant?’

‘Iwantedtoseeyourface,’Morgan answered, with herhead tilted upwards so shecouldseehisunusualeyes.

‘And?’

Shetookhishandandrosetoherfeet,theaccoutrementsof her trade havingdisappeared inside thevoluminous black robe. Her

fingersweresoftanddry,likethe skin of a snake, but hesensed the strength that layunderthesurface.

‘I havenothingelse to tellyou,mylord.Nothingyoudonotknowforyourself.’

‘I have no idea what youare talking about,’ Artorexsaidirritably.

‘But I do not believe youcame to Villa Poppinidii by

accident. We are some littleway east of the road thatleadstothenorth.’

Morgan smiled. ‘I believenow that you have not beentold of your birthright. Howsurprising! Sometimes thewaysofmenareverystrange.NowthatI lookatyou,Icansee a little of yourmother inyou,’sheadded.‘Itisinyoureyes,Artorex.’

‘You are speaking in

riddlesyetagain.Perhapsitisthe language of allcharlatans.’ Artorex pausedasMorgan’spupils flaredfora moment with an intensewhite fire. ‘Or perhaps youbelieve what you say. Whowasmymother?’

‘It is not my place to tellyou,my lord, if greater onesthan I have kept silent.’Morgan smiled and, for abriefmoment, her face lit up

fromwithinandshewasverybeautifulindeed.

‘Youshouldnot investmewithtitlesthatarenotminetoclaim,’ Artorex repliedevenly, although his handtingledfromcontactwithherslim fingers. He frowned ather.‘Whereisyourhome?’

‘I am from the FortressTintagel, lord. I tell younothing by saying this, foryou have probably never

heard of such a place.’Morganslidtothedoorway.

‘You’re correct, Morgan,but I will not forget you,’Artorexpromisedgrimly.

At his words, she pausedfor a moment, and staredback at him with eyes thatdrewthelighttoherface.‘Ofthat,Ihavenodoubt.Thereisno forgetting with those ofyourblood-asyouwillcometolearn.’

Andthenshewasgone.

Artorex arose early nextmorning, before the sun hadbanished full darkness, butMorgan had left even earlierwhile the night was stillwhollyblack.Hewouldbe aman full grown before heheard of her again.When helooked at the empty road, hecrossed himself in theChristian manner. It did noharm to take precautions

againsttheevilones.

Life at the villa continuedin its seamless patterns ofnature. It seemed, toArtorex’s young heart, thatnothing could ever change.Occasionally, a messagewouldarrivebyacourier forEctor, and the master wouldlook grave for days. Thesame courier sometimesbrought another scroll forArtorex from the mysterious

Llanwith pen Bryn but,mostly, Artorex was contentwith his world, and all thatexistedwithinit.

Julanna was to effect thechanges that would shatterArtorex’s calm. LittleJulanna, already pregnant,and frightened as the childswelled within her belly,begged leave to invite afriend from Aquae Sulis tovisit for the duration of her

confinement.

AsLadyLivinia could notbear to deny anything to themotherofhergrandchild,sheagreed that word should besent to the trading house ofGallus,sothatthedaughterofthatwealthyfamilyshouldbeinvited for a long stay at theVillaPoppinidii.

And so fate decided thatArtorex would meet Gallia,daughter of a Roman trading

family, and his life wouldchangedirectiononceagain.

CHAPTERIV

GALLIA

Spring had come and thewhole world of the villabloomed anew. Buttercupsappeared under trees in thelowermeadowsandthecowsgrazed belly deep in waving

grasses and wild flowers.Trees exploded with tenderpink and pale green shoots,while the fields ached toproduce thecrops thatwouldripeninlatesummer.

Frith led thewomen in thecollection of herbs andsimples that were hung,upside down, to sweeten thevilla as they dried.Meanwhile, Julanna checkedthe long track from the

Roman road every day,piningfor thecompanionshipof her friend, and MistressLiviniawatchedherdaughter-in-law with concerned,apprehensive eyes. The villahelditsbreath...andwaitedforchange.

Artorex was far off in thesouth pasture when a heavywagon struggled up the roadtotheVillaPoppinidii.Itwasloaded high with chests and

boxes, so even Liviniawondered if the child meantto stay forever, so deeplywere the wooden wheels ofthecartdrivenintothemuddytrack.

Under a small, tent-likestructure, Gallia reclined oncushions amidst the piledexcessesofherluggage.Onlywhen the wagon drew to ahalt, and her maid andmanservant helped her to

descend, did Livinia clearlyviewthechangelingthatVillaPoppinidiihadwelcomedintoits family. From her vantagepoint at the thick woodendoors of the villa, LadyLivinia watched their guestapproach in a flurry ofshawls, wrapped packagesandrestlessfingers.

The new arrival proved tobe an extraordinary younggirl, for all that she was a

bare fourteen years of age.Her face was small andunbalanced by a long nose,buttherewasgreatsweetnessin her rosebud mouth andkindness in her amber eyesthatweresooutof tunewithher curly black hair. Thathair, unbound except forjewelled pins as befitted amaid,seemed tocracklewithwildfire, as did her compactlittlebody.

Gallia was tiny, even byLadyLivinia’s standards,butherbodywasalmostvulgarlylush at the breasts and thehips.Shetookgreatprideinatiny waist, pinching in herpleatedpeplumwithabeltoffreshwater pearls from thenorth, embroidered onleather-backedlinen.

Now here’s a little miss,wasLivinia’s first thoughtasthechildapproachedherata

rush. But thenGallia smiled,and even the cloudy dayseemed brighter for herunalloyed joy in all thosemarvels she had yet toexperience.

After bowing low to themaster and mistress of thehouse,againstalltherulesofgood manners Gallia hadclapped her hands, giggleddelightedly and then kissedLadyLivinia’scheek.

The mistress wasmomentarily taken aback byGallia’s forwardness andpresumption, but the girlsmiled so sweetly with herhead cocked sideways like acolourfulbirdthatLiviniafeltherreservationmelt.

‘I beg your pardon, mylady. My father would beashamedofmyracketyways,butI’vewaitedsolongtoseemysweetJulannathatIcould

burstwithexcitement.’

Lady Livinia frowned andGallialookedchastened.

‘I’mgabblingagain,aren’tI? I shall be apologizingeveryday,I’msure,becauseIcan’t bear silence and Ialwaysfillitwithchatter-orsomybrotherstellme.’

‘Never mind, child,’ Ectorchuckled in avuncular goodhumour. ‘We don’t stand on

ceremonyhere.’

‘No, indeed, Gallia,’ LadyLivinia began kindly. ‘Goodheart counts for more thanemptymanners.’

‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Galliasaidwithanimpishgrin.‘I’lltry to avoid talking toomuch.’

Scarcely pausing forbreath, Gallia proceeded toregaleLadyLiviniawithtales

of her journey, the appallingconditionoftheroadsandthebeauty of Villa Poppinidii.How Gallia talked. Silencewas not her métier and shefilled the villa with hertinkling laughter. She wasenchanted by the atrium andwas charmed by the sheepand cows as only a city girlcould be, and very full ofreminiscences of herfriendshipwithJulanna.

Despitehernaturalreserve,Livinia found herself smilingas thechildprattledon - andon.

Her servants soon stowedhermanybelongings into thebestguestchamberand,onceagain, Gallia was delightedby the comfort of herquarters.

‘For I can actually hearbirds, Lady Livinia,’ shesmiled.‘Realbirds,notthose

poor things that languish incages. I do think they singmore prettily when they arefree,don’tyou?’

Scarcely pausing forbreath, Gallia fell upon asimple pottery beaker filledwithwildflowers.

‘Oh,howkindyouare.Theflowers have no smell inAquae Sulis, but these areheavenly.’ She smiled again.‘Thank you, Lady Livinia, I

know I will be verycomfortable in yourwonderfulhouse.’

‘Hush, child!’ Liviniareplied when Gallia seemedto run out of superlatives.‘Julanna picked these triflesfrom the fields at dawn. Shehasdesiredyourcompanysodesperately, but I fear youwill find little to divertyourself in our quiet countrylife.’

‘Oh, I don’t care a jot forentertainment. Games makeme queasy and Father keepsparading young men beforemeasifIwereaprizeheifer.Iwillsoenjoyaholidayfrommarriage proposals and thesmelloffish.’

Unwillingly, Lady Livinialaughed. The maid was sooutspokenandsofrankinherobservations that even themistress’sRomanreservefell

awayunderhercharm.Galliamight well prove to be theperfect companion forJulanna, for who could besullen or sad around thislaughinggirl?

‘And is Julanna well?’Gallia asked more seriously.‘I, forone,wouldn’tcare if IneversawAquaeSulisagain.She is fortunate to live inVilla Poppinidii, for the airheresmellssosweet.’

‘Julannaisalittleafraidofher coming labour, althoughit is five months before herchild is due to be born. Sheneeds a companion to makeher laugh and help the dayspassmoreeasily.’

Gallia so forgot herself asto wink at Lady Livinia, butthe mistress lacked the hearttochidethisengagingchild.

‘I’ll cheer her up, neverfear,mistress. Ihavebrought

gifts frommy father andanynumber of amusements withme.We shall be as happy asthebirdsinthetrees.’

When Julanna saw herfriend in the doorway of herroom, she leapt to her feet,wrappedGalliainadesperatehug and promptly burst intoscalding,wrenchingtears.

Unobtrusively, Livinia leftthe friends to re-acquaintthemselves aftermore than a

yearofseparation.

Livinia was stricken withguiltandwasapprehensiveofthe warnings of trouble tocome. Julanna was a dutifulgirl andshewascarrying thefirst Poppinidii child sinceCaius had been born overtwenty years before. Try asshemight tojustifyherson’sactions, Livinia knew thatJulanna didn’t deserve thecruel treatment inflicted by

Caius. Uncharacteristically,now that she had faced thefacts, she hesitated aboutwhatcourseofactiontotake.

Caius was male andtherefore had more statusthan his mother in a Romanhousehold.Hiswifehadevenless standing. Livinia hadspokentoherson,andhehadsulked for several days,refusing to speak to herbecause she had chosen to

taken his wife’s part.However, after an epic fit ofdebauchery with his friends,he had returned to hismother’s side, unshaven,contriteand smellingof stalewinetobegherpardon.

‘Mylittlewifeistoomeek,Mother, and so little likeyou.’ Caius had laughedsoftly.‘Ibegyourforgiveness- and I promise to be morepatient with her in future.

There. Now, will you smileformeagain?’

Liviniahadallowedherselfto bewheedled andplacated,but she worried constantlywhenCaiuswasathomeandat loose ends. She knew herson’s mercurial, restlessnature and she wondered ifshe should have discussedthis intensely familyproblemwithEctor.

She loved her husband,

although few acquaintanceswould ever realize howpassionately she adored him.Even Ector’s cronies inAquae Sulis would havelaughed to imagine that thebluff, rather credulous CeltwastheonlymanthatLiviniahad ever wanted. In heryouth,herwealthensuredthatshe could have her pick ofmany eligible young men,and her handsome looksensured that she would also

be desired for herself. ButLivinia had chosen Ector, amanwithscarcelyanycoininhis purse and no useful landto call his own. He had amane of plentiful red hair, asmile that was slow andbrilliant, and a pair of wideblue eyes that had spokenvolumes about his honestyandsincerity.Liviniawaslostassoonashesmiledather.

Now her dear Ector was

arthriticinwinterandhishairwas thin and grey, but sheloved him even more, nowthat the fires of youth hadbankedandcooled.Ectorstillclung to a frail hope that hissonwouldbeacredittohim,and Livinia was determinedthat her sweet old manshouldn’t suffer furtherdisappointment. No, shewould handle her beloved,wayward son herself andshield her husband from his

excesses for as long as shewasable.

Her decision made, forright or wrong, Liviniasquaredhernarrowshouldersand lifted her indomitablechin.Aswashercustom,shewoulddowhatwasneedfultoprotect her family and herhome.

Laterthatafternoon,asthesoft breezes of springsweetened every roomof the

villa, she led Artorex into aquiet corner of the atrium.Around her, drying herbsscented the air and dappledshade softened theinflexibilityofherjaw.

‘I’ve spoken to my son,Artorex, concerning thattroublesome matter with hiswife.Ibelievethesituationisnowrectified.’

Artorexbowedhishead.Intruth, a load of guilt lifted

fromhisbroadshoulders.

‘As always, mistress, youractions are noble and good.Mistress Julanna is a sweetandgentlegirl.’

Livinia stroked Artorex’sfacewith the tenderness of amother and he felt his eyesmoisten at her touch. Herfingers were cool and dry,andArtorexwas surprised atthe affection that enlivenedherquietface.Theexpression

was fleeting, leaving theyoung steward unsure that ithadeverexisted.

‘We shall let my son’sfailings be our secret,Artorex,’shemurmured.‘Myhusband would be veryconcerned if he realized thatCaiuscanbesointemperate.Itrust you in this matter,Artorex, because I knowyouhave the well-being of thevillaatheart.’

‘Of course, mistress. I’llcarryoutyourwishes.’

At dinner, on her firstevening, Gallia wasuncharacteristically subdued,thus earning the approval ofbothEctorandCaius.Hadthemenknownthatshehadbeentold Julanna’smost shamefulsecrets, Caius may not havebeensocomplacent.

‘He . . . he beats me,Gallia,whenIdispleasehim.

NodoubtI’mverystupidandI cause him much irritation.Pray, tell no one, for he hastherighttodoashepleases.’

‘Nonsense!’ Galliaretorted, with a martial glintin her eyes. ‘You werealways too sweet-natured foryour own good, my petal.What decent man could hurtsuchalovelygirlasyou?’

‘Itryhispatience,Gallia,Ireally do.He spendsmost of

his days with Severinus andhis friends, and what littletime he does spend with meputshimoutoftemper.IwishIknewhowtobeagoodwifetohim.’

‘You quicken with hischild, don’t you? Caiusshouldbepleasedthathewillsoon become a father.’ Thesharpness of Gallia’s voiceemphasized the bluntness ofherreply.

Two tears trickled downJulanna’scheeks.

‘I suppose he is proud ofme and ourmarriage, but henever says so,’ Julannasniffed wetly. ‘I know I’mnotveryclever,not likeyou,but...but...hestrikesmewhenIannoyhim.NothingIdoeverseemstoberight.’

Privately, Gallia believedthat any man who hurt themother of his child was no

man at all, but she kept heropinionstoherself.

‘I wish he’d spend moretime with me instead ofspending it with his finefriends. I don’t believe heloves me at all,’ Julannawailed.

‘Does he seek out otherwomen?’ Gallia askedpractically. Julanna blushedhotlyandwouldnotmeetherfriend’seyes.

‘TherearenowomenthatIknow of, but . . .’ Julanna’svoicetrailedoffmiserably.

‘Perhaps he prefers boys,’Gallia suggested matter-of-factly, a statement thatshocked prim little Julanna.‘Noonewhoknewyoucouldtreatyousobadlyifhewasatrueman.’

‘Gallia, please, don’t evensuggest such a terrible andwickedpossibility. I couldn’t

bear it if Caius had a malelover,trulyIcouldn’t.’

‘I’msorry,mysweet.Youknow my tongue - alwaysrunning away with itself. Ofcourse Caius doesn’t have asexualinterestinboys.’

But, privately, Galliadetermined to watch Caiusclosely.

Julanna glowed withhappiness at dinner. Gallia

had brought her a littleclockwork bird in a gildedcage.Agoldenkeywoundupthe delicate automaton and itwhistled in a high treble,while flapping its tinywings.She could scarcely stopspeakingofit.

Caius barely disguised hisimpatience, while Liviniathanked Gallia with simpledignity. The young masterretreated into a prolonged,

sullensilence.

When a very tall youngman joined the family, Ectorintroduced him to Gallia ashisfoster-son.

Artorex saw a tiny, child-like girlwith clouds of curlydark hair and eyes that werevery sharp and critical.Within a few moments ofmeeting Gallia, her chatterirritated the steward and hedismissed her as a foolish,

trivial prattler. Nothing shesaid, or did, during that firstmealimprovedhisopinionofher.

The next morning, Galliarose early, flustered thekitchen staff by descendingintothecook’sdomaintobega simple meal, and thenvolunteered to carry amorning tray to her friend.Julanna ate sparingly for shewas still wracked with

morning sickness, but Galliahad no intention of allowingherfriendtosubmittoalittlenausea.

Gallia gazed curiouslyaround the spacious kitchenswith the keen interest of atownswoman. A huge brickoven, stoked by a cavernousfirebox, dominated thesimple, flagged room.Another large brick hearthserved to cook any meal,

from a whole, roast pig tosmall delicacies in gravywhichsimmeredinsmallironpotshungfrombracketsoverthe open fire. A scarredwooden bench dominatedmuchof the roomandGalliarealizedthatthistablewasthedomain of the cook, a small,animated man with a potbellyandwildlygesticulatingarms. Servant girls ran toobeyhisslightestgesture.

Gallia tripped into theorganized chaos of thekitchen with scarcely athought for the commotionshe was causing. One plumpgirl dropped a fish that shewasbearinginabasketfilledwith cut grass, causing thecooktosternlyboxherears.

‘Tell me, Master Cook,what will cure MistressJulanna’svomitingillnessyetnourish her well?’ Gallia

asked the worthy servant,who was shocked to beinvolvedinwomen’smatters.

Frith cackled in her warmcorner.

‘Don’tbeaskingthatlong-faced bag of rubbish, mylady,’ Frith began. ‘I caredfor Mistress Livinia wheneveryoneinthehousethoughtshewoulddieofstarvationasshe bore the young master.Weshallgivehercoldwater,

a littledrybread to settle thestomach,somemilkwithjusta taste of honey for strengthandthenaplatteroffruitthatis cut small to tempt her.That’llsettheyoungmistressright.’

‘I thank you,’ Galliareplied with a sunny smilethat warmed the old woman.She turned back to the cook.‘I can’t believe that youwould be prepared to let our

sweet Julanna suffer. I knowyou’ll find just the right fruittotempther.’

The cook unbent so far asto summon servants to fetchcrisp apples from the coldstore, some nuts and theblackberriesthathadbeenputdownintheautumn.

‘Youareallsoverykindtome,’ Gallia bubbled, andswept away to Julanna’srooms,bearingherrepast.

Julanna was still abed andverymiserable.

Undaunted, Gallia coaxedhertodrinkalittlecoldwaterand try a few mouthfuls offresh, warm bread. She thenengagedJulannawithtalesofher prospective suitors, andtheir many faults, until theexpectant mother wasgiggling despite hernauseatedstomach.

‘I toldmy father that ifhe

wanted me to marry a manwith a face like a cod, Iwoulddrownmyself.’Galliagiggled as she pressedJulannatodrinkhermilk.‘Asfor the old goat, Preopius,whoownsthefleetthattradesfrom Sabrina Aest, Ireminded Pater that if hewanted more grandchildren,he’dbest find amancapableofsiringthem.’

‘You are truly wicked,

Gallia,’ Julanna laughed.‘How you dare.’ She foundherselfnibblingcrispslicesofapple. ‘I think I’m hungryafter all,’ she said inwonderment.

‘So you must eat everymouthful, and dress warmly,and thenwe’ll go for a littlewalk.Itwilldoyougood,I’mcertain,andit’sfarbetterthanremaining within these fourwalls and dwelling on your

fears. Hurry, my dear, else Iwill be forced to dress youmyself.’

‘HowhaveIsurvivedherewithout you, my crazyGallia?’

‘Not very well, it seems,whenyou’re living in such aparadise as this villa,’ Galliareplied,andtrippedoutofthedoor, much pleased with hereffortstocheerhercharge.

Julanna was some littletime being dressed by hermaid,butbeforethehourwasup,wellwrappedagainstanystray winds, she was takenforcibly on a leisurely walkaround the villa buildings,surreptitiously followed, at asafe distance, by Gallia’smanservant.

Julannahadneverbotheredto take much notice of hersurroundings at the villa, but

now, through Gallia’s joyfulinterest, she saw the sheep,the placid cows, and thesquabbling fowls throughfreshlyopenedeyes.Thetwoyoung women foraged foreggs in the hen house andfilled an old basket. Galliacooed over the lambs - nowalmost as large as theirmothers - and both werefascinated by butter churns,cheese wheels and the hugehorses already hard at work

ploughing the fields inpreparationforplanting.

Gnawing on a late carrot,Gallia seemed to find magicin every corner of the villa,for she was city born andbred.Everycolourenchantedher, the bronze and scarletleaves, thehighwhite cloudsand the rich brown loam ofthefields.

When Julanna began toappear a little tired, Gallia

also claimed weariness, sothey retraced their stepstowardsthevilla.

In the horse field, Targoand Artorex were practisingtheirswordplay.

Both girls stopped towatch.

‘My!’ Gallia said with alaugh. ‘Your steward is alarge young man. And quitehandsome,nowthatI lookat

himmoreclosely.’

‘Gallia!’ Julanna gasped,quite shocked at theflirtatiouseyeofherfriend.

‘Well, he is, my dear. Hehas a fine, strong body.Andhe fights very well, does henot?’

‘Our Artorex?’ Julannaasked vaguely. ‘Yes, Isuppose he is quite skilledwith weapons, although I

can’t see why he wastes histimewithsomuchpractice.’

‘Surely as a steward heshouldbeaboutLordEctor’sbusiness?’ Gallia asked. Hercuriosity was piqued byArtorex’s odd, ambiguousposition at the VillaPoppinidii.

‘Well, he’s not exactly asteward, although he verywell might become one intime.HeisEctor’sfoster-son

and,ifyoubelievethegossipof the servants, his patron isLuciusofGlastonbury.’

‘TheChristianpriest?DoesArtorex follow the teachingsoftheNazarene?’

‘I don’t know, for he’snever expressed an opiniononewayoranother.Butheistreated with much favour bythe great ones who come atintervals to check on hisprogress.’

‘How strange,’ Galliamutteredunderherbreathandsucked the knuckle of herthumb, a habit fromchildhood that signified shewasthinkinghard.

‘Now that I come to thinkof them, the prophecies ofthat wise woman, Morgan,were truly quite odd. SheseemedtoimplythatArtorexwas destined by the fates forsome future greatness,’

Julanna continued, her finebrow furrowed in unusualconcentration.

‘You must tell meeverything, Julanna. I findI’m agog with curiosity,’Gallia chirped eagerly, andwhisked her charge away toherquarters.

As Julanna began to spinfine wool, Gallia set up herloom to weave the delicateyarn into a soft web to be

made into clothing for thebaby. As they worked,Julanna told Gallia all thatshe could remember ofMorgan’sprophecy.

Galliawas unusually quietasshedigestedJulanna’stale.

When Lady Livinia foundthe two young ladies beforethe noon meal, both darkheadswereclosetogetherandtheywereworkingdiligently,as good girls should. Livinia

was pleased to notice thatJulanna’sfacewasquiterosywith health and her timidsmile was wider and moreunforcedthanusual.

‘The girl might talkincessantly, but she is goodfor Julanna. I am glad shewill behere until the babe isborn,’ she told Ector as hechecked the farm inventorywithCletus.

The steward seemed to be

breathing more easily in thecoolerair.

‘She’s an engaging littlething but I wager she couldbe quite a handful,’ Ectorreplieddistractedly. ‘I’mtoldshe has her father wrappedaroundherlittlefinger.’

‘Gallicus has five strongsons, so he can afford toindulge her. Still, I cannothelp but like her,’ Liviniadecided.

Caius, on the other hand,didnotlikeGalliaatall.

He had risen in theafternoon and strode into hiswife’s quarters in a surlymood to find the two youngwomentogether.

‘Whatdoyoumake,wife?’hedemandedimpatiently.

Julanna was immediatelyreduced to incoherence, butshe was saved further

embarrassment by Gallia’sneatintervention.

‘She’smaking thewoollenwrappingsforyournewchild,MasterCaius.See?Yourwifespins the finest yarnimaginable. The wool is aslightasthistledownwhenitiswovenontheloom.’

Caiusgruntedindisdain.

‘Will you be with us thisevening, husband?’ Julanna

askedtimidly.

‘No.Severinusexpectsmeto attend his feast,’ Caiusretortedrudely.

‘Oh! I had hoped that wewould seemore of you, nowthatGalliaishere.’

‘Thegossipofwomenisoflittle interest to me,’ Caiussnapped. ‘I’vebetterways tospendmyevening.’

‘Of course, husband,’

Julannarepliedsoothingly.

‘Of course! Of course! Ofcourse!’ Caius mimicked hercruelly. ‘Can’t you speak ofanything but babies andweaving?’

‘You asked the question,sir,’ Gallia replied, tossingherheadhigh,herambereyescoldwithdisdainastheymetCaius’sstareunflinchingly.

Julanna tried to hide the

tearsthatfilledhereyes.

‘Your wife is not well,Master Caius. Surely shemeans more to you than amerefeast?’

Gallia knew she had gonetoo far,but theyoungmasterwas insufferable in hisarrogance, and some devil inher nature encouraged her totweak his unbearablesuperiority.

Caius flushedunbecomingly and hismouthdrew down in a scowl ofcontempt.

‘It is obvious to me thatyour father has not schooledyou to knowwhen to speak,young woman, and when tobesilent.’

Bynow,Caiuswashavingdifficulty controlling hisanger,ashistwitchingfingersattested.

Gallialiftedherdeterminedchintoshowthatshewasnotintimidated.

‘If I have caused anyoffence, then I beg yourforgiveness, Master Caius.But Julanna is not well andshepinesforyourattention.’

‘Well,shewillhavetopinealone,’ Caius snarled, andsweptoutoftheroomtotakehis bad temper out on anyhapless servant who crossed

hispath.

‘Oh, Gallia, how do youdare to upset him?’ Julannabreathed,quiteamazedbyherfriend’scomposure.

‘Him? I will not sayanything against yourhusband,dearest,butIwoulddearly love to box his ears.He behaves like a spoiledchild.’

‘Buthe’sthemaster’sonly

son and he’ll be thepaterfamilias when Ector isdead.’Julannaappearedquiteterrifiedattheprospect.

‘He’s a bully, and Iwon’tpermit him to frighten you -andthat’stheendofit!’

‘I’m so glad you havecometostay,Gallia.’

‘Hummph!’ was Gallia’sonlyresponse.

That afternoon, when

Julannahadretiredtoherbedto rest, Gallia decided toexplore the Villa Poppinidiiin earnest. Followed by hermanservant, and completelyoblivious to the stares of thefield workers, she trudgedthrough the acres of grain tothe open paddocks whereflowers grew in profusionneartheedgeoftheforest.Asshe plucked a posy for herfriend, her quest drew hercloser to the deeper shadows

surroundingthegreatoaks.

‘Youwoulddowelltostayclear of the woods, LadyGallia,’ a curt voice intrudedintoherthoughts.

Gallia barely suppressed aflinchofsurprise.

Turning,with the skirts ofher peplum full of wildblooms, she was forced tolookupatthesmilingfaceofthe steward mounted on a

largeblackstallion.

‘You startled me, MasterSteward. My mind waselsewhere, I’m afraid. Arethesewoodssodangerous?’

‘Very,’ Artorex replied.‘You will find yourself lostbeforeyouhavetakentwentypaces into the trees. Andthere are many dangers forunwaryfools.’

Gallia smiled as

engaginglyassheknewhow,for shewas an accomplishedflirt and the steward broughtout the very worst in hernature.

‘You own a fine horse,Artorex.He’squitelarge.’

‘Yes. He’s big. But he’sstill smaller than his dam,’Artorexrespondeduneasily.

He was discovering thatthis frank young woman

possessed theability tomakehim feel awkward anduncomfortable simply bygazing intently at him withherneatheadtiltedsideways,asifinsurprise.

‘Surely not,’ she repliedlimpidly.

‘Oh, yes. Aphrodite is hisdam, but his sire was a wildhorsewhomatedwith her intheforest.’

‘Aphrodite?’ Galliainvestedthenamewithacooof surprise that showed hersmall,redlipstoadvantage.

Artorex mutely pointedtowards a very largeworkhorse contentedlydragging a wagon loadedwithharvestedhay throughanearbyfield.

‘Well, he’s much prettierthanhismother,I’llgrantyouthat.’ She laughed, and

affectationfellawaywithhermirth.

Then her expressionchanged entirely, leavingArtorexevenmoreconfused.

She turned to hermanservant and gestured tohim to move out of earshot.Wellusedtothemoodsofhismistress, the burly manobeyed.

‘Would you walk a little

way with me, please,Artorex? I have wanted tospeakwith you all day but Iwould not willingly troubleyou.’

Artorex decided that he’dneverknownawomanspeakso much and say so little,apart from polishedcompliments. She wasunstoppable, and similar toPlodwhen themareswere inheat.He felt no envy for the

man who would become herhusband at some time in thefuture. But, despite hisreservations, he dismountedand led Coal by the reins,shorteninghisstridetomatchGallia’ssmallersteps.

‘I’m sure the farmwill dowithoutmefora time, ifyoudesiremyattention.’

The last traces of Gallia’sflirtatious manner fell awaylike a discarded shawl. Her

eyes pinned him so directlythat Artorex was forced tohalt.

‘I’m glad you have thetime to speak to me.’ Shesmiled disarmingly beforecontinuing.‘You’reawarebynow that I’ll be living at thevilla as companion toJulanna. She’s my friend ofmany years’ standing, buteven in the short time I’vebeen here, I’ve become

curious about the nature ofher life in the villa - andespeciallyherrelianceonherhusband.’

She smiled guilelessly upatArtorexonceagain, sohernextwordslefthimgaping.

‘Does he beat her often?’Galliaaskedbluntly.

‘That’s not a question forme to answer, my lady,’Artorex replied. ‘I act as the

Steward of the Householdand it’s not my place tocomment on the actions ofmy masters.’ Artorex closedhis eyes for a shortmoment.This girl-child had no tact atall.

‘Come, Artorex. Who atthe villa will answer me ifyou do not? I have alwayspreferred plain speaking - itsavessomuchtime.’

Artorex examined her

determined face withnarrowed,opaqueeyes.Whatwouldthischildsaynext?

‘Caius is the son of LordEctor,’hesaid.‘Andonedayhewillbemymaster.’

‘But you are free-born.Have you no brain under allthat hair?’ Gallia retortedtartly.

Fornoreasoninparticular,Artorexlaughed.Asanangry

young woman, she remindedhim of a speckled hen,dashing here and there, withherbeakonthereadytopeckatthenearestenemytoe.

Gallia sawhis laughter forwhat it was - patronizingindulgence-andshestampedherfeetinfrustration.

‘Evenawomancanreason,Steward,’shehissed.

‘In answer to your

question,’ Artorex shrugged,‘Caius is . . . just . . .Caius.He is an only son of awealthy Roman family, andhe believes himself to beimportantintheworld.’

‘Is he too important tospend some time with hiswife who is gravid with hischild?’

‘He feels he is far tooimportant for all this goodearth as well.’ Artorex’s

outspread arms encompassedthe Villa Poppinidii and thelands that surrounded it.Bitterness lay under hissarcasm and Gallia couldclearly hear the gall in hisresponse.

‘Then he’s a fool,’ Galliareplied, somewhat mollifiedby Artorex’s frankness. ‘Hetrusts his wealth to thehonestyofothers.’Sheturnedon her heel and began to

stride in the direction of thevilla. Artorex was forced tofollow.

‘You are also beingfoolish, Mistress Gallia, ifyou speak harshly of yourhostinsidehisownhouse.’

She stopped abruptly, andstared directly into Artorex’seyes.

‘Do you deny the truth ofwhat I’ve been saying?’ she

demanded.

‘No.Butit’snotyourplaceto say it.Mistress Julanna isthe wife of Caius, and she’shisproperty todowithashewills. We live by the oldways, and the VillaPoppinidiifollowstheancienttraditions.’

‘Evenyou,Artorex?’

‘Caius and I are notfriends, nor ever will be. I’ll

serve him as a servant, butonly out of gratitude to myfoster-parents.Idon’tneedtoloveCaiustobehissteward.’

Somehow, Artorexrealized,thisslipofagirl,sotiny and so inflexible, hadwrunganadmissionfromhimthathewouldnothavemadetoanylivingman.

‘The blood that flowsthrough my veins is purerthan that which nurtures

Caius,’ Gallia retortedhaughtily,withherheadheldhigh. ‘I am allRoman, not abastardized Celt. His actionsare appalling for a man ofbreeding.’Shelookedlikeanangrypigeon.

Artorex was concernedabout the direction theirconversationwas taking, andgazed around to ensure thatno one could overhear thewords this girl was uttering.

Did she have no reserve inhernature?

‘My brothers share mylineage,and theydon’tassertthefullrightsofahusbandonthebodiesoftheirwives.’

Artorex shrugged. Lineagewas of little interest to afatherlessman.

‘AndsoCaiusisallowedtobeatJulanna,andeveryoneinthe Villa Poppinidii knows

about it,’ Gallia stated withconviction.‘Howcowardly!’

Artorex shrugged oncemore. The truth was self-evident.

‘Is there anyone here whocanprotectherfromCaius?’

‘No one at all, if theMistress Livinia decides toturnablindeye-asIbelieveyoushould,ifyouarewise.’

‘I am not so mean-

spirited.’

‘Ibelieveyou,butwhatdoyou expect me to do? LadyLiviniahasspokentoherson,so Iexpectnomoreviolencefrom him. I can hardly insistthat the son of the houseshould be punished, nor is itmy place to be critical ofthose decisions made by themasterandthemistressofthevilla.’Artorexwas frustratedwith the discussion, mainly

becauseheknew inhisheartthatGalliawascorrect.Caiuswas a bully, and the poorestservant at the villa knew it.Artorex himself had seen theproofandhefeltsoiledbyhiscomplicity.

‘As the steward of thisnoble house, I suppose thereis nothing you can do if hisparents will not prevent thecruelty of their son. It is allvery sad, because I

consideredthisbeautifulvillaas a little slice of Olympia,and it is disheartening todiscover that wickedness iseverywhere.’ Gallia sigheddeeply,andArtorexfoundhisirritation had flown away onthat gentle exhalation ofbreath.

But the girl immediatelyshocked him with her nextquestion.

‘Doeshe follow theGreek

fashion?’

‘What?’Artorexdrew toahalt so quickly that Coalbuttedhimintheback.

‘Does he seek out lovewith small boys andeffeminate men?’ Galliaelaborated as if to a youngandinnocentchild.

‘I know nothing of theamorous preferences ofMaster Caius. His friend,

Severinus, may be anothermatter - but I am neverinvited to consort with mybetters.’

‘How very convenient,’Gallia said softly, as if toherself. Turning, she smiledupatArtorex’sscowlingface.‘Thank you, Artorex.’ Shesmiled once more indismissal.‘Youmayleavemenow. I wish to return to thevilla.’

His abrupt dismissalirritatedArtorexmorethanhecouldhaveexpected.

As he mounted Coal androde away, hismind decidedon a number of stinginganswers to her impertinentquestions. But it was all toolate.

‘Damn the girl,’ ArtorextoldCoal,whowhickeredhisencouragement. ‘She makesmefeellikeafool.’

However, once an ideatakesroot,itbeginstogrow.

Despite himself, Artorexdiscovered his thoughtsreturning to Caius and hisfriends, no matter howvigorously he tried to reinthem in. Thoughts of Gallia,too, intruded intohis readingof Caesar’s exploits againstVersingatorex,somethingthathad never happened before.In the days that followed,

whenhewas inherpresencehestruggledtomeetherwideamberstare-andrealizedthatthoughts of her lush breastswerebeginning todisturbhissleep.

Women are very, verystrange,hethoughttohimselfon several occasions. Theother servants frequentlynoticed that he would staredistractedly at nothing inparticular when he should

have been concentrating ontherunningofthevilla.

Itwasonlynaturalthattheservantsbegantogossip.

‘The young steward is inlove,’ Frith cackled at himonemorningafterafrosthaddriven him into the kitchenstowarmhischappedhands.

‘Nonsense, Frith!’ Artorexretorted, although the oldservantnoticedthatherwords

had brought two spots ofcolour to the thin skin overhischeekbones.

‘MethinksitisLadyGalliathat distracts you,’ Frithrepliedcomplacently.

Her great age and theservice she had provided toMistress Livinia allowed theold woman some impunityagainst censure, so Frithexercisedhertongueasmuchas she pleased. The servant

wasanaturalaristocrat.

‘Iamasteward,Frith,andthe Mistress Gallia is of anancientlineage.’

‘What nonsense!’ Frithrespondedrudely.‘Herfather,Gallicus,maybealordbuthehas no class at all. He’s aselleroffish,’sheexclaimed,as if thatexplanationbridgedthe wide gulf that existedbetween Gallia and Frith’sfavourite.

Artorex kissed herwrinkled,rose-petalcheek.

‘Please don’t encouragegossip, Frith,’ he said softly.‘If you wish me to remainfreefromharm.’

‘And who would dare totouch you, young master,when you could cut them intwo in a moment?’ Frithanswered practically. ‘Nowaway with you, or theservants will start to talk

aboutus.’

‘You are fairer tome thanall the beautiful maidens inRome.’Artorex smileddownatherwizenedoldface.

‘Awaywithyou,youtellerof tales.’ But Frith glowedsoftlywithloveforhim.

Artorex’s mind was nowfullyoccupiedbythecurrentsthat seethedbelow theplacidsurface of the Villa

Poppinidii,andhedeterminedto discuss the matter withTargo at the earliestopportunity. If anyone at thevilla would speak franklywith him of his concerns,then the wise veteran wouldbetheone.

He joined the old warriorunderhisfavouritealdertree,squatting easily on his heelsbeside the veteran, andsearched ponderously for the

appropriate words. Artorexhad lived with Caius all hisshort life, and he had chosentoblotout the spitefulwordsandpersonalinsultshurledathim by the young masterbefore he was even half-grown. Targo was a servantof the house and would bemade to suffer if he becameinvolved in any attempt toopenly chastise the youngmaster. But Artorexunderstood the rat cunning

and vindictivenessperpetuated through the agesby servants. A cruel masterwas often punished invarious,surreptitiousways-ameal made a little too salty,or a nettle placed under theblanketofafractioushorsesothataccidentsbedevilledhim.

But, in his fashion, Targowas an honourable man. Hescorned to resort to aservant’srevenge,andinstead

chose to store away theinsults of Caius towards theinevitable day when theyoung master could behumbled.

‘Ask your question, lad.Spit it out! I’ll be on mydeathbed before you find theprettywords you seek.Whatdoyouwant?’

Targo was as blunt asGallia.Momentarily,Artorexsmiledatthethoughtofthese

two unpredictable people inconversation.

‘Iwish to speak to you ofCaius. What rumours of theyoungmasterrunthroughthevillage? What does he dowith his hours? Where doeshego?’

Targo raised a quizzicalwhiteeyebrow.‘Sothat’sthewaythewindblows,isit?I’llbe arrow-straight with you,boy. The village has no love

of Caius, but that sad fact iscommon knowledge. He’sfast with his whip, slow topay and his friends are menwho are even worse than heis.I’llsaynomore.’

‘Ifhebecomesmaster,thenI must know what breed ofman I serve. Please, Targo.You are more aware thanmost men concerning whatoccursatourvilla.’

‘I don’t speak the half of

what I hear,’ the veteranreplied,with a sardonic grin.‘That’swhyI’vegrowntobesoold.’

Artorexwaited,hisrelaxedhandsrestingonhisknees.

After a short length ofstubborn silence, Targocapitulated. ‘Youwill tell noonewhatIsay,forIhavenodesire to be found on mydoorstepwithanextramouthundermyjaw.’

‘I can’t believe that Caiuscould murder,’ Artorexexclaimed. ‘I know he’s abully, and his friends aredrunkards and wastrels, buthe’s too weak to commit amortalact.’

‘Is he? Well, then, youhardly need me to tell youanything,youngsir.’

Targo began to rise, butArtorex abjectly apologized,so the old man reluctantly

leanedbackagainst the trunkofthetree.

‘The young master hasbeen vicious since he was aboy. His mother is a greatlady,andmyLordEctorisaseasy in nature as old Plodthere, for all that he’ll huffand puff if he’s in a temper.But Caius was born with ablack hole inside his bodyand nothing in this wholelandcanfillit.Heisnottobe

trusted.’

‘You know this forcertain?’

‘Forcertain.Beyonddoubt.Sadly, I’m aware of manymatters involving the youngmaster - matters that I don’twishtorecounttoanyperson.Becauseyou’realreadyawareof one particular sin of hismaking,I’llconfirmwithyouthat he ruined Aphroditebecause shewouldn’t answer

easily to the bridlewhen shewas a yearling. He beat heruntilhercoatwasblood-red.’

Targoshookhisheadatthememory.

‘WhenCaiuswasyounger,hetriedtokillmeonthefirstoccasion I gave him a swordwith an edge,’ the old mancontinued. ‘He approachedmefrombehind,butIsensedhis presence and avoided theblade. He couldn’t find an

opening - and then claimedthat he was simply testingme. Caius is mastered byspite, and you, of all men,shouldnevertrusthim.’

‘But surely Lord Ector isaware of his son’s nature?’Artorex had no good reasonto admire Caius, but he wassuddenlyamazedathowlittlehehadabsorbedoflifewithinthewallsofthevilla.

‘Both Lord Ector and his

ladyareawareoftheflawsintheir son. They pretendotherwise, but I’ve seen themasterwatchtheyoungman,and I know that look. He’sashamedofCaius.Theybothare but, like all parents, theylovetheirson.’

Targo stared up at thebranches of the alder tree.Whenhe spoke again, itwasas if he was releasingfrightening thoughts that had

beentoolongcontained.

‘Caius isn’t particularwhohe hurts, if you take mymeaning. It’s the pain that’simportant to him, for itbolsters his manhood. Wine,blood and mating! Thosethree demons can make theworldaterribleplace.’

Targo was speaking inriddles, but Artorex didn’tdare to break the flowof theold man’s thoughts. The

veteran’sdarkeyesweresad,asifhehadseentoomuchofthe brutal side of humannature.

‘Someyearsago, twolittlechildrenwentmissingfromavillagetotheeastofhere.Doyourememberit?’

‘I’ve some memory of it,but it didn’t mean much tome at the time,’ Artorexanswered slowly. ‘It wasbefore you becamemy tutor.

I recall that Frithwarnedmeto stay out of theOld Forestor theevilspiritswouldstealmeaway.’

‘You can thank Mithrasthat Ector ordered you to betrained for battle, or perhapsyou would not be standinghere, so strong and sounafraid.’

Artorex could only lookconfused, while Targopretended to examine his

callousedhands.

‘Thechildren, aboyandagirl, were brother and sister,the only little ones of awoodcutter. The boy wasthirteen and the girl waselevenwhen theywere lost.’Targo paused as thememories of that dark timecame back to him. ‘Thevillagers searched for themfor weeks, but the childrenhad vanished off the face of

the earth, and thesuperstitious believed that ademonhad eaten them.As itturned out, a monster hadtaken those poor little thingswhowerenever apart in life.We found the girl a weeklater.She’dbeentorturedandstripped of her hair and herhands. She was alive whenthatmonstercutherveins,forthe ground in the woodswhere they found her wassoaked with her blood. Her

face . . . it’sone thing tokillinbattle,andI’veseensightsthat would sicken thestrongestman, but this crimewasgrotesque-andIrecallittothisday.’

‘Was she used?’ Artorexasked,forchildrenwereoftenthepreyofhumanbeasts.

‘No, she wasn’t touched.ButI’msurethattheman-orthemen-whokilledhermusthave hated women. They

even cut off her childishnipples when they mutilatedher.Shebled freely from thewounds - and the dead don’tbleed.’

‘Agh!’ Artorex could nothelp his exclamation ofdisgust.

‘Theboy’sbodywasfoundsomeweeks later.He’d beenburied in a shallow grave ontheedgeofthewoodsoverbyFalconFold,butthecoldness

of winter had kept his fleshfresh, so his father was abletorecognizehimeasily.Noneofusknewhowtotellhisfateto his mother, but thewoodcutterwasfairmadwithgrief.’

Instinctively,Artorexknewthat this grim story was alongwayfromitsending.

‘The boy had been rapedrepeatedly. There was stillblood smeared along his

pitifullittleflanks.He’dbeentied up, and had then beenabandonedtostarvetodeath.’

‘But what have thesehorrors to do with Caius?’Artorexasked.

‘I wonder you don’tremember more of theMurder of the Innocents. Noone, servant or master,seemedtospeakofmuchelsefor many weeks. And then,one day, when Mistress

LiviniawarnedCaius to takecare - for therewasabloodymurderer atwork - I saw theyoung master smile. It wasjust a fleeting smile but Isensed that he was guilty ofsomething. The villagersdistrust Severinus and hiscatamite, but where theSeveriniigo,sodoesCaius.’

‘I was feeling sorry formyself in those times,’Artorex explained softly. ‘I

was spending much of mytime in the Old Forest, oravoiding work, so I cannotremember much of the lostchildren,’ he whisperedslowly, his mind consumedby the graphic cruelty ofTargo’stale.

‘Every year or so, anotherchild seems to go missing.But there are so manychildren and wild rumourssurfaceabouttheirfates,each

tale more unlikely than thelast.Wesometimesfindtheirremains but,more often thannot, the bodies are too wellhidden by the beasts whocommitthesecrimes.’

‘DoyoubelievethatCaiusis part of theseabominations?’

Targo glanced over hisshoulder towards the villawith a harried, hauntedexpression. Artorex couldn’t

remember a time when theveteran had appeared to befrightened, but now hisseamedfaceboreanumberofchanging emotions - and oneofthemwasfear.

‘Yes.’ Targo spoke thesingle word reluctantly, andinawhisper.‘Eitheraloneor,more likely, with Severinus,hisfriend.Hewasveryyoungwhen the first children werelost, but he was already

friendlywithSeverinus.’

Targo looked at his youngpupil.

‘Iwouldn’tbesurprised tofind that Caius doesn’t havethe balls to act in theseatrocities. I think he’ssatisfied just to watch, likethe suppliants at the moreugly festivals that were heldon the Lupercal in Rome,before the barbarians burnedit to blackenedmarble.What

I’msaying,boy,isthateitherCaius is a murderer or hisfriend is a murderer. And,yes,IbelievethatCaiusisanaccompliceintheslaughterofthese children.May the godshelp me, but I pity MasterEctor if ever he learns whatthevillagerssuspect.’

Artorex was revolted, asmuch by the web of silencethathadbeenthrownoverthevilla as by the vileness

committedintheexecutionofthecrimes.

‘It’s clear to me that youdespise Caius, and yet youobey his orders with a calmface,’ Artorex protested.‘How do you remain silent?Do you think Ector knowsanything of the fate of thesechildren, and would heremain mute to protect hisson?’

‘I hate Caius with an old

soldier’s loathing, but I’vehatedmanymenandI’vestillallowed them to keepbreathing. The reason I obeythe commands of Caius isbecauseheisthesonofLordEctor, a true and noble manwho tookme in when I wasnear to falling on my ownsword. My master doesn’tknowwhat his son does, forhe doesn’t have the face orthe eyes that can easily telllies. I swear that he doesn’t

suspectCaius.’

He gazed down at hishands which were twistingand kneading each otherrestlessly.

‘I couldn’t bear to be theonetotellLordEctorthefullmeasureofmyconcerns.I’venoproof,asthevillagershaveno proof, so I wouldn’texpect Lord Ector to believeanything that stains thecharacterofhishouse.Asfor

the mistress? No. Never.She’d kill the boy herself ifhis guilt brought shame onherfamilyname.’

Targo’s eyes were filmedwith self-disgust as well astears, and Artorex winced tosee what his doubts hadaroused.

‘Now thatyou’reawareofmy fears, boy, you mustpromisemethatyouwon’tdoanythinguntilwecanactwith

certainty. Too much painwould be inflicted on toomany innocent people if weactedonmeresuspicion.’

Artorex nodded. ‘I agree.Wemustwatchandwemusttry to keep the family safefromharm-evenCaius.Likeyou, I owe my life to LordEctorandMistressLivinia.’

The morning breeze blewcold and raised the hair onArtorex’sarms.Herosetohis

feet.His eyeswere quite flatasheconsidered theproblemofhisfoster-brother.

‘Damn her!’ Artorexsighed. ‘I was quite contentuntil she stirred me intothinking.’

‘You speak of MistressGallia, I suppose.’ Targogrinned throughhisyellowedteeth.‘Atastylittlemorseloftrouble.’

‘Yes. She’s an infernalnuisance, but she’s sharp -andshe’sbeautiful!’

‘So sharp that she’ll causeyou to be cut if you aren’tcareful, boy. Young teaserslike theMistressGallia are acursetomostmen,forthey’lldriveyoufaircrazy.’

Withmuchstillleftunsaid,thetwomenbegantopreparefortheirdailyswordpractice.

Quite ignorant of theupheaval she was causing inthe still pool of the VillaPoppinidii, Gallia helped towhile away Julanna’s longhours of enforced inactivityby showing her all sorts oftrifles she’d brought fromAquaeSulis.Jewelledcombs,agameofpegs,atinyamuletof the Mother in whaleboneanddelicate threads from the

East all found theirway intoJulanna’sroom.

Cletusdiedsuddenlywhenspring was at its mostbeautiful.Hehadbeen ill forso long that the master andthemistresscountedhisdeatha blessing for the faithfulservant. As he had nochildren and no kin, he wassent to his gods discreetlywith only the family and thehouse servants as witnesses.

Afterwards, his ashes werescattered over the fields helabouredtoenrich.Asquietlyas he had lived, so Cletuspassed out of the world ofVilla Poppinidii. His deathcausedscarcelyarippleinhiswake, for he had providentlytrainedhisreplacement.

Over the next month,regardless of the disdainshown by Caius, Gallia keptclosetoJulanna,sotheyoung

father-to-be contrived to beabsent from the householdoften, sometimes for daysonend.Springflewbyonheady,scented wings and evenGallia was lulled into aprotective aura of peace andcontentment.

Shesewedwithafinehandand the friends spentcountless hours preparingbaby clothes andembroideringfancifuldesigns

that would beautify the finewools and linens. The girlswere rarely bored, for Galliaknewawealthof stories thatnever failed to enthral herfriend. Had she known howcarefully Artorex watchedover both of them, Galliawould have felt lesscomfortable within the wallsofthevilla.

When Julanna was lessthan a month from birthing

and the start of summer wasonly days away, the threetravellersreturnedonceagaintothevilla.

Some days glister as ifdiamonddustiscarriedonthewarm air. The fitful breezeshad been hot all day and thefamily had spentmost of thehottest middle hours in theatrium where the fountainoffered some illusion ofcoolness. The ladies fanned

themselves desultorily andgazedlonginglyatthevisiblesquare of sky that held notrace of cooling cloud. Eventhebirdsweresilent,asiftheheat had robbed them of thepowertosing.

The three noble visitorswere a welcome distractionfrom the unseasonableweather.Anexcusetolazeinthe baths and dress for theevening meal was a blessing

after thehammerofheat thathad bludgeoned the familythroughouttheday.

Ector greeted Myrddion,Luka andLlanwith penBrynwithpleasure, forhe realizedthat, thanks to these nobleand powerful men, he nowpossessed a strong youngsteward who could safelymanage his lands for manyyears to come. When Cletusdied, the youthful Artorex

immediately took completecontrol of the villa’s day-to-day life and was performinghis duties with distinctioneven before Ector confirmedhispromotiontotheposition.Much thatArtorex nowwas,Ector knew, was due to theintercessionofthethreelords,andhewasgrateful.

The presence of Galliacausedsomeconsternationonthe part of the three noble

visitors. Obviously, they hadnot anticipated other guestsduringtheirvisit.

Gallia was agog withcuriosity at the presence ofthe three visitors, and hergolden eyes gleamed as shenoticed every tiny detail thatmarked the strangers aspowerful men of influence.Llanwith’s dragon daggertoldhermuch, for ifshewasnot mistaken the hilt was

wrought from iron and puregold. Luka wore a torque ofantique shape and, althoughthemetalwas strange to her,the worldly little Galliaguessed that it was made ofelectrum.

AsforMyrddion,whowasnowdistinguishedbyawhitestreakinhisblackhair,Galliarecognized the manners ofone who is used to dailycontact with the mighty and

the powerful. She knew adignitarium, a high-rankingcourtier, when she met one.He wore a pigeon egg-sizedrubyonhisthumbasifitwasa mere nothing, and one earwaspiercedand filledwithastrangespearheadofgold.

Yes, very peculiar indeedwere these men from faraway - men who cameinfrequently to observeArtorex’s progress, and then

departed as quickly as theyarrived. Gallia knew therewas some deep purposebehindtheirvisits,formenofwealth and power never actimpulsively. Gallia grinneddelightedly. Mysteriousstrangers, rumours of thewiderworldofBritainandanopportunity to wear her bestrobes danced tantalizinglythroughherthoughts.

‘Anything that occupies

Caiusandreflectshiswords,’she muttered aloud, soberingimmediately. ‘The heat ismakingusallirritable.’

But Gallia could never begloomy for long, so shedanced away to her sleepingchamber to consider thedeficienciesinherwardrobe.

CHAPTERV

BIRTHANDDEATH

As had become customary atthe Villa Poppinidii, a feastwasheldtohonourthearrivalof the three dignitaries.Artorex kept the kitchenhumming and nimble maids

preparedbedchambersforthethreevisitors.

GalliawasobligedtosleeponapalletinJulanna’sroom.She did not protest, for sheknew thatCaiushad recentlygrown increasingly moroseand she welcomed theopportunity to guard herfriend from his temper.Artorexwas also uneasy, foritwascleartohimthatCaiuswasdistractedandhismoods

were growing even moreunpredictable. The noblevisitors only served to putCaius on edge; Artorexoverheard him swearingviciously at a manservantwho was laying out a freshtunicforthefeast.

As Artorex strode throughthe colonnades, ensuring thatall the small details of themeal met Lord Ector’sexpectations, he saw Targo

hoveringinapatchofshadownearthestables.

The old man had swathedhimselfinadarkcloaksothatonlythekeenestofeyescouldspy him as he observed thecomings and goings at thevilla. Artorex noted thatTargocarriedhisshortswordand dagger in sheaths at hiswaist.

‘What tidings, Targo?Shouldn’t you be in your

widow’s arms, or seated byher fireside?’ Artorex askedfromthecourtyard.

Targo looked alarmed atthe loud greeting from hispupil. He raised a finger tohis lips, and then pulledArtorex into the relativedarknessofthestables.

‘Keep your voice down,boy.Youcouldcauseusbothtobekilled.’

‘Whyarewewhispering?’

Targo’s eyes gleamed inthe half-light. Had Artorexnot known better, he wouldhave believed that the oldermanwasseriouslyfrightened.

‘I’ve just been told thatanother boy has vanishedfrom the village, and his kinare terrified for his safety.The boy isn’t one to wanderfar fromhis home so they’recertain that he’s been taken.

His father, the Smith, won’twaitquietlyforhisboytobefound. He’ll be here beforetoo long, prepared to chokethe life out of Caius if thatserves to find his son. Theothervillagersarealsoangry,and rumours are rife. If theybelievethatCaiusisinvolved,and they do, they’ll comehere with the Smith to dragthe master’s son away,whetherhe’sguiltyornot.’

‘Whendidthelatestboygomissing?’ Artorex askedabruptly.

‘Yesterday, at dawn,’Targorepliedtersely.

Artorexheavedadeepsighof relief. ‘Thanks to all thegods - Caius hasn’t left thevilla for two days,’ Artorexmurmured with simple truth.‘He’s been a damnednuisance, in fact, and isdriving his family demented

withhismoods.’

Targo laughed ruefully.‘ThenImustberightwhenIsaythatCaiusisawatcherofevil and doesn’t have theballstocarryoutthesecrimesfor his own gratification. I’dwagermylefthandthatheisinvolved, especially if he’sbeen anxious to visit hisfriend,Severinus.Atanyrate,the threat to the villa stillholds. That’s why I’m here.

It’s possible the villagersmight turn against Ector andthe situation could getcompletely out of hand ifsomething isn’t done to stopit. These murders have goneonfortoolong.’

‘ThenI’lltrytokeepCaiusat Villa Poppinidii whereLordEctorcanprovidesomeprotection for him,’ Artorexdecided.‘Ifyoucanconvincethe villagers that Ector’s son

was here at the villa at thetime the young lad wentmissing, thenperhapswecanavoid too much bad blood -for all our sakes. In thisinstance, you can tell themthatI,Artorex,swearthattheyoung master is innocent ofthisparticulardisappearance.’He paused. ‘You’re awarethat the three travellers havereturned to the villa and arewith Lord Ector even as wespeak?’

‘Why does everything gowrongat thesame time?’ theold man muttered. ‘It’s bestthenthatIgotothevillagetoplacatetheboy’skinatonce.’

‘Yes.And I thank you foryour warning. I’ll watchCaius and ensure that heremainshereatthevilla.’

Turning, the old warriortook his leave, patting thetrunk of his favourite aldertreeashepassed.

Artorex stared after Targountilhis formwas lost in thedeepeningdarkness.

The young stewardreturned to his duties, hissandalledheelsstrikingdownhard on the cobbles as hestrodetothekitchens.Hehadwork todo,and little time toensure that no shame shouldbe attached to the hospitalityoftheVillaPoppinidii.

That night, the feast had atenseatmosphere,despite theexquisitefood.

Mistress Livinia haddressedwithparticularcareina peplum of pale blue thatsuited the remnants of herdark beauty. As was hercustom,sheworefewjewels,but thegreatpearls thathungfrom her ears and the twoheavy bangles that encircledher narrow wrist were

exclamation marks thatemphasized her delicacy.LlanwithpenBrynbowedhishead to her when herecognized that his giftadornedherears.

MasterEctorwasasheartyand as insensitive as ever,completely oblivious to theundercurrents of bad temper,nervousnessandwatchfulnessthat pervaded the triclinium.Heloungedonhiscarvedand

painted divan and waved tohisgueststojoinhim.

Julannahadpleadedasickheadacheandhadtakentoherbed, but Gallia could notresist the impulse to observethe three visitors at closequarters. Caius seemed moredistracted than was usual forhim in the company of thegreatones,whileLiviniawasoccupied in surreptitiouslyobservingherson, inspiteof

the gracious smiles andwelcoming words shedirectedtowardsherguests.

Artorexsummonedthefirstcourse of songbirds, glazedwith honey and sweetenedaspic of eggs and lamb’stongue, and the meal began.Hejoinedthefamilyoncethefirst course had been served,butmadenoeffort toengagein the conversation. Hispresence was ignored by the

assembled group, so hefetched the wines, just as hehad done so long ago as ayoung boy.He served guestsandhostsalike.

‘What newsof the east doyoubring,myfriends?’Ectorasked,aswashiscustom.

‘It’sbad,friendEctor,verybad,’ Luka replied, as hedaintily plucked a chickenwing from the meat platterand crunched its bones

betweenhisstrongteeth.

‘Tell us, friends,’ Liviniaaskedinhergraciousmanner.‘For we hear little of theoutside world at our villa. Ifear we are so caught up inour safe little world that weknownothingof the troublesofothers.’

After a moment ofwordless communionbetween the three friends,Myrddion spoke for all, and

his words offered littlecomfort for the future well-being of Lord Ector and hisfamily.

‘The Saxon hordes haveinvaded the eastern coast inlargenumbersandhavetakenCamulodunum and a numberofsmallertownsandvillages.At the same time, theJutlanders have landed ingreat numbers from theMetaris Aest. They’ve not

moved far from theirlongboatsandhaveheldbackfrom plunder - unlike theirpracticeinthepast.Andtheyhave brought their womenand children with them thisspring. We fear that they’vecometostay.’

‘This is nonsense. Howcould a fortress such asCamulodunum fall?’ Ectorprotested. ‘It’s walled andgarrisoned by the forces of

the High King. How couldthebarbariansbreachtherockwallsofCamulodunum?’

‘We have warned youbefore, friend Ector, that theSaxons have excellentfighting men - and women,’pen Bryn rumbled, as hewaved away Artorex’s offerofmorewine.‘Manyoftheirwarriors are as large asArtorex here and they havespent their entire lives

fighting for every crust andevery slave since the day oftheir birth. They areferocious, and their leaderscontrol their soldiersmercilessly. When they holdthe high ground, they’revirtuallyinvincible.’

‘We’ve felt theirruthlessness before, duringthose days when Vortigernmarried his Saxon womanand opened the floodgates to

herkin.ThewarsofVortimerhaven’t been forgotten - andthe Saxons still live in thewilder parts south of MonaIsland.’ Myrddion spokegravely and with theconviction of absolute truth.‘I myself felt the sting ofVortigern’s venom, and Iexperienced the Saxon lustfor the land of the Britonswhen Iwas but a small boy.Did you truly believe thatsuchapeoplewouldleaveus

inpeace?’

Gallia shivered.This newswas not the comfortable andinteresting tales of the worldthatshehadhopedtohear.

Luka observed herfrightened face. ‘Well mayyou be concerned, Mistress,fortheSaxonsandtheirallieswillnotbestoppeduntiltheyhave spread from sea to sea.More raiders will come nextsummernowthattheyhavea

foothold on both our easternand western coasts. And theyearafterthat,morestillwillarrive. They will turn ourtowns to bloody, smokingruins, like Camulodunum,and then they’ll build theirwooden halls on our stonefoundations. Our safe worldis coming to an end, myfriends.’

‘And what are our greatlords doing?’ Caius snapped.

‘Where is Uther Pendragon,the High King, who issupposed to be protectingus?’

Hismotherflashedaquick,eloquentglanceofwarninginhis direction, but Caius wastoo angry to heed her silentcaution.

‘Asusual, theCeltic kingsareuseless, just as theywerewhen the legions defeatedthemeasilyinyearsgoneby.

What is needed now is aleader, one with the belly toputthesecurstoflight,’Caiusconcluded, his face twistedintoasneer.

Pen Bryn would haveanswered, but Myrddionplaced a hand over hisfriend’sforearm,andtookuptheargumentsmoothly.

‘It’s true that many kingsof theBritons are frightened,Caius.But it is also true that

it has only been the strengthof Uther Pendragon that hasheld them together duringthesepastdecadesofpeace.Itwould only need a smallmistake now for the lesserkings to break the HighKing’s treaty - sowe live inperiloustimes.’

‘And Uther Pendragonsickens,’ Luka interruptedabruptly. ‘He is not the manhewaslastyear,orfiveyears

beforethat.Atsixty,hisfiresarealmostquenched.’

‘Then we truly need aleader to put iron in thespinesofourleadersandfearintheheartsofourenemies,’Caius repeated. ‘It is onlystrength and fighting spiritthat can give these cowardlyweaklingsthewilltofacetheSaxons.’

‘Takecare,Caius,oryou’llcauseoffence,’Ectorhissed.

‘I speak the truth, Father,’Caiusretorted.

‘You speak like a child,boy,’ pen Bryn growled anddrovehisdragonknifedeeplyinto the wooden table; thegems in the dragon’s eyeswinked balefully in the lightofthetorches.

‘Britain was ours longbefore the Roman legionscame. It was ours when theRomantribescrawledintheir

mud huts between the SevenHills.Anditwasourswhenitwas under Roman rule. Andthey were quick enough torun when the barbarianhordes began to cross theDanube. You are half Celt,boy, so remember that youare only the bastard son of afamily that was crawling inthe dirt when my ancestorswerekingsintheirownland.’

‘You must mind your

manners, Llanwith,’ Lukaadmonished. ‘Still, I agreewith this youngman thatweneed a strong leader in theseperiloustimes.’

Caiusleapttohisfeet.

‘Sir! I don’t care for yourinsults,’ he screamed. Hiseyes appeared half crazy inthelightofthesconces.‘Howdare you insult my motherwhoisRomantothecoreandwhoisalsoyourhostess!’

‘Yourmother is a Briton,’Myrddion interjected. HeturnedtofaceLivinia.‘Isthatnot so, my lady? You’veneverwalkeduponthestreetsof Rome, I know. In fact,Rome no longer exists as itwas known in the past.’Myrddion spoke carefully toremove the sting from hisunpalatablewords.

‘Ourguest is right,Caius,’Livinia answered. ‘I am a

Briton, as are you. In Rome,we would have been asnothing to the senators, andeven less than nothing to thecurs who inhabited thesubura.My great-grandfatherfollowed the legions, and hemade his home and hisfortune within these walls.We will all live and die asBritons,forIfear theSaxonswill not care to make adistinctionbetweenEctorandmyself.’

But Livinia’swords didn’tmollify her son, whose faceburned with raw anger andhostility. Out of a visceraldesire to destroy, he rippedapartadelicatecloththathadbeen laid aside for greasyhands and flung thefragments on to the floor.Livinia whitened inapprehension and resolutelyturnedaway.

Myrddion turned to

questionArtorex.

‘And what say you,Artorex?Whatwouldyoudoif you were UtherPendragon?’

‘I’d strike, my lord. AndI’d strike hard with all mystrength before the Saxonshaveatoeholdinthewest.Abattlefoughtatalatertimeonour own fields could bedisastrousforalltheBritons.’

‘Yes, my boy, you’reprobably right. But Uther isold - and has no heir tosucceed him,’ Myrddionrepliedregretfully.

‘Then one must be found,preferably one of Romanlineage,’ Caius hissedthrough his teeth. He wasalmost standing overMyrddioninhisrage.

‘Even as we speak, youngman, the search for a

successortoUtherPendragonis being pursued by men offaith and principle. One factis certain, the kings of theBritons would not be stirredto follow a Roman-bornleader.Suchthinkingisover-proudandimpractical.’

Caius dashed down hisgoblet on the table and thelees splashed overMyrddion’s tunic. Thescholar merely mopped the

winestains fromhisgarmentandignoredtheyoungerman.Ector started to apologize,and Livinia’s face wasstricken.

Caius stormed from theroom, his fury a palpable,livingthing.

Artorex was torn. Caiuswas in the kind of rage thatmadethemandangerous,butEctorhadnotgivenhimleavetofollowtheyoungmaster.

Fate intervened, forMyrddion continued toaddress Artorex. He muststay.

‘Your foster-brother is ahot-headed young man,Artorex, but in thesedangeroustimessuchmenareoften needed,’ he saidcarefully.‘Iamcurious.Whatqualitiesofleadershipdoyoufeel are necessary in ourleaders during these troubled

times?’

‘We should be searchingfor a warrior who has beentrainedfrombirthtolead.Heshould be one whom allBritons will follow becauseofhisbirthright-andthroughhis strength of arms. Youneed a cold, calculatingmansuch as the great Caesar, amanwhowilldaremuchandgamble everything on hiswill,andnotjusthisanger.’

‘True!’thefriendsagreed.

At this point of tentativeagreement, the screamsbegan.

The sound of those thin,wailing trebles would havechilled thehottestblood.Thewhole company stood inhaste, hands searching outweapons, but Artorex andGallia were first through thedoorway.Bothrecognizedthedirection from which those

terrifiedscreamscame.

Livinia was only a fewsteps behind them, and theguestsbroughtuptherear.

Artorex burst through thedoors of Caius’s apartmentstodiscoverJulannacurledupinto a ball as small as herpregnant belly would allow,whileafoamingCaiuskickedout viciously at any part ofherfleshthatwasexposed.

‘Stop, master!’ Artorexshouted and plucked Caiusaway from his wife’sbleedingfaceandbody.‘Youmuststop!’

Gallia immediately threwherself over her friend’sproneformandtriedtocoverher with her own smallperson.

‘Youcannot think toharmher, sir,’ Artorex tried toreason. ‘She is themotherof

yourunbornchild.’

‘IwillkickhertodeathifIchoose to do so,’ Caiussnarled, maddened beyondrationalthought.‘SheisminetodowithasIchoose.’

In his incoherent rage, hehowled and attempted tothrow himself at his sobbingwifeonceagain.

According to Roman law,Artorex could not harm or

even restrain Caius, son ofthe paterfamilias, yet customand rule were only aperilously thin veneer overthe instincts of a man likeArtorex.He had no intentionofstandingaside.

‘You’ll only touch heragain when you have passedthrough my body,’ Artorexpromised quietly, in a voiceas smooth and as sharp as awire.

‘The prospect woulddelight me,’ Caius screamedand drew his knife. Artorexeasily parried Caius’s blows,until a woollen mat broughthim to grief when his footslipped on its treacherouspurchase.

As Artorex began to fall,Caius struck out at him,slashing his arm fromshoulder to elbow. Still, hewouldn’t have passed had he

not managed to throw asleeping coverlet over hisfoster-brotherthatcompletelyenvelopedhiminitsfolds.

Gallia sprang to her feetlikeatigressandfacedCaiusasboldlyasanysoldier.

‘You’ll not touch her,Caius,’shesnapped.‘NotifIcanstopyou.’

‘Butyoucan’tpreventme,can you?’ Caius said, almost

conversationally. He grippedher hair by the crown of herhead and tossed her into thecorner of the room like abundleofwetrags.

‘Now,madam,’hesaidinavoice so drenched with furythat Artorex struggled evenharder to extricate himselffrom the suffocating folds ofthebedcover.

‘No!...No!...’

Artorex heard the thinvoice scream, as the sturdybodyofCaiusconnectedwithanother that was smaller andinfinitelyfrailer.LadyLiviniahad stepped between herson’sknifeandherdaughter-in-law. Bothmother and sonstared at the knife buried upto the hilt in Livinia’sbreastbone.

‘Mother!’Caiusscreamed.

Livinia crumpled at the

knees, and Artorex had timeto lowerher gently on to thesleepingpalletthatGalliahadused.Hewasoblivioustotheordersofthethreevisitors,tothewailingofservants,tothesobbing of Julanna, to thesight of Gallia being carriedbodily from the room, whileCaius was physicallyrestrained and dragged fromthe sleeping chamber by penBrynandLuka.

OnlyLadyLiviniaexisted.Herdarkeyeswere intenselyaliveandpleading-and theywerefixedonArtorexalone.

Ector prostrated himselfbeside his wife and wassobbing uncontrollably as hecradled his dyingwife in hisarms. Artorex tried toextricate his arm from thedeath grip that Livinia hadplacedonhiswrist,butallherconsiderable vitality was

concentratedinthatonesmallhand.

‘You must promise me,’shewhispered.

‘Anything! Anything, myonly love,’ Ector repliedbrokenly.

‘No, not you. Artorex. Hemust promise me that whenheisagreatman . . . thathewillcareforCaius.’

‘But he has sorely

wounded you, my lady,’Artorex protested, brushingone hand across eyes thatwere wet. The wound wasmortalalthoughthebladewasmore decorative than deadly.Sheer chance had driven theshort, slender shaft betweenLivinia’sribsandbreastbone,and into the region of herheart. She should be carriedto her room, but anymovement might drive thedagger through her heart and

stillLivinia’svoiceforever.

‘Caiusisjustasillyboy... a foolish boy . . . a childwho needs saving fromhimself. I forgive him. Doyouhearme?Mydeathisanaccident.Youmusthearme-and swear to all that I ask. Ihave raised you tomanhood,Artorex, and I beg you toprotectmyson.’

Artorexcouldfeelthetearsin his eyes begin to run

silently down his face. Ineverywaybut blood,Liviniawas the closest thing to amother he had ever known.Even now, with her face aspale as bleached linen, andthe thin blade alone savingher from immediate death,her Roman duty held true.She gave no indication ofpain or fear, and her onlyexpressionwasoneofregret.

‘I can’tmeetmyancestors

in peace until you promiseme, Artorex. I can’t go intothelongsleepuntilmyCaiusisprotectedfromhimself.’

Hervoicewheezedthroughdamaged lungs and a thinrivulet ofblood ran fromherlips, even asEctor fruitlesslytriedtowipeitaway.

Under the spell of thosevital, pleading eyes, Artorexsworehisoath.

‘I vow that I will keepCaius safe, and that I willendeavour to protect himfrom himself. I’ll carry himwithmedownwhateverpathmy life follows. Rest, mylady, rest, for I promise thatI’llfollowyourwishes.’

‘Stand back now, Artorex.You must allow me to careformywife,’Ectororderedinacrackedandbrokenvoice.

‘Thank you, Artorex.’

Livinia smiled painfully.‘Now, my dear Ector,’ shebreathed. ‘You must removethe knife for me, myhusband.’

‘But you will die if I do,Livinia. What will I dowithoutyou?’

‘You will always be mystrong, kind husband,’ shesaid softly. Livinia’s breathwas now coming in fast andpainful gasps. ‘Please, my

dear. I’m bleeding inwardly,youmust sparememy pain.I’d have liked to see mygrandchild,butIknowitwilllive.Careforit,mydearone,as youhave cared for allmypeopleinthepast.’

Shetookonepainfulbreathand generations of the hardyprogeny of Rome seemed tostareoutattheworldthroughhercalm,blackeyes.

‘You must take out the

knife.Now!’

Artorex watched from thedoorway, for he couldn’tforce his body to entirelyleave the room. A weepingEctorputonegianthandoverthe delicate hilt of the knife,and Livinia wrapped hersmallpalmsaroundhis.

Ector eased the narrowblade out of her chest.Immediately, a great gush ofblood bubbled from her

mouthandthenarrowwoundallowed more blood to spurtfree. Livinia briefly smiled,likeatiredlittlegirl,andthenclosedhereyes.

LordEctorbegantowailasLiviniatookherlastbreath.

Outside, all was chaos.LlanwithpenBrynhad takenCaius into his bedchamberand watched his chargethrough narrowed, hostileeyes. Caius had thrown

himself on to his pallet, hislegs drawn up to his chin inhisguiltanddistress.Hewepthysterically, because,althoughCaiuscaredforveryfew living things, hedependedonhismother.

‘What will I do?’ hehowled, and Artorex hurriedaway from thewhining, self-absorbedvoice.

Julanna had been movedinto the dining room where

the terrified servants hadcleared away the food andcovered a dining couch withfreshlinen.Thegirlwasnowin labour, her eyes half-crazed and her swollen bellymoving spasmodically witheach powerful contraction.Frith had come from thekitchens and she andMyrddion had the childbirthfirmlyinhand.

Artorex ordered Livinia’s

maidservant to assist LordEctortomovethebodyofhiswife into their bedchamberand, although her face wastwisted with grief and loss,Delia rallied to fulfil theneedsofhermistress.Artorexlongedtoweepandtolayhishead on Delia’s capacious,cushionedbreastsandcryforthe loss of his mistress. Buthe was the steward, so hemustputherhouseinorder.

As the news of Livinia’sdeath spread, the servants ofthe villa set up a greatwailing, but Artorex orderedthemtobesilent.

‘Yourmistresswasagreatlady. She would expect youtohonourherbywashingherbodyandpreparingherinherbestpeplumand robe forherfuneral.Don’tshameher.’

Their tears stopped onArtorex’s command. Celts

knewthehonourowedtothedead-especiallytotheheroicdead-and theyran todohisbidding.

‘Take care of the master,’Artorex ordered the cook.‘Coax him to drink a littleSpanish wine. He is broken-hearted, but I must entrusthimtoyourcare.Iamneededelsewhere.’

‘Ofcourse,’ thesurlycookreplied, his features freed of

their habitual, disagreeableirritation. ‘I will do all youask.’

‘Youhavemythanks,goodman. Take him to thescriptorium where quietreigns, while I attend to theguests.’

HefoundLukaintheguestroom,across from theatriumandthecolonnade.

‘I have been seeing to the

maiden,’Lukatoldhim.‘Sheis aware, but her scalp needsmending.Bythegods,whatamadhouse we have seen thisnight.’

With a few long strides,Artorex crossed the centralatrium to see to Gallia’swound forhimself.He foundher lying on a disturbedcoverletinheroldroomwithone hand pressing a tornfragment of cloth that Luka

had folded into a compressfor her wound. Her hair wasstreaked with blood, but hereyes were bright, albeitfrightened.

‘Let me see your head,Gallia,’ Artorex orderedcurtly and, obediently, shepulled the compress awayfromherscalp.Alongsplitinthe skin was slowly oozingblood.

‘The brain might be

damagedwithin the skull, soshe shouldn’t be moved,’Luka cautioned. ‘I’ve seenstrong warriors who’ve diedofheadwounds.’

Artorex felt along thegaping edges of the wound,andGallia bit her lip hard tokeepfromcryingoutinpain.

‘Good girl,’ hemurmured,as his fingers carefullyprobed the skull around thelong split. ‘Your hard head

seems intact. But Luka iscorrect.You should lie back,hold the compress to thewound and, when Myrddionis free, he’ll stitch yourwoundtogether.He’llneedtoshavepartofyourhairaway,unfortunately.’

‘I don’t care overmuch,’she mumbled. ‘How isJulanna?Isshesafe?’

‘Aye,butsheisinlabour.’

Galliatriedtorisefromthebed, but Artorex pressed herback.

‘She has Myrddion andFrithwithher, so shehas nobetter aid in all of AquaeSulis. Obey me, MistressGallia. Luka will stay withyou.’

At the entrance to theroom, Artorex pulled Lukaaside and informed him ofLivinia’s fate.Theolderman

shook his head inconsternation. He had seenenough of the carnage inCaius’sroomtohaveguessedat the outcome but hefrownedindistasteasArtorexconfirmedherdeath.

‘I need to set the villa torights,’ Artorex addeddesperately, for heknew thatactivitywouldkeephismindsharp and hold his grief atbay. ‘It would assist me

greatlyifyoucouldstaywithGallia and prevent her fromany childish action. She’squite capable of ignoring thebestadviceifitpleasesher.’

Luka merely squeezedArtorex’sshoulder.‘Beaboutyour tasks, boy. We’ll talklater.’

‘Aye.Later.’

Once Artorex had seen tothe needs of all his charges,

he set about putting to rightswhat could be salvaged fromthisterriblenight.

In the barn, several stableboys had beenwoken by thedin and the commotion, andwere trying to calm therestive horses. Artorex sentthese men to Julanna’sbedchamberwith the expresstask of cleaning away theblood-splattered evidence ofthedeathoftheirmistress.

‘Burn anything that can’tbecleansed.Scrubthefloors,toensure that there’snosignof carnage that could furthertrouble the master,’ Artorexordered crisply, and themenliftedwoodenwaterpailsandrags and ran to do hisbidding.

Delia met him at thedoorway of Livinia’s roomsand barred his entrance. Thelast dignities offered to the

dead have always been thedutiesofwomen,andArtorexwondered sadlyhow this sexcould bear the pitiful task ofcleansing and straighteningthe lifeless flesh, especiallywhentheywereasbelovedasthemistresshadbeen.

‘You may leave LadyLivinia with me, Steward,’Delia whispered. Her facewas slick with tears, but shewas controlled and fixed in

purpose. ‘My ladywill go totheflamesasshewouldhavewished.Beaboutyourduties,forhersake.’

‘Oh, Delia. Her death issuch a waste, such a mess,’Artorex began, his head bentand his hand tightly claspingthatoftheservant.

Artorex suddenly realizedtheimproprietyofhisactionsand the inadequacy of hisgrief. He pulled his hand

away and squared hisshoulders.

‘Spare no expense, Delia,’he whispered. ‘The masterwouldwantyoutousealltheprecious oils you need, forthe last of the Poppinidiifamily goes to the shades tojoinherancestors.’

‘The women shall do allthat she would have wished,just as if she were hereherself,’Deliawhispered.

The servant woman beganto weep as she turned awayfromthegranite-hardeyesofthesteward.

As Artorex left thecorridor, Julanna’s childbirthcries began to echo throughthe villa, but the stewardknew that he couldn’t assistwiththeagoniesofanewlifeentering their world.However, he could providesome service to the master.

He found Ector weepingquietly in the scriptoriumunder the watchful eyes ofGrunn,thecook.

The master’s large, liver-spotted hands were foldedaround a wine cup, and hisheadwasbowedlow.

‘Lord?’Artorexsaidsoftly.

Ector raised his leonine,baldingheadunwillingly.Hisblue eyes were filled with

miseryandwetwithtears,asifhewasdrowninginsorrow.

‘How can my Livinia bedead?’ he asked feebly, andthen burst into a fresh stormofweeping.

Artorex knelt besideEctor’schairandgrippedonelimphand.

‘Mistress Livinia is withher ancestors. I fear we’llnever see her like again in

these isles. But she died forwhat she loved and, evennow, she holds me to myoath.She’dwishyoutogoonandtoprotect thevilla inhername.’ He squeezed Ector’shand.‘Youmustrest,master,for you’ll need all yourstrength for the grandchildthatcomes.’

Ectorbowedhisheadoncemore over his entwinedhands. ‘But what of Caius?

Whatof our son?Howcan Ibear to look into the eyes ofthe man who has killed hisownmother?’

‘Youmust trustme to puteverythingtorights,master.IhaveaskedGrunntotakeyouto your bedchamber. I’ll doeverything exactly as youwouldwishittobedone,andI’lldoitinyourname.’

Reluctantly, EctorpermittedGrunntoassisthim

torisetohisfeet.Likeanold,oldman, Ectorwas led fromthescriptorium.

Artorex automatically tookupthepitcherofwineandthegoblet, wiped over the deskandsetalltorightswithintheroom.

Then he returned to thekitchen.

A single maidservant wasboiling rags in a blackened

pot, her face flushed fromweeping.Artorexpaidhernomind, until a sudden shrieksplit the preternatural silenceof the villa once again. Itremindedhim thatanew lifewas struggling to come intohisworld.

Thewomanusedawoodenstake to put the cleansed,steaming rags into a wickerbasket, bobbed her head tothe steward and then ran to

tend to the needs of hermistress.Artorexknewbetterthantointrudeintothefemalebusiness of childbirth, so hewaitedinthecorridor,pacingin time to the beating of hisheart.

The night was still andJulanna’s final scream torethe darkness apart with herprimal need. The frail cry ofan infant was anti-climactic,but Artorex sighed deeply,

muttered a quick prayer toMithras, the soldier’s god,andwaitedforMyrddion.

Instead, Frith came to thedoorway. Her back wasstraight and her arms held adark-haired babe wrapped infreshlinen.

‘Achild isborn,my lord.’Frith held the baby out tohim. ‘You must bless her.Please, my lord, for she’s aweak thing, and she mustn’t

die, for the shade of themistresswould never forgiveme.’

‘Don’t name me by titlesthat aren’t mine, Frith. Youknow that I’m only thesteward.Butifitwillsetyourmind at rest, I’ll bless thechildforyou.’

His large hands obscuredthe red, monkey-like face oftheinfantashemurmuredtheold blessing of birth over its

headofdarkhair.

‘Now the child will live,’Frith exclaimed happily, herold eyes alight withsomething fey and strange.‘I’ll take her to the master -for she has the eyes of mysweetLivinia.’

Myrddion watched thetableau in the doorway. Hismouth was smiling, but hiseyeswere grave as hewipedhis bloody hands on a scrap

ofcloth.

Artorex smiled gratefullyathim.‘I thankthegodsthatyou were here when Caiusran amok, otherwise morethanonesoulwouldhavefledto the shades during thisnight.Once Julanna is safelyabed,Ibegyoutotendtothehead of Mistress Gallia, mylord.’

‘You give me too muchcredit,Artorex.Whatofyour

ownwound?’

Artorexlookeddownatthelong shallow gash that ranfrom just below the shoulderto his elbow. It had stoppedbleeding some time ago, butwasnowbeginningtoreddenwithheatfromthewound.

‘I’ll see to Gallia shortly,’Myrddiondecided. ‘But first,I’ll clean and dress thattriflingwound.’

As Myrddion cleaned thegash in hot water, Artorexcontinued to issue orders totheservants.

‘Beforeyouseethemaster,Frith, I wish you to overseethe moving of MistressJulanna.Her room should beprepared by now. If not,inform the servants that Irequire them to work faster.You must also send one ofthegirlstothevillageforthe

wetnurse.And IwantTargohere - I need himimmediately,Frith.’

‘All shall be done as youdesire,master.’

‘Stopcallingmethat,Frith.Iamstillthatsamegrimyboyyouforcedtobathe.’

‘Yes, master,’ she replied,withperfectsincerity.

‘Will this take muchlonger,my lord?’ an anxious

Artorex asked Myrddionwhile his wounded left armwas bandaged. ‘I left LordpenBrynwithCaius and thegods aloneknowhow I shalldealwithhim.’

Around them, servantsbustled as the stable boyscarried a pale Julanna to herquarters, and the womenstruggled to put the diningchamber to rights. Frithissued orders with the clear

commands of a general and,before Myrddion hadcompletedhis task, theentireroom was once again bareandsilent.

‘I am still at your service,Artorex.Where do I find theMistressGallia?’

‘SheisinLuka’sroom.Heis concerned that she shouldnotbemoved.’

‘I shall see her

immediately.’

AfterMyrddionlefthimtotend to Gallia’s injuries,Artorex sucked in the luxuryof blessed silence - and triedto think. The dining room,where thewhole tragedy hadbegun, had been restored toitsusual state.Clearedof thebloody detritus of birth, itwas simply a room of someopulence, with its couchesawaitingthearrivalofvalued

guests. Yet, Artorex wascertain,itwouldneverbethesame cheerful place again.The benign graciousness ofLiviniawaslostforever.

Leaving the cursed room,Artorex waited in the lee ofthe alder for the wet nurseandTargotoarrive.Thenightwasnotyetfinished,norwasits bloody aftermath evenbegun, and he desperatelyneeded the advice of the

rugged old campaigner.Artorex had never seen aliving soul die so violently,leastofallsomeoneheloved,and his head swam in avortexofemotions.

Some little time later, asmall, pixyish woman fromthe village hurried out of theshadows with Targo as herescort. She was carrying aninfant in a sling around herneck.

Artorex noted grimly thatthe warrior was still fullyarmed.

Directing the wet nurse toJulanna’s quarters, ArtorexinstructedhertosendFrithtohim when the old womancould be spared. Then,flexing his suddenly achingarm, he turned to his oldtutor.

‘I imagine the messengertold you what occurred

tonight?’

‘Aye, Artorex, he did.What caused the youngmaster to turn into amadman?’

Artorex grimacedwolfishly, his eyes suddenlyflatandunforgiving. ‘I’venoidea but I intend to find out.BringLuka andMyrddion tome from Mistress Gallia’srooms as soon as they’vefinished with their

ministrations.I’llbewithpenBrynandtheyoungmasterinhissleepingapartments.’

‘Aye,lad.Allshallbedoneas you require.’ Targogripped Artorex’s shoulderwith one hand. The lad’sexpression softened for amoment, and somethingwounded lookedoutof thoseglacial eyes. Then Artorex’smental shield dropped backintoplace.

When the steward enteredthe room where Caius wassecured,nothinghadchangedin the sad tableau, althoughhis foster-brother was nolongerweeping.LlanwithpenBryn leaned casually againstthe wall as he cleaned hisnailswith adagger.His eyesnever left themiserable formofCaius.

‘Foster-brother!’ Artorexused his most authoritative

voice. ‘The time for plainspeakingbetweenyouandmehasarrived.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Caiuswhined.

‘Not this time, I’m afraid,foster-brother.Situpanddryyour eyes like a man, andthenexplainyourself.’

Caius reluctantly obeyed.The glint in Artorex’s eyespromised dire consequences

ifherefused.

‘Itwasn’tmyfault!Inevermeant to hurt her! Motherstepped in frontofmyblade.Doesshelive?’

‘No, Caius, don’t treat melike a fool. You’re fullyaware that your mother isdead and that it was yourhandthatguidedtheblade.Ifyou hadn’t struck her, thenyou’d have murdered aharmless,pregnantwoman in

herstead.’

‘What will become of menow?’Caiussobbed.

‘Still thinkingofyourself,’Llanwith rumbled, withouttaking his eyes from thedishevelled form of Caius.The Cymru prince was stiffwithrevulsionandcontempt.

‘You’re the father of adaughter, Caius, and yourwifeiswell,inspiteofbeing

badly bruised at your hands.Your father is prostrate withgrief and theMistress Galliais even now in the hands ofthe physician, Myrddion.Tonight, you have torn apartallthatwasgoodinthisvilla,yet still your thoughts areonly for yourself. ’ Artorexfairly spat the last words.Caius thrust his face into hispalletandcontinuedtoweep.

Targo and Luka silently

enteredtheroom.

Artorex had been patientenough for ten menthroughout the long evening.He crossed the room to thepalletintwoquickstridesanddraggedCaiusupbythehair.

‘Stand up and face yourguilt, foster-brother. I’m sickof your puling andwhining.’Artorex slapped the face ofCaiuswithsuchforcethattheimprintofhishandstoodout

on the cheek of the youngman.

‘Your mother hasforbidden me to kill you,Caius, but I can hurt you!And I will hurt you verybadly, and then I’ll lie toMasterEctorwithouta shredofguilt.Now,Iwanttoknowwhatismaddeningyou.’

Caius collapsed as if hislegs were made of jelly.‘They’llkillme if I somuch

ashintattheirguilt.’

Artorex laughed drily andpointed to the travellers.Three pairs of cold,contemptuous eyes staredfixedly at Caius. Llanwithspat on Caius’s pallet withcontempt.

‘I swore an oath to yourmother. She forgave you asshelaydying,andsheforcedme to make a promise toprotectyou.Thesegentlemen,

however, are not bound bymyoath,andtheyaremenoffar greater powers than youwouldbelieve.Theyhavetheauthority to punish amatricide in the name of theHigh King. Do you wish todiscover what UtherPendragon’s law prescribesfor any man who kills hismother? The Celts deemmatricideasoneof theworstmurders-unliketheRomans.I’m sure that Lukawould be

pleased to explain thedifference to you. Ectorcannotprotectyoufromthesemen, so you must answerbefore we lose our self-control.’

‘Iwasangry...’

‘That’s no excuse!’ thevoice of pen Bryn rumbledfrom his position against thewall.‘We’renotinterestedinyourfeelings.Tryagain!’

‘I’m tired of being secondbest...’

Llanwith knocked Caiusdownwithaswiftblowtothesideofthehead.

‘Second best? You’re theonly son of Ector, the lordwho owns the VillaPoppinidii,’Lukasaidgrimly.‘You’ll rule the villa whenyour father goes to join hisancestors.Youwillact likeamaster-andnotlikeacur!’

‘Artorex is fatherless, andlives on the charity of myfather. But everyone at thevillaobeyshimandnotme!’

Llanwith knocked Caiusdown again, and he began tobleedfromthemouth.

‘Havedonewithexcuses!Ihadagreatfondnessforyourmother.’

‘But . . . she listened toArtorex rather than to me,’

Caius wailed and pointed atthesteward.

Artorex made anexclamation of disgust andgaveCaiusabackhandedslapacross his face himself. Iteffectively ended thesickeningwhine.

‘Jealousy isn’t an excusefor the damage you’ve done,Master Caius,’ theunforgiving voice ofMyrddion came from the

darkness of the doorway.‘We’re all aware that youspend little time at VillaPoppinidii and avoid takingpart in its affairs. Whodeserves the respect of theservants, a young man whospendsallhishourscarousingwith his friends or thesteward who controls thedestiny of the villa and whoworks in the fields with themen?’

‘The servants don’t careforme...’

‘Theybelievethatyouandyour friends are involvedwith themurder of children,’Targo declared bluntly as hesteppedintotheroom.

Caiusrecoiledandcoveredhisfacewithhishands.Whatcould be seen of hiscountenance was bone-whiteexcept for the red markswhereangryhandshadstruck

him.

Then, tousled anddishevelled as he was, helifted his head and faced theaccusing eyes of Targo. Theexpressiononhisfacehadallthe cunning and slyness of astoat.

‘Youcan’tproveanything!I’vebeenherefordays!’

At that moment, ArtorexknewthatCaiuswasguiltyof

more than matricide, and hefelt his gorge rise. Whatcould he do? How could hesave Ector? How could anyhonourable man save Caiusfromtheconsequencesofhisvices and yet retain asemblance of decency forhimself?

‘You know nothing ofSeverinus and my friends,’Caius blustered, his eyesdowncastandshifty.‘Ididn’t

kill thosechildren.No! Ihadnothingtodowiththem!I’mnotamonster!’

Artorex was revolted byhiscringeingfoster-brother.

‘Butwedo know that youattackedyourpregnantwife’,he saidevenly. ‘Andwealsoknow that you’re responsiblefor thedeathofyourmother.Enough! I’m tired of thiswhole charade, so I’ll handyou over to Llanwith who’ll

decide what punishment youwillreceiveforyourcrimes.’

Whatever self-justificationCaiuswasabouttoofferdiedon his lips as five pairs ofeyesboredintohim.Llanwithstraightened and reached outone huge hand and grippedCaius by the throat. Then,straight-armed, he raised theyoung master into the air sothathisfeetkickedfeeblyandhisfacebegantopurple.

Artorex glared at hisfoster-brother.‘I’veswornanoath to protect you, but thatpromise was for those sinscommittedthisnight,andthisnightonly.’Hepaused.‘Willyou speak now? Raise yourhandifyouwishtospeak.’

Caius kicked, struggledand slowly strangled. Hishead bobbed up and downlike a child’s toy while hiseyesalmostpoppedoutofhis

skull.

Llanwith tossed him on tohispalletlikeapieceofdirtyrag, and Caius attempted toregain his breath with harsh,raggedgasps.

‘The foul acts ascribed toSeverinus - and to your ownself - arematterswewant todiscussimmediately,’Artorextold him. ‘Not only do youhave toworry about thoseofuswho are in this room, but

you may have to face thewrath of the villagers who,thisverynight, aremourningthe loss of another of theirchildren. Should we bedissatisfied, we intend tohand you over to them forquestioning.’

EventheimpassivefaceofLlanwith pen Bryn looked alittle sick at thispronouncement.

Haltingly, fearfully, Caius

told his story.His eyeswereshroudedsothatArtorexwasunsure what motivated hisfoster-brother.

‘Severinus will kill me ifhe thinks I’ve betrayed him.Youmustsaveme!’

‘Why must I save you?’Artorex snapped. His eyeswerelikegreyslate.

‘Because he’s a murdererandapederast-he’s trulyan

abomination. I fear for mylife each time I see him.’Caius huddled into the verycornerof theroom,obliviousto the drying blood of hismother that still stained hishands and tunic. He was astudy in ugly self-pity, andhis judgesweren’t convincedthat this sudden capitulationwashonestorsincere.

‘When did you first knowthat Severinus was a

murderer?’ Artorex wasimplacable.

‘Not until it was far toolate to remove myself fromhis influence. You mustbelieve me!’ Caius’s eyesturned from one man to thenext, pleading for sympathyandmercy.

‘Then you must tell useverything,’Artorex insisted.‘And I must warn you thatTargowillknowifyouleave

anything out. He’s familiarwith some aspects of youractivities.’

‘I’veknownSeverinusandhis friends for many years.He seduced me years agowith talk of epicureanmannersandtheRomanrighttorule.BythetimeIrealizedthat Severinus was aperverted aberration ofnature, I was too deeplyenmeshed to extricate

myself.’

‘Is that so?’ Luka askedsilkily.‘Manyyoungboysareseduced but few allythemselveswithamurderer.’

‘Icouldn’tgotomyfatherand tell him what Severinushad done to me.’ Caiusblushedwithshameandself-disgust and, for a briefmoment, Artorex felt a stabof pity. Caius could easilyhavebeenawell-bornvictim

and to admit his rape wouldbetoshamehimselffurther.

Caius’s eyes displayed noemotion.Hewasnocatamite,his tastes ran to youngwomen, as meek and child-likeaspossible.HisrapehadconvincedCaiusthathehatedpain - unless he was theperson inflicting it. And thistwisted and frightened youngcreature feared Severinus,who recognized the flaw in

the boy’s nature and probedthat weakness remorselesslyuntil Caius was trapped in anightmare of his own vices.NomatterhowfiercelyCaiushad thrown himself intodebauchery, a part of hisnature had remainedfrightenedandashamed.

Now, sensing thatSeverinus was under threat,Caius saw a way of savinghimself from his friend’s

demands and divertingArtorex’srageatthedeathofhismother. Caius took painsto cower and beg, althoughthe true core of his naturescreamed furiously at hisassumedcompliance.

‘At first, we sacrificed afew sheep at the time of theLupercal. The sport seemedharmless enough. I felt trulyRoman for having taken partin the ancient ritual, for

Severinuswasalwayscastingdoubt on the purity of myRomanblood.’

The silence in the roomwas absolute, and Caiusschooled his face to appearpathetic.

‘Years ago, Severinus andhis catamite stole twochildren from the village. Ibecameawareofit,andIwassickened by what they did.But I had no part in their

deaths.’

‘It’s just as I told you,Artorex,’ Targo interrupted,spitting on the floor incontempt. ‘He only had theballstowatch.’

‘I couldn’t believe whatAntiochus did to that girl. Itwashorrible!’

‘Was sheattractive?’Lukaaskedslyly.

Caiuslookedrevolted.‘No,

ofcoursenot!Shewasonlyachild. Severinus gaveme thetaskofburyingherbody,butIcouldn’tevenbear tocoverher with earth when Iunwrappedhercorpse.’

‘Whoremovedherhands?’Luka asked. ‘She was alivewhentheywerehackedoff.’

‘Antiochus did it,’ Caiuswhimpered.‘Shewasn’tdeadwhenweunwrappedher.AndAntiochus said the bitch

would tell her kin in thevillage if shewas allowed tolive sohe cut off bothhandswith his short sword. Therewas nothing I could do tostophim.’

‘Yet you left her to bleedtodeath?’

‘No!Istayedwithheruntilshe stopped breathing - andthenIclosedhereyes.’

‘What did Antiochus want

to do with her hands?’Artorex asked with sickcuriosity.

‘He told me that MistressSeverina wanted them forsome woman’s charm. Iasked no more questions - Ididn’t want to know.’ Caiuslooked at the sickened facesthat encircled him andcoweredback into thecorneroftheroom.‘Onmymother’shead, Artorex, I was only

seventeen.Ididn’tknowwhatto do! Who would havebelieved me if I had spokenout? Please, I don’t rapechildren!’

The last howled commentwas true, Caius had no needto dissemble. Even Llanwithbelieved him, and the coldinnerpartofCaiusrejoicedtotrace thesickenedacceptanceintheireyes.

Theneedtopurgehisbody

filledArtorex’smouthwithataste of bile. He couldn’timagine any magical spellthatwouldrequirethemotherofSeverinustousethehandsof a girl child. Like Caius,Artorexsimplydidn’twanttoknow, and he believed hisfoster-brother’s excuses -although he knew he wasseeking the easy way out ofhispromisetoLivinia.

‘What Roman matron

could act in such a vilefashion?’

‘The mother of Severinusis worse than he is,’ Caiuswhined.

‘And what of the boy?’Targo asked. ‘Did you taketurns to pleasure yourselveswithhim?’

Caius was genuinelyrevolted. ‘I never knewwhathappened to the boy until

later. I threatened to tell myfather, but Severinusreminded me that I hadassistedinthedisposalofthedead girl’s body and I’d bejudged guilty of the samecrimes as he was.’ Caiushesitatedbriefly. ‘Every timeSeverinus takes hisentertainment, I become illwithapprehension.He insiststhat I watch until I am sick,andthenheallowsmetotakemy leave. I’m kept fully in

hispower.’Caiuswasalmosttellingthetruth.

‘But your fears don’texplain what happenedtonight,’ Artorex remindedCaius.

‘IknowthatSeverinushastaken another boy,’ Caiuswhispered softly. ‘He sentword that I was requiredtonight to attend his “feast”,as he calls it, and that noexcuseswouldbeaccepted. I

tried to send a message thatwe had visitors at the villa,but Severinus didn’t care.During our meal tonight, Ihad to endure the thought ofwhat he would do to mebecause of my absence fromhis entertainment, and I wasfranticwithterror.’

Caius genuinely hungeredto be free of Severinus andhis friends. The Roman wasdrunk with his diseased

pleasures and was takinggreater and moreunacceptable risks.Soonerorlater, Severinus would becaught, and the justicemetedoutwouldbecruelandswift.Caiuswas, in truth,sickwithapprehension that he wouldbe caught up in thedestruction of the Severiniifamily.

Now he saw away out ofthe trap he had devised for

himselfsohekepttalking.

‘I just snapped whenJulanna tried to stopme, andwhinedonandonthatIlovedmyfriendsmorethanI lovedher. I hate Severinus! I hatehim! Iwish hewere dead sothatIcanonceagainbecomefree. As Julanna nagged onand on, all I could think ofwas how I had to get away.But she set up such a cryingandkeeningthatIlostcontrol

ofmy senses - and I tried toshutherup.’

‘Yourfeebleexplanationisvery convenient,’ Lukacommented, his face twistedwithdisgust.

‘Severinus tookan intaglioring fromme some time agoin payment of a debt. It is ajewel that could easily berecognized as my property,andheswore to leave itwithoneof the corpses if I didn’t

do exactly as he ordered.Heterrifiesme-evenmore thanyou do!’ Caius’s eyes dartedfromone unforgiving face toanother. His cold, inner selfhunted desperately for thewords that might exoneratehimfromhismanifoldsins.

‘Yourfriendisabravemanwhen it comes to killingchildren,’ Artorex murmuredsardonically. ‘Iwonder if hiscourage will stand by him

whenheisfacedbymen?’

‘You can’t confront him,’Caiuspanted.‘Itwouldbethedeathofme.’

‘Ithinkwecan,youknow,’the baritone voice of penBrynstatedcoldly.‘Whereisthis Severinus? I have asuddendesiretomeethim.’

‘You must tell us, Caius,’Luka added. ‘For, ifnecessary, we’ll use means

thatyouwon’tenjoytoforcetheanswersoutofyou.’

As his eyes darted aroundthe chamber, Caius realizedthat he had no choice but tocomply, and informationbegantospillfromhislips.

‘He has a crypt, anundergroundroomthathehasdevoted to Dionysus andother older and darker gods.He keeps the children therefor the rituals, because he

believes their suffering willmakehimstronger.’

‘How do we find thiscrypt?’ Artorex asked, hisfacecarefullymaskedtohidehisloathing.

‘There’s a trapdoor in themosaic floor in hisscriptorium at the VillaSeverinii. The entrance ishiddenunderafloorrugwithalargeeyewovenintoit.Hesaysit is theorboftheblack

god.’

‘Your association withSeverinusisabouttocometoan abrupt end, one way oranother’,Artorex said. ‘Yourfather will never have causetobeashamedofyouractionsand I predict you will soonbecome interested in Ector’saffairs,asagoodsonshould.No, don’t argue, Caius, foryou have no bargainingpower left to you. You will

stayhere inyour roomswithyourwife and new daughter,and you’ll consider earnestlyhowyouintendtolivesothatyourmother’sshadewillfindpeace.Youcanleavetheresttome.’Artorexsmiledthinly.‘From this day on, Frithwillbe watchful in case youshould ever decide to takeyour bad temper out on yourwife and child. She willensure that several stoutservantswillbeoncallifyou

arestupidenoughtoeveruseyourfistsagain.’

‘AndSeverinus?’

‘Severinus will soon beentertaining some importantvisitors,’ Targo interjected.His mouth was a seamedwound of half-suppressedcontempt and Caius flinchedaway from the old soldier’sbasiliskglare.

‘And, in case he should

wish to argue his rights, allfive of us will be present toanswer any questions hemight have,’ Luka addedsardonically.

Caius cowered as themensaw to their weapons, butTargo watched the youngman’shands,whichclenchedand unclenched as if theysearched for something togripandtear.

‘You’re not to leave the

villa,Caius,’Artorexwarned.‘I’llknowifyouevenattemptto disobey me. And nowarnings are to be sent toSeverinus, for I’ll soonbecome aware of yourduplicityifyouattempttodoso.’

‘No! No! I wouldn’t dothat. I swear I’ll obeyyou inallthings.’

‘See that you do obeyme,Caius,’ Artorex continued.

‘For your mother’s sake, I’lltry to extricate you from thesins of your fine Romanfriends.ButshouldIdiscoverthat you, personally, haveshed innocent blood, or liedto us, I’ll expose yourknowledge of these hideouscrimes to your father, loaththough I’dbe todo so inhistimeofgrief.’

‘Ihaven’tliedtoyou!’

‘ThenI’dsuggestthatyour

wife and daughter areawaitingyourcongratulationsand your best efforts atreconciliation. You may besure, Caius, that I’ll kill youifyouraiseyourhandagainstyour wife or your child. Aslongaswearealive,youwillbe bound to your oath andyou will act like a Romangentleman. You owe yourmotherachangeofheartand,by Mithras, you will honourher shade by making her

death have some purpose.You’d bewise to understandthatyouareunderthreatfromall who are here this night.Do you understand me,Caius?’

‘Aye!’Caiusmuttered, hiseyeshidden.

‘Look at me, foster-brother! You’d be unwise tothinkthatyoucanplacatemeand thengoback toyouroldlife. Your punishment is to

live to prove every day thatyou can be trusted. I don’tknow whether I will everbelieveyou.’

Myrddion shot a quick,searching glance at thesteward. Caius was beingforced to become a penitentcurled at Artorex’s feet, butMyrddion couldn’t see anytraceofsympathy in thefaceofhisprotégé.To liveon, toharbour one’s guilt and to

endure life under constantsuspicion was a cruelpunishment, even for anunforgivablecrime.

Shortly afterwards, fivegrimmen leftCaius’s rooms,pausing only to collect theirarmsanddondarkcloaks.

Artorex spoke briefly toFrith. He instructed her towatch Caius with the stableboys on hand during hisabsence, in case his foster-

brother should try to takehisown life, or undertake someother foolishaction.Satisfiedthatthevillawasinorder,hefollowed the others to thestables.

The night was thick withshadows, for the hour waswellaftermidnight, that timewhen thevitalityof thebodywanes, and even the moonseemslikeapallidskeletonofitselfinastarlesssky.

The horses and mendisappeared like silentwraiths into the fog thatblurred the outlines of theVillaPoppinidii.

CHAPTERVI

CLEANSINGTHEALTAR

After an hour’s hard ridingunderagelidmoon,thepartyarrived at a sumptuous villaon a bare hill overlookingAquaeSulisproper.Althoughnolightsshone,thebrickand

stoneofthebuildingsseemedto be awake and eerilysentient. In those dark hourspreceding thedawn, thevillaappeared to crouch like ajewelled toadon the spineofthe hill, causing Artorex tosuppress a superstitiousshudder.

The floor plans of Romanvillas, despite their thickwalls, usually followed thenatural variations of the

terrain, so that they blendedwiththeirsurroundings.Withtheir orchards, gardens andrunningwater,Romanhomeswere graceful andcomfortableplaces.

ButtheVillaSeveriniiwasunlikeanyRomanpalacethatArtorex had ever seen. Thehillwasbareofallvegetationand no sculptures werevisible along the walls tosoften the harshness of the

bare stone. The structurehadn’t been whitewashed, aswas the normal custom;Severinus had ordered that adark red ochre should bemixedwithaskimofmortar,which might have beenfashionable in old Pompeiibut transplanted into AquaeSulisgavetheimpressionthatthe villa had been dipped indryingblood.

Boldly, but on silent feet,

fivegrimmenledtheirhorsesup to the stables.Thesilencewas tomb-like, and the airseemedunnaturallyprescient.Notasoulwasstirringin thevilla, not even an ostler.Thehorses rolled their eyes,sensing somethingunwholesome in the air, andArtorex was suddenlygratefulthathehadnotcomealone.

The humid weather

conditions conspired tosuffocatetheintruders.Itwasthekindofwarmththatrarelycametothenorthbut,whenitdid, it left the weak or thevery old short of breath andclose to death. Within theirlight armour, the friendssweated profusely, even inthese early hours of themorning when the coolerbreezes should have broughtsomerelief.

Perhaps the earth itself issickening here, Artorexthoughtashewipedawaythesweatthatstreameddownhisface.

Thegateat theentrance tothe villa had been leftunlatched, perhaps inanticipation of the arrival ofCaius. A drowsy stewardinterceptedthearmedmenasthey entered the atrium, hiseyes flaring in sudden panic.

He would have run to raisethe alarm had pen Bryn notpicked him up bodily frombehind, clamped one handover his mouth and expertlysnappedhisneck.

‘The servant could havebeen innocent,’ Artorexprotested.

‘Not if he lived in thispestilence,’ Llanwithwhispered.‘Smelltheair,myyoung friend. The corruption

of death hangs over thisvilla.’

‘The air is thick with acloud of perfume,’ Targogrunted as he dragged thebody of the steward into theshadows. ‘Damnation! Theplace smells like a whore’sarmpit.’

The same cloying heataccentuatedthestinkofattar,precious oils and somethingsweet, sickening and dead

that pervaded the paintedwallsofthevilla.

Llanwith pen Bryn slowlyled the party through theimposingcentralgarden.

No other servants seemedto be awake, for no oneaccosted the group as theyslid into the villa’s gilded,red-painted rooms. Paintingsof debauchery covered thewalls, and bronze sculpturesdepicting obscene couplings

were placed in niches alongthe walls of the colonnade.Priapic figures with grosslyswollen organs stood leeringin the shadows and evenMyrddion, who had seenmuchhumandepravityduringhis life, was forced to turnaway.

Artorex shuddered withdisgust, while Luka silentlydisappeared into the rightwingofthebuilding.

Unlike the usual plan of avilla, the scriptorium of theVilla Severinii was sited atthevery endof the leftwingof the structure where theearth fell away, making ahidden crypt possible insidethe slope of the hill. Thescriptorium was almost bare,except for a wall of nicheswhere the scrolls werepresumably stored, a singledesk, and a chair just off themid-pointoftheroom.

The only decoration in theroomwasawovenmatinthevery centre of the mosaicfloor, from which glared alargeblackeye.Theairintheroom was thick with amiasma of exotic oils andsomething else that roiledunder the heavy, cloyingscent.

Withasoftexclamationofdisgust, Llanwith pen Brynremoved themat, exposing a

trapdoorcutintothemosaic.

Lukaslidintotheroom,hisdaggerinhishand.

‘Thesleepingchambersareempty,’ he whispered. ‘Ifound no one but a fewterrified old women in theservants’quarters,soIlockedthem inside one of thestorerooms. From the lookson their faces, they seem toknow what their master isabout - and they are relieved

tobesafelyimprisoned.’

‘Then it’s time we joinedthe festivities,’ Llanwithmouthed grimly through hisbeard.

Luka andMyrddion raisedthetrapdoorassilentlyasthemechanism allowed.A blackmaw yawned below them.Llanwith disappeared firstinto the darkness, down aladder of some kind, whileArtorex followed closely

behind.

Theladderterminatedonasod floor at the end of asimple, timber-lined corridor.The smell was so thick thatArtorexhadtostifleatelltale,reflexgag.

As the others joined themat the bottom of the ladder,Artorex became aware of alowchanting.Thesoundwastuneful and not unpleasant,but the melodic voice only

servedtointensifythehorrorsofthissecret,sinisterplace.

From the shadows of thecorridor, Llanwith andArtorex peered cautiouslyinto a large stone-lined roomthat had been largely carvedfrom the rock of the hillside.The floorwas constructed ofpackedearthandwasbareofany ornamentation, as werethewalls.Two largebraziersprovided light, and one of

themburned the nard that sothickenedthestillair.

For the first time, Artorexfeltcold-chilledto thesoul.The air in this undergroundcell was cool, but somethingelsecausedhisfleshtoshrinkaway from the walls,something primal turned thesweat on his body into arankness that left himshivering.

A woman sat comfortably

on a throne to their left. Sheheld a wine cup in oneberinged hand and wouldhaveseemedanormalRomanmatron,exceptforatoweringEgyptian facial mask andheaddress that rose from hernarrow shoulders some twofeet above her head. Hersilhouette made strangeshadows across the floor tothe edge of a small alabasteraltar, which was at the verycentreoftheroom.

Twomen,nakedexceptforornate cloaks and grotesquehead masks, capered beforethe altar of veined marble.One willowy form wore aheadpiece shaped like thegrinningheadofalargeblackdog and the other, stockierman wore a grotesque maskthat was black, shining andhideous,forallitwasshapedlike a massive human head.Hehadjustdrawnawayfromthe body of a boy childwho

layspread-eagled,facedown,onthealtar,hislimbsheldbychains secured to the fourcornersatthebaseofthealtarbyironringsthathadbeensetintothehighlypolishedstone.

Except for the intermittentchanting of the woman andthe panting of the black-headed suppliant, all thatcouldbeheardinthehideousroom was the quiet sobbingof the child, his face pressed

tothealtarstoneandhislongpale hair hanging almost tothefloor.

Llanwith drew his swordand the tableau froze as thesteelhissedfromitsscabbard.Artorexandtheothersmovedinto the room in Llanwith’swake, their swords at thereadyintheirhands.

‘What abominations doyou enact here?’ Llanwithroared, and the dog-headed

man cowered behind hiscompanion. Both men nowlooked ridiculous in theirflaccidnakedness.

Only the sobbing of thechild robbed the scene of itselementsoffarce.

Myrddion moved forwardand knocked the blackheaddress sideways with anexpertblowofhissword.

‘Thisgentleman, Ibelieve,

must be Severinus, who isimitating Set, the Egyptiangod of the underworld.’Myrddionraisedhisswordtothe handsome, dark face thatwas revealed to theassembledgroup.

Severinus was in his mid-thirties, and he was giftedwith a natural beauty of faceand form, which was nowrunning to fat after manyyears of self-indulgence. A

thick pelt of dark body hairthat partly disguised agrotesque little paunchmarred the man’s well-formed torso. His handsomeface was completely pluckedfree of beard. Only his eyesbelied the delicacy of hisfeatures, for they were flatand quite devoid of anyemotionotherthanrage.

Myrddionturnedslightlytofacetheotherfigureandused

his sword point to dislodgethemask.

‘And his companion mustbehiscatamite,Antiochus,inthe guise of Anubis, anotherof the death deities. I thinkthe dog motif is rather inkeeping with this filth, don’tyou,Llanwith?’

As he finished speaking,the woman launched herselfout of her throne with ascreech. Her outstretched

talons would have doneMyrddion serious damagehadLukanot trippedherandstrippedtheheavymaskfromherface.

‘And this . . . this . . . thislady is meant to be Isis, Isuppose. All we need isOsiris to round out this veryunpleasantlittleritual.’

The woman, Severina,screamed insults through herthicklyrougedlipsand,under

thelavishcosmeticsthatgaveher face an illusionofyouth,Artorex could see that shewas old and raddled. Thewords she spouted out withsuch crude venom were sovile that Luka restrained herhands and gagged her withstrips of her own gildedshawl.

‘Release the boy, Targo,andtakehimupstairsintothecleanair.Thenfindablanket

to cover him and give himsomething to eat and drinkfrom the kitchens,’ Artorexordered.

‘And youmay release oneof the servants to bring thecity watch to us,’ Myrddionadded, without taking hiseyesfromthemurderousfaceof Severinus. ‘Choose onewho is likely to do yourbidding-butI’msurewecansafely leave that matter in

yourhands.’

With a grim expression,Targo pulled the black cloakfrom the shoulders ofSeverinus, while Artorexunlocked the chains thatboundtheboyacrossthealtarwith a key hanging fromSeverina’s girdle. Targowrapped the boy in the foldsof the black cloak and, withthe child pressed against hisheart, hastened to obey

Artorex’sorders.

‘Whatdoyou thinkyou’redoing?’ Severinus snarled,raising his autocratic cleftchin.‘Howdareyouentermyvillaandthreatenmeandmykinwithyourweapons?’

‘We are citizens of goodstanding with an interest inthe abominations that havebeencommittedinthisplace,’Myrddion replied withoutexpression. ‘And we have

more than enough power toenforce the laws of the landand terminate your vilerituals. For the moment, thatexplanation is more thansufficientforlicesuchasyoutoabsorb.’

Severinus narrowed hispebble-blackeyesandpeeredat Artorex through the hazytorchsmoke.Hissweet,well-shaped mouth smiled toreveal white, slightly uneven

teeth.

‘I know you. You’re thatbastard foster-brother ofCaius. He’ll rue the day hesentcursdownonme.’

Artorexsteppedaroundthealtar, nearly losing hisbalanceonasurfacethatwasslickwith a scum he did notwish to identify. One fistswung out, seemingly of itsownaccord,andsmashedthestraight nose and cupid-bow

mouthofSeverinus.

‘I suggest you keep yourfilthy tongue between yourteeth. There will be timeenough to speak your fillwhen the soldiers of thewatch arrive.What will theymakeofyourlittleplayroom,Iwonder.’

Severinus staredmalevolently at his captorswith eyes that were bothcraftyandamused.He licked

the blood from his mouthwith a long pink tongue, andseemed to relish the taste ofits freshness. Artorex wasforced to look away, or hisstomachwouldhavebetrayedhiswill.

‘The Council of AquaeSulis will not raise a handagainstme.Iamnottheonlyone who worships the DarkGod, and my hospitality hasextendedtoseveralprominent

citizens in thepast, includingCaius, the so respectable sonofthePoppinidiifamily.’

ArtorexhitSeverinusonceagain,withsufficientforcetosend the man reelingbackwardsintoalongswatheof gilded cloth hangingagainst one of the walls. AsSeverinusclutchedatitsfoldsto regain his balance, thecurtain tore and revealed ablackopeninginthewall.

Artorexspatwithloathing.

‘Youmentionthatnameatyourperil,Severinus,forthisnight theLadyLiviniaof thePoppinidii has gone to theshadesofHades.Andhersonhas testified to yourinvolvement in the rape andmurderofchildren.’

But Severinus was noteasily cowed. If anything, heseemed exhilarated by atwistedsenseofpower.

‘None of you should dareto layahandonme, foryouare nothing but Celtic dogswho amount to less thannothing.Youareservants, fitonly towipemyboots,andIwillhaveyoucrucifiedbeforeIamfinished.’

‘I,LlanwithpenBryn, sonof theKing of theOrdovice,dare to accuse you of childmurder,’ Llanwith intoned,his voice strong and cold in

thefetidroom.

‘And I, Luka, son of theKing of the Brigante, alsodare to accuse you of childmurder,’Lukarepeated.

‘And I, MyrddionMerlinus, Steward of theHigh King, Uther Pendragonof theAtrebates, alsodare toaccuseyouofchildmurder.’

Overawedbythelineageofhis companions, Artorex

stepped forward to face thesnarlingfaceofSeverinus.

‘I, Artorex, foster-son ofEctor and Steward of theVilla Poppinidii, do accuseyouofthefoulcrimeofchildmurder.’

But Severinus onlylaughed, a high-pitchedwhinnyofconfidentgleethatsickened the warriors andcausedthefawningAntiochustocoverhisearsinterror.

Llanwith bound themadman’s arms behind hisback lest he harm himself,whileMyrddiondidthesameto the cowering Antiochus.But still the laughter peeledon until Severinus’s voicebegan to grow harsh andcroaking.

‘It is best that you goupstairs,boy,andwaitfortheguard,’ Llanwith orderedArtorex hoarsely. ‘You can

do nothing more in this pesthole.’

‘ButtheringthatCaiuslostishere.Itmustbefound.’

‘Leave that trifle to us,Artorex. Go outside andbreathesomecleanair,’Lukarepeated.

Gratefully, Artorexretreated down the narrowcorridor, up the ladder andout into the scriptorium.

Pausing only to wash hisface, hands and feet in thewater of the atrium fountain,hemadehisway to thegatesofthevillatoawaitthearrivaloftheCityWatch.

Dawnwasbrushingtheskywith its fiery breath when asmall detachment of armedmencamemarchinguptothevilla.Artorex raisedhis headfrom his hands, and usheredthem through the entrance to

thevilla.

At first, theCaptainof theWatch was disposed to treatArtorex like a thief,especiallyasthecorpseoftheSeverinii steward was stilllying where Llanwith hadabandoned it at the thresholdto the villa. But when Targobrought out a tired youngboy,withdeeplybruisedeyesset back into his skull, andtook the child haltingly

through the tale of hiscapture, incarceration,starvation and rape, thecaptainwas disposed to treatArtorexwithmorecivility.

When the young manescorted the soldiers to thegapingholeinthefloorofthescriptorium, several of thewatch clutched amuletsaround their necks insuperstitiousfear.

‘It’s fetid down there. A

number of other childrenhavebeenheldcaptiveonthealtar,asyouwillsoonseeforyourselves.Severinusisnotacareful housekeeper. When Ilast saw him, he wasthreatening to nameprominent citizens andsoldiers as his partners inthese heinous crimes. Wewereforcedtorestrainhim.’

The captain paled. ‘Goodwork,youngman.’

Artorex smiled thinly,because he knew that thecaptain had no intention ofhearing the names ofpowerful citizens involved incriminal activity, even if hehad to personally cut out thetongueofSeverinustoensurehissilence.

Thus,Caius, too,wouldbesafefromwildaccusations.

Artorex sighed inwardly.Sothisisthewaythatjustice

really works. Those personswho have the money, theinfluence and the real poweralways avoid theconsequencesoftheiractions.The steward felt nauseated.May the gods help me, butI’m a coward, he thought tohimself. I must save Caiusbecause I owe a life to hismother. Caius will beexonerated,whenhe’snearasguilty as Severinus. He’llnever be punished and he’ll

never suffer a single day forhis brutality. How the godsmustbelaughingatus!

One by one, the soldiersentered the crypt, save forone lucky man who stayedwithTargoandtheboyinthekitchens.Whentheyreturned,the men were dragging theirprisoners behind them, withscantcareforscrapedshinsorskinnedheads.

Even the old woman, the

mother of Severinus, wasbustledintotheearlydaylightlikeacommonwhore.

Then Luka,Myrddion andLlanwith emerged from thedarkened entrance into thedaylight. Pale with nausea,Llanwith slammed the trapdoor back into placewith anexclamationofdisgust.

‘Enough! Iwill bemonthsgetting the stink of that holeout of my nostrils,’ he

complained. ‘Andwewillbeforced to stay here at thisvilla until the magistrate ofAquae Sulis acquaintshimselfwithitshorrors.’

Luka called out to thecaptainwhowas swilling hismouth out with some winethat Targo had found in thekitchens.

‘Isearched thecryptwhilewe were awaiting yourarrival,’ Luka told him.

‘There is a low annexe, notmore than four feet high,behindthecurtainontherearwall. You should send somementodigtherewhileweareawaiting the arrival of themagistrate.’

‘But why should we dig,Lord Luka? What would bethe purpose?’ the captainasked,angryand insolentbutstill half deferring to Luka’srank.

‘Because some of thegroundhas beendisturbed inthe annexe. As that boy wasnotthefirstchildtovanishinthis district, we suspect thatsome of those children whodisappeared are buried in thecryptwheretheyperished.’

Thecaptaingaveagrimaceofdistaste,buthebarkedoutinstructions to two of hismore bovine men to re-enterthecrypt,armedwithdigging

axesandspades,tosearchtheflooroftheannexe.

So lavishly was the villapainted in grotesque andlascivious scenes that thegroup could find no placewhere they could rest thatwas free from the depraveddecor.Artorex determined towait in the atrium, his backagainst the pool, so that hewasn’t forced to gaze uponthe lewd fountain. He stared

fixedlyatacharmingdisplayof summer flowers in thegarden as he considered theevents of the night. One byone, his friends joined himthere.

‘No wonder Caius wasterrified,’ Artorex muttered.‘IfIhadtospendafewhoursin that hellhole watchingthosemonsterscarryouttheirevilwork,I’dbereadyforthemadhousemyself.’

‘Here!’ Myrddion tossedArtorex a golden seal ringwitharedintagliostone.

‘Severinus was persuadedto remember where he hadhidden it,’ Myrddion saiddrily. ‘Caius may be aspitefulanddangerousyoungman, but I’m beginning tobelieve that he wasunwillingly under theinfluence of Severinus. Thatcreature is vile, and I can

easily believe that he mightseduce a foolish young boyuntil, eventually, the victimwas completely under hiscontrol.’

‘Should we then acquitCaiusofperversion?’Artorexasked.

‘I suppose so,’ Llanwithpen Bryn said guardedly. ‘Itseems as though Severinuskept thechildren forhimself.Even Antiochus, by his own

admission,wasnotpermittedtotouchtheir“prettyandholyflesh”,asSeverinusdescribedthem. In truth, I feel dirtyoverthiswholebusiness.AndI’ll never trust Caius at myback for, whatever his fears,hesurelykilledhismother.’

‘Youprefer tokillcleanly,my friend,’Luka joked,untilhe saw Llanwith’s jawworking.

‘Did you notice that the

catamite plucks the hairsfrom his entire body andface? He’s far morewomanish than my mother.’Llanwith ground hissandalled foot into the richloamofaflowerbed.

‘Ouch!’Artorexrespondedautomatically at the cynicalremark.

‘You haven’t metLlanwith’s mother,’ Lukajested.

Llanwith’s mind was stillin the crypt. ‘If you’re right,Luka,andifthatannexeisthereason that the missingchildrenfromthevillagehavevanishedsosuccessfully,thenI’dlike,verymuch,tobetheone who executes Severinus,his vile catamite and hisunspeakable mother -preferably all at the sametime.’

‘As would we all.’

Myrddion sighed. ‘But anyexecutionmust be public, sothe villagers can be assuredthat justice has been done.For our part, wemust divertattentionawayfromtheVillaPoppinidii, for there are toomanyreputationsrestingonaquiet, lawful conclusion tothisugly turnofevents.Maythegodshelpusallwith thisproblem.’

Artorex was too weary to

query the decisions of histhree friends and his eyelidsseemed very heavy in theearlymorningsunshine.

Within moments, he wasasleep.

‘Oh, to be a young managainandtosleepoffhorrorssoeasily.’Lukasmiledkindlyashewatchedtheyoungmandozeinthesunlight.

‘He won’t rest so easily

soon - perhaps never again -if he is to fulfil the destinywe’ve mapped out for him,’Myrddion whispered. ‘Heshowed hismettle during thenight,andI’mconvincedthathe has the courage and thewisdom to become thecommander we seek. Caiushangs around his neck like acurse, but who knows whatour lad will make of thatyoungpretender.’

‘What a raptor we placedinEctor’speacefulnest,withno one to recognize hisqualitiesbutanoldbarbarianwoman and a battle-scarredveteran from who knowswhere.’

‘I hope the oath LadyLiviniaboundhimtodoesn’tcause trouble in the future,’Lukaresponded.

‘We’ve done our part,whatever the outcome of our

actions might be.’ Llanwithpatted his friend’s shoulderkindly and eased himself onto a stone bench where hegazed at the fountain with ajaundiced eye. ‘Your planwasalwaysrisky,Myrddion.’

‘How do men twist theirbodies into such unnaturalpositions?’ he asked of noone in particular as heobserved the Severiniisculptures. ‘They look

damned uncomfortable tome.’

‘You lack a certain eroticsophistication,’Lukajoked.

‘I’m a plain man - and Imakenoapologyforit.’

Luka observed movementon the road leadingup to thevilla.

‘If I’m not mistaken, themagistrate and a number ofthe town councillors have

finallyarrived.’

Myrddion nudged Artorexgently with his booted footuntil the young manscrambled to his feet,childishly rubbing his tiredeyes.

Themagistratewasdressedin the Roman fashion, in asnowy tunic and a purple-edged toga that denoted hisexalted position. Myrddionwondered idly how this

provincialRomanhadavailedhimself of the rich colouringthatwassocostlyincoinandhuman life.Only thegreatestmen in the landworeRomanpurple,forthedyewasfoundin a certain shellfish that,unfortunately, killed theslaves who extracted it.Sardonically, Myrddiondoubted that the magistratehad the breeding or thelineagethatwouldentitlehimto wear even a hint of

imperial purple but, wisely,heheldhistongue.

Aquae Sulis is a dyingremnant of a shrinkingempire,he thought.Butevenan anachronism has its uses,and Artorex may come toneedeveryallyhecanfind.

When the magistrate wassettled inside the villa, thecaptain made his report ofwhathehadseeninthecrypt.After he had concluded his

observations and opinions,the three warriors informedthe magistrate and the towncouncillors of their titles andtheirpartsintheaffair.

When pressed to explainwhy the five had descendedon the villa, Artorexextemporized.

‘The Villa Poppinidii, asyou know, good sirs, is aseemlyhouseand farmsomelittlewayoutsidethewallsof

Aquae Sulis. Tonight, atragedy struck the villa withthe death of Lady Livinia ofthe Poppinidii, a family ofsomerepute.’

The councillors nodded,confused at the tenor andlength of Artorex’sexplanation.

‘After the death of hismother, and in great shamethat he hadn’t expressed hissuspicions earlier, the son of

Lord Ector confided that hiserstwhile friends werepractising unwholesome riteswherebythebodiesandsoulsof stolen children weresacrificed. Caius had beenpressedtojointhisvilecabal,but his natural distaste, andthe pregnancy of his youngwife,gavehimanopportunityto refuse.Hewas terrifiedofthe repercussions to hisfamily and he couldn’t bearthe thought that yet another

child had been taken, as somany innocentshadvanishedbefore.’

Once again, themagistrateandthecouncillorsnoddedatthe common sense expressedinthesecarefulwords.

‘Caius is only a few yearsinto manhood, and he’dworshipped Severinus duringhis childhood. I believe thatSeverinus corrupted myfoster-brother as a child but

his breeding alone saved hislife.Severinus terrifiedCaiusinto silence, and he failed tovoice his suspicions lest heshouldshamehismotherandsully the nameof his family,andI’massuredthathenevertookpartinanyoftheviciousrituals that we interrupted.After the death of LadyLivinia, he opened his heartto our distinguished guestsand voiced his suspicions tous.’

Artorexpaused.

‘We left the villa at once,for we were determined tosave the life of the missingboy.We arranged for Targo,theArmsMasterfortheVillaPoppinidii, to accompany usas the representative of thevillagers.’

Oneferret-facedcouncillorstared at the bland face ofArtorexwithobviousdistrust.

‘Why should we believethat Caius is guiltless of anyinvolvementinthismatter?’

‘Sir, we are here at theurging of Caius,’ Myrddionanswered neatly. ‘Before wegagged him, Severinusassured us that the councilwould not hold our evidenceas true, as he had welcomedprominent citizens of AquaeSulis intohiscult.Ofcourse,you and I know that his

assurances are baseless, andwe do not believe hispervertedlies.’

The councillor coughedhoarsely, his face now palebelowhisoiledcurls.

The magistrate wiselyorderedthesoldierstoensurethat the prisoner’s gag andbonds were kept firmly inplace. The felons were thenlockedintothewinecellar.

Artorexknewexactlywhatthe magistrate was thinking.Whatwereafewdeadvillagechildren compared with thereputations of the mighty ofAquaeSulis?Howwouldthemagistrate fare if he metedjustice to the guilty in equalandunfetteredmeasure?

But why should I becritical? Artorex thoughtsullenly. For I’ve performedthe same service for Caius.

But I’ll damnmy soul to theshadows before I permitSeverinustogofree.

He smiled artlessly at theassembled group anddetermined to confront thecouncillors.

‘You gentlemen mustrememberthatthismatterwillsoon become publicknowledge,’hesaid.‘There’llbe anger in your community,and the reputations of those

few who are considered partof any conspiracy will besulliedforever.Youwillsoonseethecryptthatliesdirectlybelow this building, andyou’llbemadefullyawareofall thathas takenplaceat theVilla Severinii. I myselfwouldn’t have believed thatsuch a place could existoutside of Hades had I notseenit.’

The magistrate’s eyes

flashed,leavingArtorexfullyaware that the official knewexactly what he wasthreatening.

‘Lead on then,’ themagistrateordered.‘Wemustbeseentobedoingourduty.’

Artorex would willinglyhave faced ten fully armedwarriors rather than return tothe crypt, but he forcedhimself to lead the way intotheopenmouthof the tunnel

towards the scriptorium; theordeal seemed no more thanjustinthelightofhisliesandprevarications. The sound ofshovels came up out of theearth, intensifying theimpression that thecouncillors were entering atomb.

‘Can’t anything be doneabout this stink?’ one older,hard-bitten merchantcomplained as he followed

Artorexdowntheladder.

‘Severinusburnedperfumeonthebrazierstodisguisethesmell. Unfortunately, theyprovide the only light downhere,’Artorexreplied.

Thecurtainsonthefarwallhad been stripped aside andtwo burly soldiers wereworkingontheirkneesinthenarrow annexe. Artorexswallowedthebilethatbegantoriseinhisthroat;thesickly

reek of death seemed to bestronger than on his earlierforayintothecrypt.

The magistrate eyed thesmall room, the throne, thestained altar and thediscarded masks. He couldsee the evidence of otherchildren in thedriedslimeofold vomit, urine, faeces andbloodaroundthestone.Therewas a perceptible tighteningof his narrow lips. Most of

the councillors covered theirnoses with their robes ofoffice, and several of themlookedas if theywouldsoonvomitifthesmellintensified.

Andsoitprovedtobe.

One of the soldierssuddenly backed out of theannexe and heaved away hislast meal in a corner of thecrypt.

‘There’sanotherchildhere

-andhe’sbeendeadforsomemonths,’hecried,wipinghislips.‘Godhelphim.’

Theothersoldierwasmadeof sterner stuff. His spadeexplored the edges of theswollen,corruptedlittleform,and then he, too, was forcedto scramble back into thechamber.

‘They’re piled up likecordwoodinthere,oneontopof the other,’ he reported. ‘I

can’t tell how many but I’llwager there be five or six,judgingbythestink.’

Several of the councillorshad seen enough and boltedfor the relatively clean air ofthe scriptorium. Themagistrate clenched his fists,sethislipsinatightlineandissuedordersthatthesoldierswere to fetch what linensheetscouldbefoundso thatthe tiny shells could be

brought out of this hellishplace.

‘No wonder Severinusburned perfume. This smellwould sicken all but thestrongest of stomachs,’Artorexgroaned.

‘Youmaygo,myboy,’themagistratesaidkindly.‘Iwillsee to the removal of theremains.’

‘No, sir. I started thisugly

search,soImustfinishit.Wemust show the parents ofthese dead children that ouractions were carried out inaccordance with what theywould have wished for therecoveryoftheirkin.’

‘As you choose,’ themagistratereplieddrily.

And perhaps I can cleansemyselfintheprocess,Artorexthoughtsilently.

The soldiers returned,dragging sheets and woollenclothbehindthem.

When the first blackeningand bloated body was easedon to a sheet, all theremaining councillors fled,leaving onlyArtorex and themagistrate to witness theexhumationofthecorpses.

The bodies, in varyingstages of decomposition,were systematically brought

out into the light. Artorexstruggled to ensure that hisself-controlshouldnotbetrayhim,butwhenonesmallformalmost broke in two when itwasmoved,hewasforcedtoturn away, or else runscreaming back up into theopenair.Instead,heboundanabandonedscrapofclothoverhis mouth and nostrils, foreven the perfumed stink oftheclothwaspreferabletotheever-increasing miasma of

rotten,corruptedflesh.

Atlast,sevensmallshapes,thelastthreebeinglittlemorethancleanbones,weremovedawayfromtheugly lightandplacedon thesod floor inalltheirpitifulnakedness.

Only then did themagistrate and Artorex leavethecrypt.

In the atrium, themagistrate issued instructions

thatthesoldiersweretobringthebodiesup from thecrypt,after first numbering thepitifulbundlesintheorderinwhich they had beenexhumed. He also orderedthat hanks of hair should betakenfromeachsmallskulltofacilitate identification. Thebodieswould thenbeburnedand the remains placed interracotta urns for their finaljourneybacktotheirfamilies.

Artorex had gone into thecrypt as little more than anuntested boy. He came backinto the daylight as an adult,and with a man’s shadowsembedded in his colourlesseyes.

Thesoldiersset toworkinthe courtyard outside thevilla, collecting wood tocremate the small corpses ofthe sacrificed children. Oneless doughty youth was sent

to collect grave urns while,inside the atrium, themagistrate eased himself onto a bench, stripped off hisclothingdowntohisloinclothand left his stinking robes ofofficetoliewheretheyfellinthecolonnade.Hedispatchedone of the Severinii servantstocollectafreshrobe.

Artorex washed in thefountain once again andalmost immersed himself in

the shallow pool, but thestench of the crypt wouldremain in the back of histhroatformanydaystocome.

‘And now for theSeverinii,’themagistratesaidunder his breath, no lessimpressivefor thelackofhisjudicialrobesofoffice.

The councillors clusteredlike frightened hens as farfrom the magistrate aspossible; only Luka,

Llanwith, Myrddion andTargokept themselves firmlyathisback.

‘I will question the boyfirst.Whatishisname?’

‘Brego,sir,’Targoreplied.‘He’s the son of Bregan, theblacksmith. I’m afraid he isvery frightened,my lord, forhe has lost all trust inpowerfulmen.’

‘Bring him anyway, for I

needhisaccountofwhathashappenedhere.’

‘Aye,sir,’Targoanswered,and he moved purposefullytowardsthekitchens.

Theboyreturned,wrappedin a woman’s shawl, andclinging tightly to Targo’shandasiftheoldveteranwasthe only safe constant in aterrifyinguniverse.

‘Brego?’ the magistrate

askedinthekindestofvoicesashecrouchedinfrontoftheboy.

The boy met his eyesunwillingly and forcedhimselftonod.Artorexknewthat the child wanteddesperately to suck histhumb.

‘Who brought you here,Brego?’

‘A man.’ The boy’s voice

quavered, for he was on thebrinkoftears.

‘Whatdidhelooklike?’

‘Hewasthethinone,Anti.. . Anti . . . something. Andanother man gave me somemilk to drink - and I fellasleep.’

‘Whowastheotherman?’

The boy furrowed hisbrow.‘Hewasaservant.Themaster wasn’t very nice to

him,andkickedhimwhenhespilledsomeofthemilk.’

‘The steward,’ Llanwithpen Bryn recalled grimly.‘I’mpleasednowthatIbrokehis neck - although, onreflection, perhaps hedeservedaslowerdeathifhewas involved with thesemurderouscreatures.’

‘Whathappenedwhenyouwoke up, Brego?’ themagistrate asked gently. He

smiled down at the youngboy. ‘Don’t cry, my lad, foryouwill soon be safely backwithyourfatheronceagain.’

‘It was dark when I camehere, and I was tied withropes. I was thirsty andhungry,butnobodycame forthe longest time. And whenthey did come . . .’ The boybegantosobuncontrollably.

‘Sir,’ Targo protested.‘This boy is exhausted. We

mayinflictlastingdamageonhim if he is questionedfurther.’

‘I agree. I’ve heardenough.’

Themagistrate turned to asoldier, while Targo pickedup the boy and carried himbacktothekitchens.

‘Bring the servants to me,allofthem!’heordered.

With much wailing and

sobbing, five women weredragged to the outer door oftheatrium.Theywereallold-noneunderforty-andtheirgrey hair and haunted eyeswereproofofthehardservicethey had performed at theVillaSeverinii.

The magistrate addressedtheservantssternly.‘Youarecommanded to tell me whatyou know of the crypt. Anddo not think to tell me you

know nothing, for no onecouldliveinsuchahouseandbe ignorantofwhathasbeenhappeninghere.’

One of the women, whoseemed less terrified than theothers, stepped forward fromthehuddledgroup and spokeforthemall.

‘We are slaves, sir. Themaster loathed all women,exceptforhismother,andshewouldn’t permit young

maidservants to enter thehouse. She was the onlywomanpermittedtobeyoungand beautiful.’ The oldwoman smiled and revealedtwo broken teeth. An ugly,puckered burn that coveredher jaw also marred herfeatures. But, for all herugliness, her eyes were aclear, clean hazel. They’dseentoomuch,andnolongerfeared anything, not evendeath.

The magistrate waitedimpatiently, one foot tappingonthetessellatedfloor.

‘I’ve lived too long andheard toomuch in this placeto care what happens toMaster Severinus or to hismother.While theoldmasterwasstillalive,thevillawasaclean and contented house.But when he died ten yearsago, it became a bad andfrighteningplace.’

‘Get to thepoint,woman,’the magistrate ordered, butnotentirelyunkindly.

‘We never knew preciselywhat the young master didwhen he was in the secretplaces. We didn’t want toknow. And Longus, thesteward, locked us in thekitchenswheneverthemasterhadhisentertainments.’

‘What of the crypt,woman? Surely you knew of

thatplace.’

‘Yes, sir, we knew of it.Workerscameanddugitout,andthenthemasterpaidthemto leave Aquae Sulis andmove to other towns. I wasthe only servant who waspermitted to clean thescriptorium, only me,although Iwas threatened onpain of death never to openthetrapdoorthatleddowntothecrypt.’

‘Didyoueveropenthetrapdoor?’

ThewomanshookherheadsofiercelythatArtorexhadasuddenhystericalthoughtthatshewouldshakeheroldheadcleanoffherscrawnyneck.

‘But if Ipressedmyear tothe joint between the trapdoor and the floor, Isometimes thought I heardweeping coming from belowthe floor. The master caught

meonce and beatme half todeath. I felt his cruelty and Iwas careful never to listenagain.’

She pointed at her burnedface.

‘When I was a youngerwoman, Severinus Majortookme to his bed.MistressSeverina didn’t care overlyforthetouchofanyman,soIbecame her husband’samusement in her stead. But

whenhedied,motherandsonmadesure thatnoonewouldever want me again. All ofthe servants in this househave been brutalized. Weknow that we belong toSeverinus and he can dowhatever he wants with us.These poor old women canshowyoutheirtears.No,sirs,we heard nothing. And wesawnothing.’

‘You can speak now,

woman,’ the magistrate saidquietly. ‘Did you ever seechildrenhere?’

‘No,sir.Iswear.Youmaydowithuswhatyouwill,sir,but we didn’t dare to lookonce Longus had locked thekitchendoorsbehindus.’Sheraised her grey head andlooked squarely at themagistrate. ‘We’ve washedand fed the little fellowwhowasbroughtuptoustonight,

and we know now what’sbeen done to him.We knowhe was raped. If we were tobe blamed for what hashappenedtothechildren,thenI’dratherdiethanliveinthisvilla another day. We wearthe collars of slaves, butwe’rewomen,andsomeofusweremothersonce.’

The magistrate rubbed thestubble on his chin andthoughthard.

Finally, he came to adecision.

‘You shall go free, all ofyou. I don’t believe that youare guilty of any crime.Further, your collars shall bestruck off, and you shallcease to be slaves from thisdayon.’

‘Then we shall die, forwe’re too old to find newmasters to care for us,’ theold woman replied with

dignity. ‘It would be betterthat you should kill us nowrather than force us to starvetodeath.’

‘Youmaytakeanythingofvaluethatyoucancarryfromthe villa, as long as youdepart before sunset. Thecontents of the villa areforfeit and before this day isoverI’llorderittobeburnedto the ground and itsfoundationsobliterated.’

The women bowed low,then scrambled away fromhim. The susurration of theirbare feeton the tileswas theonlysoundintheatrium.

‘Bring the Severiniiwomantome,’themagistrateordered.

The matron was draggedin.Herwig had fallen off inher struggles, and her bare,shaved head seemed patheticin the morning light. The

cosmetics on her face werealmost blasphemous in theirprovocativeugliness.

One soldier took off hergag.Shespatathim.

‘Control yourself, woman,or you will be gagged onceagain.’ The magistrate’svoice was like ice. He hadshared a dining couch withthis woman in other, bettertimes, but he had never seensuch depravity in any female

eyes before, or such cruelty,as he now observed in thiswoman.

‘I have done nothingwrong. I am the widow ofLucius Severinus, a noblename even in Rome. Howdare you let servants touchmyperson.’

‘Howdareyousanctiontherape and murder of childreninyourhouse!’themagistratethundered.

‘Ididnot touchthem,’shesnarled at the magistrate. ‘Itwasallmyson’sdoing,underthe influence of Antiochus,his perverted little catamite.’She paused. ‘There are otherfine gentlemen who haveenjoyed the pleasures of theVilla Severinii,’ she stated,her eyes alive with cunning.‘Theyarepowerfulmenwhowillprotectus.’

‘You will be gagged,

woman, so that I need notlisten to your lies,’ themagistrate ordered, for hewasreluctanttodealwiththewider ramifications that herloose tongue might unloose.‘I’ve heard enough fromyou.’

Two soldiers quicklyapplied a gag round thewoman’smouth.

‘IwillnowseeAntiochus,’the magistrate continued.

‘Sincehehasbeenaccusedofbeing the ringleader andperpetratorofthesecrimes.’

Antiochus was a pitifulfigure when he was draggedbefore themagistrateand thecouncillors.His raggedcloakwas still wrapped about hisnarrow body to hide hisnakedness, while thecosmetics that had beensmeared round his eyes hadbegun to run from his

constantweeping,andservedto make him appear as apathetic figure in the rawlight of morning. Theblackeningbruisesonhisfacewere evidence of the roughhandling inflicted by hiscaptors.

The magistrate looked athimwithdisdain.‘I’mtoldbythemistressof thehousethatyou are the principalinstigatorofthisvilecult.’

‘That’s not true, my lord!I’m merely the lover ofSeverinus - and nothingmore,’ Antiochus pleaded.‘Wemetsoonafter thedeathof his father and he invitedme to enjoy the pleasures ofthe villa. I’ve never touchedany children - I can’t standthevilelittlecreatures.’

‘But you did prompt theworshipofOsirisinthecrypt,didn’tyou?’Themagistrate’s

disgust was tangible. ‘Come,Antiochus, you come fromAsia Minor, whereasSeverinushasneverlefttheseshores. How else would heknow of the Mysteries ofDeath?’

‘When it first started, itwasonlyagame,’Antiochushowled. ‘But I couldn’t stopthe master from slaking hisdesires. When he began totake his pleasure with the

boys,henolongerwantedmeinhisbed.Ihadnochoice.’

‘But the mistress of thehouseswears thatshehadnopart in the murders, and theblame should be placedfirmlyonyourshoulders,’themagistratetoldhim.

‘She’s a lying cow!’Antiochus shoutedhysterically, his voice risingto a womanish shriek. ‘Shebelieves that the dying

breaths of children willpreserve her youth and herbeauty. No, she nevertouched them, but shewatched them die ofstarvation so that she couldkiss away their last breaths.Thewomanisdemented.’

Everymanintheroomwasappalled. The mistressSeverinii felt their sickenedeyes upon her and herarrogancefinallydesertedher

likeicebeforefire.Shebegantosobthroughthegag.

‘It was Severinus! It wasall Severinus! He alwayswanted newer pleasures. Iwarned him that rumours ofhisentertainmentswouldboilover,buthewouldn’tlistentome. He’s turned into amonster, and I can’t believethatIoncelovedhim.’

Antiochus would havecontinued bleating, his eyes

darting from stony face tostonyface,hadthemagistratenotcutacrosshisgabble.

‘Butyoustole thechildrenfor him. You brought themhere. And you were the onewho took them to the cryptandtiedthemdown,readyforyour master - unless I’mmistaken. You’re also amonster,Antiochus, and as amonster you shall be treated.Gaghim!’

Finally, Severinus wasdragged into the atrium. Hewasstarknakedandstreakedwith blood from grazes andcutsalloverhisbody.Yet,inaflashofarrogance,heshookhisblackcurlsback fromhisface and stood as easily andas proudly as if he werewelcoming important andvalued guests to sample hishospitality.

‘You shouldn’t bother to

implicate others, Severinus,for I will simply gag youonce again if you do, nomatter how convincing youseem to be,’ the magistratestatedmercilessly. ‘However,in deference to your father,whowasamanofhonouranddecency, I’m giving you thisone last opportunity toexplain yourself. Can youjustifyyouractions?’

Severinusappearedtobea

magnificent specimen ofmanhood,forallthathisbodywas too short and hairy fortrue beauty. His pride was atangible and living elementthat was an essential part ofSeverinus the man. Artorexcouldeasilyimaginethat thiswas the way that MarkAntonyhadstoodashefacedhis Egyptian and Romanenemiesinthelastdaysoftheold Republic - immediatelybeforehefellonhissword.

But when Artorex lookedintotheeyesofSeverinus,thespell of nobility wasimmediately broken, forsomething filthy oozedbehindtheblackpupilsoftheman’sexpression.

‘Idon’trecognizetherightofanyofyoutojudgemeforIamRoman!’

The magistrate smiledslightlyandreflectively.

So smiled the old senatorswho sent Caligula and Neroto their ignominious deathswhen their vices finallyaffronted the last vestiges ofRomanpride.

‘Is thisbravado tobeyouronly defence? Truly, you’vemademy task easier throughyour refusal to speak,’ hestated.‘WhenRomefirstroseout of the mud, she came togreatness through her

courage, her piety and herstrength. By all suchstandards, you’re not Roman- and you never could be.You shall be punished like acommonfelon.’

The magistrate paused,knowing that he had the fullattention of all personspresent.

‘Hearmywords.TheVillaSeveriniiisforfeitandwillbeburned,exceptforthoseitems

ofusefulnessthattheservantscancarryawayontheirbacksor in the villa’s wagon. Allelsewill be consigned to theflames.’

His voice had themagisterialringofoneof theold lawmakers of ancientRome, for all that thisdoughtyman was half-Celticbybirth.

‘Let no stone stand onanother stone when the

flames have cooled. And letthegroundbe sownwith salttocleansethispoisonedearth.

‘TheSeveriniiwomanwillbestrangledimmediately,andher body thrown on the citymidden. Her callous crueltydeservesaworsefate...butIdon’thavethestomachforit.

‘As for Severinus andAntiochus, let them becrucified, like the criminalsthey are, at this very hour.

And they shall hang outsidethe gates of Aquae Sulis, sothatallgoodcitizensshallseethe fate of those fools whosell their souls to theDarkness.

‘And, lest their mouthsspewpoison, theywill die insilence, with their tonguesremovedfromtheirheads.’

The magistrate was aprudent man, and Artorexcouldn’t suppress a grimace

ofrespectandblackhumour.

‘Ihavespoken!Soletitbedone!’

CHAPTERVII

THEAFTERMATH

Artorex would have gladlyriddenawaywithTargo,whohad been charged withreturningBrego tohis father.HelongedtoclimbuponCoalandescape,likeLlanwithpen

Bryn and Luka who werereturning to the VillaPoppinidii to ensure thatpeace had settled within itswalls. But he must takechargeofthepitifulterracottaurns, each numbered in theRoman fashion but not yetfilledwith ash.Hemust takehanks of hair to grievingmothers, and watch the finaldeath of their long anduselesshopes.

Such was his penance forachieving freedom forCaius.Such was his self-administered punishment forlendinghisnametoalie.

The forecourt filled withsmoke from the roaring firesthat had been lit to consumethe small, abused bodies ofthe sacrificed children. Oneby one, and still wrapped intheirpitifullinensheets,theirremainswerecremated.

Myrddion had stayed withArtorex and, together, theysearchedoutwhatfoodcouldbe found in the kitchens,eventually settling on cheeseand a heel of bread as thesimplest repast they couldstomachonsuchadayasthis.Aroundthem,thevillaboiledwith activity as the servantssystematically ransacked itfor items of value, showingsurprising strength as theyloaded a wagon and several

handcarts with all that theycould carry. Before the threeprisoners were chained andled away, the oldspokeswomanfortheservantsdidn’t hesitate to tear thegolden earrings fromSeverinii earsandprise ringsfrom their manacled hands.Then,withgravedeliberation,she spat in the faces of eachofhererstwhileowners.

Neither Artorex nor

Myrddioncoulddenythatshehad earned the right toperformthislastvengefulact.

By mid-afternoon, the oldwomen could load and carryno more. What items wereleft were worthless or tooheavy to move. Even thevilla’sfinesthorseswouldbedepartingwiththewomen.

‘Will they be safewith allof theirscavenging?’Artorexasked Myrddion anxiously,

foritseemedunjustthattheseancient women should fallfoul of thieves and villainsafter all their years ofsuffering.

Myrddionwalkeduptothespokeswoman.

‘Where will you go, goodwoman?’ he asked. ‘Myyoung friend fears for yoursafety.’

‘IamoftheDobunni,andI

wasbornnearCorinium,’shereplied,asshetiedherhairupin a scrap of fine linen.‘Perhaps there are some ofmykinwhoare still alive. Ifnot, thenweoldoneswillbesafeifwecancomeundertheprotectionoftheKing.We’vesurvived far worse than aweek’s journey throughstrangeplaces.’

‘Go safely, then,’ Artorexcalledafterher,assheflicked

the reins on to the backs ofthe horses drawing herwagon.

‘And you, young master.Verily, your coming to thevilla was a fortunate day forus.’ She laughed shrilly, andturned her back on hererstwhile home for the lasttime.

The two men watched thedust cloud of the littlecavalcadeasitdescendedthe

hill and turned on to a backroad leading to the north. Itwas little more than a roughtrack.

‘She is clever, that one.’Myrddion smiled hisadmiration. ‘They will stayfar from the mainthoroughfares and likely findthesanctuarytheyseek.’

‘I’ve no taste for furtherbloodshed, Myrddion, andI’m glad the magistrate will

execute the Severinii outsidethe walls of Aquae Sulis.Crucifixion is a vile and alingering death. I’ve neverseen it and I don’t want to.’Artorex sat on his heels andrubbed his reddened eyeswiththeheelofhishand.

‘TheSeveriniihaveearnedtheirfate,Artorex,butIgrantyou that I, too, take littlepleasure in such necessaryaffairs.Let themobhowl for

theirblood.Ipreferthequickendingofasword.’

‘May the gods grant thatsuch is our fate,’ Artorexsighed.

By dusk, the soldiers hadfinished the grisly task ofburning the small bodies,pounding the longerbones tosplinters and placing theremains in the numberedurns. As he stared at thepitiful strands of hair, also

numbered in the samefashion, it seemed toArtorexthattheterriblenight,andtheday that had followed it, hadbeenwithoutend.

Yet, before they left thesilentvilla,themagistrateandthe full complement ofcouncillors returned, incompany with a troop ofsoldiers and field workerswho carried hammers andtorches. Artorex shuddered,

for the cruel day was stillholding sway over thedarkness.

‘I see you gentlemen arestill here,’ the magistratenoted, as the two mencontinued tostowtheurns ina pannier hung over thewithersofArtorex’shorse.

‘We’reabouttoleave,sir,’Artorex replied, and bowedlow.

‘The execution of theSeverinii has been carriedout.ThesonandhiscatamitehangontheroadleadingintoAquae Sulis. Both are stillalive, and will continue tosuffer. The mother diedbefore their eyes.’He smiledinthedirectionofthestables.‘I see that the servants havedeparted-andnotonfoot.’

‘They took all that theycould,’ Myrddion replied

withanironiclaugh.‘Perhapstheir spoils will bring themgoodfortune.’

‘Thatoldgrandmotherwillhave chosen carefully,’ themagistrate stated with asmile. ‘She has a deep storeofvengeanceinherheart,andI shouldn’t care to cross herpath.’

HepattedMyrddionacrossthe back to show hisappreciation for the

satisfactory outcome of whatcould have developed into adisastrouspoliticalscandal.

‘Thetimehascometoburnthis pest hole to the ground,’he ordered without furtherdiscussion.

The group of workmencarrying the torches leapt todo his bidding and soon thebuildingwasablazefromendto end. As Myrddion andArtorex rode away, they

could feel the heat of itsdestruction on their backsand, long after night hadfallen, the black sky was litby a hellish redness as thevillaonthehillcrumbledintohotash.

Two very tired menreturned to the VillaPoppinidii shortly aftermoonrise. Myrddion decidedthat the hour was tooadvanced and Artorex was

tooexhaustedtocompletethefinal, sad task of deliveringthe urns to the villages. Theparentsofthosechildrenwhohad vanished had waited formonths, even years, to learnthe fate of their children;another night wouldn’tmatter, especially when itwouldendintearsandgrief.

Artorex was almost asleepon his horse as he rode intothe stables at the villa. The

strong arms of the servantsassisted him as he climbeddown from the horse cloth,whileotherhandsrespectfullyunloaded the urns from thepannieronCoal’sback.

How could word havespread so quickly? Artorexwondered in his dazed state,before remembering thatLuka and Llanwith hadreturned before him. Badnewsalwaystravelsfast.

Stumbling and ashen,Artorexhastenedtothebathswherehecastasidehiscloak,tunic and loincloth. Hesteppedoutofhissandalsandfell bodily into the cleansingwaters. When a servantpeered cautiously round thedoorway, Artorex orderedthat every stitch of hisclothing should be burned,and new robes brought tohim.

He finally emerged,cleansed,shavedand in freshclothing, but his grey eyesstillspokevolumesofmattersno man should have tocontemplate.

Artorexate in thekitchenswith Myrddion, thehousehold having alreadygone to its rest, and eventhough fresh apples, nuts,cheese and milk werewholesomefoodandpleasant

to the palate, he was nothungry.HecouldstillfeelthepoisonoftheSeveriniifamilyworkingthroughhisveins.

Myrddion laid a narrowhand upon Artorex’sforehead.

‘It’ll pass, my friend. It’llpass.’

‘Willit?Canit?IfeelasifI’velivedinasafebubblemywhole life. I wasn’t able to

recognize evilwhen I saw it.Severinus was just anannoying, patronizing pig.AndwhatofCaius?WhatcanI do about my foster-brother?’

‘We’ve done all that wecan, Artorex,’ Myrddionreplied.‘Caiushasbeengivenone last chance, for the sakeof hismother.What he doeswith the rest of his life is uptohim.Myadviceisthatyou

should ignore him, if youcan.’ The older man pausedbefore continuing in a softvoice.

‘Sometimes, when awoundmust be cleansed, thepus and corruption fills thenostrilswitharankodourthatseems to endure forever.Butnewflesheventuallygrowstoreplace that which wasrotting. The Severinii havenow been amputated from

thisworldandtheywillsoonbe forgotten, and all will behealedagain.’

‘Until the next monsterappears,’Artorexrepliedwithawearysigh.

‘Until the next,’Myrddionagreed.‘Perhapsmensuchaswe are born for nothing elsebut to bearwitness, and thencrushthosehumanhorrors,sothat simplemen,women andchildren may sleep safely in

theirbeds.’

‘Thenitwouldbebettertobe a simple man,’ Artorexwhispered, exhausted almosttothepointoftears.

‘Of a certainty,’Myrddionagreed.‘Butwerarelychooseourownfates.Somethingelse- something more powerfulthan we frail creatures offlesh and bone - does thechoosingforus,andamanismeasured by how well he

bears the weight of thetravails with which fateburdenshim.’

‘Is the whole world sosimple then, Myrddion? Dothe evil ones balance againstthose who would only dogood? The magistrate ofAquae Sulis is a good man,but he knows that Severinusand his mother were merelythe leavesofanoxiousweedthat is only seen above the

ground. Too many evil menlurkwheretheycan’tbeseen,and their rootsare toostrongto be easily dug out. Themagistrate didn’t even try tofind all the malefactorsassociatedwith theSeverinii.Istheearth,andallthingsthatliveupon it, bound in shadesofgrey,neithergoodnorbad,butjustmuddlingonasbestitcan?’

‘IfIknewalltheanswers,I

would be Emperor ofConstantinople and all warswouldceaseatmycommand.Butchance,Iknow,isnotthebalance of which you speak.Menandwomenchoosehowto live with what fate hasgiven them. Did MistressSeverinaalwayshideastreakof cruelty in her nature? Ordidfearofoldagecreateherviciousness?Doeshermotivematter? All I know is shechose to act as no man or

woman should, and she paidthepriceforthatdecision.’

‘I’m too tired for riddles,Lord Myrddion,’ Artorexreplied,andherosetohisfeetand staggered away to hissimple bed. He slept in littlemore thananalcovenear thekitchensandthetriclinium,attheheartof thehouse,wherehe could feel the beat of itspulse. Now, exhausted, hewished he were the meanest

field worker, billeted in theservants’ quarters and farfromLivinia’scoldbody,thegriefofMasterEctorand theproblem of Caius. Notsurprisingly, on his lumpypallet, Artorex’s sleep wasdisturbed by unspeakable,half-rememberednightmares.

He woke shortly beforefirst light but exhaustionquickly drew him back intodreamlesssleep.

HesleptlongpasthisusualhourforwakingandoldFrithset herself on a stool beforethe door to his smallbedchamber. She allowed noman or woman, not evenMaster Ector, to disturb hisrest.

‘The boy is tired to thebone, master, what withsetting all to rights in yourhousehold. Let him sleep aslongashe’sableandthenold

Frith will help him to breakhisfast.’

Wisely, master andservants permitted the oldwomantohaveherway.

The morning was welladvancedbeforeastraybeamof light angled through theshutters, causing Artorex tostir in his bed. In an instant,Frith was aware of hismovement and a servantwasdispatched to the kitchen to

prepare his meal. Soon,Artorexwas facedby ahugeselectionoffood.

‘I’m amanwith a healthyappetite, Frith, but only anAtlas could eat this excellentrepast.’

‘The village has sent it,boy, soyoumust try toeatalittle of everything. Thewomen who prepared thesedishes will expect a reportfrommeonwhatyoueat.’

‘Butwhy?’Artorex asked,his confusion clearly writtenonhisopenface.

‘Last night, you broughtthe children home, youngmaster. The villagers knowthatyou,aboveallmen,wereresponsiblefortheirreturn.’

‘But therewere othermenat the villa - Myrddion,Targo, Llanwith and Luka.Wealldidwhatwasrequiredof us.’ Artorex was quite

shocked at the idea that hissmall part in the events thathad unfolded at the VillaSeveriniishouldassumesuchhuge proportions in the eyesofthevillagers.

‘Getonwithyou,mylittlelordling,’ Frith admonishedhim with the familiarity oflongcustom.‘WasitnotLordLlanwith himself whodescribedhowyouwentbackintothatnastypittobringthe

little ones home? You maygull some people in thishousebutyoucan’tfoolyouroldFrith.’

Artorex knew that it waspointlesstoarguewiththeoldservant, so he tried,heroically, to eat asmuch ofthe meal as he could. Then,when he’d dressed andwashed, he took himself offtofindLordEctor.

Ector and Caius were

seated together in thescriptorium, and both faceswere etched in lines of grief.Father and son had beenchecking the householdaccounts when Artorexentered, although they satsome distance apart fromeach other, locked away intheirseparate,lonelysilences.Neither man knew how tospeak to the other, andEctor’s face bore thepuffiness of weeping. Caius

was unable to meet hisfather’seyes,andhestaredatthe scrolls with painfulintensity. Ector gaveArtorexasmallsmileofwelcome,butCaius couldn’t look at hisfoster-brother and staredfixedlyatthewall.

Ectorwasthefirsttobreakthesmall,awkwardsilence.

‘Does pen Bryn speak thetruth?TheVillaSeveriniihasbeenburnedtotheground?’

‘Aye,MasterEctor. Itwaswellalightwhenwedeparted.If themagistrate holds to hiswords, the foundations arebeing torn asunder as wespeak, and the rawearthwillbesownwithsalt.’

‘Gods!’ the bluff old manswore, ignorant of howclosetheVillaPoppinidiihadcometoasimilarfate.

His head sunk low on hischest, Caius managed to

suppressasob.

‘If their Osiris is a kindlygod,SeverinusandAntiochuswill soon be dead, if theyaren’t dead already,’Artorexsaidsoftly.‘Andtheworldiscleaner for their having leftit.’

‘Llanwith told me thatthere were seven childrenburied in thecryptbelow thehouse,’ Ector replied. ‘Andtwo others who had been

buriedelsewhere.’

‘Aye, Master Ector. Sincehisfatherdied,Severinusandhis mother have indulged inallmannerofperversities.’

Ector turned to his son,who tried desperately toavoid eye contact with hisfather.

‘Did you know, Caius?You’ve been in that man’scompany since you were a

boy.Heevenate food inourhouse.He breathed the sameairasyourmother.’

Caius flinched as if hisfatherhadstruckhim.

Artorex was watching hisfoster-brother very closely inthehopeof catchinghimoutindeceitortodiscoveratraceof guilt, but he couldn’t tellwhatCaiuswasthinking.Thehandsome,chiselledfacewassombre and closed, the eyes

were lowered and turnedinward,andhislipsquivered,butArtorexhadnoideawhatprompted his foster-brother’sdistress.

‘I knew he was wild andhad strange tastes, Father. Iwas afraid of him, especiallywhensomeofhismoodstookhim. He was terrifying anddangerous, a pederast,although he never dared totouchme.’Caiuslookedupat

thispoint, and stareddirectlyintotheeyesofArtorex.

‘You said something elsewhen we questioned you ameredayago,’Artorexstatedwith the same blandness offacethatCaiushadadopted.

His foster-brother paled.‘Very well, Artorex. I lied!Are you satisfied? SeverinusrapedmebeforeIwasfifteen,butIhopedtosparemyfatherthatshame.’

‘Caius!’ Ector gasped,aghast.

‘It’s better to tell yourfather thewhole truthandbedone with it, Caius. YourfatherisowedanexplanationofwhySeverinushad suchaholdonyou.’

‘I didn’t know whatSeverinus did to thosechildren, Father,’ Caiusswore.

Even Artorex, who knewabouthisfoster-brother’srolein the first murders, couldhavewageredthathetoldthetruth. But the words werefalse,althoughthosefewwhocould prove it were noweither dead or dying. Withnewlyeducatedeyes,Artorexrecognized the open face ofCaius’sguile.

‘He had a terrible poweroverme,Father,thatIcannot

deny. He ordered me toattendafeastlastnight,andIwas overcomebymy fear ofhim. And now, neither younorthegodswilleverforgiveme.’

In truth, Artorex wasn’tentirely sure if Caius wasdeliberately telling afalsehoodtohisfatherorifhehad already convincedhimselfthathissinslayatthefeet of Severinus. And

perhapsitwastruethatmanyof his faults were caused byhisfriendshipwithSeverinus,Artorex thought to himself,knowing, even as he madethis excuse, that Caius wasstill the youngmanwho hadbrutalized the mare,Aphrodite, and beaten hisyoungwife.

Artorex watched a teartrickle out of Ector’s eye,onlytobedashedawayasthe

masterwrappedhisrightarmaround the shoulders of hisson.

‘Yourmother forgaveyou,Caius,’ Ector said sincerely.‘So it’s up to you to justifythebeliefshehadinyou.’

So,LordEctor has chosento forgive his son’s sins,Artorex marvelled. He ischoosing to blind himself tohisson’scharacterforloveofLivinia. But Caius is too old

to change - and the mistressknewit.

Compassionately, he kepthis thoughts to himself, forhis mind was heavy withdread and guilt. How couldhe blame a fond father fortrying to protect everyfather’s dream - the heroismand success of his son? Hehimselfhadbeencomplicitinthe whole cover-up; Ectoronly knew what his steward

and his friends told him. IfEctorwasatfault,sowashe.

Hisrespectandloveforhismistress, as well as the oathshe had wrung from him onher deathbed, was a yokearoundhisneck.

‘Imust ride to the village,master,’ Artorex interruptedhis circuitous thoughts withaction. ‘I have been chargedto return the remains of thechildrentotheirfamilies,and

Imustsettheirsoulstorest.’

Ector nodded inunderstanding. In truth,Artorexwelcomed the horrorofthistaskashispunishmentforhissinsofomission.

‘Of course,’ Ector agreed.‘Do you think we shouldaccompanyyou?’

No, by God! Artorexthought. The very sight ofCaiuswouldonlyrekindleall

the suspicions that still layjustbeneaththesurface.

‘No, master. The villagersmay be embarrassed to showtheir grief when they are inyour presence.You can trustme to say all that is needed.I’dliefnotgomyselfbutI’vevowedtodoso.’

‘That’sunderstandable,myboy,entirelyunderstandable.’Then Ector sighed heavily.‘Livinia goes to the fire

tomorrow. You may informthe villagers that food anddrink is to be gifted to themin her name. Perhaps theymight pray to their gods thathershadefindsrest.’

‘I’ll relate your sympathyand good wishes to thevillagers, my lord,’ Artorexreplied.

Before taking his leave,Artorex turned to Caius, andnoddedtohim.

‘Young master, could Ihave a private moment ofyourtime?’

Caius followed Artorex tothe doorway, where Artorexslippedaringintothepalmoftheyoungman’shand.

‘I’d advise you to avoidsuchroadsas thoseyouhavetravelled in recent years,’Artorex warned. ‘Even myfond memories of yourmother won’t save you from

myretributionshouldyoufailtoheedmywords.I’llalwaystreatyouwiththerespectdueto the son of Ector but youmust beware, Caius, for ifyou act in any way that isunseemly, I can promise thatI’ll find some way to bringyou to justice, oath or nooath.Don’ttestmyresolve!’

Caius appeared vulnerablein his humiliation. Hisobvious relief made Artorex

longtostrikehimdown.

‘I’ll gladly promise youthat,andIthankyouforyourkindness.’

And thosefewwordshavealmost stuck in your teeth,Artorex thought sadly, as hestrode away to the stables toprepare for his visit to thevillage. Difficult tasks mayonly be tackled directly,Targo had taught him. Buttheyneedgoodpreparation.

How he could possiblyoffercomforttotheparentsofthe vanished children was adaunting problem forArtorex, for he could notanticipate how their kinwouldreacttotheunexpectedreturn of the children’sremains.

Artorex realized that theinnocentshadalreadybecomethe stuff of legend. In thewiderworldoftheregion,the

common folk nowwhisperedthat theboyshadbeenstolenaway by creatures from theotherworld, wraiths that thesuperstitious swore dwelt inthe chaos between the realworld and an imagined placewheretherulesofmendidn’tapply. Those villagers whohad experienced the actualloss of their children weredriven bymore primal needsforrevengeand,forthem,theloss of the vanished children

was no tall tale designed tofrighten children around thefirepit. It was real. Thesevillagers knew that men hadridden forth, had taken theirinnocentsandhadburnedthelives of their families intoashes.

‘Imustfindawaytobringthem peace,’ Artorexmurmured. ‘And still protectMasterEctor.’

‘Lord?’ said a bright-eyed

stableboywithtousledblondhair and strong shoulders inresponsetoArtorex’swords.

Artorex emerged from hisdark reverie. He’d made hisway to the stables withoutconscious thought, and nowhe stood before Coal’s stallwith the reins hanging loosein his hands. The stable boytook the leathers fromArtorex’s limp fingers andbegantoprepareCoalforthe

steward’sdeparture.

‘I’msorry,itwasnothing.Iwas thinking aloud of howfair and good it would be toknownothingof theevil thatexists in the ways of theworld.’

The stable boy snorted inderision, just as Artorexwould have responded inthose long-past days beforehehadbeenforcedtobecomeaman.

‘Begging your lordship’spardon,sir,butI’dratherrideahorsethanwalk.’

Artorex gave the boy anaffectionate cuff about theears.

‘A wise answer, youngman. Do you desire to workwith horses when you aregrown?’

‘I want to ride with you,sir, whether to ruin or to

triumph.Walkingisforthosewhohavenochoice.’

Artorexstaredwithinterestatthissturdyboy.

Under thegrimeandsmut,a pair of very sharp hazeleyes gazed back at Artorexrespectfully, but without ahint of fear. The boy’s hairwas almost white in itsblondness, and his light eyeswereveryclearandpale.

‘Whatisyourname,youngwiseone?’

‘I am Gareth, my lord,great-grandsontoFrithoftheVilla Poppinidii. She said Iamnowold enough towork,sohereIam.’

‘I am no lord who haswarriors to ride behind him,young man. If you believesuch nonsense, then you arebound to be disappointed. Iwas a boy, just like you, not

soverymanyyearsago.’

‘Everyoneknowsthat,sir.’

‘A good morrow to youthen, wise one. I will watchforreportsofyou.’

AsArtorexkneedCoalintomovement, the boy ran afterhorse and rider into thesunshine.

‘My name is Gareth, mylord,’theboycalledoutoncemore.‘Prayrememberme!’

‘The world is verystrange,’Artorexmuttered tohimself, ‘when ragged boyswanttofollowme...’

The first village he visitedwas a drab cluster of wattleand daub buildings builtaround a well-definedroadway leading southtowardsSorviodunum,whichwas situated on the GreatPlain where the fabledGiant’s Carol danced. The

village, which was namelessbecause it lay upon a minorRoman road, boasted a cleanalehouse and a village elder,who sometimes called uponthe protection of the menfrom Villa Poppinidii whenthewolveswereontheprowlin the dead of winter. Well-tended fields stretched outaround the conical houses,and the multitude of healthydomestic animals wasevidence of a prosperous

community.

Whenthevillacouldsparehim, Targo lived here withhis comfortable, laughingwidow and her two grownsons.

Targo and the villageheadmanwerestandingatthepointwheretheroadbisectedthe small settlement. Behindthem, dressed in their finesthomespun and bearingarmfuls of summer flowers,

everyman,woman and childfromthevillagehadgathered.

Puzzled, Artorex noticedthat the mood of the villagewasfestive,andnotfunereal.One short, heavy-set manpushed his way through thecrowdandstoodbesideCoal,his jawworkingunderaplayof powerful emotions. Heabased himself and, to theacute embarrassment ofArtorex, kissed the steward’s

sandalledfoot.

Artorex nudged Coalforwardinsurprise.

‘ThismanisBregan,fatherofBrego,’Targointonedwithall the solemnity that theoccasionwarranted.‘Hedoesnot have the words to thankyou for the life of his onlyson but he swears to makeyou the best dagger that hisskillwillpermit.’

‘GoodBregan,youhonouronewhoistheleastimportantofthosemenwhosavedyourson. I merely performed myduty.’

Bregan simply bowed hisheadinhomage.

Artorexdismounted,forhewas feeling uncomfortabletowering above the simplevillage people. Still, hisbrighthair,hisheightandhisgreyeyesmarkedhimasone

whose station in life was farabovethesimpleexpectationsof ordinary folk, and theyknewit.

Artorex led Coal, with hisprecious burdens, into thecrowdedsodcirclebeforethetavern. As he made his waythrough the throng, womenmade haste to throw flowersathisfeetandmendrewtwobench seats out on to theroadway so that Artorex

couldresthimself.

He seated himself andmotioned for the villageheadman to join him. Targotook up a position directlybetween the two men, whileeager hands unloaded thepannier and laid the urns atArtorex’sfeet.

‘Are there families herewhosesonshavebeentaken?’Artorex called loudly,although the crowd was

silent.

‘They have been found,Lord Steward,’ the headmanansweredformally.

He raised his right handand the crowd parted topermitasmallgroupofmen,womenandchildren tocomeforward.

‘Felixwas lost three yearsago,’ the headman intonedsolemnly. ‘He is the son of

the soldier, Kester, who isnow dead, and Iemar, hiswife.’

‘A noble name,’ Artorexmurmured as a short, darkwoman, supportedbya talleryoung man with mud-brownhair,sobbedtearlessly.

‘What colourwashis hair,goodIemar?’

Artorexdrewoutthehankswiththeirnumberedtags.

Thewomanfeltthetextureofthepitifulremainsbetweenherwork-scarredfingersuntilshe came to the fifth hank, alockofhairthatwaschestnut-brownwithjustahintofcurl.

She wept openly againstthebreastofherson.

‘That is the hair of ourFelix,’ the young manconfirmed.

‘Good Iemar, theseare the

mortal remains of your son.May he rest in peace.’Artorex lifted the terracottaurnwith theRoman numeralV marked on the side. Hehanded it to the sobbingwidow.

‘Thankyou,sir!Oh, thankyou!Felixishomeatlast!’

Artorex bowed his headrespectfully.

His grim business went

faster then, with all the urnsdestinedforthevillagefinallybeingplacedintothehandsoftheirkin.

Afterwards, Artorex wasofferedfreshmead,whichherefused, asking for water inpreference. Then he stoodamong the assembledvillagers and told them whatthey could bear to knowabout the Severinii family,their bloody fate and what

hadbecomeoftheirchildren.

‘Severinusandothernobleyoungmen rode through thisvillage on many occasions.Most were men of qualitywhoweresimplygoingabouttheir business. But Severinuswasdifferent,forhefollowedtheritesoftheblackgodsandhe became a monster whopreyed on your innocents.Fortunately, there were onlytwootherswhofollowedhim

in his pursuits, and all threeof these beasts have beenfound and punished.Severinus, as well as hismother, Severina, and hislover, Antiochus, have allbeen found guilty of theircrimes and have been put todeath. Your children havebeenavenged.’

He paused before theassembledthrong.

‘YoungMasterCaius from

my home, the VillaPoppinidii,grewupundertheinfluenceofthismonster,butI swear to you that youngMaster Caius was the onewho truly saved Brego. Hewas themanwho sensed theevil that was beingperpetrated by thesemonsters.And his suspicionsled us to the cryptwherewefoundBregoand the remainsoftheotherchildren.’

The crowdmuttered dully.Artorex could smell theirdoubts, like badmeat on thestill air. Rumour-mongeringisdifficulttocontrol,andthevillagers had already heardhow Mistress Livinia haddied.

Targo registered that thesteward’s words werecarefully chosen, to protectCaiuswithout tellingadirectlie.

‘I ask thatyoubearno ill-willtowardsCaiusortowardsLord Ector, his good father.The lad has been driven halfcrazed through fear of theSeverinii, but Brego livesbecause Caius did his duty.And has Lord Ector notanswered every call forassistance from yourheadman for many, manyyears? Have your sons anddaughters not found honestworkwithin,andwithout,the

VillaPoppinidii?’

‘That is true,’ the villageheadmanintonedimportantly.

‘Lord Ector asked me tooffer you his tears for thevanishedchildren,andtobegyou to share inhismourningfor theMistressLivinia,whowas the last child of thePoppinidiifamily.Shewillbesent to the flames on themorrow.EctorandCaiuswillsend funeral meat and drink

toyouinyourtimeofsorrow,andask thatyoupray for theshade of an honourablewoman who did nothing butgood throughout her wholelife.’

The murmuring in thecrowd rose, and many headsslowlynoddedinagreement.

‘Ector’s granddaughter isborn and has been namedLivinia, in memory of themistress. Let all good souls

mourn the passing of theinnocent children and thiswise and goodly woman inthe time of tears that hascome to us. But it is also atimetorejoice,fortheyoungBrego has been returned tothe bosomof his family, andanewyoungbabehasenteredourworld.’

The village headmaninclined his head towardsArtorex. ‘You may tell the

master that we will alwayshold allegiance to the VillaPoppinidii, to itsmaster, andtothesonofthemaster.Andwe will also hold allegiancetoitssteward,LordArtorex.’

The crowd cheered andArtorexfelthimselfblush.

Nor was he permitted toleave until he had sampledthe best food that the villagehad to offer, giving, in turn,effusive thanks for his

morningmealandthebountythatnowfollowed.

Finally, in company withTargo,Artorexwaspermittedtodepartfromthevillage.

Neither man spoke overlymuchon the short journey tothe next village, but Targo’seyesreflectedhisconcernforhisyoungcompanionandthetask that Artorex had chosentoperform.

The second village wassmaller and showed clearsigns of poverty, for it wassituated further from thebenign influence of VillaPoppinidii. Yet, for all itssqualor, Artorex was greetedasbefore,and the remainsoftwo more children werereturnedtotheirfamilies.

Only one urn nowremained. Only one hank ofauburn hair rested over

Artorex’s heart as he took totheroadoncemore.His longand painful task was almostcompleted.

‘Gerna, the wild woman,lives by the sacredwell onlyafewmilesfromhere,’Targotold him. ‘She is believed tobe fey, and she is feared bymany. Most sensible peopletry to avoid her, for she seesthings in the waters that noonewishes to know.But her

sonwastaken,andthevillageheadman told me that sheknew when he drew his lastbreath.Sheasksthatwecometoher.’

‘Targo, I am weary ofportents, death and thecommonfolkwhostareatmeas if I could somehow easetheir lot in life.Whoam I toearn such respect? I’d ratheravoidGernaandhermirrors.’

‘I’m tired also, boy.

Perhaps we could leave theurnwith thevillageheadmanifyou’dprefernottoseeher.I’msatisfiedthatyou’vedoneeverything that could beexpectedofyou.’

‘No, Targo,’ Artorexsighed. ‘I’ll see this questthrough to its ending, for Iowe all the families somewordsofcomfort,atleast.’

Gerna lived in averywildand savage place at the foot

ofanexposedknollofgranitethat resembled a half-buriedskull. At its base, a streamgushed out of a cleft in therockandfilledanatural,fern-lined depression leading intoa deep, black pool. A sacredhazel tree drooped over thewaters, andshed itsnuts intothelightlessdepths.

A crooning that appearedto emanate from a fissure intheknollinterruptedtheeerie

stillnessofthewoods.

Suddenly, a middle-agedwoman clad in skins andwreathed in oak leavesheavedher thickbodyoutoftheconcealedcave, thenroseto her full height beforeArtorex.

Gerna was huge, both ingirthandheight,andherhairwas such a wild, red tanglethatonlyhergreeneyescouldclearly be seen. Wordlessly,

sheacceptedtheurnfromtheyoung man and stroked thehankofprofferedhair.Then,silently, she motioned forArtorex to sit on a mossystonebeforethepoolitself.

‘Is she mute?’ Artorexwhisperedtohiscompanion.

Targoshookhishead.

‘They say she only speakswhen she has somethingimportanttosay.’

‘Then she is a wisewoman,’Artorexgrunted.

Gerna filled a woodendipper with water from thepoolandhandedittoArtorex,whoaccepteditgingerly.

‘You need have no fear,Artorex, for thewater is liveand pure.’ Gerna spoke in avoice that was cracked fromdisuse.

Carefully, Artorex drank

theprofferedrefreshment.

The water was slightlybrackish but not unpleasanton the tongue.Gernanoddedandbaredherteethinasmileashefinishedthewater.

Shestoodbeforethewatersofthepoolandstaredintoitsblack,mirroredsurface.Thenshe turned back to the men,closedher eyes andbegan tospeak.

‘The tide turns and it willsweep you away, Artorex.Your father awaits you. Hehas waited overlong and hasmissed his moment, so yourpathwillbetheharderforhislackofdecision.Hehasclungtopower,likeadrug,andsoIwarnyoutobeware.’

Shepaused.

‘I see blood - rivers ofblood-andhorses-andfire.I see a great fortress and an

armyofmenwhowilldie todefend thewest.Donot fear,for you will fulfil yourdestiny,untilevenyourgreatstrength is not enough. Butyour struggles will ensurethat your world is not lostinto darkness and decay, andthose who are coming willbecome enmeshed in yourlegends. They will use yourname for uncountedgenerations after your death,to seal these isles in safety

againstattackfromthosewhowould cause us harm. ThisgiftIgivetoyouforthesakeofmyson,althoughIpayforthe giving with years of mylife.’

‘WillIbehappy?’

Gerna laughed, but it waslittlemorethananuglycroakfrom her long-unused vocalcords.

‘What is happiness? But I

teaseyou,Artorex.Yes!Youwillbehappyforalittletime.And, yes, I will answer theunasked question.A child ofyours will live and breedunheeded by the vast issuesofyourfutureworld.Thoughlove is fleeting, you shallhave it, but look not forcontentment, for it is not formen such as you. Enoughnow.Myvoiceisweary-andmyson’sshadeisspeakingtomeonthewind.’

Then Gerna was gone,back intohercavern,and thepoolwas justashallowbowlof water, caught for a timebefore it became a streamletthatdisappearedbackintothegroundwhenceithadcome.

‘No one promises mewealth or happiness, onlypain and struggle.’ Artorexcomplained, for he was stillveryyoung.

‘Never mind, young

master. If the soothsayer iscorrect, you’ll not be rottingat Villa Poppinidii forever,’Targo said with honest goodhumour.‘Andwhoofuswithcommon sense would wishforasafelife,anyway?’

‘I would,’ Artorex repliedruefully and only his heartknewthathespokethesimpletruth.

CHAPTERVIII

ACONVENIENTMARRIAGE

LadyLiviniawasburiedwithall the ritual and ceremonydeserving of a great Romanmatron. The clay facemasksof her ancestors were

removed from their specialcabinets and both paid andunpaid mourners rent theirclothing and filled the villawiththeeeriesoundsof theirweeping.

Livinia’s pyre was builthigh and she lay, wrappedandwaxeninherfinery,untilEctor and Caius lifted theirtorches and lit the fire thatwould send her shade on itslong journey. Ector had

purchased scented wood,regardlessofcost,sohisladycoulddeparthervilla,andherlife, inamannerthatbefitteda Roman noblewoman. As asop to the sensibilities of thescented gentry of AquaeSulis, Ector should probablyhaveburiedhisbelovedinthecoldearth,buthisheartcriedout that his lady was awarriorofsorts,anddeservedthe old Republican way ofcremation

After the prescribed daysofmourning, life at the villareturned to a semblance ofnormality.

Two days after Livinia’scremation,thethreetravellersleft, but the servants at thevillawereaccustomedtotheirstrange arrivals anddeparturesanddidlittlemorethan comment that thevisitors had stayed overlongon this occasion. They knew

thedelaywasduetothedeathof their mistress and therespect that even these greatones accorded to LadyLivinia.

Before they left, the threetravellersdidmuchhonourtoEctor’s household byattending theDies Lustricus,theDayofPurification,whenthe daughter of Caius andJulannawas formallynamed.After days of mourning and

sorrow, such a joyous feastpromised that a better futurelayahead.

The infant girl wasbelatedly laid at the feet ofCaius in the ancient birthcustom of the Republic.Julanna’s gentle face wastense as she watched herhusband decide if this childshould be acknowledged asbeingofhisblood.Ofcourse,the issuewasnever indoubt,

but Julanna scarcely trustedher husband to touch herchild.

When Caius lifted thebulla, a small, gold, double-sided shell that held thecharmsthatwouldprotectherthrough childhood, andplaceditsgoldenchainroundthe baby’s neck, Julanna feltas if her heart would burst.Caius had touched her throatoften enough, but he’d been

cruel and had bruised hertenderflesh.Sheshudderedtoseehislargewhitehandsholdher daughter’s small bodywithanemotionthatwasakintopaternallove.

So, with due ceremony,Ector presided over the feastof Dies Lustricus, and thethree travellers eachpresented crepundia, smallgold and silver charms thattinkledandrangastheywere

draped over the baby’s head.Finally,Ectorpronouncedtheinfant’s praenomen, Livinia,as a name favoured by herancestorsandgiveninhonourofhergrandmother.

As the feast progressed,Julanna smiled and wasgracioustoherguests,buthereyes followed the gracefulshapeofherhusbandwiththeblankstareofastranger.

Intheweeksthatfollowed,

Julanna remained frail, andinclined to panic if her childsomuchassneezed.Still,theyoung mistress had much todo, for now she mustshoulder Livinia’s role longbeforehertime.Shemustfilltiny shoes that were far toobigforherovercautiousfeet.

The servants at the villawerefondofJulanna,sotheynoddedamiablyassheissuedinstructions and ignored any

proposed changes to theirestablishedroutines.Onlythehawk-eyed Gallia reallynoticed that the servantsobeyed the rhythms that hadbeen set in place by LadyLiviniaoveraperiodofthreedecades. When Galliadiscussed their intransigencewith Frith, the old womanwashappytoexplain.

‘No one really disobeysMistress Julanna, they just

don’t quite obey her. Theyknow that the new mistresswill never notice if theyfollow theoldways, becauseshespendshertimedotingonherbabe.Soon,thewishesofMistressJulannawillbecomethe old ways practised byMistressLivinia,andshewillacceptthatithasalwaysbeenso.’

Frith brushed away anerrant tear, for Lady Livinia

had been her charge frombirth. Gallia patted the oldservant’s shoulder andwonderedanewjusthowfreethe great ones of the worldreallywere, formostwere atthe mercy of their servantsandtheirownindolence.

Gallia was much changedsince the Night of theInnocents, as those bloodyhours had come to be called.The wound in her scalp had

requiredsomeshavingofherheadtoallowfortreatmentofthewound,andthebaldpatchcould be seen right on thecrown of her head.Eventually,Gallia decided tobreakwithCelticandRomancustom. Early one morning,whenhermaidservantarrivedin the bedchamber to dressher hair and hide herunsightly stitches, Galliainformed the young girl ofherdecision.

‘Cutitoff!’

‘What, my lady?’ themaidservantgasped.

‘Myhair!Shear itoffsoitis no longer than my littlefinger.’

‘But I can’t do that, mylady.’ The young girl lookedhorrified. ‘Your fatherwouldthrashmeblackandblue.’

‘Idoubtthat,formyfatheris the kindest man alive,’

Gallia replied withinescapable logic. ‘Anyway,he isn’t here, so he can’tpunishus.’

The maidservant was stillunwillingtoperformhertask,so Gallia simply picked upthe shears and began to cutoff great swathes of blackhair herself. But her effortswere so uneven and sounsightly, that themaidservant was forced to

avert complete disaster bycutting Gallia’s mane andcoaxing it backwards todisguise the unsightly locksthatremained.

Atfirst,everypersoninthevilla stared incredulously atGallia’sshornhead.Herlong,blackhair,withitsbluelustrelikefinegrapes,hadbeenhergreatest beauty but, oddly,herpertlittlecapofcurls,forthat was how her hair

graduallyregrew,accentuatedher fine throat and whitebreasts.Masters and servantsfollowed her little form withtheir eyes as she dancedthrough the villa, always insearchofnewdiversions.

Ofcourse,sheshouldhavereturned to the bosomof herown family after the birth ofJulanna’s child, but Galliawasn’t ready to depart, andnor was Julanna ready to

relinquish her steadfast yetunpredictable friend. Letterswerepennedbetweenthetwofamilies and Gallia waspermitted to remain foranother few months at theVilla Poppinidii. However,with the arrival of the firstchills of winter, Gallicuswarnedthathisdaughtermustreturn to her home andresumethedutiesowedtoherfamilyandtohername.

‘FatherisdeterminedthatIshouldbemarriedas soonasis practicable,’ Galliatranslated laconically. ‘Onceagain, he has found theperfectson-in-law,soI’llhatethepoormanatfirstsight.Sofar, I’ve been very fortunateto remain free of his maleacquaintances, but life willbecome difficult once adowryisoffered.’

‘Surely,marriagewouldn’t

be so very bad?’ Julannarepliedsoothingly.

Caius had made everyindication of a change incharacter, having become anamenable husband since thedeath of his mother and hisflirtation with disaster. ButJulanna’sslight frownwasatodds with her encouragingwords, for even after thepassage of five months, shecouldn’tbringherself totrust

theyoungmaster.

‘That seems to depend onthe nature of the person onemarries. Believe me, dearestJulanna, my father’s choicewilllooklikeacod.’

Both pairs of female eyesturnedtofollowthetallfigureofArtorexashestrodedownthe colonnade towards thebaths.

Both ladies sighed - and

then burst into ruefullaughter.

‘Perhaps your father couldbeconvincedthatArtorexisacoming man,’ Julannaexclaimed innocently.‘Everybodysaysso.’

‘Believe me, my fatherwouldn’tbeswayed.Heisfarmore interested in gold coin,settled wealth and goodfamily connections thanmarrying me off to a

steward.’ She sighed. ‘Butmarriage to Artorex couldnever happen anywaybecause he doesn’t evenrealize that I’malive,’Galliapouted.

‘I’mcertainthatArtorexisvery much aware of you,’Julanna assured her friendwithaknowinggrin.

For once, Julanna wascorrect. At the advanced ageof twenty, Artorex was

experiencing all the pangs ofcalf love. From the day hereturned to the villa afterfulfilling his duties with themissingchildren, the sightofGallia’sshortandcurlinghairhadinflamedArtorex.Hehadadmired the girl’s forwardtongue and quick grasp ofaffairs long before Livinia’sdeath, but now the sight ofthat small head atop hernarrow, delicately slopingshoulders filled Artorex with

an unfamiliar hot tide of lustand, perhaps, developinglove.

Thoughts of her breastsconsumedhimnightandday,and he could visualize therosythighsbeneathhergown.Even the briefest ofconversations with herbecameacontestbetweenhisgrowing desire and anunanticipated shyness thatovercame him when he was

inherpresence.

Toeasehispain,hesoughtout compliant servant girlsand rutted with them in thestables,butnoamountofsexdismissed the hot and eroticthoughts of Gallia that ateintohimbynightashelayinhisspartanbed.

Of course, the wholehousehold was aware of hisplight. General opinionamong the servants was that

Gallia was a flighty youngwoman,butstrongandbrave,and these factors overcamethedisadvantagesofherbirthas the daughter of a fishmerchant.Andso thestrangeprejudices of family seethedaround Gallia and Artorex,while they resisted thehungersofphysicalattractionthat were driving themtogether.

Artorex was not alone in

his yearning. Gallia’s eyesfollowed his tall formwherever he went, and shedreamedofhisbronzedarmsembracing her and his bodyenfolding and dominatinghers. Without the physicaloutlets available to Artorex,perhaps Gallia’s fires burnedthe hotter, for they must behidden under the smile of awell-bred maiden. But sheknew in her heart that herfatherwouldneverpermither

tomarryafatherlesssteward.

Initially, it was fortunatefor the two lovesick youngpeople thatGallicuscaughtachill a bare week before hisdaughterwasduetoreturntoherhome.Thechillprovedtobe a fever that ran like firethroughhisbody,burningtheample meat away from hisbones and filling his lungswithfluid.

Gallia was packing, in

floods of very unvirginaltears, when a courier arrivedfromAquaeSulistodeliveraletter penned by her eldestbrother announcing that adeadly fever had taken thecityinitsgrip,andthatGalliashould remain at the VillaPoppinidii until all danger ofinfection had passed. Theletter stressed the seriousnessof her father’s condition. Infact,shewouldhavebeenonthe road to Aquae Sulis,

prohibited or not, had herbrother not added that thehouse of theGallica, aswellas all other houses ofinfection, were locked to allnewcomers by orders of theTownCouncil.

‘The pestilence!’ Ectorintoned solemnly at supperthat evening, once Gallia’splight had been explained tohim. ‘This curse has comebefore, usually through the

ports, and over half thosepoorsoulsinfectedwilldieofit.Yet,Irememberthatsomepeople are immune to itssymptoms and suffer no illeffects. They remain healthythroughout its worstcontagions.’

As the master spoke, thewinter wind soughed outsidethe walls of the villa with amournful sigh. Ectorscratched his chin where his

beardwaswhitening, a habitthat warned he was about tomake an announcement ofsomeseriousness.

‘I’ve seen the fortunatesurvivors as they passthrough the villages,continuing their trades ortheirbusinessas ifdeathhadnot consumed their homes.AndIbelievethatthesesoulswhoseemsohaleandhealthyoften bring their contagion

with them, perhaps in theirclothes, or even on theirskins. But how can we besure,forwecan’ttellthesickman from the healthy? Andwe don’t know where theyrest their heads or sell theirwares, and so the illnessspreads.’

Hepaused,scratchedathisbeard once more, and thencontinued as thewind rattledtheheavywoodendooronits

hinges.

‘The gates to the VillaPoppinidii will be closed toall visitors,’ Lord Ectordecided, just a littlepompously. ‘As of now, noservant may give even a drycrusttoawanderer,nomatterhowsadhisstory.Notinkersmay set foot upon my landsand all contact with thevillageisforbidden.’

‘Artorex!’Heturnedtohis

steward. ‘Tell Targo towarnthe village headman of thedangersofthepest,andwhatI’ve decided. A littleprevention, as your mistressused to say, is worth amountainofcure.Targomaystay with his widow in thevillage or remain here, as hechooses, as may all ourservants. But once they havedecided where they’ll laytheir heads, there they willremain until after the

contagionhaspassed.’

No one in the villa evenconsidered arguing with themaster.

In the opinion of Artorex,the greatest advantage of oldage was the accompanyingexperiencesthatcamefromalong life. Once Frithconfirmed Ector’sexplanation of the spread ofdeadly fevers in past years,the folk of Villa Poppinidii

considered they werefortunatetohavesuchawisemaster.

Julannasurvivedtheweeksthat followed in an agony offear. For her, the villa mustbekept in a stateof constantcleanliness, for the courierfromAquaeSulismighthavebrought the pestilence withhim, and even now deathmight lurk in some dustycorner, waiting to kill her

daughter. For once, theservantsimplicitlyobeyedtheyoung mistress, not becausethey gave any credence toJulanna’s fears but becauseFrith confirmed that wheredirt and filth clustered, therethepestilenceflourished.

Other than an orgy ofcleaning, little disturbancemarredthepeaceofthevilla.ButGalliafrettedandblamedher selfishness for her

absencefromthehomeofherfamily. In vain did JulannaassureherfriendthatGallicusmust be relieved that Galliawas safeoutside thewallsofAquae Sulis. As an onlydaughter,Galliaacceptedthatherplacewaswithherfamilyand that it was herresponsibility to tend to herfather’s needs during hisillness.

Topasstime,shebeganto

take long, solitary ramblesaround the fringes of thefarmlands and, during herdaily explorations, she foundherselfwanderingeverclosertotheedgesoftheOldForest.At Julanna’s urging, Gallia’smaidservantwashardatworkscrubbing every dusty cornerof the villa while hermanservant was assistingwith the storage of autumngrain. Few at the villaobserved Gallia during her

walks, while even the earlywinter landscape, delicatewith a faint rime frost, failedto assuage her oppressivefeelingsofguilt.

Inevitably, Gallia’sinquisitive spirit led her toenter the wood. Itsimpenetrable silence andbrooding shadows soperfectly matched her moodthat many hours would passwhile she satona fallen tree

trunk,oblivious to themossyslimes that stainedher skirts.Thestillnesswasananodyneto the bustle of the villa sothat, enclosed by the lichen-draped trunks, Galliadiscovered that she couldthinkclearlyinthissanctuary,freeofdomesticdistraction.

Each day, she venturedfurther afield during herforays,forthefreneticlabourofthevilla,asitpreparedfor

the quiet, fallow months,meant that neither mastersnor servants thought towonder where she tookherself in the shorteningdaylighthours.

Inevitably, she stumbledupon the glade that Artorexhad frequented during hisyouth,andshe,too,satontheancient stone and traced theworn pattern of spirals andwhorls with fingers that

profoundly understood thespiritofthisplacebetterthanher conscious thoughts evercould.Whiledeathseemedtolive in theglade in thedyingofleavesandthesmallthingsthatdweltintreeandgrass,itwasadeaththatwaskindly.

‘All things must die,’ theGoddess of Death seemed tobewhispering toGallia, ‘butthesunrises,thegrassgrowstall again and life goes on.

Season follows season, andmen are like flowers whobud, bloom and fade beforetheearthevenrecognizesthatthey live. Stone, trees andwatergoonandon.’

Galliaallowedherhand totrail over the cup that hadbeencarvedintothestone.Amemory of warmth fromdirect sunlight soothed herfingers, while her mind waslulled by the deep, restful

silenceoftheglade.

ThefaceofGallicussmiledatherwithkind,browneyes,and gesticulated with awholly Latin flamboyance ashe begged her to marrysomeone - anyone - beforeshe was past marriageableage.

‘I’ll marry whoever youwant, Papa, if you’ll only bebetter soon,’ Gallia told thetrees and his remembered

face.

She imagined the faces ofherfivebrothers,allofwhomwere older and sterner thanshe was, with their tribe ofwives, children andgrandchildrenattheirflanks.

‘I’lleventrytobepolitetothe wives of my brothers.Please, be well when Ireturn.’

Gallia was still

daydreaming in the gladewhen another courier arrivedat the Villa Poppinidii withwordfromherfamily.

Artorexmettherideratthegatestothefarm.

‘Stop, sir! This villa isclosed to all visitors untilAquae Sulis is freed of thepestilence,’ he orderedgrimly, but kindly, for badtimes cause decisions to bemade which are not within

the natural patterns ofcourtesy. The villa hadalwayswelcomed thepoorestandmeanestofvisitorsinthepast.

The courier remained onhis horse and wiped hischilledfacewithamufflerofgreasywool.

‘The pestilence is dead, asare over half the citizens ofAquae Sulis,’ the courierreported grimly. ‘The city

still reeks of funeral pyres,but no one has taken illduringthelasttendays.’

Artorex shook his head indisbelief, for his orderedmindcouldnot imagine suchcarnage.

‘You may well speak thetruth, my friend, but I mustobey my master’s orders. Iregretthediscourtesyofthesedays, which must send youback to your city without

foodorshelter.’

‘In truth, steward, I’d asliefbeathomewithmywifeand children, but Gallinus,son of Gallicus, has chargedme tobringamessage tohissister,LadyGallia.’

‘I will ensure that themessage is passed to LadyGallia if you read it to me,’Artorextoldthecourier.

‘Icannotread,steward,but

my master expected yourcaution, so my message hasbeenlearned.’

‘Then youmay informmeofthemessage,goodsir,andI will faithfully deliver it totheLadyGallia.’

‘This is the message thatMaster Gallinus entrusted tome,’ the courier intonedformally, andclosedhiseyesto ensure that none of theprecious words were

forgotten.

‘Greetings to Gallia, sisterof Gallinus, who is now theMaster of the House of theGallus. Our father hasdepartedthisworldtojoinhisancestors, as have my son,andonedaughter,fourofmybrothers and many othermembersofmyfamily.Theirshadeshavebeenhonouredintheancientways,although ingreathasteasinhumationwas

notpossible.Yourabsenceatthe funeral feasts and thecremations is forgiven. Iwillcome to escort you to theHouseofGallus as soonas Imaybespared,forouraffairshave been sorely struck bythe displeasure of the gods.Laythesewordstoyourheart-andfarewell.’

After several repetitions,Artorex had mastered themessage, so the courier

departed on his returnjourney. Artorex sighed, forhe now had anotherunpleasanttasktoperform.

Hewasnofool.Themasterof the house and four of hisheirs were dead, includinggrandchildren and wives.Gallia had lost almost all ofher family and much of herwealth. Although Artorexcould scarcely imagine beingpartofa familyof suchsize,

either living or dead, heacceptedthatGalliawouldbedistraught at the loss of herfatherandbrothers.

Hedreadedtheprospectofbreaking such bad news. Hewould have preferred to passonthisoneroustasktoalmostanyoneelse,butArtorexwasno coward and Galliadeserved an accurateaccounting of the tragicdeathsofherkin.

The steward searched forGalliaformanyhours,butnoone in thevillahadseenher.Tense with the first stirringsofseriousalarm,ArtorextookCoal out into the fields but,yet again, there was no signof the wayward youngwoman.

‘Not even Gallia candisappear off the face of theearth,’ he muttered tohimself, as he stifled a flash

ofmountingirritation.

But after a fruitless searchof the farm and all theoutbuildings, Artorex wasconsideringmountingamajorsearchusingthefieldworkerswhen, by a fortuitous strokeofluck,hissharpeyesspotteda small red ribbon on anovergrown path close towhere theOldForestmergedwiththefarmcultivation.Thepathitselfwasill-defined,but

the tiny sliver of fabrictwined,serpent-like,aroundaclump of dying thistles, andArtorex knew that theimpetuous Gallia hadwanderedintothewoods.

‘You’readevilofachild,’Artorex muttered to himself.‘You should know thedangers of these places -especiallyforawoman.Whycan’t you weave, or sew oreven clean, like every other

femaleinthevilla?’

Ducking and weaving onCoal’s back as he avoidedlow-hanging branches, herode Coal deeper into thewoods.

Perhaps it’s because she’snotlikeanyotherwoman,aninternalvoicewarnedhim.

ThetreeshadnointerestineitherArtorexorGallia,sohereceived no answer to his

questions except for therustling of small, unseenthingsthathadbeendisturbedbythepassageofhishorse.

‘Gallia!’ he roared at thetopofhislungs,oncehewasdeep within the woods,knowingthathecouldsearchthese wild places for weeksandstillnotfindher.

‘Where are you? Shout ifyouhearme.’

Coal picked his waydaintily over the unevengroundwhileArtorexstrainedtohearananswertohiscalls.Whenaresponsecame,itwasunexpectedlyclear-andveryclose. Artorex leapt offCoal’s back and led thestallion through thetreacherous tangle of treerootsandfallenlogs,andintothesilenceofhislong-unseenglade.

Gallia was seated on hisstone,herheadliftedandhereyes already flaring withpanic.Instinctively,sheknewthat only a matter of greaturgency would cause thestewardtoseekheroutwhen,under normal circumstances,she wouldn’t expect to seehimtilltheeveningmeal.

‘Whatisamiss,Artorex?IsitJulanna?OrlittleLivinia?’

Artorex gazed down at his

sandalled foot and fiddledwiththereinsofhishorse.

‘I...’hebegan,butGallialeapttoherfeetimpetuously.

‘News has come fromAquae Sulis, hasn’t it?’ sheasked.‘IsitFather?’

Artorex nodded. ‘Yes,Gallia, I have news fromAquaeSulis . . . and it’sbadtidings,I’mafraid.’

He paused but could find

noplatitudes toease thepainhe was about to inflict.Gallia’s eyes were wide andfrightened, and the half-lightthat filtered through the talltrees cast a greenish lightover her features. Artorexwas stricken, but he knewthat only the blunt truthwouldservehimnow.

‘Yourfatherhasdiedfromthe pestilence. A courier hasjust arrived with news from

yourbrother,Gallinus,whoisnow the new master of yourfather’s house. Several ofyour brothers, the son ofGallinus and one of hisdaughters have also gone tomeet their ancestors. Othermembersofyourfamilyhavealso perished. Gallinus sentfewdetails,excepttowarnusthat it might be some timebefore he can fetch youhome. I regret that I mustbear these sad tidings and I

wishIcouldsaysomethingtoconsoleyouinyourgrief.’

Gallia stared at Artorexblankly.

‘But Gallinus is my thirdbrother. What of GallicusMinor and Gallius? Theymust be dead as well - andGallinus has lacked the heartto send word to me directly.Helpme,Mother,helpme!’

Horrified,Artorexsawthat

Gallia’seyeshad rolledbackin her head and she wasfalling sideways in a deadfaint towards the depressionin the rock with its strangeand disturbing design. Evenas he sprang forward andcaught her, he could pictureherbloodfillingthatcupandescapingalongthespiralsinathinribbonofcrimson.

‘Gallia!’ he whispered inher ear as he effortlessly

lifted her slender body. Herface was only inches awayfromhislips.

‘Wake up, Gallia! Wakeup!’hesaidurgentlyintoherear.

Gallia’s eyelids flutteredbut she made no sound.Artorexswunghersoft,pliantbody up into his arms and,whistling for Coal to followhim,hebegantopickhiswayback through the tangle of

trees towhere the forestmetthefieldsofthefarm.

Gallia lay limply in hisarms.Itwasalmostas ifshe,too,weredead, like somanyof her kin, and Artorexwondered how it would feelto lose someonewhowas soclose in blood and affection.Try as hemight, he couldn’timagine such a loss. HewouldmournforTargo,Frithor Ector if they should die,

forhehadknownthemallhisshort life. He had mournedthe loss of Mistress Livinia,and whenever he heard theswingandbeatof the shuttleand the loom, his throatconstricted with an emotionthat was surely grief. But,withnobloodtiestoafamily,he could never fullyunderstandGallia’sloss.

Once he was clear of thetrees, Artorex remounted

Coal with Gallia still in adead faint in his arms. Shebegan to return toconsciousness as theyapproached the villa, but hereyes were dry and glazed.Something essential to herspirit had fled awaywith thenews that Artorex haddelivered.

‘They’re all dead,’ shemurmuredagainsthischest.

‘Not all of them, Gallia.

Not all! Your brotherstruggles to put his father’saffairs in order, and he’llcomeforyouwhenhisdutiespermit. The pestilencedecidedthatmanyofyourkinwenttothefuneralpyreslongbefore they were fated to doso, but I have been assuredthatalltheburialritualswereobserved exactly as yourfather would have wished.’He looked down at herupturned face. ‘I’d take your

pain away myself, Gallia, ifonlyIknewhow.’

Absently,shesqueezedhisarmtoexpressherthanks,buther mind was struggling tocomprehend the depth of herloss.

‘I know you’d help me ifyou could, Artorex, butthere’snothingwecando, isthere?’

‘No,Gallia,there’snot.’

At thevery least, he couldpresentherwiththetruth.

At the villa, Gallia’smaidservant came runningandassistedhermistress intoher quarters. Julanna hadbeen disturbed by the fussand now she listened to thereport from Artorex withgrowingconcernandhorror.

‘Will this terrible yearneverbedone?’ shemoaned,andhurriedto thesideofher

friend.

The evening meal wasbereft of womenfolk. Ectorwas saddened by Gallia’stragedy, but was fully awarethat there was nothing hecouldoffer toassistGallia inhertimeofmourning.

‘We’reveryfortunatetobeso distant from Aquae Sulis.If the pestilence has trulypassed, as the couriersuggested, our isolation has

been instrumental in keepingussafe.’

‘Aye, master. You actedwisely when you determinedto keep us isolated from allcontactwithoutsiders.’

‘I wish Lady Livinia wasstillhere.She’dknowhowtoease the burdens that littleGalliamust carry. Itmust benigh impossible for her tolinger here in comfort whenher family is such a short

distanceawayandyetnotbeable to help them in theirsuffering.’

‘Aye. The mistress wouldhaveknownhowtohelplittleGallia,’ Artorex agreed. ButCaius remained non-committalandsilent.

Frith reported that Galliawasnowawakebutremaineddry-eyed, shivering anddistracted.

‘Willshebewell?’Artorexasked.

‘Never fear, master, she’llstart to talk soon, and thenshe’ll remember the happyyearsandthejoyfultimesshespent with her family. She’llshed some good, healingtears. The little mistress isyoung, and her body is notyet ready for death, althoughshe’shalfmadwithherloss.’

And so, old Frith, faithful

Julanna and a few trustedmaidservants sat with thegrievingGalliaand tended toher needs. At first she wasmute, and then thememoriespoured out of her as if thesimple taskof repeating talesof her childhood could keepher father and her brothersaliveforalittlelonger.

Thetearsfollowed,andthenightmares, and yet moretears, until Gallia emerged

from her bedchamber, pale,thin and as insubstantial asthistledown.

During her ordeal, astrange friendship had beenforged. Julanna had therunningofthehouseholdandthecareofherchildpressingdown upon her narrow,girlish shoulders. Althoughshe longed to ease Gallia’ssorrow, time kept her fromthe side of her loyal friend

moreoftenthanshewished.

But, smoothly andnaturally,asifshehadalwaysbeen there, Frith sat withGallia beside her pallet orcoaxed her to eat.When thegirlweptinherrestlesssleep,it was old Frith who wokeher, held her gently to herwithered breasts and soothedaway her nightmares withkisses and kind words. Thefirst thing that Gallia saw

when she awoke each grey,winter morning was Frith’swrinkled, smiling face, andthe last sound she heardbeforesleepingwasthesweetsound of the old woman’ssinging.

Gallia had barely risenfrom her bed of grief whenher brother suddenly arrivedat the Villa Poppinidii. Newstreaksofgreynowbleachedhis black hair and he was

without even a singlemanservant to attend to hisneedsandcomfortduringhisjourney.

After a tearful reunion,Gallia took to her bed onceagain, too worn and wearyfromtearsandmiserytofacethetangiblepersonofherlastsibling. To pass the time,GallinussoughttheadviceofLord Ector, seeking an olderhead to guide him, while

Artorex took pains to ensurethathewasalsopresentatthemeeting.

‘Icouldn’tspeakwhatisinmy heart with little Galliapresent. Tenmembers ofmyfamilyaredead,andoverhalfour servants have perishedwith them. The familybusinessisintatters.Oh,itissound at the roots, foreveryone needs fish, but Imust labour hard to repair

whatthepestilencehasstolenfrom us. The markets ofAquae Sulis are silent, thefleet from Abone is halvedand the warehouses arestripped of those labourerswho are necessary to carryout the physical work. LittleGalliaknowslittleoftradesoit will be difficult to tell hershe is unlikely to have adowrywhensheiseventuallymarried.’

Ector rumbled his distressatthisnews.

‘Galliahasalwaysbeenthelittle singing bird in ourhouse,’ Gallinus sighed, andthen continued. ‘She’s theyoungest, and she has atenderheart.’

He paused once again,while Artorex grinnedinwardly at the thought thatGallia was either fragile ortender.

‘Ilackthewordstoexplainto my sister the truecircumstances of the disasterthathasafflictedourhouse.’

Ectornoddedhissympathyand understanding, but therewas little he could say thatwould alleviate this youngman’s concerns. Instead, inthe Roman tradition, heattempted to keep his spinestraightandhisgazedirect.

Artorex watched Gallia’s

brother impassively.Gallinuswasdisturbedandfrightened,asanysensiblemanwouldbewhowassuddenlyfacedwiththe task of salvaging anextensive trading empire thathad inexplicably beenbrought to its knees. Hisbrothers were dead, and hewas suddenly forced toassumecontrolofhisfather’smany business interests at atimewhenhewasillpreparedforthetaskbeforehim.

After a few moments ofsilence,theyoungmanbeganto explain his quandary overthefutureofhisyoungsister.

‘MymostpressingproblemisGallia.Our father intendedthat she should be wedmonths ago, but all pastarrangements have failed tobear fruit. Unfortunately,Father’s most recent choiceofhusbandwasalsoavictimoftheplague.’

He pondered his situationinsilence.

‘To be frank, Gallia willhave no possibility of dowryuntil she ismucholder, for Imust use our remaining goldaswagesforthosefishermen,artisans and workers whohave survived,’Gallinus saidsoftly.‘ImustdiversifyifI’mtosurvive,butI’matalosstoknow what to do with mysister, for who’d wish to

marry a woman who is nolongeryoungandfresh?’

‘She’s welcome to staywith us for as long as youwish,’Ector replied. ‘She’sacharmingyounggirl,andshebringsmuchhappinesstoourJulanna.’

‘I thank you for yourgenerosity, but the problemwill continue to grow. She’snow more than fifteen yearsandwillsoonbepastherfirst

bloom of youth. By the timethe family fortunes arerebuilt, she will be at leasttwenty years old. HeavenknowswhereIwillfindherahusband, forAquaeSulishasbeen stripped of its suitableyoungmen.’

Artorex interrupted beforehe had really considered theimportance of the words hewasabouttoutter.

‘I would make an offer to

marryGallia - andwould dosogladly-althoughyoumaynot want a lowly steward asthehusbandofyoursister.’

Ector, Caius and GallinusturnedtofaceArtorexasone.They were dumbfounded bythe proposal, and staredblanklyathim.

‘IknowI’mnotworthyofherbybirthandbywealthbutI have a most sincereaffection for your sister,’

Artorex added. ‘Nor will Ialwaysbealandlessman,forIintendtomakemymarkonthe world. But I willunderstand if you find myproposal presumptuous andinsulting.’

Ector gave Artorex afleetingsmile.

‘My foster-son is overlymodest, and he need not belandless, for I can alwayssettle a small parcel of Villa

Poppinidii land upon him ifhe so desires. Further, theholy Lucius, Bishop ofGlastonbury, would alsosettle gold on him ifArtorexdecided to take a wife ofgood lineage. It is a fact thatLucius prevailed uponme toraise young Artorex, and apriestofhisrenownwouldn’ttake such pains if Artorexwasn’tofrespectablebirth.’

Belatedly,Artorexrealized

that Gallinus was actuallyconsidering his offer. Hecould readily understand thatGallia was one problem toomany for amanbeset by thetrials confronting a youngerson who was attempting tomakehismarkontheworld.

As his stomach churnedwith a sudden attack ofnerves,Artorexhadnoideaifhe was more afraid ofrejectionorofacceptance.

‘I’ll sleep upon yourproposal, good steward, andI’llgiveyoumyanswerinthemorning.’ He smiled atArtorex. ‘And now, Artorex,ifyouaren’toffended,I’daskyou to leavemewithMasterEctor so thathecanacquaintmewithyourcharacter.Imaybeindesperatestraits,butmysisterisprecioustome.’

‘I understand, sir, and I’llleave you to your

deliberations.’

WhathaveIdone?Artorexasked himself as he strodeback to his spartanbedchamber.How can I takea wife when all I own is ahorse?Imustbemoonmad!

The measure of thefinancial troubles besettingGallinus was amply provedby his agreement to themarriage when he met Ectorand Artorex the following

morning.

Bemused by theunexpected turn of events,Artorex and Gallinus sealedtheir bargain with a clasp ofhands and an assurance fromGallinusthat,intime,abrideprice would be paid so thatArtorex could build his ownsmallvilla.Documentswouldbe drawn up in Aquae SulisandEctorhadalreadyagreedto give the young couple the

field that bordered the OldForest.

In truth, Ector gave verylittle, for the landwasfullofbrambles and weeds, andwould take a great deal ofeffort to set to rights.On theother hand, he would gainmuch from the match. Hissteward was now bound toVillaPoppinidiibythebondsof his coming marriage, andthe villa had gained another

Romanchatelaine.

Once again, the wily andaffableCeltcouldnotlose.

‘But what of Gallia?Perhaps she will not wish tomarry me?’ Artorexsuggested.

‘GalliaisofRomanlineageand she’ll marry whomeverher paterfamilias chooses,’Gallinus stated abruptly. ‘IknowthatFatherindulgedher

butIdon’thavetimeforsuchluxuries.’

Nowthathismindwasseton a course of action,Gallinus was sweeping asidealloppositiontohisplans,asif theywere chaff before thestormwinds.

‘I am, of course, forced tocontinue with the mourningperiodthatisstilllefttomeatmy own home, so it isprobably best that your

marriage take place here atthe Villa Poppinidii. I amcertain that Gallia andJulannawillbecheeredattheprospect of planning awedding celebration. Ladieslovesuchdistractions.’

Artorex wasn’t soconfident. Gallia was noblushing maiden, havingproved that her small bodyhid a very large heart. AndJulanna had learned through

tragedy that duty ruled awoman’s life, notentertainment.

Intheevent,Galliacriedagreat deal when Gallinusinformed her of his decision.She didn’t know preciselywhyshewept,whetheroutofjoy or terror, but she knewthat Artorex was a man ofhonour and her childrenwould stand tall in theirworld. She understood, too,

deep in her inner self, thatArtorex was destined for anoblefuture.

AndsothetangledfatesofArtorex and Gallia weresealedwiththesponsalia, theformal betrothal. Althoughthe confarrato, or sacredmarriage,wasnotthenorminthese far lands, the offspringofGallicusatebarleycakesattheir wedding feasts to showthat they were wed for life.

Joy might come for ArtorexandGallia,andstrength,butadark legacy had been bornwith the passing of thepestilence and now it waitedfortimetocallitforth.

CHAPTERIX

THEIDYLL

In the last weeks of winter,Artorex wed Gallia of theHouse of Gallus with all thepomp and splendour thatEctor could muster as aprovincial lord. The time

wasn’t propitious, for allgoodcitizensofRomanbloodmarriedduring thewarmandfecund month of June whenJuno, the goddess whoguarded all girls, was at herstrongest. But circumstancescalled for haste, a decisionthatsuitednoneofthewomenof the villa, who bemoanedtheabsenceofflowersinthisinauspicious time. Snow hadcome to the lands aroundAquaeSulisinunaccustomed

flurries and the fires in thehypocaust had to be keptstoked so that the floors andwalls could warm theirguests.

Grunn, the cook, at thehead of an army of kitchenmaids, cooked and basted,boiledandcandied, friedandroasted, until the villa wasone long succession ofsucculentsmells.EvenCaius,mindful of his debt to

Artorex, and now thoroughlynervous of his foster-brother,ordered wood cut for greatiron braziers to warm therooms.OldFrithwasburstingwithpride,andinherstrange,barbarian fashion, went outinto the forest where the iceon the trees cracked andgrowled as if thewood itselfwasinpain.

When she had draggedhome her booty of fallen

boughs, she decorated thelintels of the rooms withholly, festooned cheerfullywithitsredberries.Shefoundold, long-dried logs fromfragranttrees,andorderedthemanservants to drag themhome to sweeten the woodthatburnedinthebraziers.

On one of her travels, shefound one curiously shapedknob of wood that shepolished with oil until the

small thing glowed in thereflected light, and then shepierced the timber with anawl so a narrow silken cordcouldpassthroughit.

On the night before theweddingfeast,shevisitedthebride.

‘My lady?’ Frith calledsoftly, as she scratched atGallia’sdoor.‘Mylady,haveyouamomentforoldFrith?’

‘Come in, Frith, andwelcome,’ Gallia cried, andsatupinherwarmbed.

Her hair was still veryshort,butFrithcouldseethatthe tumbled curls suited theyoungwoman far better thanthe tortured coifs of greatladies.

‘You would ease oldFrith’s heart if you wouldwear this talismanwhen youare wed,’ Frith said, and

pressed the little piece ofwoodintoGallia’shands.

‘It looks like a smallpregnant woman,’ Galliamarvelled. ‘It is so smoothandwarm inmy hand.Whatwoodisthis?’

‘It’s made from a knot ofhazel tree, little one. TheDruids forbid us, on pain ofdeath,tocutthehazelforitisa holy tree. But I found thisfragmentontheearth,soitis

a bride gift to you from thetree itself. It’ll keepyou safeand make your childrenstrong.’

Gallia lifted an elegant,golden amulet that hunground her neck. ‘My motherplaced this bulla round myneck when I was born, toprotect me from evil until Iwasawomangrown.MotherhasbeendeadsinceIwasten,so she can no longer remove

this amulet on the nightbefore my wedding, as iscustom. You’d honour me,Frith, if you would removethe bulla of my mother andreplaceitwithyouramulet.’

Frith’s old head dropped,anda few tears snakeddownherweatheredcheeks.

‘Aye, mistress. I’d behonouredtostandinplaceofyourmother.

Bend your head, sweetGallia.’

As Gallia obeyed, Frithtiedthesimplecordroundherneck and the amulet fell intothe warm cleft betweenGallia’sbreasts.

‘I thankyou,Frith.This isa gift fit for a queen, and Ipromisetokeepitalways.’

Frith would have leftGalliatoherrest,butthegirl

askedher tostayforshewastooexcitedtosleep.

‘Where are you from,Frith?Youreyesandhairaredifferent from the colouringof the Celts, and there issomething about you . . .something . . .’ Galliastruggledforwords.

‘Alien, my lady?’ Frithsmiled, with only a touch ofirony.

‘Yes,althoughthatwordisveryharshforoneasdevotedto the Poppinidii family asyouare.’

‘My lady!’ Frithexclaimed. ‘The VillaPoppinidii owns me, bodyandsoul.Didn’tyouknow?’

Gallia was quite shocked.In many ways, Frith wasmore of a domestic despotthanEctor.

‘Yes, mistress. My sweetLivinia’s father, Livius,purchased me when I was achild. They say I was foundas an infant in the floatingshell of a boat after a greatstormofftheIsleofVectisinthe south. Where I lived, orwheremy familycame from,was a mystery, for I wasalone inabattered,barbarianship. Had I grownwith darkhair, perhaps I would nothave ended up on the slave

block,butmyhairwaswhite,littledifferentfromwhat it isnow.’

Frith paused, beforecontinuing.

‘When I was about threeyearsofage,IwassoldtotheVilla Poppinidii by tradersfrom the north, when Liviuswas still a young man. Iraisedhisonlychild,Livinia,andIburiedhertoo.ButIamstill a barbarian, Mistress

Gallia,andat timesmywaysarestrange, forall that IwasababewhenIwasfound.’

‘Didyouevermarry,Frith?Didyouhavechildren?’

‘Ofcourse,mistress,’Frithboasted. ‘I wed a good Celtfromthevillage-forallthatIwould not leave the villa tolive with him. I bore sevenlivingchildrenforhim.’

‘Did they become slaves

too?’ Gallia asked withunintentionalrudeness.

Fortunately, Frith was notoffended.

‘Mistress Livinia set mefreeyearsago,withscrollsofmanumission and all that thelaw requires. But I told herthen, as I tell you now, thatweshouldalwaysmasterourown fate, and I chose toremain a slave at VillaPoppinidii. I bear no slave

collar because Liviniawouldn’tpermitmetowearitagain, but I remain a slavebecause I chose to burn mymanumission. The villa hasownedmeforaslongasIcanremember. Everything I loveishere;everyone Ihaveevercared for lies in this soil orworks this land. I belong tothe Villa Poppinidii. ButMasterEctorisalsoaslave,ifyoulookcloselyathim.Andso is my dear Artorex. And

so, in time,will sweetGalliaalsobeaslavetoourhouse.’

She smiled across at theyounggirl.

‘Now,goodnight,mylady.For tomorrow you becomewifetomybeautifulArtorex.’

Gallia was wed in a whitegown edged with goldenthread that she had stitchedherselfduringtheyearsofher

maidenhood. A wreath ofwheat heads encircled herbrow and matched the sheafof grain that she carried as apleatothegodsforfecundity.

Under herwreath,Gallia’shair shone with cleanlinesswhile, around her waist,Julanna had tied a complexbelt called the Knot ofHercules. When Artorexuntied thisbelt,Galliawouldbehis.

The bride had taken carewith every detail of herappearance. The weddingmight have been arranged inhaste,butGalliawouldbeasradiantasherhappiness-andhermother’scosmeticscasket-couldmakeher.Wisely,shehad used only a touch ofstibium to define her browsandeyes,butshehadchosento paint her lids withmalachite, knowing that therich emerald would enliven

her face. A little staining ofher lips with cinnabar,coupled with a hint ofperfume of jasmine andhennaonherpalms,thesolesof her feet and her nailscompletedhertoilette.

Bemused and ignorant,Artorexwatched his bride asshe floated towards him, herbeauty incandescent in thelightofthebraziers.

In the absence of a priest,

Ectorofficiatedoverthebriefceremony.

‘Quando tu Gaius, egoGaia,’ Gallia whispered intheancientpromisetofollowwhenever, and wherever, herhusband travelled. Althoughthe vow was a formality,Artorex found it vastlymoving, as if he nowpossessed something of greatrarity that had chosen tobelongtohim.

Thebarleycakewaseaten,andthefeastingbegan.

Flushedwithwine,Artorexhadlittle timetoconsiderhislot.Didhetrulywantawife?He knew that he wanted topossess Gallia, but was thatlustful desire the same thingas love? The questions wentround and round in his brainuntil his wits were muddledand he surrendered to thepleasureofthemoment.

Bemused,hestaredfixedlyat his new wife who laybeside him on the eatingcouch.

Yes,shewasfair.Herhairwas a black aureole aroundhersmallhead.Herlipswereripe and full and even thatlong, narrow, Roman nosewas delicate, with nostrilsthatevennowseemedtoflarea little.Artorex felt his bodystir.

Her eyes stared back athim. He saw them as deepamber pools that showedevery thought that swam likefish within their depths.While thepoetsextolledpaleeyes aswindows to the soul,Artorex knew to his ownsatisfaction that it was thedarker eyes that had thepowertoentrapamanwithintheirwarmdepths.

Against all custom and

decency, and because hecould not help himself,Artorex bent over and kissedGallia’sfulllips.Hewaslostin something that is akin tolove.

Ector thumped the ladentablewithhisfist.

‘The groom is eager todepart, my friends. Hesearches for food other thanthisfeastwehavelaidbeforehim.’

The guests laughed, evenCaius,butwithgoodnature.

‘You break with tradition,myboy,butIrememberwhatit was like to be young. Iwould be anxious to departmyselfifIwasnewlywedtoyourbeautifulbride.’

The guests laughed again,and both Gallia and Artorexblushed.

Gallia took Ector at his

word. Rising to her feet, sheled Artorex away to herchamber that had recentlybeen prepared by Frith, sothat dried rose petalsperfumedeverycornerof theroomandscentedoilsburnedin the lamps. Artorex wasalmost carried away from allself-control by the headycloud of perfume and thewines that he had consumedduringthefeasting.

Gallia giggled like a littlegirl as Artorex stripped offhistunicandthenstruggledtountie her belt. In thelamplight, his body wasbeautiful as he stood clothedonly in his loincloth, and hisskinshonewithadeepamberglow. She reached up andunplaited his hair, whichtumbled into long brass-coloured curls under herfingers. His body quiveredunder this simple, gentle

touch and he would havereached for her had she notmotionedforhimtolieonherperfumedbed.

Bemused, and aroused,Artorexobeyed.

Gallia eased off herweddingraimentwithstudiedslowness. Her body wasrevealed for him alone. Forthe first time he saw herheavy white breasts, withpink nipples that seemed to

beg for his mouth, and hertiny waist that flared intowomanly hips bisected by abushofcurlingblackhair.

‘Gallia!’ Artorex called.‘Cometobed-immediately!’

‘No,mylord.’

‘No?’Artorexwasstartled.

‘I must fulfil my wifelyduties.’

‘Uh!’

Artorex knew he soundedfoolish,butsuchwashisstateof arousal that her teasingwas making him inarticulateandmindless.

From a small glasscontainer, Gallia poured oilintoonepalmandthenbegantocaressherhusband’sbody.Under her delicate touch, allhis nerve endings screamed,so that he believed, at last,that if thisperiodofpleasure

was the penultimate beforemarriage was consummated,thenhewasfortunateindeed.His shoulders, chest, bellyand thighs, even the tenderplaces between his toes, allreceived his wife’sministrations, until his willcrumbled completely, and hepulledGalliadownon toherbackandenteredherwithoutfurtherceremony.

Her facegrimaced inpain,

but Artorex was beyondthought.He luxuriated in herbody, in the garden of herbreastsandtheflowersinherhair. He tasted her mouth,until her body also warmedunderhishandsandlips,andneither husband norwife feltthe sleet at the shutters, norheardthewindwailingintheroofofthestables.Lostinthemysteries of Aphrodite,Artorex rode his wife untiltheir marriage was sealed in

mutualpleasure.

For Artorex, his new wifewas a never-ending mysteryand a marvel. Virginal shehad been, but Gallia was assensual as her Romanancestors and was anintelligent lover who gloriedin physical sensation. As ahandsome young man,Artorex had known manywomen,butsexhadbeenfastand unencumbered by any

accompanying commitment,so ithadseemedas trivialasa sneeze,or likeeatingwhenhewashungry.

Everyday,whenhisdutiesas steward were done,Artorex sought Gallia out,even if shewas playingwithlittle Livinia, or gossipingaway the last of the winterwith Julanna. And Galliaalways obeyed her husband,for she was as eager as he

was for the pleasures of thebed. Trivial stimulations,even thesightofabare foot,could ignite his lust, so thateach day passed like anOtherworld dream and theonly reality was his Gallia,laughing earthily as shestroked his body; Gallia,biting his shoulder until theblood came; Gallia, cryingout with her eyes blind in apassion that was her veryown.

Galliahadmuchtooccupyher days, besides the headydistractions of lovemaking.Afterthedeathofhermother,the wives of her manybrothers has seen to herwifely education over theyears and she was alreadyhard at work on a length ofwool designed to serve as awinter tunic for her husband.She also took pleasure inlearning the more mundanetasks of cheese-making,

preserving fruits and curingmeat. She might never needtopreparethefoodherfamilyconsumed, but no providentRoman matron would leaveservants to theirowndeviceswithoutsupervision.

Asspringadvanced,Galliaknewthatshewaswithchild.She hugged her belly andsmiled those secret smilesthateverywomaninthevillacould read with complete

accuracy.

Aroundher,Galliasawthatnew life was insistent andparamount. The landscapewas newly washed by theonsetofspringintoatapestryof green and chocolate;young lambs, calves, foalsand chickens stumbled,cavorted and tumbled overtheir gangly limbs; puppiesand kittens squirmed intoeveryfreenestofstrawinthe

stables and the wild birdswere noisy in the alder treesas they protected their nests.The whole world waspregnant, likeGallia,andshegloriedinhernewcondition.

Artorex remained inblissfulignoranceuntilGalliachose her own time to tellhim of the wonders thatwould soon come into hisworld.

One night, he lay spent

upon their bed, his flesh fastcooling as Gallia slid downinto the hollow of hisshoulderandwhisperedinhisear.

‘Willyouceasetoloveme,my dearestmaster,whenmybelly is too big for thepleasuresof thebed?Orwillyou find a compliant maid,my stallion, and leaveme topine?’

‘What...?’

As with all men, Artorexwas made to sound and actlike an idiot when a womanholdsthereinsoflove.

‘Yourheardmywords,myheart.’ She smiled shyly.‘Therearequiteafewmonthsleft for us, of course, but Ifearourtimealonemaysoonbeover.’

‘You are with child!’Artorexexclaimedflatly.

In all honesty, he had noidea how he felt about thisunexpectednews.

Galliapouted. ‘Yousowedthe seed, Artorex, and nowyour child grows within me.ButIamfearfulthatasonofyour size may well nigh killme.’

Artorex felt a warm surgeofpriderunfromthesolesofhis feet to the crown of hishead.Hehadsiredachild. It

grew, even now, under hishand. The wonder andmystery of it almost stoppedhisheart.

Artorex kissed his wife’smouth, her belly and herheart, and she could find nofault in her husband’sreactiontothenews.

Now, spurred on bycircumstances, Artorex hadreasontowork.

In what time was free tohim,hebegantoclearEctor’sbridal gift and, once the sitewas bare, he marked theoutline of a simple six-roomed villa. He couldn’tafford the luxuries of theVilla Poppinidii, but hewould build his own housewithhisowntwohandsifhemust, so thathis childwouldknowitsownroof.

Artorex was blissfully and

joyously happy, for he hadnever known such truecontentment. And whenvillagersandservantsshowedtheir affection by assistinghim to flag the earth withsplit stone, build walls ofwattle and mud and lay outgardens for the developinghouse, Artorex knew thatsuchunalloyedjoywasbothatemptationandachallengetothegodswhocontrolusall.

Heroofedhishouse in theCeltic way, with plaitedthatch and split stakes ofwood, so that the steep pitchof the roof could providestorage space for water aswell as shedding rain orsnow. Gallia looked at hisstrange, hybrid efforts andwas happy as only a womannearfulltermcanbe.

Thehousewasshapedlikeasquarebutopenatoneend,

except for thick-plankedwooden entrance gates. Thecourtyard, or atrium, wascobbled with river stoneexceptforasmallalcovethatserved as Coal’s stable.Artorexbuilt themangerandstall himself from wooddragged from the forest andsawnoverapit.

Until their house wascompleted, he and Galliashared his cramped quarters

at the Villa Poppinidii.Julanna vowed that she didnot want her friend ever toleave, but Gallia pointed outthatshewouldonlybeashortwalk away. In fact, the stoneflue from a chimney thatArtorexhadcunninglycopiedfromanortherndesigncouldbeclearlyseenfromthevilla.

‘Butyouwillhavetoworklike a servant,’ Julannapouted.

‘Only if I wish to do so.’Gallia laughed. ‘I still havemymaidandmanservant,andFrithhasaskedLordEctor ifher great-grandson, Gareth,could be permitted to workfor Artorex. Fortunately,whenFrithmakesadecision,nothingdeflectsher.’

As his house grew, so didGallia, and Artorex began tofear for his wife’s health, solargewasthechildwithinher

belly.

But still his fortune held.When Gallia’s waters broke,herlabourbeganquietly.Hertiny frame seemed unable tobear thegreat ripplingsurgesofthecontractionsbut,withina surprisingly short time,Galliawasdeliveredofafine,healthy girl child, with dark,bronzecurlsandambereyes.

When he held the strong,squirming body in his arms

for the first time, Artorexthoughthisheartwouldbreakwith his love and fears forher.NowheknewhowGalliahad feltwhenher familyhaddied of the pestilence. Nowhe understood Julanna’snameless fears for her child.HesworetoprotecthisLicia,for so he named her, for aslongashelived.

When the child was oneweek old, and autumn had

turned the land into a carpetof gold and flame, Bregan,the blacksmith, came to thegates of the Villa Poppinidiiwith a cloth-wrapped gift forArtorex. Bregan refused anoffer of food and drink, andwouldn’t stay, for Artorexwas supervising his workersinthesouthpastures.

‘I’vekeptmypromise.TellLordArtorexImadethisgiftwithalltheskillsIpossess.’

When Artorex returnedfrom the fields that evening,Gallia gave him Bregan’sgift.Ashestruggledwiththetwine binding, she stared ather young man of nearlytwenty-two years, and herheartwasfullandgrateful.

Withinthewrappingwasaswatheof freshgrass.Withinthegrasswasadagger.

The blade was well overfifteen inches in length,

slightlycurvedandshining.Itwas an instrument of death.The edges were razor-sharpand a vicious point ensuredthat the dagger would beperfectforboththrustingandslashing.

Butitwasthepommelthatleft Artorex and his wifegaspingwithsurprise.

Bregan was a fineblacksmith and no one couldconjure blades for scythes

and reapinghooks sowell inall thevillagesinthevicinityof Aquae Sulis. But Breganhad nurtured a streak ofartistry in his soul that hadbeen unused in hisagriculturaltrade,untilnow.

Somehow, Bregan haddesigned and constructed aniron dragon. This creaturewas nothing like the pretty,malevolent toy that Llanwithboreonhisdagger,butwasa

creatureof suchmight that itcould have sprung from theiron veins of the mountainsthemselves.The beast’s headand body formed a pommelthat was scaled so that thegrip was firm, with thesnarlingmouthof thedragonat the very end of the shaft.Its half-furled wings curvedbackwards and offeredprotectivewingsofmetal forthe hand that held it. Thedragon’s tail curled forward

inastrangespiraltoenterthedragon’smouthat theendofthe pommel. The owner’shandwas cradled in a fist ofiron.

Fish skin was boundaround the dragon’s body onthe hilt, providing a cushionfor the owner’s hand. Thegaping jawsand ridgedbrowbone of the snarling headformednasty,jaggedteethonthe pommel, perfect for

striking at close range. Thehiltoftheknifemimickedthescales of the great dragonbeast, creating a dagger thatwas strange, alien andwonderful.

Breganhadmadeaweaponquite unlike the straight-handledRomanshortswords,or even the longer Celticblades that possessed suchbeautiful twining decoration.Here was a blade that was

neitherswordnordagger,oneconstructedbothtokillandtoprotect,sothatitsownerneednot fear that a sudden slashfrom an enemy would severhis fingers or shake his grip.Thisdaggerwasamiracleoffunctionandbeauty.

Artorex was stunned andhis jaw dropped, causingGallia to accuse him oflooking like one of herbrother’sfish.

‘I refused several potentialhusbandsbecausetheylookedlike cods,’ she laughed, buther eyes were drawn to thestrange,deadlyweapon.

‘I’ve never seen such aknife,’ Artorex marvelled.‘See? The dragon’s wingsprotect my knuckles, whilethetailprotectsmypalmandfingers.Breganhas created amasterpiece.’

‘You deserve it,’ Gallia

insistedloyally.

‘No,’ Artorex murmured.‘I’venototem,leastofallthedragon. Men such as PrinceLlanwith deserve theprotection of this beast, butwhoamItocarrytheWingedWormoftheCelticKings?’

‘You’re my husband.You’reheroicandnoble,andI’llnotlistentoyoursilliness.Do your hear, Licia? Yourfather pretends that he’s just

likeothermen-thedolt!Weknow, don’t we, my littledragonlet.’

When Targo was showntheweaponfor thefirst time,he stroked it with hiscallousedfingersasifitwerethebodyofawoman.

‘Bregan has laboured overthis weapon for more than ayear.Hepondered thedesignformanyaday,searchingfora totem that would do you

justice.He chose the dragon,at last, because the Romanlegions carried it, and alsobecause it is a creature bornin fire. He has made you aweapon the like of which Ihave never seen, acounterbalance to the sword.It iswithout the reach, but itis deadly as it waits for anopening. Truly, I envy youthisgift.’

The men of the villa

marvelledatthedesignofthedragon knife and many menheftedit tofeel itswonderfulbalance. Bregan’s gift drewmany other warriors to hisforge in the years thatfollowed, but no weapon hedesigned ever matched theoddbeautyofthissimpleironknife. Later, Artorex wouldbe given weapons withpommels of gold, silver andelectrumandsetwithgemsofgreat worth, but Bregan’s

dragon of iron would neverleavehisside.

So is the stuff of legendsmade.

Still, Artorex’s idyll ofhappiness endured. Whenanother spring came, full ofpromise, his house wasfinishedand thesmall familymade their way to their newhome. Otherwise, littlechanged at the VillaPoppinidii. Gallia had larger

duties in her daily life, butshe still spent her free timewithJulannaandoccasionallyGallinus sent money, so hersmall home filled with thehousehold items that allwomenholddear.

By the time the seasonschangedandwinterhadcomeagain, Gallia was pregnantonce more and Artorexbelieved his waking dreamwouldlastforever.

Then the three travellersreturned, after thepassageofthree long years, and withthem came the time forArtorex tomove towards hisdestinyatlast.

CHAPTERX

ATVENTABELGARUM

Thesolsticewasathand,andthe dayswere grey and grimwhenthethreetravellersnextvisitedtheVillaPoppinidii.Ithad been a harshwinter thusfar, and the earth had been

frozen into iron, while thenights were made fearful bythehowlingofwolves.Halfadozen hides were stretchedand freezing on the fence ofthehorsepaddock,andGalliawasstitchingacollarofwolffur for Artorex’s woollencloak.Inadimafternoon,thehorsemen rode up thetreacherous, icy path to thevilla.

Their baggage, such as

they carried on their wearyhorses, was placed in theirusual rooms by the servantsof the villa, while the threemenwere led to the baths towash away the rigours oftheircoldjourney.

Then, at the customarywelcome feast, Artorex methispatronsonceagain.

Myrddion clasped his armin a display of friendshipbetween equals and Artorex

was surprised to see howlightly theelevenyears sincethey had first met rested ontheasceticfaceofthescholar.Myrddion’s skinwas unlinedand was as smooth as thecomplexion of a youth, butthe white streak in his hairwas wider now, almostshockinginitssilvercontrastwith the black hair that stillfell in a thick mane to hisshoulderblades.

Luka, on the other hand,had aged considerably sinceArtorex last bade himfarewell. His plaits werethreaded with white and hewas heavily bearded. Mostnoticeable, beside a torc ofmassygoldaroundhisthroat,was a band of that sameruddy metal worn across hisforehead. Power andresponsibilityhadsettled intothedeepcreasesthatranfromeach nostril to the corner of

his mouth, and extra fleshnow padded his lithe framewith the trappings ofauthority.

As for the ever-silentLlanwith pen Bryn, theseasonshadtakentheirtollonhim also. His hair wasthinning, even as his beardwas now beginning to curlupon his breast.A great discof the eternal serpentdevouring its tail held his

cloak at the shoulder, andheavy golden arm ringsadornedeachwrist.

The three men wore theirmight like great cloaks, sothat Artorex wondered howhe had ever dared to speakaloudinthepresenceofthesenobleleaders.

‘Whatnewsfromtheeast?’Ector asked, as was hiscustom each time thetravellers arrived at the villa.

Thethreeguestslookedgraveand, as was usual, it wasMyrddion who bore theweight of impartingunwelcomenews.

‘TheSaxonsadvancedaily,swelled by more and moreshiploadsofwarriors, so thateven Londinium will fall ifUther doesn’t find a way toslowtheirmarch.’

Ector was shocked.Londinium was the greatest

of the Romanized Celticcities and the centre ofBritain’s commerce. Suchnews could not beimmediately absorbed, leastofallbelieved.

But Luka bore news thatwasevenmorealarming.

‘My father, king of theBrigante, fell in a minorskirmish across the greatmountains nearCataractonium. I am now

king, and my warriors holdthe mountains safe - butbarely.’

‘Yourlossisourloss,KingLuka.’ Ector spoke withgenuine regret andamazement. That thebarbarianshadmovedsofast,inonlythreeseasons,seemedimpossibletocredit.

‘With every attack, theydestroyourbuildings,onlytorebuild again in their own

fashion,’ Llanwith addedgruffly. ‘Every temple ofRome or church of theChristianGod is razed to thegroundand,behindthem,thebarbarians leave only a pathof death and carrion birds.The holy oaks are felled toprovidethetimbersthatmaketheir halls. Our world isslowlydying,myfriend,eventhough,asmyfather’sheir, InowholdtheMarchesstrong.Theywillbethelasttofall,I

swear, while my hand canstillwieldasword.’

‘Sore news travels tardilytous,forwearefarremovedfrom the centres ofcommerce,mylord,andyourwords are hard to imagine,’Ector replied. ‘But the VillaPoppinidiiwilldoeverythingin its power to aid the HighKing, especially if it keepsthebarbariansawayfromourownfields.’

‘That’s good, friendEctor,for we are called to VentaBelgarum in the south. Wewish to take your steward,Artorex,withus,sohemightseeforhimselfwhatchaos isbrought to the goodness ofthe land, and also to swearallegiance to theHighKing,’Myrddion stated. This wasnotarequest,itwasanorder.His words were heavy withauthorityandleftnoroomforprotest.

Yet Artorex dared toquestionhisinstructions.

‘My lords, I am newlymarried. I have a smalldaughter, and even now mywife quickens with anotherchild.Howcan I leave them,husbandlessandfatherless,intheseperiloustimes?’

The three lords looked ateach other and amazementand chagrin were written inequalmeasureonthreesetsof

tightenedlips.

‘You’re married?’Llanwith queried withamazement.

Artorex chose to beinsulted, for Gallia’s sake, ifnotforhisown.

‘Yes,my lord. I havewedGallia of the House ofGallus.’

‘This is preposterous!’Llanwith snapped and

Artorex rose to his feet withhis hand hovering near hisdragonknife.

Myrddion,asalways,easedthe sudden tension that filledthediningroom.

‘A worthy wife, and aworthy family,’ Myrddionmurmured.‘AsIrecall,she’stheyoungladywhowashereon the Night of theInnocents.’ He smiled atArtorex. ‘Is she still scarred

orwasmyhandcraftgood?’

‘Yourworkonherwoundswas excellent, LordMyrddion.Shehadtocuttherest of her wonderful manebut her hair grew back soonenough and covered thewound.’

‘Sospeaksthelover,’Lukamuttered drily under hisbreath.

Ector broke into the

conversation, for herecognized the rise inArtorex’sslowbutinexorabletemper, and he could see thedangerous flattening in hisfoster-son’seyes.

‘IfArtorex is needed, thenArtorexmust go, and he canbe assured that the VillaPoppinidii will care for hisfamilyassurelyasifhewerepresent. Caius and I canmuddle our way through his

dutiesduringhisabsence.’HeturnedtoMyrddion.‘I’mstillnot entirely sure, my friend,whyyoushouldneedtheboysobadly.’

‘Artorex is a man, not aboy,andheisalsoaweapon,’Lukasaidimperiously.‘Havewe not honed him tosharpness over these manyyears?’

Artorex was pale withanger. ‘My lords, I am a

person! I am myself ! I amArtorex! Ifmymaster ordersme to journeywithyou, thenso be it. But I’m no man’stool,evenifheisaking.’

Allthreevisitorslookedupat Artorex’s haughty, angryface.Theyexchangedclosed,knowingglances.

Luka nodded unwillinglyin his direction. ‘Perhapsmywords had a sting that wasnot intended, Artorex. I was

merely surprised by yourchangeofcircumstances.’

‘You’ve been absent fromtheVillaPoppinidii formorethan two years, my lords.How could my life notchange during your absence?For, in truth, it doesn’t waituponyourbidding.’

‘Be silent, Artorex!’ Ectorordered sharply, for he wasbecoming seriously alarmedby the words and manner of

hisfoster-son.Hewasusuallyso equable of temper and sorational by nature that to seethe rise of killing rage turnArtorex’s eyes almostcolourlessandblankgavetheold warrior a nasty twinge.‘You’ll go to the MistressGalliaandassureher thatI’llbe as a father to her duringyour absence. And you’llsend word to Targo in thevillage. Gallia will sleepbetter if she knows that the

old rogue will guard yourback.’

‘I’ll abide by your advice,MasterEctor.’

Artorex and Caius bowedand took their leave, butArtorexlaggedbehindand,assoon as Caius haddisappeared down thecolonnade, Artorex creptback to the doorway. Hedidn’t hold with secrets thatconcerned him, even secrets

heldby thegreat onesof thewest.

‘Why did you allow theboy to marry?’ Llanwithgrumbled at Ector, as if themaster had conspired withArtorex to wreck long-cherishedplans.

‘My friends, I don’tunderstand your concern forthe lad. Thematch was verygood, and was well abovewhatArtorex could normally

expecttoachieve.’

‘Above his station?’ Lukascoffed.

Ector stared at him insurprise.

And then, almost as ifLlanwith guessed that earslistened, the voices becameindistinct rumbles, andArtorex was left frustratedand angry - and feelingextremelyfoolish.

Galliagreetedthenewsofherhusband’s imminentdeparturewith ahot floodoftears.Normally,shewasnotawoman prone to fits ofweepingbuttobedeprivedofherhusbandinthedepthsofaharsh winter and for noparticular reason that hecould explain, dismayed andfrightenedher.

Her moods had been

mercurial since Licia’s birth,and Frith had counselledArtorextobepatientwithherfor women sometimes actedstrangely when they borechildren. And so Artorexacceptedheroccasionalmoodswingsandperiodswhenshefeared that all her happinesswasdoomed.

He privately agreed withGallia’s complaint on thisoccasion. Why his presence

on the journey to the southwas so important was amystery to him. Why wouldhis absence matter? Artorexmade a valiant attempt tosoothe Gallia’s fears andpassed on Ector’s promises,but all she could envisagewas bearing a child alonewhile her husband was deepin the south and riding intounknown dangers. She wascertain that he would neverreturntoherarms.

‘IknowthatEctor’sordersare hard to understand, mylove,especiallywhenheonlyaccedes to the desires of thetravellers. I don’t wish toleave you, but perhaps I’lldiscover what threats mightcometothegatesoftheVillaPoppinidii in time to avertthem. I’ll return, I swear toyou, and I’ll be as deeply inlovewithyouasIamnow.Icare for our little Licia toomuch to extend my absence

and, with luck, I’ll returnbeforethenewbabeisborn.’

‘Andperhapsyouwon’t.’

Gallia wept until Artorexkissed away her fears andtookher tobed.There, ashestroked her warm little bodyand kissed her belly, wherethe swelling showed that thechild grew, he felt the sametenderness that he had feltwhen Licia was born. For ashortmoment,astheymoved

together with thesensuousnessandpassionthatGalliaalwaysbroughttotheirbed,Artorexwassickenedbyafearthathemightloseher.

Perhaps Gallia felt thesamefear.

‘You’ll forget me whenyouseetheladiesoftheHighKing’s court.My breasts arechewed by a babe and thepurple marks of childbearingcovermy hips and stomach,’

she murmured wetly againsthischest.

‘Iconsidereachmarktobea badge of honour, far morehonourable than the scars ofbattle,’Artorex joked lightly.‘Truly, if the badges ofchildbearingwere left on thebodies ofmen, there’d be nobabes born at all. Besides,your breasts are beautiful, sohow could I forget them? Ithink you’re more likely to

forget me, now that you aremistressof ahouse.Youcanhaveadozenmenasgoodasme,ifnotbetter.’

‘I love you more than mylife, Artorex,’ Gallia said,smilingbackathim. ‘Now, Ihave no wish to sleep, mylord, since we will parttomorrow. You must remindme of all that I will miss inthelongweekstocome.’

Artorex spent the next

morning detailing the manynecessaryduties thatmustbehandled if the VillaPoppinidii was to functionlikethewell-orderedmachinehehaddeveloped.Duringthediscussion, Targo arrived, asword and dagger at his sideand an old Roman shieldslung over his back. He wasobviously eager to travelsouthwithhismost favouredpupil.

But Artorex was stilltroubled and sought out thefaithful Frith to calm hisgrowing dread. As usual, hefoundtheslavewomaninheraccustomed warm corner ofthe kitchen, while maidsbustled about her, packingprovisionsforhisjourney.

‘I’vebeenexpectingyoutovisit me,’ Frith said calmly.‘The world has come toArtorex,andhe’safraid!’

‘My fears aren’t formyself,Mother Frith, but forGallia, Licia and the childthat will soon be born. I askyou to keep them safe. I’llsleep easier for knowing thatyour wise eyes are upon myfamily. I sense danger in theair. It smells of blood and,yes,I’mafraid!’

Frithclaspedbothhislargehands in hers and he felt thestrength of her character and

purpose that even great oldage could not dim. Shesmiled up at him with thesame openness and trust thatLivinia had given to him asshedied.Artorexfeltasurgeof affection - of love - socompleteandvisceral thatheconsidered, for a moment,how blessed he was. Strong,extraordinary women hadnurtured him and he hadaccepted their affection forhim without thought. Livinia

was dead and she wouldnever be able to know hisgratitude and love for her.But Frith was still alive.Before he departed on ajourney that might bedangerous, Artorex decidedtotelltheservantwomanhowimportantshewastohim.

‘But Artorex,’ Frith saidseriously when he had toldher of his feelings, ‘I alwaysknew that you cared for me,

even though you found itdifficult to tell me yourfeelings.You can be assuredthat I’ll keep your familysafe, my dear. Aye. AndGarethwillhelpme.Thevillacan spare me for a time, soyour family will be withinsight of these tired old eyes.Trustme,Artorex,forIswearI’ll do as I have promised -untildeathtakesme.’

‘Death wouldn’t dare to

comenearyou,oldFrith, foryou’ve scared him witlessyour whole life,’ Artorexjoked. ‘I’m comforted byyourwords,littlemother.’

‘Ah, my lad, I wish I’dbeen your mother. I alwayshave!’

Frith chose to be silentconcerning her own dread.The old woman feltsomething unfurl its darkwings and take flight from

her withered breasts,something that had waiteddecades to take to thewinds.She’d dreamed of crows forthree consecutive nights andher brave words hid herunspokenthoughts.

I’ll not let anything harmmyboy,evenifthegodshavedecidedotherwise, she sworetoherselfasshehurriedoverthe fields toArtorex’shouse.Perhaps I’m imagining

horrors that don’t exist - forwhowouldthreatenthepeaceofaprovincialsteward?

Still, Frith felt thatArtorex’s destiny wasunfurling at last and even asshe comforted Gallia withwell-chosen platitudes, herarthriticfingerstrembledwithanincomprehensibleanxiety.

So Artorex departed fromthe Villa Poppinidii and thecivilized world of Aquae

Sulis for the first time in hismemory. Although darknesshad seeped into the weakdaylight that struggled tolight their journey,nofearofwolves or outcasts wouldshake the purpose of thetravellers to ride all throughthat first longnight.A ruttedtrack would lead them southacross themountains tomeetthe Roman road that wouldcarry them to Sorviodunum,and thence, by an easier

route, to Venta Belgarumitself. Coal set his hoovesdancing on the treacherousblack ice of the road and thescent of snow filled theeveningair.

‘I’ll see theGiant’sDanceon my journey,’ hemarvelled. ‘And I’ll see thegreat plainwhere the strangestones lean drunkenly - theplacewherewightsaresaidtostealawayaman’sreason.’

In some matters, Artorexwasstillaboy,solittleoftheworldhadhe seenduringhistwenty-three years. Theadventure of his journeywasexciting, for all that he wasalready missing Gallia. Onlythoughts of her, waif-like inher warmest cloak andclutching her squirmingtoddler to her breast,dampened his anticipation.Hisordainedplace in life laywith the Villa Poppinidii,

small as that place might bein the thinking of Celtickings.Hisplace in theworldcould never be VentaBelgarum, Sorviodunum orevenLondiniumitself.

Inthedarkness,litonlybyamoonasbloatedandaspaleasthefaceofadrownedman,the horses picked their waycautiously through frozenmud. Luka pressed the smallgroup onward, at a walk but

withoutwasting time for restor comfort. In the earlymorning, as the weak sunrose over the horizon toreveal a rough landscape oftreacherous shale andglowering trees, Lukabrought theparty to ahalt toallow the travellers a shortperiod of sleep. The horseswere hobbled so they couldnot escape yet could searchout what dry grass might befound in this wild and

unforgivingplace.

‘Youmayhave four hoursonly for sleeping,’ Lukawarned. ‘Time marchesonwards, andour presence isawaitedatVentaBelgarum.’

The earth was hard withfrost, but Artorex was veryweary after a day and twonights with little sleep. Yet,on the very brink ofdreaming,hisexhaustedbrainconjured up an image of his

family. Already he wasbeginning to forget thosefairand familiar faces, and tearsleaptunbiddentomoistenhissleepyeyes.

Only amoment seemed topassbeforeTargonudgedhisribswithhissoftridingboot.

‘It’s time to eat, boy,’ theold man said cheerfully andthrust a small bowl intoArtorex’s numb fingers. ‘It’sgruel, and it’s hardly fit to

eat, but I still recall how Ienjoyedsuchmeals.’

‘You’re nostalgic, you oldfaker!’Artorexwavedahandover therising landscape, thesilent valleys and the crowsthat called hoarsely from astand of nearby pine trees.‘Youactuallyloveallofthis.If I’d known that you tookpleasureinthisjaunt,Iwouldhave demanded paymentfromyoubeforeallowingyou

tocomewithme.’

‘MasterEctorgavememymarching orders, lad, anddon’t you forget it.’ Targosmiled crookedly at theyoung man. ‘He told me Iwas to guard your back - itwas so plain that even Iunderstood. But aye, I’lladmit to you, boy, I lovebeing on the road. I’vemissed it for near on fifteenyears while I’ve been in

Ector’s service; there’snothinglikethetangofwoodsmoke, danger and blood tomakeamanfeelalive.’

As noon turned toafternoon in their steadyclimb up the low hills, evenArtorexcouldn’tmaintainhisfeelings of ill use andresentment. The cold airflushed his face under hisgrey, wolf-pelt collar whichheusedtofashionahalfcowl

to cover his head andshoulders. Gallia had linedthe hide with soft wool, andArtorex knew he cut an oddbut not uncivilized figure.The boy inside him wasfascinated by the circlinghawks as they hunted forunwary rabbits, and thepresenceofrooks,ravensandhugeblackcrowsthatseemedmore numerous than in thesofter landscape of AquaeSulis.

‘They always give me thehorrors,’ Targo saidconversationally, noddingtowards the carrion birds ashe eased his horse next toCoal on a wider part of thetrack. ‘The buggerswill taketheeyesoutof adeadman’shead as neat as can be.Actually, they aren’t toofussy if the man isn’t quitedead,either.’

‘Thank you, friend Targo,

for one more lesson on thepleasantries of thebattlefield,’ Artorex retortedsardonically. ‘But I supposeevenbirdshavetoeat.’

‘With them it’s more thanhunger-they’renature’swayof cleaning up the mess, Isuppose.I’vefoughtinplaceswhereitwassohot,Ithoughtmy armour would burn myskinblack-andthosecarrioneaterswerethere.I’vefought

inplaceswhereyoupissice-andthey’restillthere,waitingtocleanupthemess.’

‘All things must live,Targo,’Myrddioncalledbackto the old veteran withoutbotheringtoturnhishead.

‘I just don’t want them tolive onme,’ Targomuttered,and tapped the side of hisnose.

Artorex laughed out loud

and disturbed the crows,whichrosefromthetreesinasmallcloudofblackwings.

At Luka’s urging, theyrode as fast as the landscapeand the condition of thehorseswouldpermit.Anotherdaypassedasthesmalltroopclimbed over the last of thelow hills and approached aflat, grey-green expanse thatstretched as far as the eyecouldsee.

‘The Great Plain,’Myrddion said. ‘And overyonder, that’s the Giant’sDance.’

Artorex could see that theRoman road on which theynow travelled bypassed theGiant’s Carol that was afamiliarmarkerontheroadtoSorviodunum. He alsodeduced that the road wasdesigned to avoid thestructure,for theCarolwasa

magical thing that wasbeyond rational explanation -even rational Romanunderstanding. There was noopportunity to closelyexamine the stone teeth withtheir great raised lintels butthe gaping open circleseemedincomprehensibleandmenacing.

Artorex decided that thestone in his glade in theOldWoodwas a brother to these

rough-hewn, grey pillars, nottall in the winter light, butthick and mossy - anddreadful.

‘What do you think of theCarol, Artorex?’ Myrddionasked. ‘My people believethat the Sun God spiritedthesestonesacrosstheSeaofHibernicus from the BlessedIsles, and laid themouthere,exactlyasyouseethemnow,to claim this land for his

childrenforever.’

‘It’s a pretty tale, but doyou believe it, my lord?’Artorexcountered.

The older man laughed,openly and without guile.‘No,Artorex, I don’t believein magical stones that fly.Men built the Carol - andsurely not Myrddion, theLordofLight.’

‘You were named for the

SunGod,mylord?’

‘Aye.’ Then Myrddionsighed.‘Iwasgivenmynamemany years ago, and thewords spoken over me frozeme into the man you seebefore you, with neitherlivingwifenor children. It isdestined that only theexercise of power andinfluencewillbemylot.’

Artorex’s last view of thestone circles was of a

brooding, grey landscape astheypassed.Hamlets sent upplumes of smoke from holesin sod roofs, but the ridersavoidedall civilization.EvenSorviodunum was bypassed,although Artorex saw thepalisades of its walls in thedistance and wondered whywood was used to repel anythreatofattack.

Fire burns and consumeswood, sowhydon’t theyuse

stone?heaskedhimselfasheremembered his own housewith its walls constructed offieldrockandmudbrick.

The end of their longjourney was nowapproaching. The roads theytravelled were wellmaintained and carried aheavytrafficoftraders,bandsof warriors and priests.Without exception, fellowitinerants gave Myrddion’s

party a wide berth, not onlybecausetheywererecognizedas men of power but alsobecause the four men had agrim,purposefulmien.

‘It seems that the worldjourneystoVentaBelgarum,’Luka said derisively. ‘TheycallUtherPendragonafailedand dyingman but,when hecalls,theycome.’

‘Who else is there to rulein suchdesperate timesother

thantheHighKing?’Artorexasked, but his question wasignored.

Artorexwas unshaven anddirty when they reached thelow stone and wooden wallsof Venta Belgarum. He wasembarrassed by his wolfcloak and by the stubble onhis face, forVentaBelgarumwas the largest and mostextraordinary city thatArtorexhadeverseen.

In reality, the thatchedandsod-roofed cottages thatclusteredoutsideitswallshadsprung up around a smallRoman administrative centrethat controlled the protectedports to the south thatwelcomed trade from Gauland elsewhere in the Romanworld. Inside the walls, thebuildings were of woodconstruction and wereplasteredanddecoratedintheRoman style. The only

exception was a small stonebuilding perched on a rise atthecentreofthecity.

‘What is that place,Myrddion?’ Artorex asked,pointing to the strange,unwieldystructure.

‘That’s a temple dedicatedto the Christian god andpresided over by Branicus,the bishop. Uther Pendragonprofesses to be a Christian,especially sincemany highly

bornRomans have embracedthe Jewish faith, so he keepscourt at Venta Belgarumwhen he can, in order to benearhisconfessor.’

Artorex scratchedreflectively at the stubble onhischin.

‘Does the king rely on hisgods or on his strong rightarm?’ he asked Luka, whostoodbesidehim.‘Andwheredoesheresideifthestrongest

ofthesehousesisusedbyhispriest?’

‘You ask many questions,Artorex,’ Luka answeredgravely. ‘I know that Utherpayshomage to theChristiangod and to his confessor, forhe believes his sins will bewashed away by the Christ.And if you had waded in asmuch blood as Uther, youwould also need spiritualcomfort when Death peers

overyourshoulder.’

Artorex snorted indisbelief,forasfarashewasconcerned,prayingwasasignof weakness if a mandepended on it overmuch.Targo had taught him, as aboy and as a man, to trustfirstlyinhimself.

‘ThereisthehallwheretheHighKing resides.’Llanwithpointed towards a courtyardand a long building with

shallow steps that elevated itabove the mud of theroadway. The basicconstruction was of timber,andartisanshadcarvedeveryexposed beam and wall, sothat dragons, serpents andcreatures of legend writhedupon every surface. Thecarving had been gilded andpainted with such skill thatthe strange animals almostseemed tomoveandbreathe.But Artorex grimaced as he

lookedbeneath the splendourand recognized the decay inthe fine structure, in itsfading, rain-washedpaintwork and its splittingdecoration. The rot wasbarelynoticeableasyet,butitwas there, visible in theblackened beams in theforecourtwheregreatbraziershad been permitted to licktheir flames and dark smokeintotheceilings.

Uther’s Great Hall wassplendid,gorgeousanddying.

Thehourwas late, and theparty didn’t have the luxuryoftimetobathe,sothesmalland rather odorous grouphanded their horses to stableworkersandjoinedagrowingcrowd of supplicants in theforecourt.Artorex brushed athisclothinginavainattemptto remove the worst of themud and wondered at the

perfumed sycophants whotalked vivaciously in cornerswhile beautiful womenclustered with their menfolklike brightly paintedbutterflies. One woman’sface,partlyhiddenbyaheavyblack cowl that covered herhair,seemedoddlyfamiliartothe young man, but shepassed Artorex withoutacknowledginghim.

A servant hurried to

Myrddion’s shoulder andbowed low. He whisperedhastilyinMyrddion’searandnodded towards huge,wooden doors that weredecorated with wingedserpents and birds with thefacesofwomen-allcoveredwithbeatenmetal.

‘Uther summons us,’ thescholarstatedbluntly,turningtohis friends. ‘Nowyouwilllearn, Artorex, on what

shoulders the fate of ourworldrests.’

Servants bowed andopened the brazen doors,permitting the five membersof the party to pass throughunhindered. Inside, hugeCeltic warriors with longbound hair and torcs ofvarious metals anddecorations, as befitted theirstations, formed a guard atthe door. More men were

standing behind the dais atthe far end of the draughtyhall. Even a roaring fire in acentralstonepitcouldn’theatthechillair,andArtorexwasglad of his wolf pelt, for allthat it made him seem to befirst cousin to a barbarian.Fortunately, the ceiling washigh; the thick grey smokeformed an overhead blanketthat stainedandobscured thepaintedserpentsintherafters.

Artorex looked up andspied a round hole cut intotheceilingtoallowthesmoketo escape, which it dismallyfailedtodo.

This hall is primitive, hethought in amazement,remembering Ector’s villaand itswarmfloorsandcosyrooms.

Twoshallowstepsledtoadais above the level of themany warriors, Druids,

priests and tribal aristocratswho huddled by the manysmaller braziers inside thelarge, chilly room. On thedais sat a shrunken figureshrouded entirely in an over-robe of thick, luxuriant bearfur.Theman’s facewas old,its sallow skin stretchedthinly over massive bones.Hismouthwas cruel and thecorners were turned up in aparodyofasmile,evenwhenhislipswereatrest.Theeyes

in that vicious face wereburied in heavy pouches, butArtorexcouldseetheglintofsteel-blue irises gazing athim, as inflexible asbluestone from the westernmountains. This skeletalmask was the face of a manwho still held the reins ofpower in his huge wastedhands that clutched the armsof his chair. The malice thatruled himwas evident in thepuckered full mouth and its

empty,meaninglesssmile.

‘Hail,Uther,HighKingofthe Britons!’ Myrddion paidhomagetothemaninavoiceso ringing that it carried tothe furthest corners of theGreat Hall. Then he sank tohisknees.‘Ihavecome,LordUther,asyouordered.’

‘Hail, Uther, High Kingand Liege Lord,’ Luka andLlanwith repeated, alsosinkingtotheirknees.

Ratherawkwardly,Artorexand Targo dropped to thehard, stone-flagged floor,unsure of their purpose insuchexaltedcompany.

Threewomensatonsilkencushionson thedais.Artorexobserved them closely fromunder his lowered head andeyelashes, while UtherPendragon called for a winecup, arrogantly leaving hisgueststokneelathisfeet.

The oldest woman hadlong passed her fiftieth year,a very respectable age for afemale,butherruinedbeautywas a sad contrast to thecomplexions of the youngerwomen who attended to herneeds. She was dressed invarious shades of blue andgreywools,includingafinelywoven shawl that halfconcealed the faded hair thathad once been rich and nut-brown. Half hidden by

drooping eyelids, her eyeswereaclear, cleangrey.Thejewels at her throat, greatcabochon sapphires andmisshapen pearls, and thegolden ringson every finger,even her thumbs, proclaimedherstatus.

For the first time, Artorexlooked on the face of thefabledYgerne,wife ofUtherPendragon and widow ofGorlois, the Boar of

Cornwall.

The two women who satbesideher,oneonherleftandoneontheright,hadastrongphysical resemblance toYgerne but lacked theOtherworld beauty thatlegend swore had drivenUthermadwith desire in thedays of his vigorous middleage. The older of the twofemales lowered her blackcowl and Artorex was

stunned to recognize the oddface of Morgan, itinerantfortunetellerandbeggar,nowdecked in gold chains overher sable robes. The womanonYgerne’sleftwasyoungerand softer than Morgan, andshe seemed petulant at beingforced to sit in the chill hallfor hours. Like Ygerne, herhair was covered, signifyingher wedded state, but shedisdained her sister’s blackraiment.Sheworeanermine-

edgedcloakofduskycrimsonand her under-robe was arich,clearyellow.

‘Rise, my guests, rise!’Uther ordered as he sippedwine warmed with honey.‘Well,Myrddion,mysharpesteye in the east. What havocdo the Saxons bring todiscomfortmenow?’

‘Theybringfireanddeath,burned cities and ruinedtemples and churches.’

Myrddion spoke slowly andwith ponderous gravity, as ifhecouldstirtheHighKingtoaction by the power of hiswords alone. ‘By spring,when the next wave comes,their foothold on our landswill be complete. I fear thatwe shall never drive themout,sire,ifyoudonotchooseto strike before they arewithin their own fortifiedwalls.’

Uther ignored Myrddionand turned his reptilian eyeson the two kings whoaccompaniedhim.

‘Welcome, friend Luka,KingoftheBrigante,andpenBryn,KingoftheOrdovice.Ibid you rest in my city, andknow that I mourn with youforthedeathsofyourfathers.Yet, as I’m sure you agree,it’s sometimes a good thingthatoldmeneventuallydie -

especiallyfathers!’

Myrddion had flushedwhen Uther ignored hiswordsutterly,butnowitwastheturnofLukaandLlanwithto clench their fists andredden across theircheekbones at Uther’scalculatedinsult.

‘Never, my lord, for thosewholovetheirkin,’Llanwithanswered, his body strungtightwithrepressedrage.

‘And who are your othercompanions?They’reaprettyduo of oddities - obviouslythe long and the short of itall.’

The courtiers in the hallresponded to their king’srasping laughter with politetitters of their own, althoughArtorex’s great size andTargo’s small but tangiblesenseofmenacewerenotthenatural subjects of jokes.

Artorex noticed that noguards smiled, for theirwaryeyes had scanned the pair assoon as they walked throughthe brazen doors and hadimmediately deemed them tobefellowwarriors.

Myrddion beckonedArtorex and Targo forward.His dark eyes begged theyoung man to exercisecaution.

‘I have brought Artorex,

foster-son of Lord Ector oftheVillaPoppinidiiatAquaeSulis, a warrior. HiscompanionisTargo,aRomanveteran and Artorex’spersonalguard.’

Uther’s lips curled as hechewed upon a new jest atArtorex’s expense. Artorexcomposedhisfeaturessothathis grey eyes and chiselledface showed nothing of thethoughts passing through his

brain.

‘Remove that coveringfrom your head and comecloser.Iwishtolookatyou.’

‘Aye, my King,’ Artorexreplied and swept off thewolf-pelt cloak.He passed itcarefully to Targo withoutpermitting his flat eyes toleaveUther’sface.

Artorex’s extraordinaryhair, plaited at the side but

free to tumbleandcurldownhisback,caughtthereflectionofthefiresinablazeofruddygoldandblood-red.Hisgreatheight allowed him to lookdirectlyintoUther’seyes.

As old blue irises metimpenetrable grey, the aircrackled and hissed withtension.

‘Who was your father,boy? Or don’t you know?’Uther grinned mirthlessly,

with a sneer of contempt.‘WhatwouldIcareforAquaeSulis, or Ector of the OldForest? Provincial Romans,lad!Provincialnobodies!’

Noonelaughed.

‘I don’t knowmy lineage,my King, but Lucius ofGlastonbury must hold thesecret of my birth. On hisorders, I was sent to MasterEctor as a babe and he hascontinuedtopayredgoldfor

my tutelage these twenty-threeyears.’

A small cry escaped fromYgerne’s lips. Instantly, shecovered her mouth with herhand while her faded eyesdevoured Artorex’s face andform.

Morgan smiledenigmatically at UtherPendragon. She seemedoblivious of her mother’sdistress, while she fed off

Uther’s sudden gasp ofconsternation.

Uther was no dissembler.He sat rigidly, his beringedfingers gripping the wood ofhis chair armswithwhitenedknuckles.

‘Where did you get thatdagger, boy?’ Uther pointedto the dragon knife onArtorex’s left hip. Hisforefinger trembled, ever soslightly. ‘I want to see it!

Bring it to me - someone -anyone!’Hisvoicerosetoanoldman’squaver.

Artorex drew out the longblade from its scabbard andhandedit,hiltfirst,toagrey-haired warrior whoapproached from the King’srighthand.

Once Uther had the knifein his grip, his fingers tracedthe iron dragon on its hilt,followingthecreature’sspine

along the tail and back to itswickedmouth.

‘Who gave you leave touse my dragon?’ Uthersnapped, his eyes burning,malicious and vindictivewithin their pouches ofwrinkledflesh.

Artorexwasperplexedandforthefirsttimehepermittedhis face to show hisconfusion.

‘Thatisn’tyourdragon,mylord. A blacksmith from avillage near to my homeforged the knife for me. Hebelieved he owedme a debt,and he copied its featuresfrom the Dracos Legionstandard.’

Myrddion moved forward,his body taut withapprehension.

‘Aquae Sulis remains veryRoman,myking.TheDracos

Legionleft itsmarkuponthetowns closest to Llanwith’slands, where the Romansbuilt their forts. This dragonis Dracos of Rome, withsome refinements. No insultwaseverintended,mylord.’

A thin sheen of sweatcovered Myrddion’s face.Artorex had never seen himalarmed or disconcerted, andhefelthisnervestwitch.WhywasMyrddion so frightened?

And why did this mad oldtyrant play cruel games withhisguests?

‘Hmmff !’ Uther grunted.Plainly, he wasn’t mollified.He returned the knife to hisguardwho, in turn, placed itinArtorex’shands.

Theoldwarriorchosenforthe task examined every lineof Artorex’s face during thisprocess. Then he honouredthe younger man with the

slightest hint of a bowedhead.

‘It’s a fineweapon, youngsir,’theguardsaidquietly.

UtherturnedtoMyrddion.

‘Are you playing withme?’ he snapped, whileArtorex thought irreverentlythat the mouth of his kingwas like apike’smaw, filledwith wicked teeth andrapacity. ‘Whydidyoubring

this lad to me, Myrddion?Whatareyouplotting?’

‘Sire,LordEctorisafriendof the west, and he’s astalwart supporter of yourHighness in all that you do.His ties to Aquae Sulis arestrong and, where he leads,many of the common peoplewill follow. Within his ownsmall sphere, Artorex hasperformed many heroicdeeds.Atgreatpersonal risk,

he destroyed a group ofdepravedchildkillers,andheis, arguably, the ablestwarrior in the north-west. Ibrought him to VentaBelgarum to pay homage toyou, and to offer his strongarmandcoldlogictoyouforuse against the Saxons.’ Hedropped to his knees andbowed his head insupplication. ‘Iwouldn’tplotagainst the High King ofBritain, sire. Ever! I have

been your loyal servant forlonger than I care toremember, and so I willalwaysremain!’

‘Enough, Myrddion, I canonly tolerate so manycomplimentsinoneday.’

The old man gnawed onone yellowed nail and thensmiled with maliciousdelight.Ashe formulatedhisplans,healmostgloatedashestaredatArtorex’saureoleof

amberhair.

‘Weshallsoonseewhetheryour boast is true,’ hegiggled. His attentionremained fixed on Artorex.‘Artorex? That is yourname?’

‘Yes,mylord.’

‘Are you willing toundertake a small sportingcontestagainstthebestofmywarriors? Or don’t you trust

yourarm?’

‘I’ll do whatever youdesire, my king, if it givesyoupleasure,’Artorexrepliedevenly.

Uther heardMorgan laughsoftlyathiswords.Thesoundwas delicate and mocking,like the tinkling of silverbells.

‘My suggestion amusesyou,Morgan?Well!Ifthatis

so, perhaps you, your sisterand your mother will watchthe contest with me and beentertained.’ The High Kingdidnoteventroubletoglanceatthewomen.

‘I’llwelcomeit,mydeareststepfather,’ Morgan replied,her face as reptilian as themask of her king. ‘Anythingtobreakthetediumofendlessspeech.’

Uther made a dismissive

motion with his hand andMyrddion gripped Artorex’selbow and pulled himbackwardbodily.

‘Bow, boy!’ he hissed andthefivewarriorsbackedawayfrom the uncertain temper oftheirking.

As Uther turned hisattention to some newpetition,Ygerne swept away,almostatarun,herblueskirtsswirling about her and loose

tendrils of bound hair flyingaboutheranguishedface.Herdaughters followed her at amore sedate pace while,behind them, a low hum ofmuffled conversation drewattentiontoheroddretreat.

The five men backedswiftly and silently outthrough thebrazendoorsandintotheforecourt.Oncethosedoors had closed on freshmeatforUther’spleasureand

malice,Artorex turned to thethree travellers - as theywould always remain in hismind.

‘That madman is UtherPendragon?’ Artorex askedLuka, his face at lastpermitted to register hisdisgust.

‘He’s not a lunatic,Artorex. Our task would befar easier if he were. Utherwas always a predator, so

perhaps the cruelty in hisnature was the quality thatpermitted him to assume themantleofHighKing.Buthisinternal fires have burnedlow.He’slostthewilltotakerisks, so he vents hisbloodlust and frustration onthose nearest to him,including those who arefaithfuluntodeath.’

Luka explained thesituation calmly and quietly,

but Artorex saw that hishandstwitchedandclenched.

‘He must die!’ Llanwithhissedandthefacesofhisoldfriends blanched at histreasonouswords.

‘Don’t say or think suchtreachery,’Myrddionorderedthe western king. ‘Not whenwe are so close to success.We walk between knifepoints here, but we havedeliveredamessagetoUther.

Perhaps the sorry impassebetween the west and theSaxonswillfinallybebrokenif theHighKing is forced tomarchagainstourenemies.’

‘You dream, old friend,’Llanwith grumbled as theystrodeoutintothecoldnight.‘Uther will only act whenArtorex’sheadisdeliveredtohim on a platter. And thenhe’ll dance a jig rather thango to war. We’re taking

enormousrisks,Myrddion.’

Perplexed, Artorex lookeddirectlyatMyrddion.

‘Why do you continue tospeak in riddles?’ heprotested.‘Idon’tunderstand.Why would Uther want medead? And why doesLlanwith hate our king withsuchpassion?’

‘With Llanwith’spermission, and without

going into detail as even thenightwind has ears inVentaBelgarum, perhaps I canexplain,’Myrddionbegan.

‘I’ve no objection,’Llanwithrumbledtestily.

‘Uther didn’t turn into amonster overnight,’Myrddionsaidsoftlytoavoidany chance of beingoverheard. ‘He was ever adifficult, capricious man, ashis...punishmentofGorlois

ofCornwallindicates.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’retalking about,’ Artorexcomplained.

Myrddion sighed irritably.‘The older woman on thedais, Queen Ygerne, wasonce married to Gorlois, theBoar of Cornwall. Uthergazed on her face but once,and he lusted after her. Heseduced her by trickery andwhenGorloisobjected,Uther

sent him into a battle wherethe Boar was killedtreacherously. Later, Ygernequickened with child, soUther took her as his wife.Those who knew Uther’ssecret believe that the childdied in childbirth, leavingUther without a legitimateheir.Theotherwomensittingwith Ygerne on the dais areMorgan and Morgause, thedaughtersofGorlois.’

‘I’ve met Morgan,although she was pretendingto be a poor fortune teller atthetime,’Artorexmurmured.‘How does she feel aboutUther?’

‘Can’t you tell?’ Lukainterrupted. ‘She loathes himto the point of obsession sosheconspirestostayasclosetohimasshecan.Morgan isabeautifulwoman,butI’dbeafraidtobealoneinthesame

roomwithher.She’dcastrateamanassoonaslookathim,and then expect him to begratefulforhergift.’

‘Your language iscolourful,Luka,butitdoesn’texplainwhyLlanwithandhisking are at odds,’ Myrddionretorted testily. ‘The othervain bitch is QueenMorgause. She’s married toLot, theKing of theOtadini,whorulesthelowlandsnorth

of theWall. Lotmay be fat,but he’s a formidable fighterand an important ally of thewest. With his marriageconnections, he considershimself to be a claimant toUther’s throne. The childrenof Gorlois are dangerouswomen, so be warned, myyoung friend. You may beassured that I’ll be expectingan explanation of how youbecame acquainted withMorgan.’

Myrddionpaused.

‘At the time of which wespeak, Llanwith’s late fatherwas king of the Ordovicetribe. Likemany good Celts,he disapproved of the fatethat befell any Dumnoniiwarriors who refused toacceptUther’s version of thedeath ofKingGorlois.Uthercreated a credible lie, butmanyprominentmenfoundithard to believe that Gorlois

wasatraitoranddeservedhissticky end. Consequently,Uther was angry with theOrdovice and his spiteresulted in the death ofLlanwith’s uncle. Uther senthim toCamulodunumwith atroop of hand-pickedwarriors. They wereslaughteredbytheSaxons.’

Artorex raised an eyebrowas he absorbed thisinformation. How could

UtherbeatfaultifLlanwith’skinhaddiedinbattle?

‘I can tell that you don’tunderstand the ruthlesssubtlety of your High King,Artorex,’ Llanwith said in avoice that was quiet andcalm.‘Myuncleandhistroopwere all men who hadangered Uther in some wayand, somehow, the Saxonswerewarnedoftheforay.Myfather didn’t believe in

coincidences-andneitherdoI.’

Artorexwasunabletofindanything to say in eithersympathy or understanding.He stood andwatched as thethree travellers made theirwayoutoftheforecourt.

‘Iwishsomeone-anyone-would tell me what is goingon,’Artorexexclaimedtothecold air and then stirred hislong legs to join Myrddion,

LlanwithandLuka,whowerestridingoffintotheafternoondarkness.

‘I can’t tell what the kingrequires of you,’ Targoansweredhispupildrily.‘ButIdoknowthattheoldbuggerdoesn’t like you overmuch. Ithought we’d be put to theswordwhenhesawthatknifeof yours. One of the firstthingsIlearnedinthelegionswas that a common soldier

shouldstayas faraspossiblefrom them that gives theorders.Itstandstoreasonthatleaders such as UtherPendragon have far deepergamestoplaythantocareforthe pawns who exist withintheirworld.’

The deepening gloom waspervasive, but the snowclouds had fled at last. Thestars appeared like whiteholes burned into the sable

clothoftheskiesandArtorexachedtothinkthatGalliaandLicia could see those samestars from their snug villa.Around him, the stillness ofsilent walkways smelled ofdanger,sothathesethisfeeton the cobbles carefully andlightly, his hand resting onthepommelofhissword.

Mud and filth collected inthecornersofthecity,asifahigh tide had washed a

detritus of rubbish throughthe alleyways when thecitizens were asleep. Thecorpse of a dog, stiff-leggedin rigor, lay frozen near astone doorstep, and Artorexsmelledtherankodourofrawsewerage that overlaid theevenmorenauseatinglysweetstinkofdeath.

ArtorexhadcometoVentaBelgarumandhaddiscoveredthatitwasfurtherfromhome

than he could ever haveimagined.

CHAPTERXI

TRIALOFSTRENGTH

As the fivemen settled theirwearybonesintheirroomsinthe Wild Boar Inn, theapartments of Queen Ygernewere in unaccustomeddisarray.

Ygerne had torn hersleeping room apart, tossingcushions,coverletsandboxesof perfumed wood into agreat pile on the rush-mattedfloor. Her hair had comeundone as she smashed andrippedherowntreasuresinanexcess of anger and fear.Now she lay, curled upprotectively on her wool-stuffedpallet,andweptbitter,scaldingtears.

Morgan entered quietly,followed by a timidmaidservant who began tocleanupthemess.

‘Is he trying to drive memad?’Ygerneraisedhertear-ravaged face to her daughterand gripped Morgan’s handstightly. ‘What does he wantofme?’

‘Who,Mother?’

‘Uther!Godsavemysoul,

does the man hate me somuch that he finds suitableyoung men to taunt me? Itwouldbeeasiertokillmyselfandbedonewiththisfarce.’

‘No,Mother.Utherhasnopart in this particular game.He’s as shockedasyouare -and he’s frightened, too.Myrddion Merlinus is thepuppet-master this time andhe bears you no grudge. Heaimshisbarbssquarelyatmy

so-dear stepfather, the HighKing.’

Morgan lifted Ygerne toherfeetandheldtheweepingwoman protectively in herarms. As much as she wasable, Morgan softened herstern, handsome face androcked her mother as if shewereachild.

As Ygerne’s sobs slowlydied away, Morgan orderedthe servant girl to straighten

hermistress’ssumptuousbedandthenleavetheroom.

‘I’d not be tempted togossip about the queen’stears,’ she added. ‘Do youunderstand me, woman? Ifyoushouldspeak,thenI’llbeforced to silence your voicepermanently.’

Themaid fearfully openedandclosedhermouthseveraltimes, but no sound cameforth. Wide-eyed and almost

tripping in her terror, shecurtseyed awkwardly andbackedoutoftheroom.

‘We can’t be overheardnow. Lie down, Mother, foryou’re overwrought andexhausted. You need toregainyourstrength.’

Morgan gently eased hermotheroutofherouterrobesand coaxed her on to hercarved sleeping couch.Ygerne clutched her

daughter’s hand in suddenpanic andMorgan could feelthe delicate bones that wereas fragile as sticks of ivory,yetstrongwithdesperation.

‘WhatdoesMyrddionwantofme?’

‘Nothing,Mother.Nowbestill. That young man,Artorex,hasnoideawhoyouare. Nor will anyone elsemake theconnection -unlessyoutellthem.’

‘But he can’t be my son,’Ygernewailed.‘Luciussworeto me that the babe diedshortlyafterbirth.’

How this sad womanwishedthatshehadneverseteyesonthatcold,youngfacein the king’s hall and yet, ifhewasherson,shewantedtosoothe her fears by seeinghimagain-andyetagain.

‘He is your son,Mother. Iknow. I bade him cast the

bonesyearsagoandhisbirthwas written in the patterns.He’ll become King of theBritons - if thebones tell thetruth.’

‘ButishetheseedofUtheror is he from Gorlois, myhusband?Icouldn’tbear it ifthat monster had spawnedhimselfinmybody.’

‘He’s Uther’s son! Couldyounotsee,Mother?Ididn’tneed thebones to tellme so.

Didyounotseehishair?’

Ygernesighed,andaworldof bitter regret and self-knowledgewasinthatsound.

‘IlaywithmyhusbandandUther spent his seed in mybody. Either could havefatheredthechild,orsoItoldmyself, when I quickened.ButUther’s sonwillhatemefor my desertion of him.Uther’s son will require areckoning.Whatwillbecome

ofus?’

‘Artorex isn’tUther.Utheralways burns with heat untilhe consumes everyone andeverythingaroundhim-evenyou, Mother. But Artorex iscold, like ice or iron. Hismindishissovereign,nothispassions, andwemay yet beglad for that mercy.’Morgan’svoicewasquiteflatandtoneless,asifthetrialsofthe Great Hall had happened

longbeforeshewasborn.

‘ThenUtherwillkillhim,’Ygerne wailed. ‘The King ismuch likeCronos, theGreekgod who devoured hischildren. I can see the bloodlustinhiseyes.’

‘Hemaytry,Mother,butItellyounowthatArtorexwillnot die easily. I know thatMyrddion is playing adangerous game - one thatmay bring salvation for the

west.’

Morgandrewafurcoverletover her mother’s shouldersand stroked her faded hair,almost as if their roles hadbeen reversed - as perhapstheywere.

‘Sleep,Mother. Tomorrowwill bring troubles enough,but you must be careful toshow no partiality for thisyoungmanor, truly, he’ll bekilled without cause by the

HighKing.’

‘DoyoualsohateArtorex,Morgan?IfheisUther’sson,then he is the poisoned fruitthat was born out of yourfather’smurder.’

Morgan stood upright, andher eyes saw beyond theroom, perhaps beyond timeand the imperishable starsthemselves.

‘I will always detest him,

Mother,butitisnotmyplaceto lift my hand against him.The fates have alreadydecided that another willbring him to ruin - awomanwithyellowhair.’

Ygerne sighed again andMorgan stroked her hand asthechillwindmoanedoutsideand keened through thecorridors of Venta Belgarumlike a pack of foragingwolves.

IntheWildBoarInn,Artorexwashed and scraped at thestubble on his chin with asharp blade and longed forthe calidarium and hisbattered strigil.Hungermadehis stomach growl, yet thethoughtoffoodrevoltedhim.Tonight, he decided, hewould wring answers out ofMyrddion,orhewould leavethis ugly, freezing place that

was ruled by a mad, blood-soakedking.

At supper in a privateroom,Artorex seatedhimselfon a bench in the Celticfashion and presented hisultimatumtothethreelords.

‘Either someone explainswhat is going on or I’ll rideforhomeatfirstlight.Iknowthat I owe you a great deal,including my education andmysafechildhoodattheVilla

Poppinidii, but I’m heartilysick of being treated like achild.’

‘But you won’t bepermitted to leave, Artorex,’Luka exclaimed impatiently.‘You’ve sworn to battle oneof Uther’s best warriors onthemorrow.’

‘IcandoasIplease,Luka.How many times must I tellyouthatIamnoman’stool?’

‘Very well, Artorex. Verywell. I will explain what Ican,’ Myrddion said calmly,although Artorex could seethat his narrow handstrembled slightly. Myrddiontookadeepbreathandspokequietly,forthewallsinVentaBelgarumhadears.

‘Uther wasn’t always theshell you saw today.Hewasonceafightingmanofgreaterskill thananyofushereand,

perhaps,possessedevenmoretalent than you, my youngfriend. I became his servantduringmyyouthwhenhewasstillinhisprime,andheusedmy intelligence and myknowledge of languages theway you use your knife. Irosehigh in thecourtsof theKing,butnow,inhisoldage,hetrustsnothingandnobody,notevenme.’

Artorex coughed

awkwardly,becausehecouldfeel thehot regretbehind thecalculatingeyesofhisfriend.

‘Morgan, his stepdaughter,is a seer and a Druidpriestess, and she’s risen ashigh in that order as anywoman can reach. Even as achild,shehatedherstepfatherandforetold thatachildwithrussethairwouldeclipsehim.Uther was angry beyondreasonandnowell-bornchild

with fair colouring was safefrom his murderousretribution.’

Myrddionpaused,andthencontinued.

‘You are highly born,Artorex, as your nameimplies, but I cannot revealyour father’s name to you;not even if you leave us andbring all our long years ofwork to nothing. You mustaccept that your father

handed you to Lucius andeventual safety, for Luciussent you far from Uther’scourt to keep you free fromharm. We’ve watched overyou for much of our lives,youngman, and even thoughwe fear and despise whatUther has become, we neverplanned to use you as aweapon against him. TheHighKinghasbut little timetolive,asyouhaveseen.’

The wind shook theshutters of the roomand slidits way along the cracks towind its cold fingers throughArtorex’shair.

‘I know. He smells likecarrionalready.’

‘You must be seen as aworthy warrior by the tribesandgain aname that reflectsthe skills that Targo hastaught you, so that you canservethepeoplewhentheold

kingdies.’

‘Perhaps you might evenbecomeHighKingyourself,’Llanwithrumbled.

‘Don’t jest, Llanwith. Ilack the authority to becomeHighKing.’

‘Butthere’snoreasonwhyyou shouldn’t useyour hard-wonskillstohelpUther,ifheresumes his war against theSaxons. If he doesn’t go to

war, or if he dies, you canfight to assist his successor.Most citizens have heard theprophecy of the russet-hairedwarrior so, should yousucceed against Uther’schampion,peoplewillbelievethatanewherohascomeandwill ask the High King torenew the defence of ourlands. How could suchactions harm you? Or hurtyourfamily?’

‘Itcan’thurtmyfamilybutI’ll be risking . . .’Artorex’swordspeteredaway.

‘You’ve promised Utherthatyouwill fight tomorrow.It may have been in a fit ofpiquebutyoumadeavowtothe High King,’ Llanwithstated. ‘He’ll want to knowhow highly you value yourword.’

‘That’s a low blow,Llanwith!’ Artorex turned to

face theOrdoviceking. ‘I’vebeen manoeuvred into somekind of contest for reasonsthataren’tverysound.’

‘Uther obviously has noliking for you,’ Luka said.‘Butasmartmanwouldhavebeen meek and compliant,regardless of how rude hissovereignwas.’

‘So now it’s my fault thatI’vebeencoerced intoarmedcombat. Please, Luka, I’ll

needabetterreasonthanthattofaceUther’sman.’

‘Uther’s court is Celtic inits nature; but you’ve beenraised with one foot on theRomanway and the other intribal cultures,’ Myrddioncontinued, his dark eyes fulloffervour.‘Butwenowhaveneed of the old Romanvirtues.’

Lukatookuptheargument.‘WeCeltsare toopassionate.

Left to ourselves, we’dsquabble and fightwith eachother, just as we did foruntold generations before theRomans came. How elsecould the Romans havedefeatedus?Theirstrategyofdivide and conquer workedperfectly.’

‘The great Caesar pickedusoff,onebyone,’Llanwithcut in roughly, in his usualcurtfashion.‘TheSaxonswill

dothesametothewestifwedon’t have a strong hand tounite and guide us. But youmay leave if such is yourwish, Artorex. After all, likeall Celts, you resent beingtold what to do. I, for one,won’tstopyou.’

‘Very well,’ Artorexgrowledinirritation.‘Iwon’tleave. But Uther will orderme to be killed tomorrow, incombatandbeforethepeople,

ifhetrulywantsmedead.’

‘Are you strong, boy?’Lukaaskedgrimly.

‘Aye,lord.Strongenough,’Artorexreplied.

‘But are you fast, boy?’Llanwithcontinued.

‘Aye,lord.Fastenough.’

‘Anddoyouknowhow tocheat, lad?’Targo added, hisgrinwideandmischievous.

‘Yes,Iknowhowtocheat,and to think, and to fight onground ofmy own choosing,using either hand,’ Artorexrepliedwithanironicgrin.

‘Then you won’t dietomorrow,’ Myrddionresponded.‘You’llsurvive.’

Artorex smiledsardonicallyandbegan toeata light meal under thewatchful eyes of his elders.He drank freshwater instead

ofmeador ale and tookcarenot to overfill his stomach,forhewouldneedhisbodytobestrongandfaultlessonthecoming day. When hefinished, the four men whohad been his guardians formost of his life rose to theirfeetandorderedhimtobed.

Targowastheonlymantoofferpracticaladvice.

‘You must clean, sharpenandoilyourweaponsatdawn

tomorrow, Artorex. You sawthesizeofthoseCelticbrutesin Uther’s Hall - no insultintended, gentlemen,’ heapologizedfortheracialslur.

‘Nonetaken,friendTargo,’Llanwithrumbled.

‘Doyouwantmyshield?Itis yours for the asking,’Targooffered.

‘I’venevercaredovermuchfor a shield, so I’ll use my

dagger and sword. If I lacktheskillstoavoidthereachofUther’s warrior, then Ideservetobedefeated.’

‘Remember—’

‘One mistake and I’mdead,’ Artorex finished forhim.

But for the first time thatnight, Artorex’s heart waslight, for now he would, atleast, be doing something he

understood.

The morning was as cold asever.Afterbreaking the rimeof ice inabowlandwashinghimself as clean as possible,Artorex dressed in a leatherjerkin over a woollenundershirt and encased hislegsinsoftleathertrews.

Targo entered Artorex’sroom as he was

contemplatinghisfeet.

‘Thosebootsyouwearareheavyandlikelytosliponthestones.Butbarefootyourfeetwillfreezeandbecomenumb,so the outcome will still bethe same,’ Targo said in hispractical,hoarsecroak.

He offered Artorex a pairof knitted woollen sleeves,thefootwearusedbyoldmenin the village as they dozedbeforethefire.

‘Trywearing these sleevesinstead of your boots. Ibelieveyoucanfightinthemfor a time, bootless, as longasthegroundisn’twet.’

‘I’mnot inmydotageyet,Targo,’Artorexprotested.

‘Trythem,’Targopressed.

Artorex slid thewool overhis long feet and up to mid-calf and Targo lashed theleggings into place with

narrowstripsofleather.

‘Try moving about inthem,’theveteranordered.

Artorex jumped and spun,parried and thrust inpantomime. To his surprise,his toes could grip the flagsthrough the rough, knittedwool and the soles were notslickandlikelytobetrayhim.The socks were even quitewarm.

‘I told you I’ve fought inplaces where you could pissice,’ Targo laughed. ‘Webarbarians know a thing ortwo,especiallyaboutcombat.IfI’dknownwewerecomingto this place, I’d havefashioned kid boots for youwithout a heavy sole. Theywould’ve given you extratraction, but these will dountil we have the time tocobble together some betteraccoutrementforyou.’

‘Mythanks,Targo.’

‘Enough, boy. LlanwithhassentacloakandLukahassent a helmet - just an ironcapwith cheek guards and anosepiece, but it might saveyour thick skull,’ Targo saidwithasmile. ‘AndMyrddionsendsyouthese.’

From his cloak, Targopulled out a pair ofwristbands, each four fingerswide. They were made of

iron, and the metal wasembossed with the WingedWorm insignia of the CelticLegion-itslong,sinuoustailand small legs marked thisdragon as a creature otherthan Dracos of Rome. Itswingsspreadasitrodeonthecurveofthemetal.

‘These will protect yourwrists. They’re notparticularlyheavy,andwon’tsave you from an axe blow,

but soldiers of the Legionlearnedthatawristbandcoulddeflectaswordblow.’

He smiled at his chargeoncemore.

‘Iwishwehadtimetofindyou a mail shirt and abreastplate.Youcanbetyouropponentwillbeprotectedbyarmourfromheadtofoot.’

‘Then I’ll be lighter thanUther’s man,’ Artorex

quipped, although he felt ashiver of alarm. ‘I’ll simplyremember the Scythianwoman and how fast sheprovedtobe.’

‘Your friends wish youluck, and they’ll see you inthe courtyard before Uther’sHall.’

‘The High King has sentwordthen?’

‘Aye. You meet his

championatnoon.’

So little time! Artorexcould see that the sun washigh, for he had sleptoverlong after their hurriedjourney to Venta Belgarum.Targo had insisted that hischarge sleep as long as hisbody needed, but nowArtorex knew that he wouldhavetohurry.

‘Don’t fuss, my boy, forthecontestcan’tstartwithout

you,’ Targo replied, as ifreadingArtorex’smind.

‘But I’ve never fought inserious combat, Targo. I’venever killed anyone in theheat of battle. How can youknow I’ll be able to defeatanyone, least of all aseasonedwarrior?’

Targo chuckled inamusement at first, then helooked at the face of hisyoung charge and realized

that Artorex was serious.Targo was so accustomed tothe physical talents of hispupilthathehadforgottenhischargemightfindthecomingcombatanordeal.

‘To begin with, my boy,killing is a lot easier whenyou’ve been trained to do it.It’softenautomatic.Someonecomes at youwith a soddinggreataxe,soyoukillhim-orheburies theweapon inyour

brain. I’m not saying it’sright, mind, but we warriorsdo what we’re told. Besides,boy, you haven’t beenordered to kill Uther’schampion.You’ve justgot toensure that he doesn’t killyou.’

Artorex nodded. Targo’sexplanationmadegoodsense.

‘As for your inexperience,you’ve got to startsomewhere, and in front of

the High King and a wholecity is an excellent place foryour first combat. You’vepractised daily for half yourlife, you know every movethatIknow,andyou’vebeentaught every dirty trick thatI’veeverseen.I’manexpert,lad. If it makes you feelbetter,youcantreatthisboutas just another practice andtell yourself that it’s exactlythe same as one of LordLuka’stests.’

‘Aye. Except that thiswarriorreallywillkillme.’

‘Only if you can’t find anedge.’

Artorex laughedsardonically. Targo, asalways,hadfoundthecruxofhis needs, and the largemuscles in his shouldersstarted to feel relaxed andlimber.He thoughtheshouldbeterrified,butallhefeltwasa tightening in his gut as

excitement began to surgethroughhisblood.

Life is very strange,Artorex thought again, andbegantopreparehisweaponsforthecomingfight.

Artorex was the object of asurprisingamountofcuriosityfrom themoment he steppedoutside the inn. Before hewasevenhalfwaytothefield

ofcombat,herealizedthathistestofstrengthwasanexcuseforadayofentertainmentforthe citizens of VentaBelgarum.

To his amazement, everystreet was crowded withtinkers, peasants selling allmanner of fruit, vegetablesand meat, and so manyvendors of cooked food anddrink that the young man’sheadspunwith thenoiseand

competingsmiles.Manymentried toclaphimon thebackand girls gave him flowers,while some wags evenshouted insults or educatedhim by quoting the oddsbeing wagered on hisimminent and painful death.The crowds, the din and theexcitement rose up aroundhim like a rather odiferouswave.

Hearrivedattheappointed

placeofcombataccompaniedbyTargoandanentourageofhundreds of men and boyswho pushed, shoved andfought those citizens whoalready had a good vantagepoint.

The large squarecourtyardbefore Uther’s Hall wasringed with onlookers,curious to see the promisedsport. The citizens of VentaBelgarum were only too

aware of the strength andmartial capacities of Uther’spersonal guard, so word hadspread quickly of the giantyouthfromtheprovinceswhowould challenge Uther’sselectedchampion.Curiosity,and the promise of blood,brought out those fortunateenough to find a place tostand.

Still more of the citizensclustered within the nearby

houseswhose roofs providedaviewover the tallestheads.Thesquareseemedfulloftierafter tier of rapacious, eagerfaces when Artorex enteredthepreparedarena.

The steps leading to theHall’s forecourt were bare,except for a cloth-of-goldpavilionand severalbraziers.There, the High King wouldsit,surroundedbyhiswomenandhisguard.

The roar of a ram’s hornannounced the entrance ofUtherandhisretinue.Astheymoved slowly towards theirseats, the multitude knelt inthe street as one, whileUther’s guards positionedthemselves around thepavilion in a ring of drawnsteel.

AtawavefromthehandoftheHighKing,thecitizensofVentaBelgarumrose to their

feet and a babble of voicesswelled and surged throughthedenselypackedcrowd.

AsArtorexknelttoremovehis boots, Targo checked thelacings at his calves onceagain, and several seasonedwarriorsinthecrowdlaughedat his unconventionalfootwear. Artorex chose notto listen and blotted outeverything to concentrate onthe flagged stone surface of

thefightingringthathadbeencircumscribed by lengths ofrope.Hepractisedfallingintoa fighting crouch with hissword and dagger drawn andreadyforcombat.

‘Is your Artorex here,servant Myrddion?’ Uthercalled - and the crowd grewsilent at the insulting title.The whole world knew ofMyrddionMerlinus,whohadlongbeenseer,physicianand

loyaladviser to the throneoftheBritons.

Myrddion stepped out intothe field of combat andbowedlowtohisliegelord.

‘Myrddion Merlinus, mytrusted steward, claims thatthisboyfromtheprovinceofAquae Sulis is the bestwarrior in the north-west,’Uther wheezed out to thecrowd. ‘Who here has heardofArtorex?’

‘Noone!’thecrowdroaredback, hugely amused by themood of theHighKing. ‘Noone!Noone!Noone!’

‘Our champion, Ban ofDurnovaria, Firebrand of theWest, will test the mettle ofthisArtorex.’

The ram’s horn soundedonce again and Ban steppedout of the King’s Guard. Hewasawarriorofnomorethanthirty, with a face that was

seamedbyascarcrossingthecheekbone and nose wherethey could be seen under hisgreenplumedhelmet.Hewaslarge,andheavierinthebodythan Artorex, while his barearms were adorned withPictish blue tattoos in thesame whorls and spirals thatArtorexhadseenonthestoneintheOldForest.Bancarrieda shield, circular in shape,and with a great metal bossand spike in the centre.

Artorex knew itwouldmeanbroken ribs or puncturedlungs if he allowed Ban topenetrate his defences withthatwickedfistofiron.

AsBanbowedtotheHighKing, and then to the crowd,Targo whispered finalinstructions to Artorex as hesteppedawayfromhispupil.

‘Look for an edge, myboy,’ Targo intoned. ‘Everyfighter has a flaw.And keep

away from that damnedshield.’

Ban’s legs were shorterthan his torso promised, andhis long sword and shieldmust have been heavy. Eventhough Ban’s arms wereridged with muscle and thetangle of veins that are onlyseen on superbly fit andstrong men, he carried aslight belly under his leatherbattletunic.

‘Are you ready, Artorex?’Myrddionwhispered.

Artorex stepped forwardand unsheathed his shortsword and long dagger. Theweaponsarcedinthecoldairwithviciouslittlehissesasheswunghisarms.

‘Aye,LordMerlinus!’

Turning towards the dais,he bowed low to the HighKing.

‘Get on with it, then!’Uther ordered, swinging hisold man’s white plaits inirritation.

Ban approached hisopponent at a run, his swordcarving a great slice throughthe freezing air. The crowdcheered in expectation ofseeingArtorexsplitintotwo.

ButArtorexwasno longerthere. Nimble in his unshodfeet, he evaded the swinging

blade easily and skippedawaytoBan’sleft,slicinghisdragon knife across thewarrior’seyes.

It was only his lightning-fast reflexes that saved theover-confidentBan.Hisheadrearedbackatthelastsecondand the blow passedharmlesslyacrosshishelmet,sendingupa small explosionof sparks as the blade struckmetal.

The crowd roared theirapproval at the contact, butArtorexdidn’thear them.Hehad blotted out everythingand everybody but hisadversary.Hemovedback tothe right, his dragon bladeprobing, probing, while hisright hand held his shortsword close to his body,ready for an opportunity tothrust.

Ban moved like lightning,

andArtorexparried theblowwith his short sword and thedragonkniferaisedinacrossabove his body. Before Bancould slam him with hisshield, for such a moveArtorex could clearly read inthe warrior’s eyes, Artorexdisengagedanddancedaway,forcingBantoturnoncemoreinordertofacehisopponent.

‘You’re not bad, boy, butyoureallyneedashield,’Ban

hissed.‘It’sgoingtobeapityto cut you up today - if youever stand still and fight likeaman.’

Artorex ignored theprovocation and simplyskipped away once again,then changed direction andhands inablurofsteelashemoved, nicking Ban justabove the knee in a wickedslice. The dragon bladewinkedasitspointreddened.

‘Not good enough, boy,’Ban yelled and increased hisefforts to take advantage ofhis longer reach. Every trickthat Targo had taught himcame into play, as Artorexparried,cutandthrust,allthetime evading Ban’s deadlyswordcutsthroughtheuseofhisagilefeet.

‘You talk toomuch, Ban,’Artorex repliedconversationally when the

initial surge of effort hadended, and both mencontinued to feel their wayover the uneven ground astheysoughtforanadvantage.

Ban was brilliant in hisway. His strength waslegendary and he was totallyfearless, for it had alwaysbeen his dearest wish to dieon the battlefield. He wasagile for a big man and hadthestaminaofanoxbut,after

fifteen minutes of combat,both men were breathingheavily, while blood oozedsteadilyfromthecutinflictedbyArtorex.

Utherwasgrowingrestive.This callow youth shouldhave been dispatched longbefore now and the king’sfeetweregrowingcold.

‘Finish him, Ban!’ theKing screamed. ‘Surely youcan catch a provincial

nobody.’

Artorex winked at Ban -andgrinned.

The crowd, at least, weremesmerized by the equalbattle,and largewagerswerebeing laid on the fringes ofthesquare.

Following a feint with hissword, Ban succeeded inthrusting his shield straightinto the shoulder of Artorex.

Only instinct saved theyounger man from a killingblow from the spike; hemanaged to spin away anddeflected the force of theshieldbytumblingbackwardswith it. Still, his helmet waslost, knocked from his head,and Artorex’s hair streamedoutlikeabanner.

Thecrowdgasped.

Asmallcutleakedatrickleof blood from Artorex’s

hairlinewheretheshieldbossought to have split his skull.But Ban had overreachedhimself to breach thedefencesofhisopponent,andnowthedragonknifeslashedhimacrosstheswordarm...downtothebone.

Artorex quickly changedhands once again, slippedunderBan’sguard,andswepthis opponent’s feet out fromunder him. Ban hit the

cobbleswithanaudiblethud,his shield arm falling awayfromhisbellyandleavinghisthroatexposed.

Artorex’s short swordpressed deeply against Ban’spulsingthroatartery.

‘Strikehard,myfriend,forit’s a good day to die,’ Bansaidproudly.

‘Yield,Ban!’

‘I can’t. Only my master

can give me the order tosurrender. And he won’t doit.’

ArtorexlookedupatUther,while holding Ban supinewith his left foot on thewarrior’supperarm.

‘Well? Kill him, Artorex,ordon’tyouhavethetasteforblood?’Utherordered.

The crowd was utterlysilent.

Uther’s women sat likecreatures of stone as theywatched the drama unfoldbeforethem.

Ban was the only personwho was truly alive at thatmoment, for there was adistinct probability that hewas sucking in the lastexhilarating moments of hislife.

He didn’t know if he wasgoingtoliveordie.

‘I’mheretokillSaxonsforyou, my liege, not mycompanionsatarms,’Artorexshouted toUther - andat therabble - with his sword atBan’s throat. ‘I ask that Banshould not die by my handthis day but that he shouldlive to perish for a noblercause.’

The crowd roared asArtorex stepped backwardsand away from his erstwhile

opponent.

The warrior eased himselfslowlytohisfeet,pickinguphisfallenswordashedidso.‘Sire, I beg that you do notshameyourchampion, forhewill kill a thousand Saxonsforyou,ifyoubutask.’

The crowd roared itsapproval once again. Banwaited for his master’sorders, trying to grip hisswordwithhiswoundedarm.

‘Very well,’ Uther repliedin great ill humour at thecrowd’s response. ‘You mayhave your way - on thisoccasion.’ He glared at hiserstwhilechampion.‘Youareexcused,Ban.Thiscontest isover.’

Angrybeyondmeasure,theHigh King and his retinuedisappeared into the GreatHall, leaving Artorex to theacclamationofthecrowd.

AsArtorexsnatcheduphiscloak and boots, the well-wishing citizenry surroundedhim, especially thoseadmirers who’d shown theforesight to place wagers onhis strong right arm. Hisshoulders and arms werepummelledtoachingrawnessbycongratulatoryfists,andittooksomeeffortforTargotoforce his way through thepress of bodies to lead hisprotégé away from the

makeshiftarena.

Throughout the cobbledstreets, the name Artorexreverberated so loudly thateven those few citizens whohadn’t chosen to enjoy thecontest were hearing much-embroidered tales of theamazing battle even beforethe young man reached thesanctuary of the Wild BoarInn. The rough-cut, woodenbuildingwassoonburstingat

the seams with a motleycrowd of townsfolk, farmers,mercenaries andwarriors, allofwhomwereshoutingatthetop of their lungs, drinkingalmost as much as theyspilled and joking, laughing,gesticulating and gyrating innoisy re-creationsof theepicbattle.

Once there,Artorexwouldhave drowned in free ale ifMyrddion hadn’t insisted on

firstdressinghiswound.Thethreat of force becamenecessary to clear a path forArtorextoescapetotheupperfloor.

The story of Ban’sconqueror sped throughVentaBelgarumlikewildfire.The young warrior was averitablegiant,yethehadthestrength and agility of afighting cat. And this youngmanrejectedtheCelticshield

forthedizzyingprotectionofa spinning web of iron. Andthen, when victory wasassured and Ban was at hismercy, Artorex wasmagnanimous and refused toshedBan’s blood needlessly.He had defied the orders oftheHighKing-andsurvivedtotellthetale.WithaRomansword and a long knife, hehadbeatenthelegendaryBan,the Firebrand of the West,and Lady Fortuna had

protected his back at everyturn.

More importantly, thosefew greybeards who hadknownUtherwhen hewas ayoungmanmarvelledathowmuch thisArtorex resembledthe High King theyremembered from his earlymanhood. Even Botha, theCaptainof theKing’sGuard,had been shocked by theresemblance.Onceseen,such

haircouldneverbeforgotten,for it was barbarian hair,sometimescalledCaesarRed,although the legendssuggestedthatthegreatJulianhadabaldingpate.

The old men sucked ontheir toothless gums, andwonderedaloudwhat strangekin of Uther’s could havecome willingly to VentaBelgarum.

Targomixedwiththepress

of excited men, sipped aleslowly - and listened. Therumour-mongeringwasactiveandtoldthattwoofthemoreimportanttribalkingsandthefamed Myrddion MerlinushadbroughtArtorextoVentaBelgarum as their champion,andthathefoughtwithalltheskillsofaRoman,aCelt,andabarbarian.Targoheard talkthat Artorex even resembledUther Pendragon, and mightwellhavesomekinshiptothe

High King. The veteran’sheart quailed to imagine theconsequences if the HighKing should catch a whisperofsuchgossip.

WhenTargomeanderedhisway back to the narrow atticroomhesharedwithArtorex,thewarrior foundhisprotégéstripped to the waist whileMyrddion tended to hiswound. Llanwith lounged onArtorex’s pallet, but Luka

was conspicuous by hisabsence.

‘By all the gods, Artorex,you made money for metoday,’ was Targo’s openingsally.‘IfI’dknownyouweregoing to be so profitable, I’dhave had you in the arenayearsago.’

‘I’m happy that somebodyis pleased,’ Artorex replied.‘Myrddion believes I shouldhave killed Ban, and not

drawntheireofUther.’

Myrddion continued tostitch a shallow slash onArtorex’sforearm.Hesmiledindulgently.

‘I merely suggested toLuka that the High Kingwouldn’t be disposed toforgive your lesson incourtesy,’ he stated.‘Personally, I was not theleast surprised that youpermittedBantolive,butthe

factthatthecrowddemandedit as well was unusual. Thatwas a factor that I hadn’texpected. Nor will Utherforgive you for yourpopularitywiththemasses.’

‘Well, it’s too late now,’Targo responded. ‘All ofVenta Belgarum has heardthenameofArtorex.When Ileftthedrunkardsdownstairs,you had assumed giantproportions - and you bore

magicweapons.’

Hepausedmomentarily.

‘Incidentally, there isgossipthatsaysyouareeitherUther’s bastard child oryou’re some distant kin tohim.’

Artorex looked shaken.‘I’mnot,amI?’

‘What?’Myrddionasked.

‘Am I Uther’s bastard

son?’

‘No,you’renothisbastardson.’ Myrddion’s reply wasdefinite.

The silence dragged outachingly.

‘Perhaps it’s time we leftVentaBelgarumforthegoodof our health,’ Llanwithmurmured from the edge ofhisbed.Heseemedoutwardlyunconcerned, and casually

kicked off his boots forcomfort.

‘We’ll know what to doafterLukareturns,’Myrddionreplied, as he completed thelast stitch in Artorex’swound. ‘I’ve never knownhow he does it, but kitchenmaids feel compelled towhisperjuicytitbitsofgossipintoLuka’slittlepinkears.’

Uther sensed that his finaldestinywasfastapproaching.He knew that age was aboutto defeat the iron fist of hismind. His skin was thin anditspaperysurfacebruisedandbled easily. His bonessupported neither flesh normuscle beneath his wrinkledskin, and he realized hisremainingvitalitywasslowlyrotting from deep inside hisbody. His chest pained him,his ankles and feet were

swollen to twice theirnaturalsize and they were blue andcoldtothetouch.

Uther wasn’t afraid ofphysical death, and he hadfewregretsabouthowhehadachieved his ends during alongandbloody life -exceptfor the seduction of Ygerne.All things considered, heramazingbeautyhadnotbeenworth the scandals, thetrouble and the tears she had

showered over him in themanyyearssincehehadfirstseduced her and stolen herfrom her first husband,GorloisofCornwall.

And now,when he shouldhave been entitled to laydown the sword, draw peacefrom his confessor and liveout his last days in asemblance of comfort,Ygerne had sent him a nastyand dangerous tool of

revenge.

Artorex! Even the name,with its unambiguously regalRex,was an insult toUther’srule. He should havesmothered the brat himselfwhen Ygerne’s midwifeshoved the tiny, whiningbundle into his arms. At thetime, he feared that Ygernehad borne one last child toher dead spouse, a son whomight one day claimUther’s

thronetosettletheblooddebthewasowed.

But he, Uther Pendragon,would never surrender hiscrownsoeasily.

‘Lucius! That sodding,pious bastard!’ Uther sworepungently, describing theBishop of Glastonbury insoldier’sterms.

Lucius ofGlastonbury hadtaken up the squalling infant

and had sworn to Uther thathe would never see the bratagain. At the time ofYgerne’s travails, Utherhadn’t yet recognized thegraspingpoweroftheChurchof the Christus - but heunderstooditsambitionsnow.The troublesome brat hadbeen grown tomanhood in afaraway place, safe fromUther’s arm, and had beenraisedmoreasaRoman thana Celt - as was that Satan-

spawn, Lucius. The boy hadbeen trained frombirth tobea weapon against UtherPendragon, ledby the trustedMyrddionMerlinus,whohadplotted against him andguided his enemy’s path tomanhood.

Uther fumed impotentlyand hurled his silver cupfeeblyagainstthewall,whereit rolled pitifully in the redleesofwine.Howlikespilled

blood thewine appeared.Hecould no longer remember atenth of the men he hadkilled, but the Boar ofCornwall’s face had neverleft him,waking or sleeping.After all, that filthy cow,Morgan, never allowed himto forget whose child shewas, and how his wife, hermother, would never trulylove him for the treacherouscrimes he had committed inthenameoflust.

‘Damnthebitch!’

He should have had herstrangled-buthedesperatelyneeded her skills with herbsandmagicspells.

And now, the brat hadcometoUther’sHallandhaddared to lock eyes with hisliege lord. He should havediedat thehandsofBan,butthe High King’s championhad been outwitted by thetactics of Myrddion. Uther

had watched as the eyes ofhisfaithfulservantBothahadmeasured the youngman; hewas certain that Botharecognized the father in theson.

Perhaps other men werespeculating on Artorex’sparentage at this verymoment.

‘Botha!’

Utherhadbeenthekingof

theAtrebateswhenBothahadfirstswornallegiance tohim.Botha was a young, red-headed warrior of theTrinovantes tribe, fromCamulodunum beside theLitusSaxonicus.Hehad fledfromhistribe,hiscityandhisfamily because of a woman,having killed his cousin incombat over her adultery. Abloodpricepursuedhim,andBothawasas landlessandasfriendlessasanymancanbe.

Uther hadmet Botha on awindswept, dreary plainbeyond the swampsofVentaIcenorum. The Saxons hadpillaged a church and killedits priests in an orgy offerocity, and Uther hadanswered the call of theCatuvellauni tribe whohurried to root out thebarbarians. The Saxons hadbeenharder toprise fromtheland than lice from bedding,andmanyCeltshadbledinto

thecold,winterearth.

Uther had fought with hismen, aswas his custom, andhad swept aside the Saxonbattleaxes with his hugesword as if they were merewillow wands. Only a partlyfrozentrailofbloodandbrainmatter had betrayed his feet,andhehadeventuallyslippedunder the weapons of hisenemies.

Then Botha had appeared

out of the press of warriors,straddling the King’s bodywith his strong, golden legs,andusedhisswordandshieldinawicked,glitteringwallofdeath.Uther hadmanaged toscrambletohisfeetandkillaSaxon who was about tobehead Botha from behind.And so they had fought on,back to back, until thebarbarians had beenslaughtered.

In his youth, Botha hadbeen a genius in the pure artofkilling, buthe’d alsobeenamanwithacoreofdecencythat lent his trade a certaindignity and beauty. He hadsworn his oath of allegiancetoUther in theoldway,withhis neck beneath the King’sheel,signifyingfealtyforlife,and Uther had taken a grimpleasure in the devotion ofsuch a powerful, vitalcreature. In truth, the High

King had never reallyappreciated Botha as a manuntilhisownarmhadgrownweak and unpredictable,because he had alwaysconsidered his most trustedservant as little more than agooddog.

Botha had survived thecruel passage of years withmore vigour than his liegelord, and some blackness inUther resented the ageing

strengthofhisservant.

Still,forallhisenvy,UthertrustednoonelivingthewayhedependedonBotha.

The High King couldn’tcomfort himself with thepossibilitythatArtorexwasapretender.Utherhadseenhishairandrememberedhisownplaits, and the difficulty ofkeeping his red-gold curls inorder. Ygerne had called itbarbarian hair. She’d loved

hishair-atleastwhenhestillhad warm blood flowingthroughhisveins.

Memory can be a crueltaunt, and Uther had earneditspangs.

Heshoutedquerulouslyforhis manservant and orderedthat Botha should join himimmediately, regardless ofthehour.Ofall themenwhowalked in the sunlight of theCelts, Botha alone would

obey him without question.Uther would send Artorex,Merlinusandthetraitorkingsto die at Anderida at thehands of the Saxons, just ashehadsentYgerne’shusbandto certain deathyears before.The bastardwould become adeadheroandUtherwouldbesuitably mournful at the lossof such promise andpatriotism.

Uther’s rheumy eyes

hardened.

For now, he had a morepressing problem, and onlyBotha could be trusted tosolveit.

‘Botha dared to bow hisheadtothatupstart,’theHighKing muttered, as he suckedon his withered lips like atoothless old woman. Hesmiledsecretively,andtheairinhisbedchamber seemed toleach away with his malice

andcunning.

Botha would solve hisdilemma because the warriorwasamanofunimpeachablehonour.WhentheywerebothyoungmenandUtherhadyetto win the gold crown ofkingship, he had learned themeasure of Botha. Utherremembered the crunch of arib cagewhen he had buriedhisbladeinabarbarianchest.The Saxon had gaped

stupidly as Uther twisted thehugeswordupintohisheart-andsavedBotha’slife.

Although forty years hadpassed, Botha stillremembered who owned hislife. He could recall theblood, slime and mud andhowhehadweptwhenUthertookhimintohisguard.He’dsworn to serve his masterand, throughall the longandbloody years that had

followed, Botha remainedtruetohisancientoath.

Andhewouldobeynow.

For Uther’s misbegottenby-blow must be expungedutterly! Uther’s light mustnever be allowed to wane,even if thewestmust fall, sothat his memory would beshielded in the glory of thelegend. The Villa Poppinidiihad nurtured Artorex as boyand man, so the villa, Ector

and all within it must bedestroyed and burned to theground.

Uther had no compunctionin ordering such a cowardlyandpettyact, forkings standabove honour and their mosttrivial desires are attainedwithsimpleorders.Kingsareabove the laws ofman - andthegods.

Cat-footed, Botha enteredUther’schamber.Hisshadow

washugeandmenacinginthelast darkness before thecomingofdawn.

‘Are you faithful to meuntodeath,Botha?Andtomealone?’Utheraskedthegrey-headedwarrior,withamouthsuddenlygoneasdryasgravedust.

‘Isworeanoathtoyou,myKing, that I would neverserve another man whilebreath remained inmy body.

That oath cannot be broken,except by death.’ Botha’sface was sad, as if he knewalready he was about to beused as a pure instrument inan impure cause. His noble,linedbrowwasfrowningandhis red-bearded jaw wasclenched, as if in pain. Theeyes of the warrior, asunclouded and as direct asthose of the youth he hadonce been, looked inward atsome invisible, unbearable

truth.

Uther almost pulled awayfromhismurderousgripuponthefuture,andhealmosttookpity on the one soul in thewhole world who had givenhim unqualified love. ButUther had drunk the cup ofraw power for far too long,and even the faithful BothamustplayhispartintheHighKing’smemorial.

‘What news of this

Artorex?’Utherdemanded.

Onewayoranother,Bothaheard everything thathappenedinVentaBelgarum.

‘King Luka has beendallying with the servingmaids, hunting out news. Igave him your orderspersonally - so Myrddionnow knows his fate.’ Hesmiled at his king. ‘Lukadrank more than was hisintention, seeing no harm in

theplumplittlepigeonwhoismy eyes and ears in thekitchens.LukawasimprudentinhisbedtalkwithEilyn,andhe spoke of Artorex, of adaughter and another babewhoquickensinthewombofhiswife.’

‘Damnation!’ Uther sworeexpressively.

Already there were heirspresumptive squabbling forhisthronebeforehewaseven

laid out on his deathbed.Soldiersmaydieinbattle,butUther could not depend onchance and the vagaries ofchildbirth to rid him offurther claimants to histhrone.

‘The children of Artorexmustdie-andthedam-andall those souls who dwellwithin the walls of the VillaPoppinidii must perish withthem.Thisisyourdutytome,

Botha.Youmustobeyforthesecurityofmykingdom.’

Uther offered Botha noexplanation or justificationfor the wanton murder ofinnocents. Kings don’texplain, especially to thosesouls who are hand-fasted tothemforlife.

Botha nodded, just once,and Uther felt a momentarypang of grief as if he hadbrokenagoodswordoverhis

knee.

‘Take only trusted men,usewhomever youmust, butdon’tfailme.Andensurethatno one lives to gossip thatUther has killed innocents.Disguise yourself as you seefit.’

Botha nodded, and Uthercould see the shame leakingfrom the eyes of the oldwarrior.

‘Go, Botha, and order myconfessor to attend me atonce,’Utherwhispered.

Suchbusinessshouldn’tbespoken aloud in the halls oftheHighKingand,evennow,Uther felt his heart stutter inhis chest as if a huge fistclutcheditandsqueezed.

‘My lord is ill,’ Bothaprotested.‘PermitmetosendforMorgan.’

‘Bring me my confessor,Botha. Then carry out yourorders,’ Uther commanded,turning his face away fromthe one man he trusted. Intruth, he couldn’t faceBotha’swoundedeyes.

As the sound of Botha’sboots faded into silentdarkness, Uther slowed hisbreathing with an effort andcontemplated the action he’dsetinmotion.Manymenand

womenhaddiedforthewest,and many more would bleedto hold such a small islandkingdomwithintheirhands.

The light fromanoil lampslanted across the bedcoversandlittheKing’sprofilewithwhatheknewtobe thecrueltruth. He was as he hadalways been, a raptor in acage of pigeons, with littlethought for the weaker soulswho lived and died at his

command.

‘So why do I feel so coldand alone?’ Uther demandedofthesilentair.‘Sendmemyconfessor!’

Hisfeeblewailwaslikethethin cry of crows seekingcarrion.

As his confessor shuffledthrough the doorway onunwilling feet, Uther sawMorgan, like a storm crow

herself, standing directlybehind his priest. Thelamplight caught the delicatebonesofher faceso that, foramoment,askullstaredbackat him with the fire of thewick burning in emptysockets.

Utherblinked.Morganwasherself again, beautiful andcoldascarvedalabaster.

She clutched an amuletround her throat and locked

her eyes with his. And shesmiled.

Artorexwouldhavepreferredto be alone. The inevitableplummetofhisspiritaftertheheat of battle had left himfeeling lonely and confused.Abareweekago,hehadbeenhappy and at peace with hislot in life. Now the rabblecalled his name, but he darenotsetfootoutsidehisroom,

andhislifecouldbeforfeittotheHighKingoftheBritons,fornoparticular reasonapartfromUther’sspitefulness.

Luka returned to the inn alittle before midnight.LlanwithhadfallenasleeponArtorex’spalletandthesmallroom shook with hisstentorian snores. Artorexwas seated cross-legged onthe floor, wrapped in hiscloak and obstinately

cleaning his weapons, whileTargowasasleepinanuntidymoundofclothesandsinewymuscleacrosstheentrancetothe room. Characteristically,Myrddionhadvanishedsomehoursearlier.

Luka’s entrancewas noisyandembarrassing.

He had spent the eveningdrinking rough Gallic winewith his informants amongthe High King’s retinue. As

heenteredthedimlylitroom,Luka tripped over the inertbodyofTargoandcrashedtothe floor, waking a startledLlanwithintheprocess.

The Ordovice was on hisfeet, sword drawn, in aninstant.

Artorex continued to honehisdagger.

Likeamagician,Myrddionappeared in the doorway and

helped the sprawled Luka tohis feet. With a muffledhiccupandaslurredapology,the warrior fished around inhiscloakand,withadrunkenflourish,drewoutacrumpledscroll.Hegiggled.

‘Our orders have arrivedfrom the High King,Myrddion.Utherhasdecidedthat we should raise a smalltroop and attack the SaxonfortatAnderida.’

He executed a drunkenbow and would have fallenflat onhis facehadLlanwithnot jerkedhimuprightbyhisleatherjerkin.

‘Anderida?’Myrddionwasactually shocked by Luka’snews. ‘That marsh-infestedhellhole? It’s almost directlyacross the straitsof theLitusSaxonicum. Has Uther goneutterlymad?’

Llanwith pen Bryn began

to laugh. It came out as along, raucous guffaw thatseemedtostartathistoesandrose slowly and ever moreloudly until his mirth madethe icy shutters appear toquiver.

‘What causes youramusement, Llanwith?’Myrddion asked withexquisite, dangerouscourtesy. ‘That flea pit hasbeen in Saxon hands for

twenty years. Gods, it wasone of the first towns to fallto the barbarian kings, andyoucanspitacrossthestraitsoftheSaxonSeafromthere.’

‘I know, Myrddion,’Llanwith hiccuped through asuccession of suppressedgiggles. ‘Uther’soutmanoeuvredus!We’reofftoAnderida,andpreciousfewof us will return if the HighKing and the Saxons have

theirway.’

‘Precisely!’Lukasaidwithowlishseriousness.

Myrddion snatched thecrumpled scroll and read itscontentsquickly.

‘Uther suggests that if wearesoeagertostoptheSaxonmenace, thenweshouldpushthembackintotheocean.Wearepermittedtoraiseatroop,if any sensible warrior

chooses to commit suicidewith us. And he insists thatArtorex must lead the attackpersonally, for he is nowUther’s champion of thewest.’

‘He’s outplayed us,Myrddion. Damnme, but hemust have been a greattactician when he wasyoung!’

Llanwith appeared to begenuinely impressed by

Uther’s acumen. Myrddionsaw no humour in thesituationandscowledatbothof his friends and remindedLlanwith that his uncle hadbeen a victim of the sameploy. The Ordovice kingsoberedinstantly.

‘He’s trapped your queen,Myrddion,’ Luka agreed, ashe collapsed on to Artorex’sbed with Llanwith. ‘And wedidn’t even know we were

playingachessgame.’

Myrddion glared at Lukaand then viciously kicked atthe wall, his teeth bared infuriousirritation.

‘One other matter hascometomyattention.Theolddevil’s body servant told methat Uther has only a monthor two to live.Mindyou, theidiot has been saying thesamethingforyears.’

Myrddion paced back andforth, while Luka fell asleepand Targo mumbledsomething incomprehensibleabout an old soldier needinghis rest. He stumbled off toLlanwith’s room to use avacantbed.

‘I’ll join you,’ Artorexsnapped, his patience wellwornbytheeventsoftheday.‘If I’m going to die then it’sbest I be well-rested when I

do.’

Artorex fell asleep on aflea-infested pallet in a dirtyattic somewhere in the backstreets of Venta Belgarumanddreamed thathe laywithhis Gallia. Elsewhere, on abed richly covered with finewoolandsmoothlineninthepalace of the High King,UtherPendragonstruggled tostaywakeful lesthissleepbetroubled by a persistent

nightmare of a huge swordthat had once belonged tohim. Now, no matter howhard he tried, his wastedmuscles couldn’t lift the vastblade.

Ofthetwo,fatherandson,Artorex slept more easily,although he sensed that hecouldsoongototheshadows-andbeforehisallottedtime.Ashe lay inhiswife’swarmarms in the web of his

dreams,heheardavoicecalloutof thedarkness so loudlythat thewholeworld seemedto shudder from the sound.‘Fortune smiles at last!Behold her wheel turns toraise you high. Beware,Artorex,Fortuna’sfool.’

But Artorex smiled in hissleepashisdreamwifekissedhim. For who can fear agoddess when love holdstighttotheheart?

CHAPTERXII

TODIEINANDERIDA

Ignorant of Uther’s unholyintentions for the VillaPoppinidii,Myrddionfacedaday of strenuous mental andphysical effort. The call toarmswasbeingshoutedfrom

theHighKing’sforecourtandsomefoolswouldansweroutof a simple desire forexcitementandadventure.

Word ran through thenarrow streets of the city.Through alehouses, meetinghouses and crossroads, thecall to arms moved swiftlyand set the imaginations ofthe citizens afire. But theyoung bloods that soughtglory must be convinced to

remain in safety in VentaBelgarum,fornoviceshadnoplace in the storming of afortress such as Anderidawhere they would be ahindrance rather than anadvantage. In this deadlygame that was being playedtospitetheschemingofUtherPendragon, numbers didn’tcount.Skillandcunningwerefarmoreimportant.

To add to his woes,

Myrddion must convince themost talented of hissupporterstothrowtheirlivesawayinthefirstskirmishofaseries of battles that wouldlead, hopefully, to theircountry’s salvation. Theywould die as pawns in theaffairs of greater men andMyrddion’s conscience hadyettofindtheexactwordstopersuadethem.

‘A grey day,’ he sighed

broodingly. ‘But we’re notdeadyet,asTargo issofondofrepeating.’

Nor didMyrddionwish todiehimself.

It was plain to him thatUther was prepared tosacrifice his chief counsellorand two stalwart and loyalkings because he envied thepotential strength of his ownson. Llanwith, Luka andMyrddion weren’t expected

to return, but the real targetwasArtorex.

Myrddionbrooded.

‘Uther Pendragon willdestroy the stability of thewest to protect a crown thathe believes is his forever.Atleast two tribes hang in thebalance, great and loyaltribes, but Uther would tearthefabricofhispactwiththekings to ribbons to retain -what? Is it the hunger of a

diseased mind? Is it thesavagery that grows in thehead when the arm growsweak? I’ll never understandwhatdrivestheman!’

Grey, sullen skies outsidethe inn mirrored Myrddion’smood, while scudding cloudcame from the sea and wastorn to shreds by winds thatthehumaneyecouldn’tsee.

Rooks called and sleetthreatened.

‘Weagree thatUthermustbe stopped, yetwemust stillwin Anderida for him. Buthow can we achieve thisimpossibletask?’

Targo was engaged in theprocess of preparing Artorexto face the stares andcuriosity of the townsfolk bycleaninghischarge’s leathersand brushing the mud fromthewolfskincloak.Heservedhis pupil willingly, for he

realized that Artorex wasreaping the rewards ofmanyyearsofpracticeandtraining,andwasdeveloping themienofacommander.Itwasaroletaken up by the young manunwillingly, perhaps, butTargo couldn’t fail torecognize the burgeoningsigns of authoritydemonstratedbyhisprotégé.

Targohadneverknowinglysireda sonofhisown, sohe

hadnever feltasenseof lossat the lack of children at hishearth.Artorexwashis childofchoice,becauseTargohadmouldedthewarriorstreakinthe young man and hadwatched his pupil prove hisworth in combat with mixedfeelingsoffearandpride.ForTargo, a soldier neverlessened his stature byserving of his free will andonlybecameaslavewhenhesurrenderedtohisenemies.

Artorexwoketoagrimdayof dripping eaves anddrizzling, half-frozen rain,with the familiar sound ofTargo’s tuneless whistling inhisears.IftheboyinArtorexwasconfused,themaninhimwas optimistic. A mere dayearlier,hehadawoken to theknowledge of his impendingdeath, but he still lived andbreathed. Today, the musterfor a suicidal raid on anentrenched enemy would

begin, but Anderida was farawayandLadyFortunaalonewould choose the timewhenArtorex would meet hisdestiny.

‘It is a good day, Targo,’he greeted the older man.‘Youneednotcleanmykit -we are friends and fellowsoldiers. That is, if you arenot offended that I speak ofmyselfasyourequal.’

‘You talk nonsense at

times, boy,’ Targo retortedgruffly, but with affection.‘And who, in days to come,will remember old Targo?No, I’ll answer for you - noone!ButI’veafeelinginmywater that they’ll rememberyou.’

‘I’dratherbeathomewithGallia, my friend,’ Artorexreplied sadly, as he stretchedhislonglegs.

‘You should tell that

children’s tale to someonewho believes you, Artorex. Iknowthatapartofyouenjoysthe scent of the comingbattle.’

‘Where is everyone?’Artorex changed the subject,knowing that he was nomatchforTargo’ssharpeyes.

‘They’ve eaten, dressedand gone,’ Targo respondedeconomically.

‘Oh.’

Targo could tell thatArtorexwas disappointed, sohe took pity on the youngerman.

‘Get up, get yourselfdressed and we’ll convincesome of these sheep to diewith the great Artorex.Myrddion has estimated aforce of no more than onehundred good warriors isneeded but, in my opinion,

even that number isexcessive. It’d be better tohave forty seasoned warriorsthan three hundred youngboys.’

Artorex swung his longlegs out from under a coverofmoth-eatenfur.

‘I don’t even know whereAnderida is,’ he stated in allhonesty.

‘I’ve never heard of it

myselfbutitmustbesituatedon the south-east coastsomewhere,’ Targo replied.‘AndIcanguaranteeitwon’tbepleasantorUtherwouldn’thavechosenitforyourdeath,myyounghero.’

Artorex threw an emptywoodencupattheolderman.Targo caught it neatly andspunitinhishand.

‘You’re reading my mind,boy.It’stimeforadrink.’

After a hurried bowl ofporridge and several ratherwithered apples, Targo andArtorex faced the miserableweather outside the inn.Under the shelterof thewolfcape, Artorex managed toavoidmost of the rain, but adozenstepshadhimspatteredwithmud.

‘This rain is the soldier’sfriend,’ Targo explaineddrily, eyeing his ruined

handiwork on Artorex’s kitwith the patience of longexperience.‘Thecommandersstick to their tentswhen raincomes to the battlefield, somud takes the edge fromeveryone.’

‘The only detail aboutAnderida that Myrddionbotheredtosharewithuswasthat it’s near a swamp. Ipredictthatmudwon’tbeourfriend.’

‘Hell,boy!Youknowhowto make an old man feelbetter.’ Targo laughedboyishly.

‘But even mud can be anedge,especiallyifourenemybelieveswe’d never flounderthrough it to achieve ourobjective.’

Targo stared hard atArtorex. His eyes werenarrowed,andverybright.

‘You may have an ideathere, boy. You could beright.’

Artorex’s fame had spreadquickly, and well-wishersslowed their passage throughthenarrowstreets.Anhourofdamp wandering through thetown finally led the pair toMyrddion and Llanwith in avery disreputable drinkinghouse outside the gates ofVenta Belgarum, where they

were selecting warriors forwhat Llanwith was calling a‘littlehuntingexpedition’.

When Artorex saw themotleybunchhis twofriendshad collected, he suspectedthat Llanwith and Myrddionhadlosttheirminds.

Of course, Luka hadvanishedoncemore.

The appearance of thegroupofwarriorsdrinkingat

a rough trestle table wasunprepossessing. Myrddionappeared to have chosen theroughestandfilthiestwarriorshe could find. Scarred,tattooed and ragged in hairand clothing, themen sharedonlyonecharacteristic- theirweapons were impeccablycleanandshining.

Targo cheerfully greetedthe scum, as he called them,andimmediatelyseemedright

at home. After a fewmoments of conversationwith them, the old veteraninvitedArtorextomeetsomeof the grinning andunrepentantly dirty troop ofwarriors.

‘You sons-of-whores haveclaimedthatyouwanttomeetArtorex - and here he is,’Targo shouted above the dinof the warriors who weretalking loudly in small

groups. ‘To you men, he isCaptain Artorex and he isyour commander. I won’t beintroducingyouprettiestothecaptain for the momentbecause he won’t rememberyour names. But now thatyou’ve joined ourimpossibles, you’ll need tosmartenupabit.’

Artorexenduredaroundofbackslapping, and soonbecame aware that many of

the men had gambled on hisright arm in his contest withBan.

‘Why?’Artorex asked onesmall, thickset man withrepulsivefeatures.

‘It stands to reason,Captain.Myname’sPinhead,by the way. Your gear’sgood. It’s not pretty but it’sgood. And you move realwell. You didn’t need ashield,althoughIdon’tfancy

distance fighting or going upagainst arrows without one.’He grinned amiably atArtorex,andwinkedwithhissingle eye. ‘And mostimportant, you didn’t give adamn about what was goingonaroundyou.Youkeptyoureye where it belonged - onyourenemy.’

‘And you’re very pretty!’AtallCeltwithanevilsquintsmiledandblewakiss in the

directionofArtorex.

Without a moment’sthought, Artorex backhandedthe hulking brute across theface with sufficient force toknockhimtotheground.

The Celt came to his feetwith blinding speed. Artorexexpectedthemanwoulddrawhis sword, but he merelyshook his shaggy head andgrinnedsheepishly.

Pinhead sniggered.‘Always the big mouth,Rufus. It’s a wonder you’restill alive. You’re lucky thecaptainonlygaveyoua littlekissback.’

‘Beg pardon, Captain,’Rufusapologizedsimplyand,when Artorex nodded, hereturnedtohisale.

‘This one here is Odin,Captain,’ Targo said slyly ofanotherhugewarrior.‘It’snot

his real name but none ofthese pretties have been abletoworkoutwhoheis.He’saJute.’

Artorex’seyespassedoverthe man. Odin was so tall,even in his bare feet, thatArtorex had to look upwardto study his face. The Jutewas fully clad in furs andArtorex had difficultyrecognizingwherehairendedand pelt began. Under a

simplehelmet,theman’slongmanewasnearlywhite,whilehis beard, which wasextraordinary in length andthickness,spreadout inaredspray over his barrel chest.The warrior bore an axethreaded through a loop onthe right side of his belt andan extremely long, andinhumanly heavy sword in abeatenscabbardonhisleft.

‘Now, this one’s a really

prettywarrior,’Targotoldthetroop,andeveryonelaughed.

Odin began to speakrapidlyinalanguageArtorexcouldn’t even hope tounderstand, apart fromrecognizing one word, Thor,utteredwithreverence.

Then, to Artorex’scomplete embarrassment,Odin knelt and placedArtorex’sfootuponhisneck.

‘Don’t pay no mind toOdin, Captain,’ Pinheadexplained. ‘He’s swearingone of his barbarian oaths -he seems to have taken aliking to you. He was mostimpressed with your littlebattleyesterday.’

‘How did a Jute find hisway to Venta Belgarum?’Artorex asked, through adeepening blush ofembarrassment.Hepulledhis

foot away from Odin’s hugehands.

‘Well,itwasn’tbychoice,’Pinhead explained. ‘He wasrunning from a troop ofSaxon vermin outsideLondinium - and I meanrunning. Seems he’d upsetthem somehow. Five to oneseemedanunsportingway tofight, so Rufus and Iequalized the odds. Thenwefound we couldn’t get rid of

him.’

‘The only thing weunderstood was that he wasmaking a blood oath,’ Rufussaid.‘Heseemedtothinkhislifebelongedtous.’

‘Oh, and he kept going onabout Odin, so the namestuck,’ Pinhead explained intandemwithhisfriend.

‘He fights well, though,’Rufus added

conversationally. ‘What hedoes with that axe fair givesmethedreads.Youcouldsaygoodbye to any Saxons wemeet if you had forty ofOdin.’

‘ThenI’mpleasedthathe’stakenalikingtome,’Artorexresponded,raisingOdintohisfeetandtakingouthisdragonknife. Artorex thrust the hiltof the dagger towards Odin,whileretaininghisgriponthe

blade in a gesture offriendship.Itwasadangerousgame,fortheJutecouldhaveseveredArtorex’sfingersjustby pulling the blade free.Instead, as Artorex hadhoped, Odin simply placedhis hand upon the knife hiltandrepeatedhisearlierbloodoath.

A commotion at the doordrewTargo’sattention.

‘By the bare breasts of

Mother Juno, it’s Ban,’ hemuttered.

Unconcerned at the stir hewascausing,andwithabriefnod to Artorex, Ban strodeover to Myrddion and spokequickly and quietly to him.The two men grasped eachother’s wrists briefly, as if apacthadbeensealed.

Then Ban swaggered out,as easily and as casually aswhenhehadarrived.

Artorex sheathed his knifeand joined Myrddion andLlanwith.

‘Fortuna is with us,Artorex. She certainly smilesonyou,’Llanwithchuckled.

‘Ban told me that hewishes to assist us in ourexpedition.He,andhisentirepersonal guard, have offeredto ride with us. He believeshimselftobeinyourdebt.’

Artorex shookhisplaits inperplexity. Ban was anobleman and a warrior, themasterofvastlands,menandgreat wealth. Artorex repaidevery debt and rememberedevery kindness offered tohim, but he was surprisedwhen men such as Banbehaved similarly. Caius,Severinusandtherestoftheirintimateshadshownnosenseof duty that Artorex couldever discern. Nor did Uther

Pendragon prize honourovermuch, to judge by hisactions.

‘How many men do wehave in our combined force,Myrddion?’Artorexasked.

‘Including Targo’s scum,we have sixty seasonedwarriors, and I believe thatnumber will be more thansufficient. In a surpriseattack, and with luck, wehave the numbers to win. If

we fail in our task, thenUther’sforcesarenotgreatlyweakened. As we have nofriends to assist us on ourexpedition, we shall have toliveoffthelandandforageaswetravel.Ourpartyisnottoolarge,soweshouldbeabletomaintain some element ofsurprise.’

Artorex nodded hisagreement; Myrddion’stactical appreciation was

sound.

Myrddion beckoned toTargo to gain his attention.The warrior looked up fromhis ale cup and ambled overto where the two men werestanding.

‘Yes,mylord?’theveteranasked, all attention under hisshield of soldierlyindifference.

‘Yourmenmustbeupand

mountedatdawn,’Myrddionsaid. ‘You’re now theirleader, though even yourtalents mightn’t be sufficientto discipline that rabble.Artorex is theCaptainofourforce, andhe’ll determine allquestions of leadership. Forthe moment, you may tellyour beauties that there’ll benomoredrinkingthisnight.’

‘They’ll just love that,’Targo snickered. ‘But they’ll

obey.You havemyword onit.’

‘And you’d best find ahorse for that barbarian - avery large horse,’ Llanwithcalledafterhim.

‘Ifwehavesixtymen,ourforce should be divided intothree cadres of twenty,’Artorex decided. ‘Targo willcommand his troop, whileBan commands his choice oftwenty of his best men.

Llanwith should takewhoeverisleft.’HesmiledatLlanwith. ‘I’m sorry, myfriend. You must do withthemwhatyoucan.’

Llanwith grinned atArtorex’s rueful expression.‘Menaremen.Whoevertheyare, and whatever gods theyserve,they’llobey.’

‘Luka will act as yourforward scout,’ Myrddionsaid, ‘and will remain ahead

of theforcewhenyouareonthemarch.Hehasatalentforsubterfuge, he understandsthe Saxon tongue and we’llneed to utilize every tacticaladvantageopentous.’

‘What of you, lord?’Artorex asked. ‘If any manshouldleadthisexpedition,itshouldbeyou.’

Myrddion grimaced. ‘I’mnotafightingman,’hestatedunequivocally. ‘I am a

strategist, so I neverdeveloped the skills ofcombat. I’m a manipulatorand a scholar, but I’m not amaster of men. My purposeonourexpeditionwillbeasamentor, a healer and anadviser - for those are dutiesthat I do best. You four willleadtheraid,withArtorexinoverall command, exactly asUther demands. If Artorexfalls, it’ll be Llanwith’s taskto return here with the

survivors.’

Luka did not return to theWild Boar Inn until theafternoonsunwaslowonthewinter horizon. The rain hadcleared to a light drizzle, butLukawassoakingandchilledtothebone.

Worse still, his eyes werehoodedandhecouldn’tquitemeet Artorex’s speculativegaze.

‘What news,Luka?’ askedLlanwith.‘Whileyou’vebeenout enjoying yourself, we’verecruitedourentiretroop.’Hepoured some warmed wineforhisfriend.

‘Uther has been with hisconfessor since dawn. Hewon’t see his queen, andrefuses to suffer theministrationsofMorgan.TheHigh King’s court preparesitselfforhisdeath.’

‘And?’

‘Morganishappy.’

‘Only the death of Utherand all he stands for wouldgivethatbitchjoy,’Myrddionsaidvindictively.

‘Iagree.Thereisonedetailof concern - but the littleEilyn,myeyesandearsintheGreatHall,couldbewrong.’

‘Spit it out then, Luka,’said Llanwith with a smile.

‘How bad could kitchengossipbe?Oursituationcan’tgetanyworse than it alreadyis.’

Something in Luka’s facemadeLlanwithpauseandhiseasy grin quickly meltedaway.

‘Botha and twentyseasoned warriors left VentaBelgarum just after dawn.They rode to thewest, in thedirectionofSorviodunum.’

Myrddion frowned. ‘Idon’tsee—’

‘Before departing, Bothafreed his slaves and he gavetwenty pieces of red gold toEilyn as a bride price,’ Lukawent on. ‘It seems that theman is her uncle, and shebelieves he has no intentionof returning from thisparticularraid.’

‘There’s more to this tale,isn’t there, Luka?’ Artorex

interrupted. He felt a chillsurgethroughhisbodyuntilitraised the blond hair on hisarms. Every sense wasshoutingalarm.

Artorex captured Luka’simpassive eyes with his ownsteely gaze. Will clashedagainst will, and Luka wasthefirsttobreakeyecontact.

‘WheredoesBothago?Hewouldn’t leave Uther’s sideexcept on the orders of the

HighKing.’

‘Botha avoided tellingEilyn any details of hismission or his destination.But she told me that he wasprofoundly disturbed by theordershe’dbeengiven.’

Asingle,awfulthoughtleftArtorexgaspingandsickwithurgency.

‘Utherwouldn’tliftahandagainst Ector, would he?’ he

said, aghast. ‘Not even theHigh King would dare toalienate Roman Britain. No!... It can’t be! . . . I mustreturntothevilla!’

‘Youcan’tleave,Artorex,’Lukacriedout.‘I’vedoneallthatispossible.I’vesenttwofast couriers by separateroutes to theVillaPoppinidiiassoonasIheardofBotha’sdeparture. I took thisprecaution, just in case.’ He

paused. ‘You can do nothingtochangethecourseofeventsthat has already been set inmotion, even if you returnedto the Villa Poppinidii now.You are at least one day,probablymore,behindBotha.I’mafraidwehavenochoice,forweareobligedtocontinuewith our plans and ride withourimpossiblestoAnderida.’

Luka squeezed Artorex’sshoulders to console the

younger man, but Artorexthrust his arms awayviolently.Luka’sfaceseemedmagnified and Artorex wasunable to tell if the emotionsitworewereself-interest,pityorpanic.

‘If Uther has sent Bothaand his warriors to the VillaPoppinidii, you’d be too latenowtohelpthem,evenifyourodeuntilCoal’sheartburst,’Lukabegged.‘Youmusttrust

that my couriers arrive intime to warn Ector and yourfamily.’

‘Still, I must ride back tothe villa, even if I should betoo late,’ Artorex repeated,and began to collect his rollof travelling furs. ‘If anyharmwasdonetomyfamily,I’d never live with theshame.’

‘You speak nonsense,boy!’ Llanwith snapped.

‘Uther’s crazed hatreds can’tbelaidatyourdoor.He’sthearchitect of any wickednessthat occurs in this place, andhe alone must accept theblame. Besides, aren’t wetrying to guess at Uther’sintentions? The road thatleads to Sorviodunum windson to many places that liewithin the domains of theHigh King, and Botha couldhavebeensenttoanyoftheselocations. What could Uther

gain by sending his guard totheVillaPoppinidii?’

Lukaavertedhiseyes;onlyLlanwith heard his suddenindrawnhissofapprehension.

‘Nevertheless, I intend toreturn to theVilla Poppinidiiimmediately, regardless ofyour explanations,’ Artorexrepeated, his mouth set instonydetermination.

The three travellers looked

at each other, their facesaghastwith the possibility oftotal failure in their missionand the unravelling of alltheir carefully constructedplans.

‘Uther will call you acoward and he’ll have youkilled as a traitor,’Myrddionpleaded. ‘If you desert yourcommand,he’llrazetheVillaPoppinidii to the ground aspunishment for your

treachery and Ector will bedeclared an outlaw. Yourwarriors - and your friends -will die as well. He’lldetermine that all of us areunfittolive.’

‘Nevertheless,mydutyliesat the Villa Poppinidii withmy family,’ Artorexmurmured with certainty. ‘Iregret any harm that mightcome to you but I’ve nochoice.’

Ashebenttogatheruphisweapons, something came atArtorex from beyond hisperipheral vision. Before hecould turn away, his headexploded and his kneescollapsedunderhim.

Targo looked down at hisfallen master, and shook hisbruised fingers where theyhad been trapped around theknife hilt that had stunnedArtorex.

‘Yougreatonesamazeme.You talk and you talk! Thisboywouldhavelefthereandreturned all that distance tohis family, while you werestillthinkingupnoblephrasesto keep him from harm. Soold Targo has to knock theboy senseless to stop himfromthrowinghislifeaway.Ilove that boy, and I’llprobablydieforhim,butI’mdamned if I can see whyUtherhateshimsomuch.’

Luka and Llanwith liftedArtorexgentlyandmovedhisflaccidbody to a pile of fursin the corner of the room.Luka checked his breathingand Llanwith covered himwith another heavy fur.Meanwhile, Myrddiongripped Targo’s arm andforced the old warrior tolistentohim.

‘I know you’re angry,Targo,’ Myrddion whispered

to the soldier. ‘I canunderstand that you mightthinkwe’vefailedArtorex insome way, but it’s time thatyou learned the whole storyof the boy.’ He paused tocontrolhisthoughts.

‘Artorex is Uther’s firstand only living son, born ofYgerne’s body after a hastymarriage.Followingthebirth,Uther issued orders that thebabe was to be taken to

Bishop Lucius ofGlastonbury, who was toarrange for the child to beexposed to the elements andallowedtodie.Luciuslackedthestomachortheimmoralityto kill infants, even onUther’sorders,sohesentthechild as far from Uther’sinfluenceashecould,toLordEctor and a Roman way oflife. The good priest thenspentmanyhundredsofhoursonhisknees,asheprayed to

his god for guidance afterdefying the wishes of hisking.’

‘But you assured Artorexthathewasnokin toUther,’Targoprotested.

‘I didn’t lie to the boy. Itold theboy that hewasn’t abastard son for, beyond allargument, he’s Uther’slegitimate son. How could Iwarn theboyof theperils ofhis bloodline? He’d have

revealed that knowledge toUther - by a look, a gesture,orevenacarelessword.Andthenthatmadmanwouldhavekilled him out of hand.’Myrddionstaredathishands.His face was downcast withshame.‘Ihadnochoice.It isthe land and the commonpeoplewhomatter.’

Targo made a sharpexclamationofdisgust.‘DoesEctor know what manner of

child he has fostered forLucius? Did he realize thedangerthathiskinwouldfacewhenheallowed thechild toenterhishouse?’

‘No. It was nearly twelveyearsbeforeLuciusconfessedthedetailsofhisinvolvementinUther’sevilschemetome.Andthebishopdidn’tknowifArtorexhadGorloisforasireorUther Pendragon.Nor didwe, until we first saw him.

Gods,Ialmostbowedtohimwhenhewas twelve andhadscabs on his knees. Sincethen,oursoleaimhasbeentokeeptheboysafe,forArtorexisouronlyhope ifwe are tooppose the inexorableadvancebytheSaxonhordes.Ourintentionmustbetounitethe tribes under Artorex’sbannersothey’llfightasonebody.’

‘No wonder you objected

toArtorex’smarriage,’Targomuttered. ‘The Celtic kingswouldn’t welcome a queenwithaRomanlineage.’

‘Poor Gallia,’ said Luka.‘ButIswearIhadnoinklingthat Eilyn was kin to BothawhenIwasbeddingher.’

Three pairs of eyesswivelled towards Luka withdawninghorror.

‘Didyoutellthatbitchthat

Artorex was married - andthat he was a father?’Myrddion asked, amazed byLuka’sstupidity.

‘Yes, I did,’ Lukaconfessed,hiseyesdowncast.‘She spoke of Artorex anddescribedhimasahandsomeman.Withoutthinking,I toldher thathewasalreadytakenby anotherwoman.Wewereeachmakinguseoftheother,and I’d drunk far too much

wine trying to gain whatinformation was to be had,’Lukapleaded.‘Ionlylearnedof Botha’s movementsbecauseofEilyn.HowcouldI predict that a drunken slipof the tongue would lead toUthergainingsuchdangerousknowledge of the VillaPoppinidii?’

‘I can’t believe that youwere so thoughtless andstupid,Luka!’

Myrddion’sgazewashard,and Luka quailed under hisfriend’saccusingstare.Whenhe chose, the gentleMyrddion could be asterrifying as UtherPendragon.

‘Hades take all tyrants!’Myrddioncursed, andkickedat Artorex’s pack. ‘Myapologies, Luka. Youcouldn’texpect toknowtheywere kin but I wish you’d

beenmorecircumspect.’

‘Aye. The fault is mine.And also the shame, if anyharm should befall littleGallia.’

Luka looked so downcastthat even Targo lacked thehearttobelabourhimfurther.

‘So,whatcanwedonow?’Llanwithaskedpugnaciously.He pointed at Artorex’sunconscious form. ‘The lad

won’t trust us again - and Idon’tblamehim.’

‘Wecan’tdoanything.Wemust let chance rule, for allourdecisionshavebeenmadeand we are committed tothem,’ Myrddion answeredsadly.

‘Ihopeyourealizethattheboy might never forgive usfor what we’ve donetonight?’ Targo whispered,hiseyessadandstark.

‘I know, Targo. Iunderstand the implicationsof what has occurred,’Myrddion replied distantly.‘But the fate of the west isgreater than any single manor group of men. And littleGallia must now take herchances-aswedo.’

When Artorex eventuallyawoke, he had a blindingheadache, a heaving stomachand couldn’t remember at

first where he was. Then hismemory of the events of thenight, and thepossibility thatBotha meant to harm hisfamily, returned to terrifyhim. He sat up abruptly andfumbledforhisweapons.

Targo satwith his back tothedoorwith adrawn swordoverhisknees.

‘It’s too late now, boy.Whatevermay happen at theVilla Poppinidii - if that is

Botha’s destination - willhavebeensetinmotionmanyhours past. You are now fartoolate,sodressyourself,fortodayweridetoAnderida.’

Targo looked at hiserstwhile pupil with a facepained by the unblinking,hating eyes that glared backathim.

‘Why have you done thisevil to me, Targo? Is VillaPoppinidii not your home

also?’

‘Don’t taunt me, boy. I’dknock you senseless again ifit would save you fromstupidity.’

‘Thendon’tspeaktomeatall,’ Artorex snarled, as coldfury rose in his pale eyes.‘Leave my presence!Immediately!’

‘No, boy. You may hateme if you want but I’ll not

leave you.’ Targo chose hiswords carefully. ‘You willride to Anderida with yourscum, for they’ll never beheldloyalifyoucan’tmasteryourself. Your foster-fatherhas vowed to keep Galliasafe, asdidFrith, and they’llnot break their oaths to youlightly. You may kill me ifyouwish,orevenordermetokill myself, I’ll obey yourcommands. But your destinyistobecomeagreatleaderof

the Britons, and your fatewon’tpermityoutocastasidethe future of the west for ahundredwives or a thousandchildren. Decisions made forselfare the flawedactionsofapettyUtherPendragon.’

‘Why,Targo?Whydoeshehatemesomuch?’

‘Uther can’t bear thethought thatanyone couldbea great warrior or a giftedleader to rival him. He’s

maniacal, and so set onpreserving his reputation thathe’s prepared to cut off hisnosetospitehisface.’

‘He may fear me but I’mnothreattohim.Maythevileoldmonsterdieinagonyifheharms my family for noreason.’

‘If need be, I’ll personallysee that he screams inextremity,’ Targo promised.‘But,fornow,youmustwash

your face, dress yourself andpresent yourself to yourcommand.Manyofyourmenwill die for you in the daysahead.’

AndsoArtorexwasforcedto reconcile himself to hisfirst great sacrifice. Againstallhisfinerinstincts,hisloveforhisfamilyandhiswishtoprotecthishome,coldreasonwashed over his passionsthrough a quiet, inner voice

thatassuredhimthatTargo’swordsweretrue.

Yet, as he accepted hisfate, something in Artorex’ssoul withered. He realizedthat, even if Gallia and littleLiciawere safe andwell andeven if the villa remainedundamaged, he’d made aconscious, personal choice -one that he could neverforget,leastofallforgive.

Anderida wasn’t particularlyfar from Venta Belgarum asthe crow flies, but theattacking force had noobviousandconvenient routetotheirdestination.

According to Myrddion’smapsandlocalknowledgeofthe terrain gained from hisspies, Artorex had fourpossible choices of approachto reach his destination.Unfortunately, his choices

narrowed if he hoped toachieve any element ofsurpriseinthecampaigntheywereabouttoundertake.

The first of these choiceswas to take the easy coastalroute, but Artorex soonconcluded that the lack ofcover from vegetation, theflatness of the land and thechalky cliffs that edged thesea made discovery of theattacking force a certainty.

TheSaxonswouldbewarnedof the approach of Artorex’sforce long before they’dcome within sight ofAnderida. The small forcewouldbecaughtbetween themountains and the sea, andwould be crushed by theSaxons.

The second and thirdroutes were equallyimpractical.Theywould takethe force through thickly

forestedchainsofhillcountrythat led to secure areasoverlooking their destination.Unfortunately, each of theseroutes ended in stout gatesleadingtothefortress.

The fourth, and final,choice was to ride through asodden, lightly forestedvalley that led to deepmarshes. This treacherousand treeless waste protectedthewesternapproachestothe

garrison.

Artorexunderstoodthattheeasiestroutewassuicidal,andthis option must be rejectedoutofhand.Further,passagethrough the high groundwould be extremely difficult,except for accomplishedhorsemen such as those ledby Ban and Llanwith.Similarly, the marshes couldonlybetraversedonfootandthen only by warriors with

limited supplies and arms toslowthemdown.

Tofurthercomplicate theirchoices, Luka explained thatSaxon raiding partiesregularly foraged out fromthefortressofAnderida,foritwas strategically situated ontheedgeofthenarrowcoastalplainthatledtoNoviomagus,Portus Adurni and thence toUther’swinter capital, VentaBelgarum. The Britons had

long described the Saxons aswolves. They struck fast andviciously in small packs, andkilled every living thing thatstoodagainstthem.Thentheyretired to Anderida wheretheylivedincompletesafely,withtheseaattheirbacksandtreacherous swampsprotecting their northernflanks.

AsArtorex’sforcerodeoutof Venta Belgarum, a silent

crowd gathered to watch thevolunteersastheypassed,forrumourshadspedthroughthestreets of their impendingdeparture.Even themultiple-storeyed, wooden buildingsseemed to lean inwardoutofcuriosity as the troop rodetowardsthemaingatethatledoutofthecity.

Artorexwasstillimpressedby the size of VentaBelgarum, so even the fears

he held for the safety of hisfamily and his sullen ragecouldn’t entirely override hisaweat thesizeof thecrowdsclustered on every vantagepointtowatchthempass.

Targo’s men had alreadyfashioned an impudentbanner, a crude strip of oldwhite cloth on which one oftheir number had daubed areddragon rampant.This raghadbeenmountedon apole,

probablystolen,andwasnowgripped in Pinhead’s glovedpaw.

Ban’s men rode under anembroidered banner of aniron fist clutching a burningbranch. Their body leathershone with bronze discs andtheir faces displayed thecompetent demeanour ofprofessional soldiery. ThecrowdcheeredandBanraisedhis clenched fist in both an

acknowledgement and asalute.

There was little differencebetween the men of Ban’stroopandthoseofLlanwith’scavalry, except that penBryn’s standard bore a greencrouching dragon with itswings spread in attack.Llanwith chose to ignore thecrowdswhothrewflowersforthe cavalry to ride over.Womenranforward to thrust

smallgiftsatthewarriorsandArtorex was embarrassedwhenanoldwomanpressedanarrow length of ribbon intohis hands. He would havereturned the gift, but shevanishedintothecrowd.

‘Why are the people sointerested inour expedition?’ArtorexaskedTargo.

‘Anderida and its Saxonhordesscarethepeopleofthesouth so badly that anyone

who tries to relieve them ofthis menace has theirgratitude. Wear the oldwoman’s ribbon andremember how much ourattack means to ordinarypeople.’

‘I feel like a fraud,’Artorex replied, but he tiedthe short length of scarletribbon round his wrist. ‘I’mnot certain that I want to behere - and I’m far more

interestedinmyfamilythanIaminthecommonpeople.’

‘Then try to pretend,’Targosnapped,hiseyesfixedontheroadahead.

During the first night, themen were ordered to keepfires to the barest minimumandmufflethehoovesoftheirhobbledhorseswith strips ofcloth.Saxonscouldbebehindany tree and Luka remainedtheironlyadvancewarningof

anyimpendingambush.

TheBrigantekingrejoinedthetroopinthegreylightofawaterydawn.

‘Theterrainaheadisnasty,friends.Thecoastrouteoffersdamn all cover, but themountain routesappear tobeslowandhardgoing formenandhorsesalike.’

‘Whatofthevalleyroute?’Artorexasked.

‘There’s some cover, butnot much.’ Luka smiledthinly. ‘Themarshes, though,provide an effective bar toourpassage.’

‘But the marshes aren’ttotally impassable, are they?’Artorexpersisted.

‘No. But the woodenpalisade of the fortressoverlooks some of themarshland. And there areacres ofwater, reeds and the

suckingmud.There’snowayout if you get caught in themudwithoutassistance.’

‘Do they guard the marshapproaches?’ Artorexhammered away, to theirritation of both Luka andBan.

Myrddion’s eyes gleamed.‘There isn’t even a gate onthat side, Artorex. Whywouldtherebe?Who’sgoingto crawlout of a swampand

scaletheirwalls?’

‘I will, and so will thescum! It’s the most directroute, although it seemspainfully slow. The Saxonsdon’t expect an attack fromthat direction and theirdefenceswillbeconcentratedon the entrances to theirfortress.’

‘True,’ Llanwith agreedcautiously. ‘But the cost toour numbers as we try to

climb the ramparts will bewickedifourmenareonfoot-oriftheyaredetectedbeforewe are ready to launch ourattack.’

Artorex gripped a piece oftwig and roughly scraped adrawing of the garrison andthesurroundingterrainonthemuddyearth.

‘If Ban’s group of twentycavalrycanbedirectedalongthe ridges to the north, they

should be able to evadedetection on that route,’Artorex explained sparely.‘Andtherearefewermenandhorses to slow theirmovement across the roughterrain.This group shouldbepositioned to carry out theirattack through the northerngate.’

Theothermennodded.

‘If Llanwith’s troop takesthesouthernroute,andkeeps

tothecoveroftheridgelines,they should be able to avoiddetection from the coast.They’ll carry out their attackonthesoutherngate.’

‘I agree with yourassessment,andI’mhappytocarry out my allotted task,’Llanwithnodded.

‘Ifwe could gain entrancethroughboththenorthernandsouthern gates at night, or inthe early dawn, we’ll cause

havoc,’ Ban stated. ‘Butunlessthosegatesareopened,we’reaspentforcebeforeweeven start. Our timing mustbeperfect.’Hegrinnedattheother leaders as a frisson ofexcitement showed throughhis guarded eyes. ‘But if thethird group could emergefromtheswampsindarkness,using stealth to climb thepalisade with grapplinghooks, they could open thegates before the Saxons are

aware of what is happening.Wecouldhavetheadvantageof total surprise over ourenemy.’

‘Exactly!’Artorexsmiled.

‘Unfortunately, the size ofourforceislimitedsoIdoubtthat we have the numbers tosuccessfully implement thisplan,’ Ban continuedregretfully.

‘But the Saxons have no

horses,’ Artorex pointed out.‘In addition to the scum, wewill have forty mountedcavalrymen attacking in theearly morning darkness withthe advantage of surprise. Ifwe are successful, we willrain down fire from ourarrowson theirquartersuntilthe fortress is ablaze. Ourweakest link is that some ofour warriors must attack thepalisadesonfoot.Iftheyfail,wealldie!’

Artorex challenged theothermen.

‘Do you have anyreservations? Speak now, forI am but a novice atwarfareand I will defer to wiserheadsthanmine.’

‘Ihavenobetterplan,’Banreplied, with a white grin.‘Weallhavetodiesometime,soIwilltakemytroopstothenorth.They are skilled ridersandareexperiencedinbattle.’

‘And I will take thesouthern route for much thesame reasons,’ Llanwithvolunteered with a wickedgrin.

‘The scum will take thedirect route under the ordersof Targo,’ Artorex saidbluntly. ‘It’ll suit them, aslittle discipline is needed -just rat cunning, closefighting and some nastydispositions.’

‘One final matter remains.We have to be close to ourdestination by dusk withinthreedays sowecan assumeour attack positions indarkness.’

‘Oh,joy!’repliedLlanwithwithamockinglaugh.‘Iloveto charge at impregnablegates when I can’t see therabbitholes.’

‘But we can build somenicelittlefiresinsideoncewe

are ready to attack, becausewoodburnswell,myfriends,’Ban stated. ‘Especially ifweadd a little melted fat andsomepitch.’

‘Itwill take the slowestofthegroupsat least threedaysoftraveltogetintoposition,’Artorex continued. ‘OnceLlanwithandBanreach theirrendezvous points, theymustremain there, undiscovered,until Luka can confirm the

positions of the other twogroups.Lukawill adviseyouof the timing needed to co-ordinate your movements.He’ll then join us on theramparts of Anderida.’Artorexgazedat the facesofhiscommanders.‘Isthereanymatter we have notconsidered?’

All the leaders shook theirheads.

Myrddion examined the

expectant faces of theassembled group. ‘Thenyou’ve made your decisions,my friends.’He lookedupatthe pale, ashen sky. ‘Therewill be no sun today. Thisrainwillcontinue,sowemustmove quickly along ourseparate routeswhile there iscover and concealment. Wemust strip the wagon thatcarriesourkitandprovisions,andcarryonlythoseweaponsthat we need for the attack.

Whenwe resume ourmarch,each group will actindependentlyuntilwe rejoinatAnderida.’

He smiled at his youngprotégé.

‘I wish you good fortune,Artorex.Foryou’llneedit.’

Silent, grim men rode outof their bivouac to the northandtothesouthintheirorderof march, while Targo’s

scoundrels followed theforested tracks ofwatercourses and kept tochains of oak coppices thathadsprungoutoftheground,longbeforeevenUtherwasalad.

Artorex recounted theplantoTargo,sotheveterancouldrelaytheirroleinthecomingaction to the scum. ToArtorex’s surprise, the menpreferred the back door

approach,foritgavethemthebest odds until they wereactually in place on theramparts.

These ragged men knewhowtofight. In fact,mostofthese mercenaries had noother skills and their bestabilities came to the fore innarrow, tricky places wheretheircunningandruthlessnessgavethemanedge.

They’retheperfectweapon

for the swamp and thepalisades, Artorex remindedhimself and tried desperatelytowipeGalliaandLiciafromhis mind, just as he hadstruggled to forget thatmanyofhismen,verminousastheywere, would die because ofhiminthisaudaciousattack.

The scum didn’t complainwhen theywere refused firesat night for they understoodthat no sensible commander

would betray their presenceto an enemy. Nor did theydisapprove of travellingmostly in the darkness andsleeping for just a few hoursof daylight under mounds ofleaves or alongside fallenlogs.

‘Onecampaignismuchthesame as any other,’ Targotold Artorex as they bunkeddown in light forest for theirfirst period of rest. ‘These

men have fought across theRoman world, so they knowthe privations of soldiering.Just as long as they get theirspoilsattheendofthebattle,they won’t care about mud,swamp or cold steel. Theyhavesimplepriorities.’

Gradually, the campsitebecamesilent.

‘I’m sorry, Artorex.’Targo’svoicewasraggedandArtorex wondered if Targo

had wept under the cover ofdarknessanda thickcoverletofleaves.

‘Never mind, old man. Atleast you were motivated byaffection for me.’ Artorexwas surprised by thebitterness in his own voice.‘Thethreetravellersviewmeasameans to save theirownworld.’

‘No, lad. You’re wrong.Myrddion, forone,woulddo

anything - anything - to liftthis burden from you. Yes,you’re a necessity to theirplans-buttheyloveyou.I’vewatched them closely,because I alsodidn’twant tobeused in thegrandplansofother men. But you mustacquitthemofthissin.’

Silence fell, and Artorexwondered if his old mentorhadfallenasleep.

‘I needn’t have worried,

Targo,beforeIfoughtBanatVentaBelgarum.’

Artorexheard the rustleofdried leaves, as if a ghostlywind stirred through themoundsofdriedgrasses.

‘About what?’ came athreadywhisper.

‘WhetherI’dhavetheballstokillanotherman.Utherhasgiven me incentive, and Ibelieveonlybloodwillmake

me feel better. Someone iscertain to die and, as I can’tkill Uther, I’ll have to killSaxonsinstead.’

‘Be careful, boy. Death isserious-andit’spermanent.’

‘I’mmyfather’sson,aren’tI?What’safewSaxonsmoreorless?’

Deep in his mound ofleaves, Targo would havewept,ifheknewhow.

A few hours later, the troopwas moving forward at theirbest speed, although theirstomachs were pinched withhunger. Better to carryweapons that preserved liferather than food. The scumwould eat and drink whenthey had takenAnderida andthefortresswastheirs.

Targo had become quitefondofhis rag-tag troopand

knew the names of everywarrior under his command.Of them all, only Odin gaveTargo the ‘wierdies’, as hecalledit.

‘Thathulkingmassofhairand muscle is absolutelysilent once he climbs off ahorse and is afoot. I swearthat he disappears into thelandscape so well that youcould walk over him. Thefirst you’d know of himwas

when he cut off your balls.’TargoglancedacrossatOdinwho was ahead of the troopamong the trees. ‘Gods,Artorex, his feet are bare!Andhe doesn’t seem to givea damn about how cold itgets.’

‘I’m glad we face theSaxons and not theJutlanders, if his countrymenare all like Odin,’ Artorexreplied mildly as they rode

slowly on muffled hoovesthrough the lightly fallingsnow.

‘I can’t tell the differencebetween any of thebarbarians,’ Targocomplained.‘They’reallbuiltlikewalkingmountains.’

‘That’s why Caesar leftthem to hack each other topiecesontheothersideoftheRiverRhenus.’

After two hard days oftravel, the tree cover thinnedaway to nothing but bare,snow-dusted folds of brownwasteland. The hobbledhorses were left to foragewithintheremainsofthetreecover,while themen took totheir own legs. Where theland provided no cover, thewarriors crawled on handsandknees.

Targodrove themenhard,

for they must find coverbefore night came driftingover the eastern horizon.They must lope on, thoughtheir legs ached and theirhandswerebluewithcold.

Targo spoke little toArtorex, fearing to intrudeinto that calm, impenetrableplace where his master hadretreated. As he pushed hisold legs to follow Artorex’smile-devouring stride, he

cringed when he thought ofthe lad’s bitterness andanxiety. If thoughts ofrevenge keep him safe fromthe Saxons and that bastard,Uther Pendragon, then so beit. Perhaps we have worriedfornothing,hemused.

But Targo had a soldier’sprickling in his palms and ahunter’s instinct formen likehimself. Botha had probablygonetohisdeath,forUther’s

captain had indicated that hedidn’tplantoreturntoVentaBelgarum.Thetaskhe’dbeengiven could well have beendishonourable. If so,everything old Targo lovedhad probably been destroyed- and he’d done nothing topreventthedisaster.

Andthemarsheswerenowbefore the scum, andAnderida beckoned with itssirencallofinvincibility.

CHAPTERXIII

CARRIONCRY

In far-off Villa Poppinidii,some hours before Artorexhad defined his reckless plantoattackAnderida,EctorandCaius were supervising thetraining of their crop of

yearlings in the horsepaddock. As they watchedone of the young colts beingintroduced to the bridle, ahouse servant pointed to thelong roadway that led up tothevilla.

A stumbling horse,seemingly of its own accord,was plodding slowly up thetrack, carefully avoiding itsdanglingreinsasitpickeditsway carefully through the

ruts.

Ector gave swift orders,and a house servant rantowards the beast. Ector andCaius followed at a moresedate pace, in deference totheolderman’sstiffjoints.

When theservantbegan tolead the faltering horsetowards them, Caius andEctor made out a figure thathadslumpedacrossthehorsewithhisarmsbound together

around its neck. Bloodstained the defined musclesof the horse’s chest, and randown the right leg of thebeast from a deep wound intheman’sside.

Somehow, the woundedmanhadmanagedtobindhisneckscarf intoa thickpadtoslow the bleeding. He hadthen lashed his wriststogether with part of hisundershirt in case he lost

consciousness, and had setthe horse upon a coursetowardsthevilla.

Bothmenweresickenedasthey imagined the pain theyoung warrior must haveendured to secure himselfuponthebackofthestallion.

‘He’d have died ofexposure if he’d fallen fromhishorseinthisicyweather,’Ector said softly. ‘Still, he’sonly alive now because his

blood has congealed in hiswounds before they drainedhimutterly.He’sneardeath-and I’ll be surprised if hesurvives.’

Ector scanned the longroadcarefullyinthedirectionfrom which the rider hadcome.

‘Everything seems as itshould be but Iwish I couldbe sure,’ Ector warned hisson. ‘I smell trouble in the

wind.’

‘Perhaps our workersshould remain at the villatonight,’ Caius suggested. ‘I,too, sense that strange eyesare watching us. I’d sleepmore soundly knowing thatextramenwerecloseathandinthebarnifweshouldhaveneedofthem’

‘Issuetheordersthen,son.At best, they’ll sleep snuglyin the stables. At worst, we

may need their help if thereareSaxonraidersabroad.’

Nothingstirred.

Nothingmoved.

Even thebirdswere silent,and Ector felt a shiver ofapprehension in his belly. Ascentofsnowwasinthecoldwind and he knewhe shoulddeliver the wounded man tothecareof thewomen in thevilla as soon as possible, but

his palms itched as if a trapclosedaroundhim.

Ector realized with a tinyfrisson of recognition that hewasafraid.

Caius took the reinsof thehorse and dispatched theservant to carry a hurriedmessage to the headman ofthe village warning him tosendthewomenandchildrento theforest incaseofattackand requesting able-bodied

mentoassistwiththedefenceofthevilla.

Father and son thenencouraged the exhaustedhorse tomake one last effortto carry the strange rider tothewarmthofthevilla.

Gallia was resting in herown warm bed, having beenwrackedbyfitsofnauseathatcaused her stomach to rejectall food. That morning,satisfiedthathermistresswas

notseriouslyill,oldFrithhadbrought Licia to the villa toprevent the curious childfrom disturbing her motherwith her childish prattle.Frith’s healing talents wouldnowbeneeded.

As always, Julannawelcomed the presence ofLicia who played quitehappily with her own littleLivinia, so Frith hurried to aspare storeroom where the

wounded stranger had beenlaid out on a pallet. Frithbathed the gaping wound intheyoungwarrior’ssidewithhot water and clean towels.She observed, withdisappointment, that pearl-pink loops of bowel werevisible to the naked eye andwere clearly damaged. Thewound already had a slightlyrankodour,sotheoldwomandeducedthatherministrationswould come to naught. Still,

she stitched and bathed thewound before binding ittightly.She satwith theboy,for he was little more thansixteen, throughout the longafternoon.

In all that time, he spokenotasingle,lucidword.

True to his promise,Caiuskept the field workers at thevillaaftertheyhadcompletedtheir normal daily toil.Fortunately, most of these

menhadbeen trained for thevilla’s defence by Targo, sothey were familiar with theswords, daggers, bows andaxes held in the villa’sarmoury. Rather thansleeping in the servant’squarters, they planned tostandguardinthestorehousesclosetothevilla.

Caius was also grateful towelcome a number of othermen sent by the headman of

the village. While lackingconventional weaponry, allthe volunteers carried hoes,reaping hooks or other evil-looking farm implements.Thesemenweresworntotheunwritten pact that existedbetween the Villa Poppinidiiandtheirownhomes.

For those souls who livedin these lands, any threat toonepersonwasathreattoall.Besides, these villagers were

almost in a festivemood for,afterall,thereareworsewaysto spend a cold winter’sevening than in a billet in awarmbarnwithbrewedaletodrink and a rich stew todevour.

The Villa Poppinidii hadbeen built in the Romantradition, with thick, earth-packed walls that offeredscarcelyasingleegressforanenemy. Heavy wooden gates

sealed off the villa proper,and clean light and air cameviathegardened,openatriumthat lay within the longrectangle of the villa’sstructure. A colonnadesurrounded this atrium androoms opened directly on tothe long, tiled corridor. Thevillawasalmostimpregnable.

But gates can be broken,andnoplaceistotallysecure.Cross-ventilation was

providedfrombothlongsidesoftherectangularstructureofthe villa by a series ofshuttered slits, half aman inheight and an arm span inwidth, thathelpedtomitigatethesummerheat.Herelaythevilla’s weakness. That onesuch shutter should lie in thestoreroom where thewoundedmannowlaywastobe expected. That Julannashouldchoose to sleep in thechamber with the other

shutterwasaquirkcausedbyher dislike of enclosedspaces.Ectordetermined thatthese two rooms, and thecentralgate,mustbeguardedatallcost.

The villa was surroundedby outbuildings, includingstables, piggeries, theservants’ quarters, an applepress, storage rooms and acold room set in the ground,allofwhichwereplaced like

chickens around the skirts ofthe villa. With the horsepaddocksonthewesternsideof the villa, there was littlecover that could hide anenemy, but the apple, pearand lemon orchards couldconceal anarmyapproachingfromtheeast.

Ector chose to keep hisfarm workers and thevolunteers from the villagewithinthehorsebarnandthe

granaries as a reserve forthose defenders whowere inthe main part of the villa.From this outside vantagepoint, they could fall uponany foolish souls whoassaultedthegatesinafrontalattack. The villa’s womenwere barricaded into theservants’ building, therustica,forsafety.As night fell, and flurries

of snow began to fall, Frith

decided to return to Gallia’shouse,leavingatiredLiciatosleep with Julanna at thevilla. But her patient needednursing and care, so sheinformed Caius that Garethwould return to the villa andtakeherplace,havinglearnedthe use of simples from hisgreat-grandmother. The ladwas sworn to protect Liciawith his life, if need be, sonotonlywouldheguardoneof the weakest spots in the

villa, but he’d also assistCaius,ifneeded.

BeforeFrithmadeherslowway toArtorex’s villa, Ectorstoppedherandvoiced someseriousconcerns.

‘The Villa Poppinidii canbe readily defended, Frith,but Artorex’s house isisolated. If the Saxon raidersare unfamiliar with the villa,perhaps Gallia and herservantswillnotbedetected,

but I’d prefer that they werewith us behind our thickwalls.’

Frith sensed dark wingshovering over her. Dangerthreatened,sheknew.

‘I agree, Master Ector. Iwillpersuademyladytoseekshelterhere.’

‘I am relieved, Frith.IndeedIam.’

As Frith hurried towards

Artorex’s snug little home,her barbarian superstitionwarned her that the air withfilled with black wings andthethicketswithstaringeyes.

The house servants hadalready bolted the gates andFrith had to pound upon thepanels to gain entry. Onceinside, Frith hurried toGallia’s bedchamber whereher mistress was lying, wanand tired.Herpregnancyhad

only reached the fifthmonth,but her child was unusuallylarge and was sappingGallia’sstrength.Besides,themistress had been subject tofitsofblackdepression sincethebirthof littleLicia,whenGallia wept for her lostkinfolk and swore that shewouldbebetterdead.ArtorexandEctorhadtriedtocomforther when her dark moodscameuponher,butshecouldonlybearFrithtobenearher.

Even little Licia became anirritant, andGalliawouldcryinconsolably that herdaughter would fare betterwithouther.

‘Gallia!’ Frith murmured.‘Wakeup,Gallia!LordEctorbelievesthataSaxonattackisimminentandwantsus togotothevillaforprotection.’

Gallia opened her sleepyeyes. ‘We’ve never hadtrouble with Saxons before,

Frith,andourhouseisremotefrom thevilla. I’m soweary,I’dratherremainherewhereIcanrest.’

‘I know you’re tired, myprecious,butwemustgo.LetoldFrithhelpyou intowarmfurs and we’ll leave thishouse.Ifyou’retoowearytowalk, your manservant cancarryyou.’

‘I dreamedofArtorex as Islept, Frith. He’s riding into

danger - and I know he’sgoing to die.’ A small tearglistenedonGallia’scheek.

‘No, sweetheart! No! Hewon’tdie,Ipromise.’

Gallia shook her head likea brokenwooden doll. ‘He’sindanger,Frith.Isawhimina dreadful swamp,surroundedbycorpsefires.’

Frith tried to shatterGallia’s fey mood with any

means at her disposal. Theslave gripped her mistress’shand and shivered at the icycoldnessofherflesh.

‘All the more reason tokeep yourself and your babesafe,’ Frith replied, trying towarmGallia’shandsbetweenherownpalms.‘He’dwanttoensure that you wereprotected.’

‘There’s no point, dearFrith. Licia is safe and I’m

certain we’ll not be foundhereontheedgeoftheforest.I’mquiteprepared to let fatetake its course. I don’t wantto leave - so I won’t, nomatterwhatyousay.Go,dearFrith. Please, I just want tosleep.’ Gallia’s small mouthwassetinamulishpout.

‘Please, Gallia!’ Frithpersisted. ‘Don’t beobstinate! This house isdifficult to defend, so we

mustleave.Ifyoudon’twantto think of your own safety,then consider your servantsandyourunbornchild!’

‘It’s far too late,Frith.Letthe servantsgo to thevilla iftheywish.TheSaxonswillbewatching us anyway, if theyarehere,andthey’llseeus ifwe attempt to reach safety.They’d intercept us on thetrack. Whatever the godsdecide will happen, whether

I’matthevillaorhere,inmyown home. As long as Liciasurvives, nothing elsematters.’

Gallia turned her face tothe wall and fell into a lightdoze.Frithwanted to screamatherandshakehershouldersuntil her mistress actedsensibly.

But the barbarian slaveknew, through her ancient,alien blood, that Gallia had

sensed a change in the tenorofherworld.When the threetravellers came, she felt thepatterns move and alter.Something dark wasimpelling Gallia to actfoolishly, but Frith had noideahowtoforcehermistresstohersenses.

‘Heaven help us,’ Friththought aloud. ‘We will alldie!’

Not for a moment did the

oldslaveconsiderleavinghercharge, although her heartflutteredinherwitheredchestas if itwould leapoutofherribcage.

Gallia’s personal servantsalso refused to return to thevilla, or even to venture intotheOldForestforsafety.

Gareth was also provingdifficult. Frith was forced tospend many minutespersuadinghimtoleaveLady

Gallia and return to the villatoprotectLicia.

Gareth had grown into astrongyouthwhowasutterlydevoted to Artorex and hisfamily. While he wasn’tparticularly tall, Gareth’sappearance was imposingbecauseofthestrengthofhisbone structure, the unusualblondness of his hair and hisquickintelligence.LikeFrith,he had a streak of creative

sensitivity that gave him anacute sense of beauty; likeFrith, he was stubborn to afault, and was impossible tomoveoncehismindwasset-asitnowwas.

‘If I were a Saxon, I’dattack this house first,’ hehissed, to avoid alarming thehouse servants. ‘You need atleast one other man here toprotectthehouse.’

‘Someone must protect

Licia in the main building,’Frith pleaded. ‘Who else butyou, my grandson? I’ll notfail my oath, and nor shouldyou.’

OnlyanappealtoGareth’ssense of duty could haveforced the young man toreturn to the villa proper.Frith kissed his firm, sun-reddened cheek, tousled hislovely hair and blessed thelad,forhewasleavingherto

protect her beloved Licia.Frith’s heart told her thatshe’d never see her great-grandsonagain.

Fortune favours the brave,but it especially protectsthosewhoareprepared.

At a little before midnight,the villa was attacked byBotha and his trainedwarriors.

The total force, less thantwenty men, came withstealth, creeping from theorchard through the shallow,newly fallen snow like blotsof spilled ink on the whitescroll of the earth.Carefully,with muffled weapons, theyencircled the main building,whileBothasentthreeyoungmen to destroy the distantcottageon the far sideof thefieldsthathadbeenfoundbyhis scouts in the late

afternoon.

Ignorant of Gallia’s peril,Garethwas closetedwith thewoundedcourierwhohad,bynow,lapsedintoacoma.Theyouth half-sensed theapproachofBotha’swarriors,although he only heard amere scrape ofmetal againststone, but all his facultieswere immediately alert.Through the bolted shutters,he saw fur-cloaked men

moving stealthily in themoonlight. Two of the menwere carrying blazingtorches.

‘Awaken!’ Garethscreamed. ‘Awaken! We’reunderattack.’

Andthen,afterlatchingthestoreroom door, he raced tothe great bronze gong in thecolonnade with its largehammer that had beenprovided to warn the

occupants of the house ofimpending threat. As themetal sent out its deep knellofwarning,Ectorawokewithanoath.

The alarm had not beenstruck since starving wolveshad attacked the villa sometwenty-five years earlier.Ector felt the old fires ofbattle stir in his thinningblood.

‘Awake!’Garethcontinued

toscreamfromthecolonnadeas the attackers began tobatter at the shutters and themain entry door to the villa.Caius and Ector had sleptfully dressed, with weaponsbeside their beds, and theynoworderedthehouseslavesto danger spots inside thevillawhile theyprotected therightcolonnadethemselves.

Ignoring his instructions,Gareth abandoned his patient

to his fate and scurried toJulanna’sapartments.Hewasdetermined that he woulddefend Licia with his life ifneedbe.

HefoundJulannaclutchingthe two children to hershivering body as an ironpommel beat against thewooden shutters.The faceofthe mistress was as pale asparchment, and she criedthinly in fear.Gareth sent all

three females into the small,windowless room that linkedJulanna’sapartmentswithherhusband’ssleepingchamber.

‘Keep the bars secure onthedoors,nomatterwhatyouhear,’Gareth ordered, a longknifemadebyBregan inonehand.‘Andyoumustkeepthechildrensilent-formysake.’

Gareth didn’t know thatfour of the attackers werealready dead, killed from

behindby thevillagerecruitsas they tried to break inthrough the narrow frontdoorsofthevilla.

He didn’t hear the bloodydeath rattle as his patient’sthroat was cut when thevilla’s defences werebreachedthroughthewindowof the recently vacatedstoreroom.Nordidherealizethat Ector and Caius,supported by the house

servants, were alreadyengaged in desperate combatinthecolonnade.

He was certain, however,that every attacker whoentered the windows ofJulanna’schamberwoulddie.

Gareth easily killed thefirst intruder, as the warriorwaspressed against thewall,half inside and half outsidethe slit in thewindow, in anungainly attempt to clamber

through. With speed on hisside,Garethcut thewarrior’sthroat with one carefullymeasured slash, beforestepping backward to avoidthe jet of arterial blood thatarcedacrosstheroom.

Fortunately forGareth, thesecondintruderslippedonthespiltbloodasheleaptthroughthe breach, so Gareth wasabletoblindtheintruderwithanother quick slash of his

knife across the man’s eyes.This warrior, bleedingprofusely, roared in mingledpainand rage,andstruckoutwith his sword in theconfined space, but Garethdispatched him easily with awicked knife thrust frombehind.

Gingerly, Gareth peeredout of the broken shutter.This side of the house wasnow free of attackers, but he

could clearly hear the soundof vicious fighting fromacrosstheatrium.

‘Keepthedoorbarred,andremain here until I return,’Gareth ordered through thedoorthatshouldkeepJulannaand the children relativelysecure.

When she disobeyed him,he thrust a discarded swordinto her shaking hands. Hereyes widened when she saw

that the boy was covered infresh blood. Then, her handssteadied as she hefted theheavy weapon, and Garethregisteredanewhardeningintheeyesofhismistress.

‘Don’t let thechildrenintothe bedchamber. Latch thatdoor,’ Gareth roared, beforehe sped away across theatriumonnakedfeet that lefta bloody trail behind him onthemosaicfloor.

Four huge warriors wereforcing Ector and Caius toretreatinexorablytowardsthelocked entry doors whenGareth ran up behind theattackers. The bodies of fourhouseservantslayonthetileswhere they had fallen afterbeing cut down like ripegrain. Caught between theintrudersandthemetal-boundentrance, father and son hadlittlechanceofsurvival.

From behind, Garethhamstrungthewarriorclosestto himwith one quick slash.Themanscreamedandfelltotheground,while thewarriorin close combat with Caiusdropped his concentration,and his sword arm, for onebrief,lethalmoment.

Itwasenough.

Trained by Targo, Caiusunderstood the value of theedge when fighting at close

quarters. He slashed at thewarrior’s sword arm, nowexposed,andtheforearmwasslicedtothebone.

Mercilessly, Caius stabbedhis enemy through the neckwithout a flicker ofcompunction.

The other two attackerswerenowcaughtbetweenthethree defenders. Hemmed inby thenarrowcolonnade, thetwowarriorsfoughtuntilthey

werecuttopieces.

The surviving warrior wasstill trying to regain hisfooting with a useless legwhen Gareth knocked himsenselesswithhisswordhilt.

Simultaneously, a villagerwith a slight head woundstumbled up to the lockedwooden gate and began topound on the timber with ablacksmith’shammer.

‘Master Artorex’s house!’He screamed through thetimbers.‘It’sburning!’

Gareth unbolted the gate,and Bregan tumbled into theopen entryway. Theblacksmith was repaying hisdebttotheVillaPoppinidii.

‘Are any of these cursoutside the villa still alive?’Ectorroared,hisbloodstainedsworddrippinginonehand.

‘No, my lord, we seem tohave hunted them all downbutMasterArtorex’shouseisburningfromendtoend.’

‘Mistress Gallia is still inthere!’ Gareth shrieked, andbegantorun.

‘Wait, boy,’ Caius yelledafter him. ‘Wait! The godsalone know howmany moreofthoseanimalsarestillaliveoutthere.’

‘Go with him, Caius,’Ector ordered. ‘Try to saveGalliaifyoucan.BreganandIcanmanagehere-can’twe,oldfellow?’

Caiusranathisbestspeed,but he was less nimble thanthestableboy.Bythetimehewaswithinsightofhisfoster-brother’shouse,hecould seethatspeedwasuseless.

Lit by the leaping flames,Gareth stood in the small

courtyard with bloody armsupraised, screaming anguishand defiance at the uncaringnight sky. He had found oldFrithatthesideofthehouse,stabbed through the bodymany times when she hadthrown herself overGallia toprotect the young womanafter all escape had provedhopeless.

Gallia’s throat was cutdowntothespine.

Attheopengateway,Caiusfound Artorex’s servants,hacked to pieces as theydefended their mistress. Oneof the enemy warriors laydeadsomelittlewayofffromthebodiesofFrithandGallia.A metal hairpin had beendriven throughoneeye,deepintotheman’sbrain.

Caius recognized thatfamiliarpinwithapang.

‘See, Gareth? Frith has

gone to glory with herenemy,’ he shouted over theroaroftheflames.‘Shedroveaneedleintohisbrain.’

ButI’vefailedinmyoath,Gareththoughtinconsolably-and Caius feared the boywould cast himself into theflames.

‘Does Licia still live?’Caius shouted, as he tried topull the boy back from thecrumbling structure of the

house.

‘Aye.Shelives.She’swithJulannaandherbabe,’Garethremembered and allowedhimself to be drawn away afewstepsbackward.

‘Then you should beguarding her,’ Caius orderedsavagely. ‘That was yourduty.’

Unwillingly, as if his eyesrefused to leave the staring,

empty face of Gallia, Garethbackedaway,hisfeetslippingontheicysurface.Hepaused,and returned to the smalltragicbodies.Withhisknife,he cut an amulet fromGallia’s ruined throat, andthenbowedinonefinalactofreverence.

After a last glance back atthetragicscene,heraninthedirectionof thevilla tomakegoodhispledge.

Caiusdrewhis handsoverthe death mask of thebeautiful young woman. Herpuzzled expressiondisappeared as he closed hereyelids.

‘Poor,harmlessandjoyousGallia,’ he murmured to theflames.

Caiusshivered.

He knew instinctively thatmanymenwouldperishwhen

Artorexdiscoveredthefateofhis wife and unborn child,andmanyworldswouldburnto ashes before the stewardcould be deflected from hisrevenge for these senselessactsofmurder.Caius’sfertilebrain scrambled to invent anexcuse for his negligence inleaving Gallia outside thevilla proper where she couldnot be protected. Regardlessof their wishes, Frith andGallia should have been

forced to sleep under theprotection of the villa’sdefenders.

And the same stars thatlooked down on Gallia’sbody, still cradling herunborn child in her belly,were also smiling down onArtorexashecontinuedwithhis scum towards Anderida.Forsuchisalwaysthefateofthose few people whomFortuna raises high on her

terriblewheelofchance.

Evenasnightbecameday,the ravens, crows and rookswere gathering at the VillaPoppinidii.Already,thesmellof carrion tainted the winterwind.

Hamstrungby thebladeofGareth, Botha did not deignto scream, even when Caiuscut off his fingers, one byone. A maddened Julannasliced him unspeakably with

akitchenknifewith ruthless,female cruelty, but still theold warrior gritted his teethandutteredonlyhisname,asif that admission were guiltenough.

Nordidheutterawordofexplanationordefenceforhisactions, even at the pointwhen Ector took pity on histortured body and beheadedthe oldwarriorwith his ownsword.

Uther’s most loyal servantjoined his fellow warriors inan untidy, bloody pile in thesnowofthehorsepaddock.

These animals were Celticwarriors, Ector thought, histhinning hair awry and hiseyesblurredwithtears,asthefieldhandsborethebodiesofthevilla’sdead tobewashedand prepared for cremation.How could Celts kill Celts?And slaughter innocent

women? And innocentchildren?

How will I justify ourfailure to Artorex? Caiusthought, with a flutter in hisbelly.Hewillbebeyondrage.

He kicked at a fallenwarrior’sbloodyfacewithhisbooted foot and enjoyed thecrunch of bone under hisheel.

Let thebirds feaston their

eyes before their burning,Gareth thought viciously, ashe spat on Botha’s emptiedface.LetthemgosightlesstotheShadows.

Andthecrowscame.

CHAPTERXIV

OUTOFTHEMARSHFIRES

Artorex stared laconically atthe expanse of marshland,punctuated by a number ofoddstuntedtreesthatreachedalmost to the edge of the

palisades of Anderida. Thelast flags of light gave himfewcluesonhow to locate apath through the wasteland,so he beckoned Targo to hisside.

‘What do you know aboutswamps?’ Artorex askedcurtly.Timewasnofriendonthis night, for the scummustcross the wasteland beforemidnight. Soon, Luka wouldbring confirmation that the

other troopswere in positiontocommencetheattack.

‘It’s less than I’d like butas much as I need,’ Targoanswered drily. ‘The onlysafe way is to move slowly,in single file, testing thegroundaswego.It’lltakeusmost of the night before weareacrossit.’

‘Damnation!’ Artorexswore. ‘Spending a dayexposed at the foot of the

palisades is a crazy risk.Wehavetomovefaster.’

‘IcantryusingOdinasthelead scout. He’s supposed tolive where swamps arecommonplace and hisweightwill find the sucking mudfaster thaneitheryouorme,’Targosuggestedguilelessly.

‘I sometimes think youconsider him expendable,’Artorexdrawledsoftlywithagrimacethatcouldhavebeen

a smile. ‘However, I agreewith you. He’s the bestpossible choice - so Odinleads us out. We startimmediately.’ He paused.‘Tell them to daubthemselves with mud. Youtoo. It’ll save our skin fromthe insects. And ensure thatthemenprotecttheirweaponsat all cost, for they’ll soonneedthem.’

‘Aye,lord.’

Targo melted away like agreyghost.

Whenthedarknessseemedabsolute, tiny fires flared upinthedistance,multicolouredand hideous. Artorexremembered the legends oflost souls that called to thelivingtofollowthemintothemazeofwater andmuduntiltheyweredoomed.

‘Marsh gas,’ Targoexplained softly, but Artorex

saw him clutch his amulettightlyforluck.‘Firewithoutheat.’

On elbows and bellies, orbent double, the scumcrawled through tussocks ofsharp-bladed grass and poolsof icy water, followingOdinas he made his way throughthe swamp. The Jute seemedperfectly at home in thesodden landscape. When hesignalled a route that

bypassed a patch ofdeceptively firm ground,Pinheadthrewarockatitandwatched nervously as theearth sucked the light objectin before returningimmediately to a semblanceofinnocenceandsolidity.

Pinhead shuddered andscuttled around the marginsof the sucking earth, cursingunderhisbreath.

Artorex need not have

ordered his men to coatthemselvesinmud.

Withinminutes, thewholetroop looked like unholycreatures of folklore that hadrisenfromtheswampstokilloffunwaryvillagers.

‘Let’shope theSaxonsaresuperstitious,’Artorexspatashe crawled on sore elbowsand knees as quickly as hecould, while ignoring theeerie beacons of flame that

cameandwentlikewraiths.

Thescumhadbeenmovingquietly through the swampforseveralhours, listening tothe distant sounds ofcarousing men within thefortress, when silencegraduallybegantosettleoverthe blackness of the night.Sleetandrainstill threatenedand patches of dense cloudoftenobscuredthemoonlight.A lightdrizzlewas fallingas

they moved like heavingtussocks of mud and grassthrough the rank, wetlandscape.

ThenOdinrosetohisfeet,bentlowtoexaminetheearthand began to move withgreaterconfidenceinazigzagpattern through the morass.Signallingwithathinwhistleresembling that of a nightbird, Targo ordered his mentofollowinthetracksoftheir

guide.

Now, as the pace pickedup, the palisade loomed infrontofthetroop.TheSaxonshad cut down tall trees,strippedthemofbranchesandsharpened the trunks intogreat points. Lashed togetherand sunk deeply into themuddyearth,thiswallwasaneffectivebarriertoallbutthemostdeterminedenemy.

‘Passthewordtoyourmen

that no one must speak, forany reason, even if a marshsnakebitesthemonthearse,’Artorex ordered Targo in awhisper.

A further hour of bentbacks, careful steps and thestart of cold rain saw thewhole troop huddled at thebaseofthepalisade.

‘Are Ban and Llanwith inposition?’TargowhisperedinArtorex’sear.

Hismastershrugged.

Artorex had lost all senseof time, but the moon waslowering in the sky whenLuka slithered out of theswamplikeadarkserpent.

‘Well met, Artorex,’ hegrinned, his white teeth theonly visible feature in hismuddy, grease-blackenedface.‘BanandLlanwithawaityourpleasure.’

‘Then we must hope theSaxonssleepdeeply,’Artorexhissed back. ‘For they willhearusatworkifthepalisadeupthereisguarded.’

Targoroseupfrombehinda tussock. ‘You’re late, LordLuka. The moon is goingdown.’

‘And so are you. Yourscumarenonetoofleetinthemud.’

‘Shut up, both of you.Don’t speak unless it’snecessary,’ Artorex orderedinawhisper.

He looked up towards thepalisade towering abovethem. ‘How many grapplinghooksdowehave?’hehissedto his sergeant. Mentally, heblessedMyrddion’s foresightandknowledgeofAnderida.

‘Four, sir,’ Targoresponded.

Five men apiece, Artorexthought.

‘Right. We go over thewall now, Targo. You andOdin go up first with onegroup. I’ll lead the second,and Lukawill lead the third.You can select someone elsetoleadthefourthgroup.Withluck, we’ll all be on theramparts before the Saxonsknowwe’reabroad.’

‘There’ll be guards for

certain. The Saxons aren’tstupid,’ Targo whisperedback.

‘Perhaps.ButUther hasn’tmade any offensive probesagainstAnderidaforyears,sothere’s a fair chance they’vebecomeoverconfident.Inanyevent, if there are sentries,we’ll have to remove them -by any means possible.’Artorexglancedbacktowardshis men. ‘Send Pinhead to

me.’

Pinhead crawled toArtorex’s side. He lookedinfinitely muddier, nastierand more dangerous thanusual.

‘Do you have your bow,Pinhead?’

‘Aye, for what it’s beenworth so far,’ the warriorrepliedwithagrin.‘I’vealsolugged a good supply of

arrows along, and someburning fat in case we needflamearrows.’

‘Excellent, friend. Whenthescumareontheramparts,set fire to one of your flamearrows and send it high intothe air. This signal over theswamps will tell our friendstothenorthandthesouththatthey can commence theirattackonthegates.’

Pinheadnodded.‘Ithought

you’dwanttousefiresoI’vealreadypreparedthearrows.’

‘I’ll tellyouwhentoloosethefirstbarb.IfLlanwithandBan can’t join with us in acoordinated attack, we justhavetoimprovise.’

As they spoke, menclutched tightly to theiramulets, and Artorex couldsee their lips moving insoundless prayers orpromises. The scum knew

thatmanymenwoulddieandso, in their own separateways, they made their peacewith their gods. Only Odinheld aloof, a grappling hookattached to a length of ropedangling in one ham-likehand.

When Artorex, Rufus andLuka had chosen their owngrappling hooks and checkedthat their ropes were secure,Artorex gave a brief signal,

andOdin’shookflewthroughthe air high above thepalisade. He pulled on therope with the full weight ofhis body, and the grapplinghookheld.

Immediately, and withastonishing grace for such agiant,Odinbegantoclimb.

Artorex, Rufus and Lukacasttheirhooksasone.Rufusswore as his hook fell freebut,fortunately,itsnaggedon

some unseen obstruction ontheramparts.

Silently, the troop begantheirclimb.

Odin and Targo werealready dim shapes in theshadows, and were creepingsilentlytowardsabraziernearthe north gate as Artorexswung his aching body overthewall.Thesightofagiantand a stunted old warriorhunting together should have

been ludicrous, but Artorexsmiledwithsatisfactionasthequickly moving shapes wereblockedout from the lightofthebraziers.

The short figure of Targopadded silently back towardsArtorex, while Odindisappearedintothedarkness.

Both men would haveheaded towards anotherbrazier,dimlyvisiblethroughthe damp mist of rain at the

south gate, butTargomimedathroat-cuttingactionandtheshamblingRufusdisappearedlike a ghost into the finedrizzle.

Onebyone, thelastof thescumlanded,light-footedandundetected,ontheramparts.

A sweet sappy scent ofnewly-sawn timber rose inthe rain, a comforting smellthatwasalientothedarktaskahead. Artorex dispatched

two groups of six warriorswiththesoletaskofsecuringthe north and south gates forthe entry of the attackinghorsemen, while fourbowmen with a plentifulsupply of arrows werepositioned at strategic pointsontherampartstosupporttheattack.

With his small force inposition and ready to attack,Pinhead joined Artorex high

above the Great Hall of theSaxons, surrounded by itsattendantsodhuts.

‘You have the warningarrow safe and dry? Andreadytofire?’Artorexhissed.

Pinheadnodded.

‘Thenlightitandletitfly-comewhatmay.’

Pinhead grinned throughblackened teeth, and freed ashort bow from an oilcloth

wrapping, and strung iteffortlessly. A bundle ofarrowswrapped inverydirtycloth soon followed, andPinhead was obliged to usehis whole body to protectthem from the thin mist ofrain. He gripped the firstarrow shaft in hisdisreputableteeth.

A tinderbox was producedfrom somewhere on hisverminousbody,andArtorex

marvelled at the natural skillwith which Pinhead struckthe flint against stone. Thenoisedidnot travelfar in thestill, fog-shrouded night, andArtorex trusted to his luckand the lightly-falling rain tomask any sounds.Again andagain, Pinhead worked theflint until a fewweak flamesleapt up and he thrust thearrowhead into the feebleconflagration.

What Pinhead had used tofuelhissignalarrow,Artorexhadnodesiretoknow,buttheclothcaughtfireimmediately,eveninthelightrain.Pinheadinserted the arrow into hisbow, pulled back on the gutstring and the signal soaredhighintotheair, trailingfire,untilitdroppedawayintotheswamp.

Then, just as Artorexthought that he had avoided

theworst possible outcome -immediate detection - a longululating cry went up fromthe south gate and ArtorexknewthatRufushadfailedtokill the sentries silently. Thescream was cut off as itreached an inhumanly highnote, but the damage wasalreadydone.

Warriors in various stagesof undress boiled out of thesod and reed huts and from

theentrancetotheGreatHall.Their long, unbound hairstreamed out in the firelightwhichsuddenlyrosetorevealthe flattened earth below theramparts.

TheSaxonsseemedtocastimpossibly long shadows asthey poured from thedoorways like ants. Mostwere naked and theyappeared fearsomewithhugeswords and axes that they

swungwithmaniceagerness.

Gods, there are too manyof them, Artorex thought tohimself, as a bolt fired fromPinhead’s bow sped past hisear. A Saxon warrior,wearingonlyafurcapeandafierce grin, fell before hereached the ladders leadinguptotheramparts.

ThescumspedtowardsthegatesastheyfoughttoetotoewiththeSaxonstogainevery

foot of advantage. Smallerbut faster, they foughtsavagelywith the knowledgethattheywoulddiehorriblyifthe gates remainedobstinatelyclosed.

But twentymen, even rat-cunning veterans of ahundredcampaigns,couldnothope to defeat over onehundredSaxons,notcountingtheir women, who foughtevenmore viciously than the

men.

Ahornechoedthroughthesteadyingrainfromthenorth,echoed by the brazen cry ofitsmatetothesouth.Artorexscarcely had time torecognize the suddendrumming of hooves out ofthe forest to the north beforethe Saxons were upon him.Pinhead fired arrow afterarrow while Artorexprotected the smaller man

fromattack.Everydirty trickthat Targo had ever taughthim in his youth wasemployed, as Artorex lashedout against unprotected bodyparts so he could bring thedragonbladeacrosssuddenlyundefendedthroats.

In the narrow confines oftheramparts,Artorexhadhisedge,butPinheadwasalmostout of arrows and still theSaxons swarmed towards

them. Artorex attempted tomoveforwardinthedirectionof the southern gate that hadbornethebruntofthefightingsofar,withPinheadusingthelast of his arrows as hisshield.Thepacewaspitifullyslow.

Artorex had neverexperienced the true carnageof battle. Targo had tried topreparehispupil fordifficultground that was slick with

bloodandspilledentrails,butnothing his tutor haddescribed prepared him forthesmell.Evenovertherain,thehotreekofbloodsteamedlike brass and clogged theback of his throat.The smellof vomit, urine, piercedbowelsandtherankstenchoffrightened, sweating mencreated a terrible stew ofodours that made Artorex’sgorge rise. All he could seewas the face of the man

before him as he cut, parriedand slashed, until that facefellawayandanothertookitsplace.

A long bull roar rose overthehowls,cursesandscreamsofdesperatefightingmen.

Odin.

The gods themselvesseemedtoanswerasarumbleof thunder appeared to shakethe sodden earth. Then

Artorex realized that horseswere within the confines ofthe fortress, crushing friendand foealike,and themailedfistofBanroseoverthetrooplikeagreenflame.

‘Artorex!’ Pinheadscreamed as he raced up theladder to the top of theparapet.‘Artorex!’

Both Saxons and Celtslookedup, for the smallmanhad tied Artorex’s dragon

flag to his bow like amakeshift banner, and in theflaming thatch of sod huts,hissing in the rain, the beastseemedaliveandmalevolent.TheSaxons at the north gatefell back in superstitiousdread until Ban’s horsemenhuntedthemdown.

But the battle was stillbalancedonaknifeedge.

Twenty cavalry and theremnants of the scum were

stilloutnumberedthreetooneby the Saxon defenders, andBan’s forward momentumstartedtowaver.

At the northern gate,Odinstill swung his axe in awicked parabola of reddenedsteel, as he protected Ban’sflank with the smalldetachment of scum that hadbeensenttojoinhim.

But at the southern gateonly a few warriors fought

on, hopelessly outnumbered,against a swell of yellow-hairedSaxons.

‘We must get Llanwith inthrough the southern gate orwe will be slaughtered,’Artorex shouted over thescreamsofdyingmen.

Ignoring the feeblemovements of the wounded,heleaptthroughthemêléeofhorses, his sword anddaggerdancinginacrispinterplayof

movement that allowed himtocontinuethemomentumofhisheadlongrush.

At the southern gate, thedeadwere heaped in a grislyhalf wall around Luka andfour of the scumwho foughtback to back, andwere now,witheveryblow,beingforcednearer to the closed woodengate.

‘To me! To me!’ Artorexroared.

Targolookedup,hisswordstillheldprotectivelyoverhisbody.

Two powerful slashesfelledtwoSaxonsbeforehim,and Artorex forced a bloodypassage through the press ofenemy and confronted themalongside his scum. Besidehim, his men were bleedingfrom many wounds andArtorex could tell that theywerealmostspent.

EightSaxonswerepressingforwardtowardstheirprey.

‘Open the gates!Open thegates - now!’ Artorexscreamed,asheslashedatthepressofwarriorsbeforehim.

Atfirst,theenemywarriorsseemed to seriouslyoutnumber the scum, evenallowingforArtorex’sarrivalatthegate.Butallheneededwas a few seconds’ respite,timeforTargo to remove the

massive plank that wasproving to be such a majorobstacle to achieving theirobjectives.

He killed one Saxon withhis sword, piercing thepagan’s throat with thedragon blade and neglectingtoevenwatchthemanfall.

Oblivious to everythingother than the groaningprotests of the great timbersas thebaron thegate slowly

rose,Artorexfoughtonattheheadofhismen.

And then, as quickly as ithadstarted,thegatewasopenandthebattlewasover.

Llanwith pen Bryncantered his troop into thisbloodstained charnel houseand, caught between twotroopsofcavalry, theSaxonsbegantogiveway.

Theyfoughttothelastman

and woman, but they wereoutmanoeuvred andoutmuscledbytheweightandpower of the horsemen,leavingtheBritonstodevelopacrucialedgeoverthebattle-wearySaxons.

Eventually, exhausted anddriven before their GreatHall, the remaining Saxonsdied in a fusillade of arrows.Every wounded Saxon wasmercilesslyputtothesword.

AndAnderidawaswon.

Thecostwasfearsomeand,once his blood had cooled,Artorex experienced the fullhorrorofcomfortingthoseofhis men who were mortallywoundedandabouttodiefortheircause.

Artorex looked at hisshaking, bloodstained hands,and repressed a shudder ofrevulsion. How many menhadhekilled?Targohadbeen

correct. A well-trainedwarrior moves instinctively,his body following patternsthatwerealmostunconscious.Otherthanthesmell,Artorexhadscarcelyfeltamomentofdisgust but, then, he hadn’treallythoughtofthemenwhocame at him as being fullyhuman.

It was now time to fulfilhisdutytothedying.

Inside the Great Hall,

where the Saxon chieftainhad fought until he waspierced with many arrows,Myrddion tended to thewounds of the survivingimpossibles. There, withneedle and catgut, andpotions made from poppyjuice, Myrddion attended tothe living and eased thepassingofthedying.

And wherever Myrddionwent, Artorex followed to

give a word of cheer, thepromise of a share of theplunder and to hear the lastwordsofthedying.Hesworeto each man that his kinwould hear of his nobleending; he vowed that wiveswould receive the portion ofcoin that should have beentheirs and he held backuseless tears so that heshouldn’tshamethesacrificesgivenbythesebravemen.

Llanwith sought him outduringthisgrimduty.

‘Targo won’t rest hiswounds until his scum havepickedthebonesofAnderidaclean. They were promisedspoils, and spoils they’llhave, except for a one-tenthsharetotheHighKing,aone-tenth share for you, and aone-tenth share distributedbetweenthecaptains.’

‘The men may take my

share,’ Artorex sighed. ‘I’llnotprofitwith a singlepieceof gold from any man’sdeath.’

‘Don’t allow your foolishscruples to override yourcommon sense, my younghero,’ Llanwith repliedscornfully. ‘How will youraiseanarmywithout funds?Howwillyoudress,feedandarmyourwarriors?Ordoyouplan to send the last of the

scum back where they camefrom?Tostarve,ortobeg.’

Artorex managed to lookboth confused and mulish,and Llanwith rememberedthat the young man wasbarelyoutofhisyouth.He’djustfoughthisfirstbattle,andwas still learning the heavyresponsibility that came withcommand. Only Targo andsix of the scum remainedalive,andallcarriedwounds.

‘Targo is your man, andhe’ll do all that is necessary.Nowcome,forBanisdying.’

‘Ban?’ Artorex gasped.‘Ban? How? He was on hishorse. How did the Saxonscatchhimunawares?’

‘Ban was always a littlemad, Artorex. He took risks,and he pressed his luck.Myrddion believes that hewanted to prove his worthafter being defeated by a

stripling such as yourself. ’Llanwith paused. ‘I saw himas he charged the shieldbearers that were guardingthe Saxon chieftain. Nonecould have doubted hisintention - but one of theSaxon women gutted hishorse and it fell. Banwas attheirmercy.’

‘So his men loosed theirarrows on his killers and, inso doing, they robbed those

Saxonsof awarrior’s death,’Artorex guessed, with thesatisfactionofavictor.

‘Exactly, my boy. Warisn’t fair, and there’s littleenough glory to go around.We must be grateful for thegifts thatmen likeBanbringwhen theypayus thehonourofridingwithus.’

MyrddionhadensuredthatBan was as comfortable aspossible on a nest of

discarded furs, but evenArtorex’suntutoredeyecouldsee that the wounded manwasnear todeath.Theworstof thebloodfromswordcutsto the body had beenstaunched, but Ban’s torsowas literallyheld togetherbyhisownarmour.

A lesser man wouldalready be dead, Artorexthoughtsadly.

He schooled his face into

somesemblanceofasmile.

‘Stillabed,Ban?Don’tyourealizeyou’vewonusagreatvictory? Your banner standsbefore the Great Hall of theSaxonsevenaswespeak.Itisour personal tribute to yourservice.’

‘Youhavedifficulty lying,Artorex, for all your skillwithasword,’Banwhisperedwryly,eachwordforcedfromhis filling lungs with great

pain. Bubbles of blood wereformingat hismouth, sooneof his warriors wiped themaway gently with a cleancloth.

‘You must listen, Artorex,tothewordsofamanwhoisnow one of your few, truefriends. The High King willkill you, if he is able. Butbefore Uther Pendragonbecomesworm food himself,many false men will vie for

the privilege of betrayingyou.Youmustrememberthis...andbeware.’

The warrior’s eyes werefilming over, and only withthegreatestofeffortdidBanforce back death for a fewbriefmoments.

‘Myordersweretokillyouduringtheattack,’hegasped.‘Icouldn’t...Imustknow... thatmydeathhassome. . .purpose...takethethrone.’

‘I am not meant to be aking,’Artorexstated.

‘Answer . . . me fairly,’Ban demanded with all hisoldfire.‘Myeyesareasgoodasthose...ofUther.Uther...yoursire.’

His words struck Artorexlikebodyblows.

‘If the kingship should beoffered, I will take it.’Artorex’svoicewasfirm,but

his eyes were movingrestlessly as they hunted forescape. ‘I swear this to youonthelivesofthosewhodiedatAnderida.’

Artorex told himself thathe was swearing a harmlesslie, and he smiled down atBan with something akin tofondness.

‘I’llrememberyourlesson,myfriend,’hesaidsoftly.‘Sofly to the heights, Firebrand

of theWest, to set theabodeof heroes ablaze with yourcoming.’

‘My...brother!’

And so Ban died, simplyandquietly.

As one, the remainder ofBan’s guards swore theirallegiance to Artorex untildeath, forwhere theirmasterhad chosen to serve, so toowouldthey.

And, as they swore theiroaths, the young manponderedthedepthofhumanfrailty. Ban’s basic integrityhadstoppedhimfromkillingArtorex, even though apromise to Uther Pendragonshould have made him amurderer.

Uther was always certainthathewouldwin thisgame,whether by chance or bytreachery, Artorex thought

sadly as he bent over thewarriorandkissedhisbloodylips. The High Kingunderestimated Ban’s basicdecency but I, for all of mydays, will always rememberthismanasatruewarrior.

He rose to his feet andturned his attention back toTargo.

‘Weleavenoneofourdeadto the carrion,’ Artorexordered. ‘No matter how

lowly, not one of ourcomrades shall be defiled.Their bodies shall be burnedand their ashes collected inthe finest golden box inAnderida.Theonlyexceptionis Ban, whose body shall bereturned to Venta Belgarumwith us for burial. He shallreceivefullhonours.’

Andthewarriorsmarvelledat the beauty and hawk-likecruelty ofArtorex’s face.As

heordered,sowasitdone.

All too soon, Artorex wasforced to commence hispreparations for the return ofhis command to VentaBelgarum and Uther’s court.The Saxons possessedwagons built to be drawn bygreat oxen, and one of theseponderous carts was piledhigh with weapons, gildedcrosses and chalices that hadbeen looted by the Saxons

from churches in the East.Eventhesodhutsweresmalltreasure troves that turnedupfurs, jewels and adornmentsof gold, electrum, brass andbronze.

Many of the Saxonchildrenhadescaped into thewild woods, but those whocould be found were tiedwithin one of thewagons, tobe takenashouseslaves inaworldthatwasbrutal,evento

theinnocent.

In the otherwagons, thosewounded Britons whocouldn’t ride were gentlyplaced on to thick strawpallets.Myrddionwould ridewith them, and would tendthemasbesthecould.

Allthatremainedwasforasmall detachment to be sentto collect the horses left byTargo’s scum near theapproaches to the swamps.

These beasts, along with allthe Saxon animals that couldbe found, would follow thewagons along the easiercoastal road back to VentaBelgarum.

Only Llanwith, Luka andArtorex remained behind asthecavalcademovedout.

‘And now we burnAnderida to the ground,’Artorex said grimly. ‘Untilonlyashremains.’

‘The Saxons will return,Artorex,’ Luka repliedpatiently. ‘Youknowaswellas I do that the Saxons ownthiscoast, and they’ll rebuildAnderida, just as it wasbefore.’

‘Then we’ll burn it again,and again - a hundred times,ifneedbe.’

‘The Saxons may havesomething to say about that,’Llanwith grinned, and

Artorexflushedhotly.

‘Yet, you are right,Artorex,’Lukasaidwithgrimlogic. ‘Any delay to theSaxon advance is better thannothing, and Anderida holdsseveral hundred Saxoncorpses who won’t breedagain, and neither will theykill our brothers in the west.So let’s burn the fortressdown, so that those Saxonswhoare forced to rebuild the

structurewill understand thatwe intend to fight for ourlands,comewhatmay.’

And so, the fireswere set.At first, the logs smoulderedand smoked, but finally thefire took hold. The timberbuildings, along with thecorpses of the defenders,wereconsumedintheflames.

LongafterArtorexandtheimpossibleswereoutofsightof the fortress of Anderida,

they could see the greatcolumn of black smokestainingthegreynoonsky.Itmarked the first frail victorybythewarriorsofthewest.

The cavalcade arrived atPortusAdurniafter twoslowdays of travel, taken in easystages for the sake of thewounded. Artorex led hissmall command towards thestone-walled village above

the harbour,where ships stillplied a brisk tradewithGaulandbeyond.Thetownspeoplelooked on in amazement asthe column slowlywound itswayuptheRomanroad.

Toallthequestionsthrownat thewarriorsas theysetupcamp for the night, only onemessagewaspassedontothepopulation.

‘Artorex has taken thefortress at Anderida. The

Saxonswereputtotheswordandtheydied,tothelastmanandwoman.’

Small gilt boxes werebrought forth. They werefilled with the ashes of bothscumandwarrior,allmingledindeath.

‘Andthesearetheashesofour fellowheroes,who cameto Anderida to prove thattheiroathsofallegianceweretrue. They died for the land,

for their King and forArtorex, the Warrior of theWest.’

The townsfolk speculatedonhowsuchasmalltroopofwarriors, so battle-worn intheir attire, could attack andovercome a fortress such asAnderida.They stared,wide-eyed, at the contents of thetwo groaning wagons thatmoved with them, andmarvelled at the fat-tailed

sheep and milking cows asthey were herded into thepens of Portus Adurni andturned into gold and silvercoins. Man turned to man,each wondering who, orwhat, this Artorex might beand whether the old days ofglorymighthavecometothewestonceagain.

Word and rumour spreadfaster than the slow-movingcavalcade could travel, so

wheresmallvillagesclusterednear the Roman road, folkcame out to stare, to cheerand to throw green branchesover the chill roadways lesthorses and oxen should slipon the black ice. Youngchildren sucked their thumbsandstaredupwithwideeyesat the dour, grim-faced menas they passed, theirdestination of VentaBelgarum fixed firmly intheir minds. Maidens sighed

at their first sighting of therusset hair of Artorex,uncombed as it was, and athis wintry features that weresobraveandsofair.Oldmenrecalled the heroes of theiryouth and compared Artorexwith a young Pendragon,come back to succour hispeopleintheirtimeofperil.

So the story becamelegend,andthegloryranlikeGreek fire through the snow-

shroudedhills.

Artorexrodeattheheadofthe column with his troopcommanders alongside him.Odin walked, as silently andas steadfastly as ever, hiseyesalwayssearchingforanythreatinthelinesoftreesthatranparalleltotheroad.Rufushaddiedatthesoutherngate,but Pinhead still lived,although he sported a newandevenuglierwoundacross

his cheek that had severedpartofoneear.Thefourotherremaining members of thescumtookgreatprideintheirstatusasthelastheroesofanimpossible assault on anoverwhelming enemy, andArtorexhadlittledifficultyinimagining how the storywould grow with the telling.Already,hewasembarrassedat how villagers bowed theirheads or tugged theirforelocksashe rodepast, for

heknewthatOdinhadturnedthetideofthebattlewhenallseemed lost, that Targo hadsaved the situation at thesouthern gate and that theirrepressibleBanhadbroughtthe conflict to its ultimateconclusion.

‘The plan was yours,Artorex, and the finalresponsibility was yours,’Myrddion lectured him, aday’s march from Venta

Belgarum. ‘You, too, couldhave died on the rampartswith your men. You are thefigurehead,theWarrioroftheWest, whether you like it ornot.AndyoualonemustfaceUther’s fury when we returntohiscourt.’

‘Aye, but I don’t wish totake what credit is due toothers.’

‘Youcanbe sure, lad, thatno one is likely to face the

vicious wrath of Uther otherthan you,’ Targo told himsolemnly.

Eventhescumlaughed.

And so, with their deedsalreadybeingsungintheinnsofVentaBelgarum,Artorex’sexpedition returned to theHighKing’s city on the firstday of the spring thaw. Thechurch bells pealed theirapproach, warriors andtownsfolk lined the muddy

streets, while eager handshelpedtounloadthewoundedinto the care of the priests.Manyofthetownsfolkcursedtheir bad fortune in notcourting death with theimpossibles, and they lookedup at Artorex with eyes thatwereawe-filledandenvious.

Rumour had travelled fastfrom the coastal settlementsthatArtorexhadwonagreatvictory at Anderida and was

returning toVentaBelgarum,so it was inevitable that aswiftmessenger from PontusAdurni brought the news tothe High King that Artorexandhisbandofwarriorswereless that two days’ marchawayfromhiscourt.

Morgan brought themessengertoUtherinperson.Her eyes were alive withmalice although her marble-coldfacewascontained.

‘Lord King, Artorex bidsyou all homage and allhonour. He has takenAnderida and has left theSaxons to feed the crows,exactlyasyoudemanded.’

Uther’s breath drew insharply, causing his whole,wastedframetosnakeinwardundertheweightofhisrobes,almost as if he protected hisbellyfromastabwound.

‘Don’t speak that name to

me,’ he ordered querulously.‘Artorex is dead! No onecouldtakeAnderida!’

‘Your confessor has toldyou tales of the JewishKingDavid, has he not?’ Morgansmiled delicately. ‘And hewillhavetoldyouofhowthegreat King lusted afteranother man’s wife, thedivine Bethsheba. KingDavid sent Bethsheba’shusband out to die, just as

yousentArtorex to fightandperish in your service.’ Sheglared her hatred at Uther.‘It’s too sad for you,Stepfather, that a ruse youonce used so successfullydidn’t work nearly soeffectively on the secondoccasion.’

Morgan’s light, girlishlaughter was hideous withinthe King’s previously silentrooms. His confessor turned

his wide, frightened eyestowards the face of hismonarch. On receiving noresponse,heslippedfromtheapartmentlestheshouldhearwords spoken that wouldconsignhimtothestrangler’srope.

The eyes of the old Kingnarrowedwithcunning.

‘Banhasn’t failedme.TheFirebrand is loyal untildeath!’

‘You have such ficklehopes, my lord,’ Morganretorted. ‘I must inform youthatthebodyofBanislashedto the back of his horse andthat he is one of thehonourabledeadofAnderida.Even as we speak, Artorexrides to Venta Belgarum intriumph, with the sound ofthepeople’scheersringinginhis ears. If you stillwish hisdeath, youmust find anotherfool to wield his sword on

yourbehalf.’

‘Thewhelpwillnever rulein my stead. He will nevercast me down as High Kingof the Britons - and he willsoon be forgotten by mypeople.’

‘It’s too late, Lord Uther.Far too late.You alone haveturned this youth into a heroofthepeople.Yes,youalonehave done this foolish thing.He came to Venta Belgarum

as a nameless and deedlessyoung nobody, and you’veturned him into the greatestwarrioroftheCelticpeople.’

Morgan knelt before herKing and looked up into hisrheumy, malicious eyes. Hersmall pink tongue exploredher upper lip and stroked asmallgapinherteeth.

‘How my father wouldlaugh.HowGorloissmilesontheothersideoftheveilashe

waits for you to join him.Hail, Uther Pendragon, theHigh King, who will beremembered only as the curwho sired the saviour of theBritons.’

‘Donotspeaksuchfilth tome.’ Uther blocked his earswith both age-spotted hands.‘I can have you strangled -andperhapsIwill,ifyouaimyourpoisonatme.Be silent,or you will shriek your last

breathaway.’

‘How could you cling tolifeforjustalittlelongerifIweredead?’Morgancrooned.‘And how could you plotagainst Artorex if you arewormfood?Ialonecankeepyou breathing beyond yourtime, which is somethingyour confessor and hisfoolish,fruitlessprayerscan’tdo.’ She smiled once more.‘Andwhenyoureyescloseat

last, a long lineofyourdeadwillbewaitingtomeetyou.’

Morgan poured a smallquantityofwhitepowderintoUther’s half-drained winecup, where it hissed andbubbledominously.

‘Astimulant,mylord.’Sheheld the goblet out to herstepfather. ‘Artorexcomes togreetyou-whetheryouwishitornot.’

Uther took the profferedpotion and gulped it eagerly.Only spite, hubris andMorgan’s powders couldkeep the blood circulatingthrough his ancient, tiredheart.

‘You hate him worse thanme,youviper,’hewhisperedas the stimulant cleared hisbrain.

‘Aye, lord, but here’s theoddityofit-I lovehimtoo,’

Morganreplied,hereyesvoidofallemotion.

‘Then God help the cub,foryou’llskinhimwhileyoucaresshim.’

MorganleftherKingtohisendless,circlingthoughts.Onthestonethreshold,consciousof the cold seeping throughher thin slippers, she lookedback over her shouldertowards the wicked old manand his dreams of

immortality.

What a poisoned pair weare, Uther, she thoughtruefully. Perhaps what weseek will only be wonbecause we have becomepawns in the destiny ofArtorex, the boy - who hasnow become Artorex, theman.’

She shrugged away herthoughts, because the habitsof hatred were too deeply

ingrained in her nature to beweakenedby thedemandsofhistory.

Morgan,eldestgirlchildofGorlois, the long-dead BoaroftheDumnoniitribe,slippedaway from the King’sapartments like a whisper ofacridsmokeonthebreeze.

CHAPTERXV

ENDINGSANDBEGINNINGS

Artorex waited withMyrddion, Luka andLlanwith in the forecourt ofthe Great Hall. Dressed nowin the best finery that the

Saxons of Anderida had tooffer, including a great cloakof white wolf pelts bound atthe shoulder with a dragonpin in bronze, he was animposing and regal figure.Targo had insisted he dohonour to the scum bywearingthetorcoftheSaxonchieftain, a massive neck-pieceofpurered-gold, in theform of the winged worm-like dragon of the northernbarbarians.The youngman’s

hair was combed and loose,except for plaits that left hiswide brow free, and hiswinter tunic beneath thebarbaric cloak was of fineRomanwool.

Odin stood behind him,bearingagreatwoodenbox.

The Jutlander had beenbathed and barbered, notwithout some heathenprotests, but nowmaster andservant towered over the

other courtiers outside theGreat Hall, while manycovertglanceswereaimedatthe impassive faces thatstared straight ahead towardsthe carved and verdigris-encrustedentrancedoors.

‘The High King keeps uswaiting to put us in ourplace,’ Luka hissed, whilemaintaining his soldierlybearing.

‘The desperate act of an

impotent man,’ Llanwithagreed,withcontempt.

‘Yet Uther was once agreatkingandagiftedleaderof men, my boy,’ Myrddionmurmured.‘It’simportantforyoutorememberthislesson.’

Artorexchosenottoreply.

Hestoodmute,fornotlongafter he arrived at VentaBelgarum, Caius had joinedhim after a furious ride from

theVillaPoppinidii.

The preceding night hadbeenfineandcloudless,whitestars visible at last. Afterseeing to the welfare of hismen,Artorexhad returned totheWildBoar Innwhere thedrinkers’ voices had beenstilled by the changeswrought in the raw youngman during his trial bycombat.

In his room under the

eaves,Artorex had prayed toMithras, to the ChristianJesus and to theCelticDuande Dartha to protect hisfamily. But even as heintoned the intercessions toall thegods thatheknew,hecould feel a heavy weightpressingonhischest.

ThearrivalofCaiuswasnosurprise.

His foster-brother wastravel-weary and mud-

stained, his dark hair awryand his impeccable clothingmarkedbytheheadlongpaceof his journey. With neweyes,Artorexsawathinstainof dried blood on Caius’scloak that was almostconcealed by mud, andArtorex realizeddispassionately that the othermancouldnotquitemeethisunwaveringstare.

His foster-brother was

afraid.

Caius told his tragic storysimplyandsparely,hopingtoshield this new,wholly alienstranger from the worstexcessesofsorrow.

‘Ector mounted a greatfuneral pyre for Gallia, Frithandyourservants.Theyhavegone to the gods in glorytogether, justas they lived inlife,’Caiusexplainedslowly.

Artorexmerelynodded.

The silence dragged outpainfully.

‘Our father mourns withyou, and he holds littleLiciaas close as his owngrandchild.Garethguardsherday and night - and hissorrowknowsnobounds.’

At last he looked Artorexdirectlyintheeye.

‘Gareth has sent this

talisman that he took fromGallia’s body. Frith made it,andGalliawore it, soGarethbelievesthatitismeanttobeinyour care. It is a final giftfrom two women who haveplayed an important part inyour life, so I pass it on toyou.’

Artorex took the smallpregnant form and caressedits swollen belly with histhumbs. He should cast it

away lest grief overwhelmhim, but the warm fragmentofhazelfeltsosmoothandsofull of love that, eventually,he decided to keep it. Hefolded his hands over theamulet and nodded his headinthanks.

Later, much later, Artorexwouldwearthetinyfigureonagoldenchainroundhisneckso that it would lie over hisheart.

Caius felt decidedlyuncomfortable and burst intohastyspeech.

‘Theverminwhokilledherare dead. We burned theirbodies, and scattered theirashes to the winds so theirsouls would be lost forever.But first, we let the carrioneattheirfill.’

Something of Caius’s oldcruelty had returned to hiseyes as he told his tale, and

Artorex thought, irrelevantly,thatherewasatoolfitforhisuse if ever he had such anuglyneed.

Like father, like son,Artorexthoughtcoldly,forhehad finally reasoned out hiskinship to Uther and hisimportance in the scheme ofMyrddion’splans.

He felt as though taintedblood was running throughhis veins and yearned

fervently for the opportunitytobealonewithhisgrief.

‘Only one of the assassinssurvivedthebattle,sowedideverything in our power toensureherevealedthereasonfor the attack on the villa,’Caius added. ‘He washamstrung by Gareth insidethe villa, and couldn’tmove,except to crawl on the earthlike a snake. Julanna appliedher own ministrations in an

attempttoextractinformationfrom the man by slicing hisbody in those places wherethe nerves are closest to theskin. I would never havebelievedmywifecouldactasshe did.’ Caius shook hishead at the memory, for theyoungmanwaslostintheno-man’s land betweenadmirationforhisspouseandthe sudden fear that strikeswhenaharmlesspet isfoundto have turned into a rabid

animal.

Hesighed.

‘Allwemanagedtoextractfrom him was his name -Botha.Hedidnot try tohidehis identity, or mitigate hisactions,regardlessoftorture.’

‘In his own way, then, hewas an honourable and loyalman,’ Artorex saidreflectively.

‘Hediedhard,mybrother.

Ector and Julanna saw to hissuffering, for I find I havehadmyfillof inflictingpain.Other than saying his name,or to pray to his gods, or tobeg the pardon of the house,he said no other word. Hisashes were scattered in thefields.’

‘Thankyou,Caius.ItismywishthatyouattendmeinthemorningwhenIvisittheHighKing,’ Artorex replied

distantly. ‘We live in strangetimes, brother, when womenarethepawnsofpower,andIfind that your great motherknew that one day I’d haveneed of you. I boundmyselfto you with my promise toLivinia and I’ll alwaysrememberthatpromise.’

When Caius eventuallyfoundasparesleepingpallet,still cakedwith dirt from histravels, hemarvelled that the

tenderfleshoftheboyhehadcalledLump had become thefully grown, cold andconfident leader of seasonedwarriors, some of whom hehadjustspokento.

I never knew him at all,Caiuswonderedwitha senseof unease. This new Artorexmakesmybloodruncold.

In the morning Caiuswashed carefully in theRoman manner, dressed and

armed himself as a Romannoblemanand joinedArtorexand his friends in theforecourtoftheHighKing.

Caius carefully seized theopportunity to mend hisreputation with his foster-brother and the threetravellers. Coldly, and withan eye to the main chance,Ector’s son began to tie hisfate inexorably to thedestinyof Artorex. He blessed his

mother, for she hadrecognized the quality in herfoster-sonandhadboundhimtoherfamilythroughanoath.

OnlyTargo,asfaithfulandas intuitive as always, hadenteredArtorex’ssmall roomduring the night. He camelateintheeveningandfoundhis master wracked byvoicelesstearsasheclutchedGallia’samulettohislips.

Long was Artorex’s grief,

and deep, for all its silence;Targo could do little exceptofferasoldier’scompanytoafellow soul who was intorment. When Artorex hadwept all the tears his eyescouldshedandhadfallenintoa restless sleep filled withblood and murder, Targostayed on watch, his heartbreaking from the memoriesof little Gallia and her lost,evanescentjoy.

Artorex never wept again.In the long years thatfollowed, he would knowhideous loss but never againwould he weep so honestlyandsofreeofshame.

Ashehaddoneinthepast,Uther underestimated theultimate effect of hisdiscourtesy to Artorex. ThesoldierlymienofArtorexandthe oddity of several tribalkingsandaRomannobleman

left cooling their heels in theforecourtwasnaturalfuelforgossip, and the rumours didlittlecredit to theHighKing.Artorex and his companionsnever complained. Silently,they stood at attention whenother men would havewearied.Eventually,theHighKing realized his foolishnessfor, after two longhours, thebrazen doors were openedand Artorex was summonedintoUther’spresence.

The man who entered,flanked by Caius andLlanwith on one side, andLuka and Myrddion on theother,was no longer a youthbut a man. His face wasunlined and his hair asgolden-red as ever, but hisfeatures had settled into anexpression of measuredauthority, unencumbered bypassion orwild emotion.Hiseyesglitteredinhisface,andthey were unreadable, direct

and beyond fear. Thecourtiers and priests whowere present in the throneroom shrank from hispresence,forArtorexwasthetrue king among them,relegatingUthertolittlemorethan a shrunken, ancientmummy, a shadow of hisformerself.

‘I have brought youAnderida, as demanded, myliege.’ Artorex’s voice filled

the furthest corners of theroom. ‘I bring you greetingsfrom Ban, Firebrand of theWest,whojoinedthegloriousdeadatthesiegeoftheGreatHalloftheSaxons.Ibearthespoils of the Christianchurches of the south-east asyour portion and I ask yourlordship’spermissiontowagewar against the Saxonswherevertheymaybe!’

Artorex raised one hand,

andOdinadvanced,bearingagreatchest.Atthefootofthedais, he bowed his head,opened the heavy, brass-bound lid and exposed thegolden relicsof theChristianchurchesthathadbeenlootedby the Saxon hordes. Thegasping admiration of thecourt washed over him inwaves.

Odinbackedawaytostanddirectlybehindhismaster.

Utherdidnotdeigntogazeupon the heaped religioustreasures.‘Ask?Ask?You’renot asking! You’redemanding! What right doyouhavetoinstructyourkingin the niceties of warfare?’Uther lookedcontemptuouslyaroundthecourtasifinvitinglaughter, but the roomremainedunnaturallysilent.

Myrddion stepped forwardfearlessly.

‘My lord, Artorex is thetrue hero of Anderida, yourleader who captured theimpregnable fortress. He isthe truest of warriors whofights in your name - andyour name only. He is theWarrioroftheWest!’

UthersnortedasMyrddionsteppedback.

Llanwithtookhisplace.

‘Artorex determined our

strategies, planned ourvictories and personallycaused the destruction ofmany Saxons. They burnedlike logs of wood in yourbrazier. He is the supremeWarrioroftheWest.’

Llanwithsteppedbackintoposition.

When Luka took hisfriend’s place, he grinned atthe assembled courtiers witha smile that held little

amusement.

‘My lord, Artorex aloneholds the trust of all men,whether high or low, whoknow him. He alone canstand in your stead as yoursupreme warrior, now thatage has brought your swordhand low. He has borne theburden of the death of ourwarriors bravely, and he hasproved himself to be theWarrioroftheWest.’

Utherpaled,andthecrowdstirred like dry leaves in anautumnwind.

Finally,Caius tookLuka’splaceandUtherpeeredattheunknownman, wrapped in atogaandarmedwithaRomanshortsword.

‘My liege, Artorex is thehope of the helpless, thebearerofburdensandthelastDux Bellorum. He is theWarrior of the West -

regardless of the fact that heismybrother.’

Consternation filled thehall, and voices rose,twitteringlikebirdsorcallinglike gulls towards theblackened ceiling. Utherimpatiently raised his handand silence fell over thecourt.

‘Who is this Roman?’ hedemanded.

‘Caius is the son of Ector,guardian of the VillaPoppinidiiandtheOldForestof Aquae Sulis,’ Artorexstated in a loud, clear voice.‘Hismotherwas Livinia, thelast of the pure Poppinidiiline, and he is my foster-brother. He brings yougreetings from Botha, whoremained true to his vowsuntohisdeath.’

Artorex’s face was cold,

unemotional and grim. Themention of Botha, captain ofUther’s guard, caused theaudience to whisper andspeculate, while Artorexwaitedtospringthetrap.

Utherwasdumbstruck.Hisgrey face became pasty andhishandsandmouthtrembledas if in thegripofpalsy.Noone in that cheerless,imposing room could fail tonoticethattheKinghadbeen

struck a body blow. Histwisted, ivory fingersclenched and unclenched onhis bony knees and Caiusthought the old man wouldfaintwithshock.

So that’s the way of it,Caius thought calculatingly.Uther wants Artorex dead. Iwonderwhy.

The High King’s guards,whowereunawareofBotha’smission, were startled at the

mention of their captain’sname, while the faces ofMyrddion, Llanwith andLuka were frozen inamazement. Only Caius andArtorex remained outwardlyunmoved.

‘The Villa Poppinidiistands strong, and continuesto control the route to AquaSulis. No Saxon will passwhile Ector, or I, drawbreath,’Caiusswore.‘Andno

flames, no treachery, and nomurder in the dead of nightwillbreachitsancientwalls.’

If any man knew andunderstood that every wordspoken was charged with asilkenthreat,thennonedaredto give any sign of thatknowledge.Caiusfeltawaveof exultation course throughhis blood, for Uther seemedtoreelandshakeasiffromaseizure.

Ygerne stiffened andMorgause simply gaped.Morgansmiledvaguely-andplayed with herknucklebones.

But Uther knew. Herealized that his scheme hadfailed and that Artorex wasleapingabovehistragedylikea phoenix rising out of itsown ashes. Aghast, Utherfinally understood thatBotha’sraidhadstrengthened

Artorex’spositionand,intheprocess, he had lost hismostloyal servant. Now,surrounded by enemies andthemerely curious, the HighKing seemed to deflate fromwithin.

‘Youmaydowhatyouwill- and we thank you,’ Utherwhisperedinavoicethatwasas thready as the wind thatslid through thecracks in thedoor.

And then, anti-climactically, the audiencewasover

But Uther Pendragon, victorof so many battles, was notyet finished. Beyond doubt,the youngmanwas from hisloins,buttheknowledgegavethe old monster no pleasure.AllUther still possessedwaspride,nowgrownhugelyintohubris, andhe swore thatnot

even his own sonwould livetoruleinhisstead.BetterthatCeltic Britain fall into ruinthan for his fame to beeclipsed.

Tothatend,theHighKingset his sharp mind and hisiron will to develop hisstrategies.

For many hours, Utherschemed in his web like thespider he had become, untilhe eventually determined to

sendhisswordandhiscrownto the Bishop of VentaBelgarum, thereby chargingtheChurchwiththeselectionofhissuccessor.UthertrustedtothejealousiesandfearsthatdividedChristian frompaganto keep his throne free fromtheironfistofArtorex.

In her sumptuous room,surrounded by fine cloth,jewellery and Romanglassware, Ygerne decided

that Venta Belgarum wouldneverbeherhomeagain.Herdaughters were twisted andembittered by her badchoices, and to watchMorgan’s cruelties and thevanities of Morgauseprolonged Ygerne’s pain.She’d return to Tintagel assoonasshecould,leavingallthe fripperies of her positionbehind her. Myrddion wouldknowwhat to do.He’d beenthe architect of her fall from

grace, albeit unwillingly, sohe should be inveigled intohelping her escape from hergilded,uncomfortablecage.

Uther would scarcelynoticeherabsence.

Queen Ygerne stared intoher silver mirror. Her greyeyes, so different from herson’s cold orbs, softened asshe remembered her father’sface, like - yet unlike -Artorex. Uther may have

stampedhisbloodlinesontheyoungman inhair andbody,but the boy’s firm jaw andthose colourless eyesbelongedtoherfather.

In the Great Hall, thosegrey eyes had looked at, andover her, without anyrecognition. Why should hecare for her?Had she foughtfor him when he was toosmall to fight for himself ?She had not. Had she taken

the honourable course whenshediscoveredUther’splottotrick her into his bed? No.She never even thought toopen her veins. And hadn’tshe stayed with her monsterhusband for decades, whencommon morality suggestedthatsheshouldhaveleft?

For the first time in manyyears,QueenYgernelaughedfreely. Uther was embarkedupona fruitlessstrugglewith

his only son that wouldpoison the last years of hislife. Beyond doubt, Utherwould fail. Her father hadbeen a warrior beyond peerand Uther had been thegreatest tactician of CelticBritain. So what wouldArtorex, the culmination ofthemboth,achieve?

‘More than you, Uther.Morethanyou!’

Fourweeksafterhisaudiencewith the High King, Artorexreturned to the VillaPoppinidii with the core ofthe impossibles at his back.He would have travelledduringthefirstweekafterhisreturn fromAnderida, but hewas obliged to makeprovision for the wounds ofhismen,andVentaBelgarumwasunwillingtolettheirherogo. Also, to his shame, acorner of Artorex’s heart

feared to face his daughterand the decisions that he’dmadeforherfuture.

Thespringthawhadbegunandtheearthwassoddenwithseeping water that fed thebulbs, flowers and weeds asthey thrust their green headsthrough the moist farm soil.The Villa Poppinidii was atits best with the peach andpear trees laden withblossoms,buttercupsgrowing

in yellow drifts in the fieldswhile newborn calves, foalsand lambs frolicked in thelonggrasses.

Artorex could smell therich, heady aroma of lifebeginning again as springembracedthelandoncemore.

‘Winter has passed, so joyand happiness can return,’ArtorexsaidsoftlytoEctorasthe two men gazed over thefertile fields. ‘All that death

and waste was for such apettything-acrownthatisasdeadasstone.ThisplacewasallIeverwanted,sowhydidthethreetravellersevercometo change the naturalway ofthings?’

Asalways,TargoandOdinstood behind him, grimguardians who watchedArtorex’s back at all times.They would have turnedaway from their master’s

grief, but Ectorwas standingbeside Artorex and Odintrustednoone.

‘Whocansaywhymenaresuch cruel, brutal creatures,my son?’ Ector repliedthoughtfully as one handstrokedhisfoster-son’sbroadshoulders. ‘It’s the womenwhocivilizeandthemenwhodestroy. I think often of myLivinia and her gardens, andof little Gallia as she found

beauty at the edge of theforestinplaceswhereweseeonlyusefulness.’

‘Aye,’ Artorex answeredsimply.

He gazed fondly at Ectorand struggled to put histhoughtsintowords.

‘IwillgotoGallia’shousesoonbut,beforeIdo,thereisa request I must make ofyou,’ the young man said

gently as he fixed his gazeurgentlyontheolderman.‘Itis a matter of importance tome, and I will ask you toswear your oath on theVillaPoppinidiiandthememoryofourMistressLivinia thatyouwill keep your word on thismatter.’

‘Ah, young man, whathave theydone to you in thesouththatyoucandoubtme?You, more than any other

person, should know that I’ddoanythingyouaskofme,ifIcould.Idon’tneedtoswearmy oath, but I’ll accede toyourwishes.Iswearmyoathon Livinia’s ashes, on thisgood earth and on the lovethatkeepsmeherewheretheworldisquietandpure.’

Ector’s face was old nowandwasseamedbywrinkles,but he was still as strong asan old oak and the years

stood lightly on his baldingheadandhugeshoulders.

‘Licia cannot continue tobemychild.’

Artorex’svoicewasemptyof grief, or filled with it,depending on the sensitivityofthelistener.

‘IhavebeentoldthatIamthe legitimate son of UtherPendragon,thelastchildofawarrior linewhosebloodhas

been poisoned by greed andcorruption through manygenerations. I won’t exposeLiciatoambitiousmenwho’dexploit her to achieve theirownends.’

Thenhesighedwithalltheregret that any true man canfeel for the loss of his lovedones. He gazed around thefields and the mists ofmorning.

‘Iwant you to adoptLicia

as your daughter. In thesefields, she can grow tall andstrong under your influence,just as I did. It is the bestsolution I can devise toensure that she learns to liveandlaughlikehermother.’

‘But the Gallus familyknows the truth of Licia’sbirth,’Ectorprotested.

‘Gallia’s family is muchsmaller now and her kin arevery proud,’ Artorex

responded. ‘They’ll followyour advice. Gallinus willunderstand the risks involvedto his niece. Think, Father.She’s the granddaughter ofUther Pendragon, and she’sthe niece of Morgan andMorgause, two trulyfrightening creatures. IfMorgan knew that Licia stilllived,shewouldn’thesitatetosnatchheraway inan instantto teachherperversities.CanI permit such a fate for my

littleLicia?’

‘No!’ Ector repliedforcefully.

‘If it be known in thefuture that she is mydaughter,theVillaPoppinidiiwillbecomeamagnetforthegreedy, the violent and thosemen who’d want to father ason on her, even if rapewasthe only option. To suchcreatures, the grandson ofArtorex would be a huge

prize, and I wouldn’t wishsuchafateuponher.’

‘Never!’ the old manhissed. ‘And I would die topreventit.’

‘Then you must take herinto your family. If such anarrangement would beacceptable to you, I wouldask that I be permitted tobecome her foster-uncle so Ican see her when dutypermits. She is very young,

and I’m certain she willforgetme in time.’Artorex’sface was infinitely sad. ‘I’venever asked so much of anyman as I now ask of you,Father. She’ll have a brideprice of greatworth, and theVilla Poppinidiiwill be safe,atleastforthedurationofmylife. Gareth will see toeverythingelse.’

‘I want nothing for thisduty,’ Ector stated

unequivocally. ‘For there’snogoldorlandthatcanhavehalf the worth of mychildren.’ He gazed into theface of Artorex. ‘Caius willbesilent?’

‘Aye. Caius and I havereached an understanding,’Artorex replied. ‘His fate istied tomine,andwill alwaysbeso.’

‘Well, I’m damned if Iunderstand him,’ Ector said

with some humour - andfather and foster-son laughedironically.

Later, Artorex strodeacrossthefields,hisshadowsin place behind him, until hecame to the burned earthwhere he’d known such joy.The timberof the frameworkwas now ash, but the burnedstone of the walls and thejaggedfoundationspointedtolove that had been real, but

wasnowlostforever.Alreadythetendrilsofwisteriashoots,tougher than Artorex couldimagine, struggled with theivy to gain a footholdon thestone.

Absently, Artorex bentover to pull out a succulentweed growing between theflagged stones of thecourtyard. Odin followed hismaster’s lead, so the weedsweresoongoneandthetomb

of Gallia and Frith, for suchthis place now was, wascleansed of the parasiticplants.

‘My greatest wish is thatyou should plant flowersaround and among the ruinsof my house,’ Artorex toldGareth that night. ‘Roses,springblossomsandthedeepstrong roots of alder andhazel should flourish there,because a garden in Gallia’s

memory is theonlyobjectofreal worth that I can give tothebabyLicia.’

Gareth knelt before hismaster and swore to serveArtorex as long as he lived,withoutquestion.

‘TheGardenofGalliashallbebeautiful,forIwilltendtoitasyou require.But Icravemylord’spermissiontogrowherbs and simples as well,and the ordinary daisies and

poppiesthatFrithloved.’

‘There’s no need to ask,Gareth.’Artorexsmiledattheyouth. ‘You may raise amemorialtoFrith,mymotherof the heart. Iwill send goldtopayforitsconstruction.’

‘I’ll do as you ask, mylord. If you agree to comewithme tomorrow, I’ll showyouwhatIwanttodo.’

And so, in the morning,

Artorexfoundhimselfbackatthe place where his journeyhadbegun,inhisgladeintheOld Forest where the weaklight of spring reacheddownwards to split thedarkness.

Thestonehadnotchanged,nor had its powerful, eeriecarvings.Artorex sensed thathe was in the presence ofsomething holy that was asalien to him as the ways of

women.

Even Odin sensed themystic presence and abasedhimselfbeforethestone.

‘I ask a boon that Imightkeep this stone under myprotection, Lord Artorex,’Gareth explained whilepointing at the carving.‘Gallia and Frith came herealmosteveryday,foritwasaplace where they feltcontentment and were at

peace with the world. Galliasaid she felt close to youwhenshewashere,andFrithtoldme the stonewas sacredtowomen andwas as old asthe world. She ground herherbsinthecuponitsspine.’He smiled shyly at Artorex.‘She told me that blood haddefiledthestoneintimeslongpast, but that her woman’smagic had destroyed thedemonsthatlivedwithinit.’

‘Then you may move thestone where you will. Ectorwill give you whatever menyouneedtopositionthestonein its new place of rest.Perhaps you might lay it inthe forecourt of the ruins sothat a pond forms around itand water might drain fromthecupwhentherainsfall.’

Artorex sighed, for in thepasthe’donlyever imagineda flow of fresh, sacrificial

blood in its holy cup. Hehadn’t discerned any otherusefortheancientrelic.

‘Perhaps, water flowersmight make it an object ofbeauty rather than a symbolofdeath.’

During the coming months,Artorex, his scum and thosewarriors who flocked to hisbanner rode through the

mountainchainlikeanarmedwhirlwind.NoSaxondaredtowalk on soil that Artorexdeemed to be sacred to thecause of the west. NoNorseman dared to cut asingle tree in the forests thatArtorex claimed as his own.And no man was left tobreathewhostoodagainstthedying Uther in his dustyGreat Hall. The last DuxBellorumbecametheWardenof the Britons, and his fame

grew.

On those few, briefoccasions when quiet settledon the borders, Artorexreturned to the VillaPoppinidii. There, he playedwith a small blonde girlwhom he called Licia, whowas accompanied always byher constant shadow, thepale-hairedGareth.

Ector’sremaininghairalsowhitened, but the old man

gained a whole new lease oflife when Caius rode off towar as one of Artorex’scaptains. Ector was oftenheardtosaythatLucius’sgiftof a foster-son was thegreatest piece of luck in hislongandfortunatelife.

No house rose on thefoundations of the old housewhere Gallia and Frith haddied. Only flowers wereallowed to live there,blooms

thatwerecaredforbyGarethwho promised that no onewould trouble Licia’s peacewithtalesofawarriorfather.Artorex came to love her asan uncle should, on thesurface at least. And if hewept for the loss of hisdaughter to preserve hersafety,thenonlyTargoknew.AndTargonevertold.

The sun rose and fell ontheVillaPoppinidii as it had

done for hundreds of years,andGallia rested in agoldenurn set in a niche in theruined walls of her house.Regardless of the worth ofherlastrestingplace,nohandwould dare to touch theDuxBellorum’s garden or itscontents. Eventually, even tothe faithful Artorex, shebecameadream,andthenthefaintmemoryofadream,andtimewashed her away in thegreat actions of powerful

men.

Butthegardenbloomedonthe defiled earth where somuch of her Artorex haddied. The cup in the stonefilled with clean water andwashed away thememory ofold evils. And Frith’s spiritdancedinthewilddaisiesthatgrew in great white masses,intertwined with blood-redpoppiesliketheheart’sbloodshehadshedforlove.

For one year, Artorexpushed his great strength tothe limit, living in the saddleandgatheringaroundhiscoreof surviving impossibles alarge force of young andeager warriors. The nobility,the villages and the lastCeltic-Roman settlements allsent their best sons to ridewith Artorex, theWarrior oftheWest, and the fewSaxontoeholds in the north-west oftheBritish landswere forced

back into the mountains ortheWash, likemud cleansedfromArtorex’sfeet.

Icy purpose drove him.When the west became asecurebastion,Artorexmadecampinthemountains,intheold fortresses, creating astring of guardian towers towatch theencroachingSaxonmenace that lay just over theborders.

During this time, Venta

Belgarumneversawhisface.He told himself that hishatred forUtherwas sodeepthathecouldnottrusthimselfto allow the ancient, dyingKing to live. He tried toconvince that coldest part ofhimselfthathisneglectofthesource of all British powerwas also to protect Targo,who had sworn an oath toavengeGallia’smurder.

But Artorex knew, in a

sickened corner of his soul,that he couldn’t bear to seehisownself inallofUther’sruin and cruelty. So he rode,fought and pushed theCelticedgetothelimit-throughthepower of Celtichorsemanship.

At the end of winter,MyrddionfoundArtorex inawindswept bivouac. Theyoung man was broodingover maps drawn on soft,

rolledcowhideasheplannedhisnextcampaignagainsttheSaxonunderbelly.

‘Don’tyouhaveasmileforan old friend, Artorex?’Myrddionmurmuredfromtheentrance to the simple mudandwattlehut.

Artorex raised his head tomeet the dark eyes ofMyrddion.

‘You’re always welcome,

Myrddion,oldestofteachers.’Artorex’s mouth twisted alittle in irony, andMyrddionfelt awrench in his heart forhispupil’slostinnocence.

Artorex swept furs,discarded maps and an oldand dirty wooden plate off astool in the centre of theroom.

‘Sit,my friend, and ignoremy distraction, for I’m tiredandheartsickatwhatmustbe

done this spring. How goesVentaBelgarum?’

‘The city is quiet, like awarriorwaitingforthecalltobattle. Uther bunkers in hiscity like a dying spider, buthe’s caught in Morgan’smachinations rather than hisown.Bewareofher,Artorex,for she hates all things thatareUther’s - andyouarehisgreatestlegacy.She’lldoyougreaterharm,ifshecan, than

simply keeping that oldmonster alive with her vileconcoctions.’

Artorex’s lips twistedbitterly. ‘Life was infinitelysimplerwhen Ihadnobloodkin.’

‘Yourmother has returnedto a convent near Tintagel,regardless of the whispersthat her absence has caused.She has become a penitentand rumour says she has

taken a vow of silence. Shewhips her body to save hersoul.’

Artorex merely raised hiseyebrows.

‘Don’t you care, boy?You’ve lost a wife in a foulmurder, but Ygerne lost herhusband through trickery -and then her childwas takenfrom her. She believed youweredeadforcountlessyears,and shehas finally fled from

themanwhowrongedhersodeeply.’Myrddion shook hishead slowly. ‘Don’t you feelcuriosity, at the very least,about her motives inmarrying Uther?’ Myrddionwas showing signs ofimpatience, and Artorexturned away from the olderman’sconcernedscrutiny.

‘I find it difficult to carewhat penances a spoiledqueen belatedly offers to her

god.Inmyheart,mymotherswereFrithandLivinia,oneaSaxon and the other Roman.And both were fine, uprightwomen who had no guile orcowardiceintheirnatures.’

‘You’re overly harsh,Artorex, for Ygerne was atragic victim. I was the onewhohelpedUtherdeceivethefairestwomanoftheBritons-another sin upon myconscience. My only

justification is that it wasimportant to our cause thatshe should give birth toUther’ssuccessor.

You may judge me if youmust,butsavesomepityforafrailwomanwhohassufferedfar more cruelly than youhave.’

Artorexsnorted.

‘Allow me to speak,Artorex,’ Myrddion

demanded. ‘Ygerne was afamed woman. She was abeauty,butshewasalsoabletoreadandwrite,tosinglikeanightingaleandwassogoodof heart that her physicalcharms were the least of hertalents. Men loved her onsight and longed to earn hersmiles, but her heart wasfixed upon her husband,Gorlois, the Boar ofCornwall. He was an ally ofUtherPendragon.

‘At a feast, Uther met thefabled Ygerne. I rememberthatnight,forsomuchmiserystemmedfromasimplemeal.He saw her, he wanted herand he sickened to have her.Wakingandsleeping,Ygernefilled his thoughts so thatUther neglected his duties.Nothing I said deflected himand no other woman slakedhisdesire.

‘Well you might laugh,

Artorex, but you’re not pastforty, as was Uther. And themanhadfalleninloveforthefirst time in his life. Utherhad enjoyed any woman hewanted in the past, but nowhe had found a paragonwhom he couldn’t have, andhisobsessionalmostcosthimhisreason.

‘Yes, I eventually found away to trick Ygerne so thatshe welcomed Uther into

Tintagelandshelaywithhimas her husband. What couldYgerne do when shediscovered the ruse? Utherraped her once she provedunwilling and planted you inherwomb.Yes, IwatchedashesentGorloisintoasuicidalbattle. And I watched as hemade the outcome certain bydeclaring that the Duke ofCornwall was a traitor andhad him killed. Can youimagine how Ygerne felt

when she saw her husband’sbelovedheadraisedonapikeover the gates of VentaBelgarum?’

‘She could have arrangedher own death,’ Artorexinterruptedbrutally.

‘She’d already quickenedat the time of which wespeak, and she thought thechild came from the seed ofGorlois.Shecouldn’ttakeherown life! She had two

daughters, and Uther hadusedthemashostagestotakethe queen to his bed andensure her compliance. I askyou,Artorex,whatwouldyouhavedone?’

Artorexreddenedalonghishigh cheekbones at hismentor’simpliedcriticism.

‘My name may still beArtorex, but I’m no longertheboywhoborethatname,’theyoungmanstatedmatter-

of-factly. ‘Unfortunately, thehappy life thatArtorex knewand loved is long dead.Regardless of the sins sheendured, Ygerne still hasnothing to do with me,althoughI’llacquitheroftheflaws of vanity andcowardice.IacceptthatUtherhas turned many innocentsintosinners.’

‘You’re angry, and you’rehurt to the heart, my boy. I

wouldn’thavehadyousuffer,as you well know. In thisinstance, you’ve beenrequired to sacrificesomethingofyourself for thesakeofthecommongood.’

Artorexdrankdeeply fromhis wooden wine cup, andthen spat the lees on to thesod floor.He raised his eyestohisfriendandsmiledintheold, trusting way while,outside, a chill wind rattled

the stiff cowhide covering atthedoor lintelandstirredhisloosenedhair.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me,friend Myrddion. I feel lostand only Saxon deaths seemto imbue me with purpose.I’ll thinkonyourwords and,ifIdecidetomakemypeacewith Ygerne, then I’ll do so.Regardless of my decision,I’ll always be grateful foryourguidanceandadvice.’

Theyclaspedhandsastheystood inside the warm roomand, wisely, determined toavoidpainfulsubjects.

‘How does Caius?’Myrddionasked,curiously.‘Istill find myself wonderingabout that young man, forthose incidents at the VillaSeveriniistillhauntme.’

Artorexgrimacedalittleinmemory.

‘Does he make a suitablehorsecaptain?’

‘Hedoeswellenough,andhis tactical abilitydemonstrates a certainferocity. I need him, despitemy reservations about hislackofjudgement,becausehehates the Saxons even morethan you or I. Sometimes, Idon’t believe that he seesthem as human beings but,rather, as wild animals. I

believe that Caius is one ofthose men who enjoyswarfare and who are at theirbestintimesofviolence.ButenoughofCaius!Whatbringsyou to this godforsakenplace?’

‘This and that, Artorex.I’ve sent several good meninto the heart of the Saxoneast to bringme intelligence.They risk their lives to keepus both aware of Saxon

intentions.’ Myrddion’s facewas sad. ‘These men oftendie for us, and they areunhallowedandunsung.Likeyou, I often feel their shadesclustering around me, so Iregret the desperate needwhichforcesmetoordersuchbrave men into enemysettlements. But they - andwe - serveaswemust, for itisonlythelandthatmatters.’

Myrddionpaced the small,

conical room, refusing wineinfavourofwater,andforallthathisadvancingmiddleagewaswhiteninghishairatlast,his tortured face reflected allthebewilderedpityofaboy.

‘Even as we speak, I amawaiting news from my bestservant, Gruffydd, a peasantwhogrewupwiththeSaxonsas a slave.His skill with thelanguage has kept him safefor many years. I hope that

Gruffydd will give you thedisposition of the Saxonadvance, for the east is nowcompletelytheirs.’

He peered at Artorexthrough the gloom with aconcerned expression on hissmooth,still-youthfulface.

‘I fear we will be drivenout into the lands far to thewest, Artorex, and all thecivilization that Romans andCelts have built will be

burnedtotheground.’

‘NotwhileIlive.’

‘NorI,Artorex,’Myrddionreplied. ‘But now we play awaitinggame,forUtherliveson, against all nature. Thetribes are divided andMorgause has many sons.When the High King doesdie, as must soon happen,claimants to the throne willriselikenettlestoseizepowerfor themselves, and the old

alliances will be cast asidelikestrawsinthewind.’

‘I have no desire to fillUther’s shoes, for the dutiesof the Dux Bellorum areonerous enough for me,’Artorexrepliedhonestly.

‘My boy, there are noclaimants to the throne whowould dare to let you live.You must have a care,Artorex. You can trust noman except those who are

tied to you by bonds thatcannot be broken. You mustunderstand that the lips ofthosewhoaspiretogreatnessmaysmile,but the serpent intheirheartscanbeimpossibletorecognize.’

Artorex rose to his fullheight, so that the tall,willowy form of Myrddionwasforcedtolookupintohiseyes.

‘And what of you, old

friend?Wouldyoubetraymefortheland?’

‘Icouldlieandsaythatmylove for you outstrips allother duties, but I won’tburdenmysoulanyfurther.Ifyoubringbloodanddeath toourpeople,thenI’llbeforcedto choose against you. But Iswear by the love I hold foryou,as theson Inever sired,that Iwill never useLicia asI’veusedyou.’

Artorexnoddedgravely.

Althoughhedidnotrealizethe importance of his words,Myrddion had passedArtorex’s greatest test. Hehadspokenthepuresttruth.

The young man offeredMyrddionhisswordarm,andthetwomenembraced.

‘Thank you for yourhonesty, my old friend. Iexpectednolessfromyoubut

I had to ask those uglyquestions.Youcanblamemytaintedbloodformycoldnessandmysuspiciousnature.’

‘Tainted?Oh,no,my lord.You are what Uther shouldhave been but wasn’t. Foryou have a love for thosepeople who are the strongspine of our lands. Utheralways used his warriorswithout aqualm for the cost,butyoucareforthemenwho

die for our cause. You areyourmother’schild.’

‘But which mother wouldthatbe,Myrddion?That’sthequestionthathauntsme.’

‘Perhaps you belong to allofthem.Haveyouconsideredthat possibility? Livinia’ssenseofduty,Frith’scourageand Ygerne’s steadfastnesshaveallhelpedtoshapeyou,sowhocansaywhichwomanisyourtruemother?’

Artorexshrugged.

‘You’ll findyourway,mylord, because you must. ButfornowyoumustpointmetoawarmbedbecauseImustbegonebymorning.’

That night, Targo notedthat Artorex smiled moreeasily and the cares that hadbowed his shoulders seemedtohaveliftedalittle.

‘ThatMyrddionisaclever

devil,’ he told a half-comprehending Odin. ‘But,whether Artorex knows it ornot, he is the master’s trueedge.’

Wisely,Odin saidnothing.But when Myrddion’sshadow touched him, heclutched his amulet to hischestforluck.

CHAPTERXVI

THEUNBORNCHILD

Gruffydd arrived late at theburning village, havingridden his lathered horsealmost to death during thelong ride from Venonae.Covered in mud from the

swampsoftheWashandwithhis temper frayedfromhoursin the saddle nursing hisexhausted horse, he wascoldly angry to discover thatthe small settlement hadalreadybeenputtothesword.

The village of Durobrivaehadonlyonestonebuilding,aremnant of the old Romangarrison. The years hadweathered the stone andneglect had permitted lichen

to cover the façade with abrilliant display of greens,silverandtheoccasionalflashof rust-red. The rest of thetown was raised on heavywooden piers, for a river ranbeside Durobrivae, while theWash was notorious for itsfloodsandswamps.

Gruffydd’s nose twitchedwith distaste. InnocentvillagersandJutlandwarriorsalike had been killed, many

burned in their homes, forthey had feared to ventureforth into the rain of arrowsorderedby the captainof theCeltic troop. The attack hadbeenbrilliantinitsway,foritspared many soldiers fromthe dangers of hand-to-handfighting, but Gruffyddwas aman of the Marshes and hescornedsuchsafecarnage.

The stink of blood androastedfleshwaseverywhere.

Groupsofmenweresittingattheir ease, a few pluckingchickens for roasting andothers, with soot-coveredhands and faces, had beenbusy plundering the dead.Gruffyddfelthisgorgerise.

Ashedismountedfromhishorse, a dark-haired youngman in a brass breastplatemoved forward carrying aRoman helmet. His indolentmanner and fine features

marked him immediately asLord Caius, foster-brother tothe Dux Bellorum of theWest,theinvincibleArtorex.

‘Well met, friend,’ Caiusgreetedhimcautiously, ashecasually tossed his helmet toa waiting youth. Hecommenced cleaning hisRoman sword with a bloodyrag, but Gruffydd was notdeceived.

Theblackeyesofthetroop

leader were alive withcuriosity and something elsethatGruffyddcouldnotquiterecognize.

‘You must be CaptainCaius,’ Gruffydd stated. ‘Ibring orders for you fromLordArtorex.’

Caius nodded with aninborn elegance that was atodds with his bloodygauntletsandthebrainmatterhe was cleaning from his

sword.

‘You are summoned toVenonae,my lord,’Gruffyddbegan. ‘I have been sent togather in thewolf packs thatharry our enemies in theWash. Lord Artorex hasinformation thathewishes toimpart to all hiscommanders.’

Caius looked about theblackened remains of thevillagewithgenuineregret.

‘Istherenooneleftforourwarriors to kill?’ Gruffyddaskedsardonically.

Caius ignored him. ‘Whendoes my brother require mypresence?’ He askedindolently, his eyesseemingly busy with thecleaningofhisarmour.

‘Three days hence, mylord.Yours is thelast troopIhave had to search out,although rumour had it that

Durobrivae was about to beattackedbyyourtroop.’

‘Durobrivae is destroyed -at least around the edges,’Caius muttered withamusement.

Someofthesoldierswithinearshot looked up from theirvarious tasks and snickered,or grinned, inacknowledgement.

‘You may eat with us,

messenger. As soon asdarknessfalls,wewillridetomeetwithmyfoster-brother.’

‘My thanks, Lord Caius,’Gruffydd replied with arespectful lowering of hishead.

The warriors loungingnearby groaned theirdispleasure in the manner ofallsoldiers,butGruffyddhadno doubts of the affectionthey seemed to hold in their

hearts for Caius. Themessenger was aware ofCaius’s reputation for crueltyand cunning but, while heapproved of the way theyoung man could generateloyalty in those hecommanded, he could neverapprove of the callous waythat Caius encouraged hismen to strip bodies of theirwealth, and casually consigneven infant children to theflames.

Gruffydd had acceptedCaius’s offer of food withboth civility and caution, forMyrddionhadwarnedhimofCaius’s dangerous temperthatcametotheforewhenhewascrossed.

Unpredictable as alwaysand, having won Gruffydd’sacceptance of their relativeroles, Caius changed hisplans.

‘The snow’s coming.’

Caius looked skywards. ‘Sothesoonerwe’reonourway,theeasierthejourneywillbe.I’m sorry, messenger, butI’vedecidednottowait.’

Hebegantostridetowardsthe small knots ofcavalrymen.

‘On your feet, you idlecurs.We’re off tomeetwiththeDuxBellorum.Takeonlywhatyoucancarryeasilyforwedepartimmediately!’

The unfortunate Signus,oneofthewarriors,hadbeenin the process of cutting asheep’sthroat.Hisarmswerecovered in blood to theelbows but, obediently, hethrust the corpse away fromhim without furtherargument.

Gruffydd noted that all ofthese warriors obeyed Caiusinstantly - and all held arespectful affection for their

commander. The Romanofficer appeared to be acontradictioninterms.

‘Will you join us for thejourney,Gruffydd?’

‘Nay, my lord,’ Gruffyddreplied. ‘My horse needsresting. But you may expectto see me at Venonae withMyrddion,mymaster.’

‘That storm crow! Verywell.We’llmeetagainsoon.’

Turningtohissergeants,hebarked out his orders for thetroop.

‘Ulf, find my brother’smessengerabowloffoodandfodderforhishorse,andthengetyourarsemoving.Iintendto be long gone when thesnowstartstofall.’

Snow was actually fallingin thick blankets before thetroop mounted quietly andvanished away into the

darkeninglight.

Gruffyddwasfinallyalonewiththedead.

The snow mercifullyblanketed the bodies ofwarriors, most of whom hadbeen hacked to pieces wherethey fell. Ever the planner,Caiushadorderedhismentocollecttheirspentarrowsandweaponry, but it seemed toGruffydd that the bodies ofthe enemywarriors had been

needlessly desecrated. Thegapingwoundsintheirbodiescould only have beeninflicted on men alreadyprone upon the earth, whiletheirwomenwerecurledintofoetal ballswith their throatscut and their eyes staringwildlyatthegreysky.

Whenhepeered inside theshells of the huts, he foundeven his strong, battle-hardened gorge rising in his

throat. Blackened bodiesclutched even more terriblyburned children, their agesand sexes burned away withtheirhairandclothes, so thatsootyfingerbonesseemed tosummonhimtothemwiththerictusofflame.

‘The crows will feed wellon these Saxons,’ Gruffyddmurmured to himself.‘Perhaps Caius intends thisbrutalityasawarning.’

But, in the secret parts ofhisbrain,Gruffyddknewthathe would be watchingArtorex’s foster-brothervery,very closely from this timeonward.

One fact was certain.Gruffyddcouldnotsleepandrest his horse in this charnelhouseforthefiveorsixhoursneeded to recover theirstrength. He must be gonelongbeforedawn,andevenif

itmeantsleepinginthesnow,he must clean the stink ofdeathfromhisnostrils.

His horse whickered itsdiscontent and shied awayfrom the bloody carcass ofthe dead sheep. Even in thegrowing darkness and thelight snow, Gruffydd saw abeaten path leading awayfrom the village and guessedthat it led to water. Perhapshecouldwash thestinkfrom

hishandsinarunningstream,nomatterhowcoldthewatermightbe.

Immediately, he noticedthat booted feet had madedeep indentations in themuddy path. Gruffydd feltsick once again when hediscovered a smallerfootprint,partiallycoveredbyagrownman’sspoor.Atleasttwo people had passed thisway towards the river, sohis

instincts screamed at him tochoose another route to findshelter and water. ButcuriositywaseverGruffydd’sweakness.His thirst to knowthe best or the worst ofhuman nature had made himthe most able ofMyrddion’sagents.

Theshallowsattheedgeoftheriverwerethickwithdeadweeds and flower heads.Willows dipped over the

water which already had athin, perilous skin of ice.Wereitnotforbloodtrailsonthedeadgrassstems,theriverbankwould have been chillyand beautiful in its starksimplicity.Nearahuge,half-dead willow, Gruffydd’shorseshiedandrolleditseyeswhitelyinfear.

After he had tethered hismount toa sapling,Gruffydddropped on to all fours and

crawled under the spreadingcavern of the willow’sbranches. A powerful smellof blood, urine and faeces,and something elseindefinable,almostdrovehimback into the open air. Thedarkness in this makeshiftcavern was almostimpenetrable but, asGruffydd’s eyes adjusted tothegloom,hecouldmakeouta huddled figure leaningagainst the scabrous trunk of

theancienttree.

The body before him wasofayoungandveryfairgirl.Even laced with rivulets ofblood, her hair was atranslucent wave of blond-white.Her facewaspaleandfreeofblemishexceptforthewide, staring eyes that werean intense blue, even in thedim light. They were filmedoverwithagonyandhorror.

The ground beneath her

wassoakedwithblood.

Gruffyddsighedandraisedtheclothofherskirtsthathadalreadybeenpulleduptoherknees.Herecoiledindisgust.

Shehadbeenraped,ofthattherewasnodoubt,forsemenand blood stained her thighs.But Gruffydd could see thattherewasagreatslashinherpregnant belly, for thedistended, fair skin was nowflaccid and empty. Even the

dangling, liver-coloured cordhadbeencut through,andhenoticed with horror that herhands had been sliced to theboneasshefoughttosavethelifeofherunbornchild,evenas her own life force ebbed.Gruffydd could imagine herrunningasfastasherswollenbellywouldallowbefore shewas caught by a soldier anddragged into this dark placewhere no one, except for thegods, could seeher shameful

death.

Gruffydd also noticed thatherbloodwasstillwet.

Shehadbledtodeath-andrecently.

Sickened,Gruffyddbackedout of the charnel houseunder the willow tree. Herchild was undoubtedly deadand well beyond his aid. Hethought of hiswife and sonsat Venta Silurum, safe from

attack and rapine, andthanked god thatArtorex didnot sanction such gruesomedeeds.TheDuxBellorumhadbut one weakness inGruffydd’seyes,andthatwashis unaccountable trust inCaius.

Gruffyddbegantowalkhishorseupstreamtomoveawayfrom this tainted tomb, but acry, as thin and frail as anewbornkitten’s,causedhim

to halt. His ears strained tofinditsorigin.

There! He heard the cryagain.Somewherebeyondthewillow and its grislyoccupant, the whimper of achildcouldbefaintlyheard.

‘It can’tbealive.Nochildcouldliveinthiscold.’

Butthefeeble,failingcriesdrewhimbehindthetreetoaplace where the reeds were

choked in ice.Hediscoveredthe babe caught in thewitheredgrasses.

Careful not to fracture theice,Gruffyddscoopedup thechild, saw that the cord hadnotbeenknottedoffandusedastripofleatherfromhishairto tie the stump of umbilicalcordwhere it joined the tinybelly. The child was bluewith cold, but perfect, soGruffydd could only surmise

that the thick, dead grassesand reeds had offered somewarmthandshelter,sufficientto keep a girl child with astrong life force alive for abrief time. Shewas beautifulandmust have been close tofull term, marred only by agreat bruise around her rightankle where a man’s handhad swung her and thentossed her among the deadflowers.

Gruffydd seethed. Heswore to himself that ananimal who would commitdeeds such as had beencarried out in this desolateplace deserved to die, whilethechildshouldlivetoknowthat the murderer hadfollowed her mother toTartarus.

But first, Gruffydd mustsave the child from freezingto death for, even though he

placed her inside his tunicagainst his heart, he couldfeelherlifeforceweakening.

Upstream, Gruffyddfetcheddrysticksandmadeafire,ariskinenemyterritory,buthehadnodoubthecouldpass himself off as a Saxonwho had found the ruins ofDurobrivae, and now soughtto save the life of anorphanedchild.Heforagedintheruinedvillage todiscover

any rags, lengths of cloth orpots that had beenoverlooked,butthetroophadbeen extremely thorough intheirpillaging.

Hiseyesturnedtothedeadsheep. At least its wastedcorpse might now serve ausefulpurpose.

Quickly and efficiently,Gruffydd skinned the beast.Speed was necessary so thetask was not carried out as

neatly as he would haveliked, but the fleece wouldmakeagoodswaddlingclothtill the babe was warmedsufficiently to survive. Then,with silent apologies to thedead woman, he retrieved alengthofherdressthatwasn’tstiffening with her blood tohelpwiththecleansingofthechild.

Castingonelastlookattheremainsoftheyoungwoman,

he noticed a curiously-designed bronze pin that hadbeen used to hold back herhair.Therapisthadobviouslymissed it in his haste.Gruffydd knew that everychild deserved some triflethatwould remindherofherbirthrightandamotherwhosenameshewouldneverknow,sohethrustthesmallitemofjewelleryintohisbeltpouch.

The fire was burning

strongly by the time hereturned, and his simplepannikin quickly heated thecold water from the stream.As he washed away theevidence of birth, the baby’sflesh slowly warmed and alittle pink took the place ofthe ominous blue colouring.Even thebirth sacmusthavehelped to save the life of thechild,Gruffydddecided.

He wrapped her in the

length of cloth and thencovered her entirelywith thefleece, the bloody sideoutward.

‘It’s a blood-soakedbeginning for you, my girl,anditwillbeallfornothingifIcan’tfindyousomemilk.’

The hide of the sheep’scarcass was sticky and rankagainstGruffydd’sskinashereturned the child to theinside of his shirt. The babe

had been crying weakly, butthe beating of his heartoffered comfort and sheseemedtodozeinthewarmthofhisbody.

Thecowbyreswereemptyand partially burned. A deadcalf lay stiffeningpathetically, its tender fleshblistered and its hindquartershackedatbyknives.

Sickened anew, Gruffyddturned away and walked

deeper into the marsheswhere paths criss-crossed theswampy ground, his earsstraining for the distinctivesoundofacowbell.

Eventually, he heard thefamiliar, tinnypealhesoughtand,light-footed,hefollowedthe sound until he found abrindled cow bellowing indistress. Her udders wereswollen and distended andGruffydd knew that her calf

wasdead.

He stroked the babe withits silken head against hisbreast.

‘You are lucky, my child,luckybeyondthecountingofmortal men,’ he muttered tohimself. ‘For now you havefood.’

Heledthecowbacktotheriver bank, taking care toavoid the cow byre and the

swellingbodyofthecalf.Hereyesweresoftanddesperate,but thecowpermittedhimtomilk her, filling his pannikinoncemore.

By using a strip of fineclothfromhistunic,Gruffydddribbled milk into the tinyrosebudmouth.

This process was not asuccess, for the child had noidea how to swallow.Gruffydd tried again, this

timesoakingtheclothinmilkandplacingitinhermouth.

Thechildsucked.

Theprocessof feeding thebabe was long andcumbersome, but eventuallyshe gave a great burp andclosed her midnight-blueeyes.

Hourshadbeendevotedtofeeding the child, duringwhich time his horse had

foraged for grass and brokentheicetodrinkatthewater’sedge.Nightwaswaningwhenhe was finally on his way,encumbered by the cow, forhe must take the babe’ssource of nourishment withhim.

Never had a journeyseemed so long. The child’swrappings needed regularwashing, and Gruffydd wasforced to sacrifice his best

tunics to keep her clean. Atthe same time, her feedingseemedtotakeforeverandhesoon devised a way to feedthe childwhile on themove,even on horseback, once thecowhadyieldeditssupplyofmilk.

In fact, to keep the cowhealthy, Gruffydd foundhimself drinking more milkthan he had ever deemednecessary in his entire life.

Evenhishorsepartookofthesupply and then lookedat itsmaster with affronted,scornfuleyes.

As Gruffydd slowlycontinued with his journey,the odd hamlet hedeliberately visited washappy to exchange a pail ofmilkforclothingmoresuitedtoababy.Hecouldhavesoldthe cow a dozen times over,but although she slowed his

journey, Gruffydd could notafford to leave the beastbehind.

Eventually, to the laughterof the townsfolk, Gruffyddarrived at Venonae, threedays late, and trailing a cowbehindhim.The fortresswasbuilt of grey stone on thehighest peak of a range ofhills and its slit windowsoverlooked the undulating,woodedcountrythatstretched

away towards the east like agreatgreencoverlet.

When hewas ushered intoMyrddion’s presence, themasterwasnotamused.

‘The audience is alreadyover, Gruffydd - and I wasblind to the situation in theeast,’ Myrddion snarled.‘What possessed you to takesolong?Andwhyacow?’

Gruffydd began to give a

detailed explanation of thediscovery of the babe, butwas immediately interruptedbyhismaster.

‘Do you realize thatUtherPendragonisdead?TheHighKing has been with theshades of his ancestors fornearly three months.Typically, Morgan’s beentardy in her tidings. Thepeace forged by Uther isbroken, and the jostling for

thethronehasalreadybegun.’

‘Oh,shite!’Gruffyddcouldthink of nothing moreintelligenttosay.Herealizedthesecurityandsafetyof thewest had been torn away inthosefewwords.

‘Morgan has just informedArtorexof the situation,withsome pleasure, and he thencalled in his captains for adiscussion to determinewhatstrategy would now be

adoptedbyhiswarriors.Iwasblindanddeafat themeetingbecausemybestagent-you-was conspicuously absent.I’venoideawhatArtorexhasdecided todo - andVenonaeisintheeyeofthestorm.’

He glared at theunfortunateGruffydd.

‘Of one thing we can besure. We can have no doubtthatMorgan,bitchthatsheis,is enjoying herself hugely.

And, no doubt, Morgause’seldest son, Gawayne, isalready seeking the locationof the symbols of Uther’skingship - his sword and hiscrown.’

TheyearshadbeenkindtoMyrddionMerlinus,althoughhisforeheadnowworeadeepfrown. His face was burntbrown from many journeys,and his thin featureswere ashandsome as ever, although

he was now well past fortyyears and had never felt theneed to take a wife. Manywomen watched himcovertly, admiring his slim,elegant body and his readywit, but he passed throughtheir butterfly-like clusterswith mild and disinterestedsmiles. The most snide andproudoftherejectedmaidenswouldhavelabelledhimasalover of boys, but there hadneverbeenevenawhisperof

interest on Myrddion’s partfor this type of sexualpleasure.Certainly,theyoungeffeminates followed him asunsuccessfully as themaidens.

To Gruffydd, Myrddionwas an engima. His masterwas rarely angry, for healways kept his emotions incheck. It was Gruffydd’sopinion that Myrddion lovedonlythreepeople.Thesewere

his friends, Llanwith, Lukaand,aboveall,LordArtorex.As Gruffydd often told hisplump wife, Ganeth, mensuch as Myrddion camerarely to thisworld,and theywere not bound by the lustsanddreamsofsmallermen.

Husband and wife agreedthatMyrddionwasmoretobepitiedthanfeared.

Now, under Myrddion’scoldgaze,andinadazeover

the rapid changes occurringin thewest,Gruffydd told ofCaius’s attack onDurobrivaeandwhathehadfoundthere.

Nor did he spare Caius inthetelling.

‘It was a slaughter, mylord, for the defenders weremostly farmers and thetownsfolk were so confidentinitsunimportancethatitwasbarely defended. It wassimplyanagricultural centre,

and it was hardly worth ourattention. The killing ofwomen and childrenwill notendear us to the Saxonseither,althoughIbelievethatmost of those settlers inDurobrivae were actuallyJutes. It was bad, my lord,verybad.’

Gruffydd paused andlooked directly intoMyrddion’seyes.

‘I don’t care for the way

Caiuslikestoinflictpain.Heseems to enjoy it too muchformyliking.’

‘Healwaysdid,’Myrddionmurmured under his breath.‘But his cruelty sometimesserves our purposes. You’ddo well, Gruffydd, to giveCaiusawideberth,forhehasa streak of viciousness underhischarmandI’dbehardputto save you if you openlyoffendedhim.’

The baby awoke,wriggledher limbs and began to crylustily.

Myrddion’seyebrowsrose,but he said nothing asGruffydddrewthechildforthinitsfleece-linedwrappings.

‘Ah!Thataccounts for thesmell.’

Gruffydd looked offendedat Myrddion’s words, so theolder man hurried to explain

himself.

‘The untanned fleece of asheep has a distinct aromaaboutit.’

Gruffydd explained hisprotection of the child, thepresence of the cow and thereasonforthetardinessofhisarrivalatthegathering.

Myrddion’s mouthgrimacedatthedescriptionofthemutilatedwoman, andhe

agreedthatCaiusshouldfind,and punish, the offender. Heknew that such brutalitiesweren’t the way of the Celtsandwouldn’t be tolerated bytheDuxBellorum.

‘I’ll speak to Artorexmyself,’Myrddion promised.‘Butwhat do you plan to dowith the child? Your use tomeas an agentwouldhardlybe effective with a baby inyourarms.’

‘Someone will surely takepity on the little mite,’Gruffydd said. ‘She’s afighter,Icanassureyou.Anyother infantwould have diedimmediately from shock.Whoevershe is, shedeservesthechancetolive.’

‘Verywell.Ifshemeanssomuchtoyou,youcantakeherto my cook. She’s a goodwoman who will find a wetnurseforthebabe.’

‘Thankyou,mylord.’

‘Don’t thank me. Myinstinct tells me the child isgoingtobeanuisance.’

Gruffydd was soon lost inthestonefortressofVenonaethat crowned the hilltop andwas surrounded by thefamiliar sod and thatch hutsof the common folk.Uncontrolled additions to thebuildings had taken placeover recent years, most

usually inwood, socorridorsseemed to go nowhere inparticular and the arrow slitsin the original garrison let ininsufficient light in the deadofwinter.

Asking directions ofhurryingservantsonlyservedto confuse Gruffydd morethoroughly, until he stoppedto speak to a dark-cloakedwoman in the doorway ofwhat appeared to be a

solarium.

‘What is your business inthe bower of women?’ shedemandedimperiously.

Stuttering, Gruffyddexplained Myrddion’s ordersand the woman dropped hercowl so he could see herchilly,lovelyface.

‘My Lady Morgan, I begyour pardon for intruding,’Gruffydd apologized, his

voice quaking slightly withfear. Morgan was a notedwitch-woman, so few couldmeet her blue-black eyesdirectly.

‘Achild,’shesaidsoftly.

Herhanddroppedontothesilky head and the babe’seyes opened to stare deeplyintoMorgan’sface.

‘AndsheisaJute,unlessImiss my guess. Does she

haveaname?’

‘None,mylady.AllIcouldthinktocallherwasWillow,but that seemed ghoulish,since her mother wasmurdered under one suchtree.’

Morgan stared deeply intothe child’s clear, blue eyes.The baby should have beentoo young to focus properly,but Gruffydd knew, in thedeepest recesses of his

superstitious mind, that shesaw and understood Morganforwhatshewas.

‘Ah,howstrongsheis.Sheis born for a great destiny,this little soul, for she willsteal away the mind of thekingdom.LongwilltheysingtalesofthebeautifulNimue!’

Gruffydd wanted to crosshimself,orgriphisamulet infearbecause, likeallsensibleCelts, he had one foot in the

ChristianchurchandonewiththeDruids.Allhemanagedtodo was to break out into acoldsweat.

‘Remember, Myrddion’sman, that Morgan has givenher the name of Nimue, theSerpent Child,’ she toldGruffydd imperiously. Shesmiled mischievously at theterrified man. ‘And now Ishall show you to yourmaster’skitchens.’

Gruffydd was certain hisheart would stop with terroras he carried the baby in thewakeoftheblack-cladwitch.Princessshemightbe,butnoman dared to lay a fingerupon her marble-cold fleshand no man gazed upon herbeautywithlust-onlyterror.Somewomen swore shewasover forty, but her skin stillretained the bloom andtextureofyouththathadbeenfrozen by an unnatural frost

manyyearsbefore.

Now that he had seen herfor himself, Gruffyddbelieved that even the mostfanciful tales about Morganwereprobablytrue.

At the doorway leadinginto the kitchens, MorganturnedtoGruffyddandstareddeeplyintohiseyes.

‘Asyouloveyourmaster,Ichargeyou tokeep thisbaby

safe. As you love Artorex, Icharge you to give heraffection. For this littlesnakelingcouldbedangerousifshefeelsunloved.’

‘I swear, my lady!’Gruffyddrepliedearnestly.

He would have promisedanything to avert the evilhumourhesawinhereyes.

‘Hold to your word,Myrddion’sman,forIwillbe

watching.’

Andthenshewasgone.

Normally, Gruffydd lovedkitchens. The large hearthswith their black cauldrons ofstew, haunches of meat onspits that sizzled fat into thefire, the smell of fresh breadand thebustleofwomenandboys as they busiedthemselves in the mysteriousways of food preparationalways filled him with

comfort.

His eyes searched throughthebustleforthewomanwhocontrolledthiswell-organizedconfusion, a task quicklyachievedwhen the person hesought tapped him hard onthe chest with a woodenspoon.

‘What are you doing here,dolt?’

‘Iamsorry todisturbyour

peace, Mother, but I bringorders from MasterMyrddion.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ theplump, slab-faced peasantstatedbluntly.

Gruffydd knew better thantoanswer.

‘Well, I’m busy. Whatdoes Master Myrddion wantof me - besides his finesupper?’

Onceagain,Gruffydddrewthechildoutofhis tunicandlittleNimuekickedandcriedasshewasremovedfromthecomfortofhisbeatingheart.

The mistress cook,Gallwyn, stared at the childas if it had suddenly growntwoheads.

‘A baby? Does LordMyrddionwishitcookedonabed of greens?’ The womansnickered, and her busy

minionsgrinnedatherjoke.

‘Thelittlethingwascutoutof her mother’s dying bodyby one of our warriors andwas tossedaway likerubbishfrom your kitchens. I’vebrought a good milk cow tofeed her, but my LordMyrddion believes you havethepowertofindawetnursetocareforher.’

Gallwyn examined thebaby closely, while Nimue

looked back at her with herstrange clear eyes andgurgledcontentedly.Gallwyntutted when she noticed theyellow bruising around hertinyankleandevenGruffyddcould see that the child wasalready entwining herselfaroundtheheartoftheplumpcook.

‘Perce!’ Gallwyn shouted,and a youth with a faceflushed from the heat of the

fire leapt todohismistress’sbidding.

‘Thatfatcow,Eleanor,hasbirthed again,’Gallwyn said.‘Fetchher.ShemaybeoneofLord Llanwith’s women butshe’s a serving maid, for allthat.’

Perce nipped out of thekitchenasiftheSaxonswereonhisheels.

‘Hewantstobeawarrior,’

she explained portentously,her large breasts quiveringunder her robe and apron.‘Fat chance, I say, but thesebe strange times. Does thebabehaveaname?’

‘Ibecamelostfindingyourkitchens and the LadyMorgan showed me to yourdoor. She told me that thechildwastobecalledNimue.She said that the babewas alittleserpentling.’

Gallwyn crossed herself,while the kitchen maidsstaredatNimueasifthebabewaspoisonous.Awarethathemight have damned the babyoutofhand,Gruffyddhurriedtoexplainhowhe’dfoundherand described how the babyhad stared down the basiliskeyesofMorganherself.

‘Well, my darling. Thatmakes a big difference tome.’Gallwyntookher inher

arms and held her up to thelight. ‘Nimue has a prettysound, and I’d prefer not torisk Morgan’s anger bychoosing some other name.’She turnedback toGruffydd.‘You can leave herwithme,youngman.I’llseeherright.’

Gruffydd was profuse inhis thanks, forahugeweighthad been lifted from hisshoulders. He had almostreachedthedoor,andaquick

escape,whenherememberedthebronzehairpin.

‘Her mother was wearingthis pin in her hair when Ifound her body, and hermurderer missed looting it.’Gruffydd smiledapologetically. ‘Every childshould have some keepsaketo remind them of theirmother, but this hair pinwasallIcouldfind.’

The bronze was shaped

into two winged serpents,coiledaroundeachother inacurious pattern. The tines ofthepin couldwell havebeenneedle-sharpclaws.

Gallwyn shuddered a littleas the pin lay in her hand.Like many women of thenorth,astreakofknowingranthrough her, and she sensedtherewaspowerinthebronzeadornment.

‘I’llprotectitforher,andI

swearitwillbeherswhenshehas enough hair to wear it.You’re a good man,Gruffydd, so you may cometo my kitchens at any timeand in any place my LordMyrddionsees fit tosendus.I’ll find you some sweetbread and a little roastvenison.’ She winkedimpishly. ‘This is justbetweenus,doyousee?’

‘Aye,Mother.I thankyou,

for I havegrown fondof thelittlecreature.’

And then, with a freshswaggerinhisstep,Gruffyddstrode forth to find a decentshirtandleggings.IfheknewLordArtorex,hewould soonbe summoned into thepresenceoftheWarrioroftheWest, so a bath might be asensiblecourseofaction.

Gruffydd grinnedreflectively.‘Aspy,aninfant

and a cow. I must havelooked a sight when Ireturned. Ah, well. Venonaewill have more pressingrumours to chew over nowthat Uther Pendragon isdead.’Evenashestrippedoffhis filthy clothing andluxuriated in the old Romanbaths,Nimuewasclosingherbaby fists onPerce’s fingers.As Gallwyn watchedindulgently from theshadows, the child spun her

charmingsmileintoawebofaffection. Gallwyn wascaptured.

CHAPTERXVII

BLOODPRICE

The next two days passedslowly, while Gruffyddcooled his heels at Venonae.Ten years of riding thefrontiers in the sweetaloneness of the landscape,

laced with the frisson ofimminent danger, had madehim unfit for the life of acourtier. Gruffydd wasuncomfortable living withthose warriors who harassedthe Saxons, lest he shouldfind himself seated next tooneofCaius’scurs.Heknewthatallconversationwouldbedevoted to weaponry, thesacking of villages and theusual complaints by thesoldiery. He was more at

home in the stables or thekitchens,placeswhereNimuelay on a bed of furs andkicked her tiny legs andcooed at him when he liftedherintohisarms.

Gruffydd noticed, withpleasure, that the babe wasalreadyafirmfavouriteinthebustleanddinbelowthequietcorridors of power. Kitchenmaids always found time topickherupwhiletheybasted

meat or stirred stew, whileeven the gruff old Gallwynreferredtothebabeas‘prettyone’. The old cook had eveninsistedthattheancientpriestofVenonaeblessherwiththeChristianholywater.

‘Justtobesafe,mind!’

The child had already puton weight, as her wet nursefedherwithoutcomplaint.

The only cloud on

Gruffydd’s horizon occurredon the third day, when hefound Nimue missing fromher fur bed in the corner ofthekitchens.

‘ThatMorganhastakenthebabe to her chambers,’Gallwyncomplainedwhenheasked after the babe. ‘Shesweptinlikeshealwaysdoes- and said she’d return thechildshortly.’

Gallwynwasn’thappy,and

nor, for that matter, wasGruffydd. Where Morganmeddled,troublefollowed.

‘Lord Artorex is too kindto that witch,’ Gallwynwhispered,crossingherselfasshe spoke. ‘He’d lock her inher father’s fortress atTintagel and throw away thekeyifhehadanysense.’

Amaidservantreturnedthechild while Gruffydd waseatinganimpromptumealon

the long kitchen table. Thechild was fretful andwhimpering when she washandedtoGallwynandallthekitchen staff eyed theblushing servant girl withdislike.

‘Well,itwasn’tmydoing!’the girl whined, and beat ahastyretreat.‘I’llbebackforhertomorrow.’

Gallwyn inspected thechild and gave a hiss of

superstitious dread when shesawthebeginningsofablacktattoo around the child’sbruisedankle.

‘Did you ever,’ sheexclaimedtotheraftersofthekitchen. ‘It’s a good thing Itook her to the priestwhen Idid.’

A drawing of a serpent’shead was beautifully andclearlydefinedon thechild’sdelicate skin. On her fair,

babyflesh,thepatternwasanabomination.

‘That Morgan!’ the cooksnapped. ‘She does as shepleasesandcountsnocost.’

‘Quiet, old mother! Thewalls have ears and Morganis a fearsome enemy. Don’tyourememberwhathappenedtoUther?’

Gallwyn bit down on herlip.Everyperson inVenonae

had heard tales of the illnessof Uther Pendragon, HighKingoftheBritons,andhowhe would have died ravingandaloneinVentaBelgarumif not for the expertministrations of hisstepdaughter.

‘When will Lord Artorexbecome High King,Gruffydd? Have you heardought fromLordMyrddion’stable?’

‘Hush, woman! Are youmad? I may work for thegreat ones but there are adozen men queuing to claimthe seat of Uther’s power.I’ve no wish to die foranotherman’sambition.’

Gallwynlookedaroundthekitchenwith an eye thatwasskilledatfindingthesmallestfault. No servant dared toeavesdrop on herconversations but Gruffydd

had a natural distrust of allpersonsotherthanMyrddion.And sometimes, in thedarkest parts of the night, heeven wondered about themotives of his secretivemaster.

‘I’ve heard rumours thatUther’s sword has vanished,’Gruffydd said softly. ‘Anduntil it’s found by a rightfulclaimant, there’ll be noHighKingtorulethewest.AsDux

Bellorum, our master is safebecause he holds themountains against thebarbarians and harries theirvillages and garrisons.Artorex gives them no peaceand no chance to set downdeep roots, so even themostenvious and vicious kingletknowsthathissafetyreliesonthe iron fist of Artorex. ButArtorex himself must soonmakeuphismindwhathe istodo.’

‘But nothing is forever,Gruffydd. Sooner or later, akingwillriseandtrytowrestpowerusingUther’ssword.’

‘If they can find it,’Gruffyddreplied.

Gallwyn’s voice droppedto a whisper. ‘I heard in themarkets thatKingLot of theOtadini lookshigher thanhismountain retreat. He ismarried to Lady Morgause,Uther’s stepdaughter, when

allissaidanddone.’

‘Lot is a fat fool!’Gruffydd snapped. ‘Someonewill cut his bulbous nose offforhimifhedares topokeitintothesouth.’

‘MorganhasstatedthatshewillsupportArtorex’sclaim,’Gallwyn responded. ‘Sheprofessestohatehim,sowhydoes she keep herself soclose, if not to aid King Lotandhersister,Morgause?’

Gruffydd was bored withrumours of plots, weary ofVenonae and cynical of theconundrumsofpower.Inthiscity where the DuxBellorum’s eyes foreverwanderedtothefourpointsofthe compass, even cooksbecameenmeshedintheplotsofthegreatones.

When he finally spoke, itwasanhonestwarning.

‘Youshouldconcentrateon

your ovens and yourcauldrons, Gallwyn. If youwant the advice of a simpleman who must hear secretsbeyond his liking, then youshould mind what you sayandwhat you ask. There arefew true friends in Venonae,and even fewer honest men.You may ignore me if youwish, but I’ve a liking foryou, gibble-gabble that youare, and I’ve no heart towatch you roasted in your

ownovens.’

Gallwyn covered hermouthwithherhandsandhereyes fairly leapt from herhead. But, for all his goodadvice,shecontinuedtolistento gossip in the marketplaceand,whenGruffyddaskedforinformation, she repeated therumours, even though sheoccasionally imagined thatthe flames were alreadylickingatherskin.

On the third day, after thenoon meal, Gruffydd wassummoned to LordMyrddion’slibrary.Hebarelyhad time to plait his wild,carrot-red hair before themessenger was hurrying himto the appointed meetingplace.

Out of habit, Gruffyddslipped through the door onsoundless feet. The librarywas lined with stone and

lackedevenasinglewindow,so that jars of oil must burnbothdayandnightandtheairwithin the confines of theroom was sultry and stuffywith smoke. Without ahearth, it was cold, andGruffydd could not imaginewhy a man of LordMyrddion’s distinction andsophisticationwouldspendsomuch time in a chilly, dimlylitdungeonofaroom.

Ofcourse,Myrddionknewthat no one could hear whatwords were spoken withinthesefourimpenetrablewalls.

On recognizing thedignityof the three men who wereseated at a heavy table,Gruffydd dropped to onekneeandbowedhisheadlow.He had met the threetravellers on regularoccasions, so he knewof theprestige that each held in his

own right. King Llanwith ofthe Ordovice had shrunk alittle with middle age butpower still radiated from hisbearded face and hawk-likeeyes. The smaller, neaterKing Luka of the Briganteretained the volatility of hisyouth, but now his rashnessand turbulence of nature hadbeen tempered by the caresand discipline of kingship.Bothkingsseemedillatease.Only Lord Myrddion

appeared calm and good-humoured as he lounged inhishard-backedchair.

Peering up from beneathhis lowered brows, Gruffyddcould see that the table wasburdened by a large andratherbatteredcharttracedonfinedoeskin.

Booted heels entered theroom from the door behindGruffydd,andtheagentheardthe great latch drop into

place.AsMyrddion,Llanwithand Luka rose and bowedtheir heads in respect,Gruffydd stayed in hisposition of full obeisance.The tall figure of Artorexswept past him, so thatGruffyddcaughtaglimpseoflong, blond-red hair that fellwellbelowthewideshoulderblades.

Gruffyddbowedevenmoredeeply from his kneeling

position on the floor of theroom.

‘Get up, man!’ thecompelling voice of Artorexboomed in the enclosedspace.

Turning to Myrddion, hesmiled at his friend beforenodding a greeting toLlanwithandLuka.

‘Why do you insist wemeet in this ice-box of a

room?’ Artorex asked ofMyrddionashethrewhimselfinto the only comfortablechair. ‘I know you have apassion for secrecy but Ifreeze half to death everytimeIenterthisroom.’

So this is Artorex,Gruffydd thought reverentlyashescrambledtohisfeet.

Artorexpouredagobletofwine. The kings seatedthemselves at a wave of his

hand and Artorex grinned atthemwithopenaffection.

Hereisamantolove-andto die for, Gruffydd thoughtto himself, for he, too, wascaught in the spell of theyoung leader’s open, whitesmile.

As if he read Gruffydd’sthoughts, Artorex turned tofaceMyrddion’sagent,takingintheredhair,thehidecloakandthebarbarianbootswitha

quickmeasuringglance.

‘So this is your spy,Myrddion. Introduce us, myfriend.’

‘This man is Gruffydd, ofVenta Silurum.’ Myrddionsmiled. ‘He does have thelook of a barbarian abouthim, doesn’t he?And he hasthe most remarkable gift forlanguages. But Gruffydd isCeltthroughandthrough,andItrusthiminallmatters.’

Gruffydd found himselfcolouring in embarrassmentattheunexpectedpraisefromhismaster.

‘My lord,’ Gruffyddresponded. He would havebowed again but Artorexordered him to stop suchnonsense.

‘Any man who travels thedangerouspathsyoutreadhasno need to bow to me,’Artorex said softly. ‘What

news of the east? And don’ttellmewhatyouthinkIwantto hear. The truth, please,Gruffydd.’

Thespysuckedinalungfulofsmokyair.Thetruth.Howdidonetellthepowerfulonesof this world the completetruth-andlivetotellthetruthatalatertime?

Artorex’s grey eyes boredinto his. Gruffydd wasconvinced the Dux Bellorum

couldreadhismind.

‘The truth, please,Gruffydd,’ Artorex repeatedsoftly.

‘Lord, the wolf packs wesend out harry the garrisonsand the villages, and thisstrategy works in that theSaxon fields are burned andwe cause havoc.We’ll bringfaminetosomevillagesintheeast this winter. But thesebarbariansarenotlikeyou,or

Lord Myrddion, or anypeasant in the west. Thesewarriors were born in cruellands where starvation is aconstant bedfellow. We givethem no respite, but theyhaven’tretreated.’

Even Myrddion was nowstaringatGruffyddwithhard,interested eyes. Spiesreported what they saw butfewwereaskedforanhonestopinionofwhattheybelieved

tobetrue.

‘And why do they notretreat, friendGruffydd?Arethe winters in these isles somild that they can survive inthedeepestsnow?’

Gruffydd laughed shortly.Then, covered withconfusion, he apologizedprofusely.

‘The truth, Gruffydd,’Artorexremindedhim.

‘They can’t retreat, lord,fortheirbloodstainstheland.Onlyabloodpricewillwashaway the deaths that havealready been given up to thewest. The Saxons are awarriorrace,andtheydespiseourweaknesswhenweattackonlyhelplessvillages.ShouldtheSaxons,theJutes,andthenortherners unite under onecommander,wewon’t defeatthem.’

‘You are convinced ofthis?’Artorexaskedflatly.

‘Aye,my lord. Even now,one powerful king isgathering his forces againstyou out of Camulodunum. Ifhe should ignite the warriorsofthesouthandthenorth,wewouldhavetofightalongthelength of the mountains tosaveyourforcesinthewest.’

Artorex stretched his neckmuscles and flexed his

fingers.

Gruffydd noticed,abstractedly, that his leader’shandswere freeof rings.Hisface was grave, but his eyeswere alive with a coldintelligence.

‘Andwhoisthisambitiousking?’

‘I have only heard thename of their new leader, Ihaven’tseenhim.Heiscalled

Oakheart. It is whispered bythecommonpeople that theylooktohimtostoptherapineintheeast.’

Artorex sighed deeply andshrugged in the direction ofhisthreefriends.

‘What can we do, myfriends? We can raid theirgarrisons and slow theiradvance, but in doing so wefeed their rage and entrenchthemfurther.Iwon’tconsider

retreat,andIwon’trelinquishone inch of western soil, sowe have an impasse beyondmyintellecttobreak.’

Myrddion’s face was achiaroscuro mask, halfbrightlylitbyalampandtheother half plunged intodarkness.

‘YoufighttheSaxonswithone hand tied behind yourback,’ Myrddion stated in amatter-of-fact voice. ‘Only a

High King can rally thetribes, and only aHighKinghas the stature to keep theprincelings fromeachother’sthroats. This Oakheart willhave us all as food for thekites unless you take upUther’ssword.’

Artorex leapt abruptly tohisfeetandbegantopace.Hestrodeupanddownthesmall,stoneroom,hisfacesetlikeafine,unlinedbronzestatue.

‘And how am I to takewhat is hidden?’ Artorexreplied.‘ForUther’sswordiswellconcealedfrommeevenifIdecidedtoclaimit.’

‘You can leave the searchto me, Artorex,’ Myrddionstatedconfidently.‘Ionlyaskthat you agree to use thesword to unite the tribes if Ishouldfindit.’

‘But I have no wish toacknowledge Uther

Pendragon asmy father. I’msickened by the actions ofthat viciousoldmonster, andIdesirenothingthatwashis.’

‘Swords can be reforged,myfriend,’Llanwithrumbledquietlyinhisdeepvoice.

‘Swords are only symbols,Artorex, and nothing more,’Luka added. ‘Even so, theyare powerful forces that canstrike fear and awe into thehearts of friend or foe, so

their usefulness should neverbeunderestimated.’

By now, Gruffydd wishedthat he was far away in thewarm kitchens where hecould neither see the DuxBellorum as a troubled mannor hear secret plans thatcould cause his head to beseparatedfromhisbody.

Artorex turned his flat,grey eyes towards Gruffydd.The spy suddenly recalled a

shark he had once seen thathadbeencaughtinthevillagefishingnets.Evenas it bit atthespearsthatimpaledit,andeven as it suffocated on dryland, its flat grey eyescontinued to hold the samenothingness that now filledtheeyesoftheDuxBellorum.

Gruffydd shudderedinwardly.

‘You,atleast,havespokenthe truth as you believe it to

be. I am in your debt,Gruffydd.Ifyouhaveneedofanything, then you may ask,anditshallbegiventoyou.’

Gruffydd’smouthwas dryandhewasforcedtohawktoloosen his tongue. Of all theluxuries he could request forhimself and his family, onlyone desire surfaced from thedeepest roots of his Celticheart.Hehadnohesitationinmakinghisrequest.

‘I want the head of thebeast who left the childNimuetodie.’

All the men in that small,dangerousroomweresilent.

Then Artorex found hisvoice.

‘WhoisNimue?’

‘She’saninfant,mylord.Ifound her at Durobrivae, asmall farming village thatwasput to the sword aweek

ago.Thechild’smother,whowas on the point of givingbirth, had been raped andused without mercy. Later,the baby had been hackedfrom the young girl’s wombandthetinybodywasthrownontothebanksoftheriver.Idiscovered the babe anddetermined to save her if Icould. The life of an infantbarbarianis lessthannothingintheschemeofthings,butaCelt committed the

abominationonhermother,ayoung girlwho should neverhavebeenlefttodieinagony.By now, the Jutes will havefound her body, so theywillhate us all the more fiercelyforourdepravity.Isavedthebabe - and it now lives inyourkitchens.It ismydesirethat the child will grow toadulthood in the Celtic way,andwillbelieveinourwayoflife. This child can be theliving symbol you spoke of,

Lord Luka, but theresponsibility for the sin ofher premature birth isinescapablyours.’

Artorex’sheadrearedbackand twin flames ignited thegreydepthsofhiseyes.

‘Are you telling me thatthis young woman had herbabe cut out of her livingflesh? Tell me slowly whatyouknow, and leavenothingout.’ Artorex’s face was a

study in cold fury, andGruffydd’s courage almostdeserted him. He wasalarmed, for this aspect ofArtorex was unfamiliar tohim.

Myrddion could haveexplained to Gruffydd thatNimue’sbirthawokedormantmemoriesofGallia’sfateandthe cowardly murder of twodefenceless women. Therigidity of the Dux

Bellorum’s body caused thespymaster to clench his fistunder the table and to praythat Gruffydd kept his witsabouthim.

With growing repugnance,Artorex absorbed the full,harrowingtale.Likeatonguemustprobeabrokentooth,sothe Dux Bellorum continuedto ask pointed questions thatrevealed the depth ofdepravity and callousness of

the perpetrator of the crime.In his recitation, Gruffydddidn’tspare thesensitivityofhis Celtic audience for hedecided that Artorex was aman who valued truth,howeverunpalatable.

‘The head of the warriorwho committed this atrocitywill be served up to you,Gruffydd,’ Artorex saidsoftly. ‘Like you, I’ve notaste for the murder of

helpless women or children.Is there anything you desire,orneed,foryourself?’

‘I ask for nothing but thesafety and well-being of ourpeople,mylord.’

‘Good man!’ Artorexgrinned for the first time insome minutes, and Gruffydddiscovered that he couldbreatheagain.

‘The guilty man is a

member of Caius’s troop,’Myrddionsaidblandly.

Luka and Llanwithexchanged meaningfulglances, and Artorex raisedoneeyebrow.

‘LordCaius is innocent ofthe murder, my lord,’Gruffyddsaidquickly.

‘Howdoyoucome to thatconclusion?’ Artorex askedshortly.HestaredatGruffydd

withemotionlesseyes.

‘Lord Caius wasn’tsaturated in blood, my lord,’Gruffydd repliedeconomically.

‘Good!’

Suddenly, themood in theroomlightened,as ifaheavyweighthadbeenlifted.

‘Well, if that is so, thenCaiusshallenjoythepleasureof delivering the cur up to

me,’ Artorex decided. ‘Myword has been given. LukawillcarrythehappytidingstoCaius. A public executionmayserveasawarningtothemore zealous of ourwarriors.’

‘There’ll be someresentment among thetroops,’Myrddionbegan,butArtorex waved away hisprotest.

‘We’ll contrast the life of

aninnocentinfantagainstthelife of a fully grown man.Andwe’llletthemoodofourpeople decide whether ourcauseisjust.’

‘Like King Solomon ofolden times, we will becutting the baby in half, ’Luka said in admiration.‘What real man would placethe life of a rapist and amurderer above the safety ofachild,regardlessofwhether

the infant should be Jute,SaxonorCelt?’

‘Then we’d best keep thebabe’s foot covered,’Gruffyddmutteredsoftly.

Fourheadsswivelledinhisdirection, and four pairs ofeyes looked at him for anexplanation.

‘Is theremore to this tale,Gruffydd?’ Artorex askedsoftly.

‘TheLadyMorgansawthebabewhenIfirstbroughtherto Venonae. She made aprophecy over the babe andevengaveitaname-Nimue.I didn’t approve, LordMyrddion, butwhatwas I todo? I couldn’t gainsay LadyMorgan.’

‘But there has been more,hasn’t there, Gruffydd?’Artorexstaredathimwithhisflat,unyieldingeyes.

‘As I explained, Idiscovered that Nimue hadbeen ripped from hermother’s womb and throwninto the reeds by one of herlegs. The bruises on her legwere ample evidence of that.Today,theLadyMorgantookthe child to her quarters andshe . . .’ Gruffydd’s voicetrailedoff.

‘Out with it!’ Myrddion’svoice was angry; the entire

group knew that Myrddion’shatred of Morgan wasimplacable.

‘Shehasbeguntoplacehersymbol on the injured ankle,andhascommencedplacingatattoo of the head of a snakeonthechild’sleg.’

‘Shite!’ exclaimedLlanwith inelegantly. ‘Sheintendstomarkthechildasapagan.’

‘That would end herusefulnessasasymbol.’Lukasworepungently.

‘Nimue has beenchristened and blessedalready by the Christianpriests, my lord,’ Gruffyddexclaimed, for he imaginedthat Nimue could be harmedbecauseofthepaganmarkonherfairflesh.

‘You’ve given me abrilliant idea, Llanwith, my

friend.’ Myrddion grinnedwickedly. ‘A good tattooistcouldeasilyturnadrawingofa snake into the wingedserpent - or the dragon.Especiallyifthefirstdrawinghasn’tbeencompleted.’

‘The tattoo is incomplete,my lord,’ Gruffydd saidthroughdrylips.

Myrddion turned toArtorex. ‘Perhaps, then, youcould order the babe to be

marked as your own. If youputtheDracosmarkuponherbabyflesh,shewillbecomeatruesymbol,onethatyoucanappropriate for your ownuses. This child can be usedasaforcetounifyourpeople,andshewouldbelivingproofthat we aren’t barbarians.’Myrddion’s expression wasthatofasatisfiedtomcat.

Artorexlaughedattheself-satisfiedsmirkonMyrddion’s

face. ‘You love to tweakMorgan’s nose, Myrddion,’he said. ‘One day she mightgrabyoubytheballsandthenyou’llspeakwiththevoiceofagirl.’

‘And one day the skymight fall - but that day isstillfaroff.’

Artorexmadehisdecision.‘I’ll send Targo to collectlittle Nimue in an hour,’ hestated. ‘She’ll not be harmed

and will suffer only a littlediscomfort. By sunrise she’llbe marked as the protégé ofthe Dux Bellorum.’ His coldeyeswarmed as he turned toGruffyddonceagain. ‘You’llforgetallthatyou’veheardinthisroom,Gruffydd.Nothingwe’ve said must pass yourlips.’

‘I’mnotsuicidal,mylord,’Gruffyddreplieddourly.

Artorexclappedhimonthe

backandlaughed.‘Ilikeyou,Gruffydd,Ireallydo.AndI’llnot forget you, or your littleNimue!’

Lord save me, Gruffyddthought to himself, for to beknown to Artorex couldbecomeamixedblessing.

Gruffydd hastened to thekitchens. The hearth was apile of hot coals, for the firewas not permitted to dieentirely, while a sleepy boy

wastheretotenditduringthenight.

Nimue lay with Gallwynon a pallet in an alcove thatwas separated from thekitchens by a fine wovencurtainofstripedwool.

‘Gallwyn? Wake up,woman! Lord Artorex issendingsomeoneforthechildNimue.Wakeup!’

Gallwyn’s tousled head

appeared around the side ofthe curtain. She may havebeen asleep, and was stilldrowsy, but her eyes weresharpandalarmed.

‘What are you at,Gruffydd, waking decentwomen in their beds? Whatwould Lord Artorex wantwithlittleNimue?’

‘To undo what LadyMorganhasbegun.Youmustarisefromyourbed,Gallwyn,

forifIknowArtorex’sspeed,his man is halfway herealready.’

Theconversationhadbeenhissed, for neither GallwynnorGruffyddcared towakenthe kitchen staff who sleptwiththeirmeagrepossessionson the floors of the commonroom.

‘I’m coming! I’m coming!Can’t an old woman haveeven an hour of sleep?’

Gallwyn complained behindhercurtain.

‘You can tell that to theDux Bellorum,’ Gruffyddsnorted.

Thetwofriendsbarelyhadtime to wash the babe andchange her wrappings beforetwo warriors entered thekitchen. The men werecompleteopposites.Theolderof the two was a small,bandy-legged ancient with a

sharp eye, some nasty scarsand a short Roman sword.The secondmanwas a giantJutlander who was tall andblond,exceptforhisred-goldbeard. The taller manremainedsilent.

‘I’m Targo. You’reexpecting us?’ the smallermansaid,andGruffyddknewthat this soldier walked inArtorex’sshadows;thesemenwere the Dux Bellorum’s

personalbodyguards.

‘This here lump is Odin.’Targo gave a gap-toothedgrin. ‘He doesn’t say muchbut he’s as gentle as a lamb,aren’tyou,friend?’

‘GallwynmothersthechildNimue,andsheischiefcookfor Lord Myrddion. I amGruffydd, Lord Myrddion’sman,’ Gruffydd replied,somewhatawkwardly.

‘Mistress!’ Both mennodded to Gallwyn, whobridledslightlywithpleasure.

Targo turned back toGruffydd. ‘I’ve heard tell ofyou, good sir. Artorex saysyou’re a man to watch. Helikesyou,sowe’vebeentoldtotakeaninterestandensureyou’rekeptsafe.’

‘My thanks to LordArtorex,’ Gruffydd managedto reply through a tightening

throat.

‘Sothisistheinfant?Aye,she’s a beauty.’ Targocluckedoverthelittlebundle.‘Give her to Odin, mistress.He’s got big hams of handsbuthe’sgentle-likeandwon’tharm her. By the time he’sfinished with his tattoos,Morganwillbe...er...cutout,sotospeak.’

‘Good,’ Gallwyn repliedbrusquely, and placed the

sleeping child into Odin’shuge arms. The giant lookeddownatthechildandseemedto soften in faceand formashe smelled the child’s milkysweetness.

‘She’sa...asea-wife!’hesaidinavoicethatwasrustywithdisuse.

‘Whatever you say,Odin.’Targo replied. ‘But she willbe as Lord Artorexcommands.’

‘She will be a . . . wisewoman.’ Odin struggled forthewords.

‘Somuch the better if sheis to be marked as LordArtorex’s protégé,’ Targoreplied.

Targo noticed a kitchenboywhohadsuddenlywokento find the large roomfullofwonders.

‘You,’ he commanded the

boy gently. ‘Back to yoursleep.’

The boy’s expression wasthe same as a startled rabbitcaughtinacircleoflight.Thewhites of his eyes werecompletelyvisible.

‘You get back to sleep,Perce,’ Gallwyn said softlyandpointedinthedirectionofthe sleeping room. ‘You’rejust having a dream so offwith you, and I’ll watch the

fireforyou.’

Perce vanished behind thestriped curtain, and Gallwynturnedbacktohervisitors.

‘I expect you to take careof Nimue or you’ll have meto answer to,’ she said in avaliant return to her usualacerbicmanner.

‘We’ll be back beforedawn,mistress.’

Targo grabbed Gallwyn’s

amplebuttockwithonehandand gave her a resoundingkissonthelips.

Before Gallwyn couldregainhervoice, thewarriorsand little Nimue were gone.Thenightair,stirringthroughthe swing of the leathercurtain, caused the coals onthehearthtoflareintosuddenlife.

Gruffydd and Gallwyn tookturns to sit up through thelong and chilly night.Honeyinwarmwatersustainedthemand, at times, they talkedquietlyof familymattersandthesimplepleasuresoflifeintheir home villages.Gallwyncould see the man that laybehind the mask of the spy,

and recognizedhisdeep lovefor his family and hishomeland. She empathizedwith the sacrifices he hadmade by leaving a world heloved sohe couldpreserve itforthefuture.

In turn, GruffydddiscoveredthatGallwynruledasmallkingdominmuchthesameway thatArtorex caredforalargerone.Herabrasivemanner hid an exceptionally

kindheart,onethatoftenbledfor her charges when theywere afflicted by the smallexigenciesoflife.

Two hours before dawn,Odin returned with a veryfretful Nimue. Shewhimperedand refused tobecomforted, even whenGallwyn’s soft finger rubbedhoneyagainstherbabygums.

Gallwyn stared fixedly atOdin and snorted

reproachfully.

‘This child has been hurt,’shesaidsharply.

‘Yes. The tattooing tookmany hours . . . care wastaken . . . but shewas hurt,’herepliedsadly.

Gallwyn swept back thecloth that covered the child.A superb tattoo of a serpentdragon encircled the tinyankle, itswings spreadingup

thetinycalfof thebabe.Thefleshwas angry and red, andhad been smeared with athicksalve.

Odin mutely offered awooden box with a tightlyfitting lid that, presumably,heldmoreoftheremedy.Onehuge hand gently supportedthechild’shead.

‘She is a serpentling. Alittle magic woman.’ Thedescriptionswereofferedlike

a prayer, unlike Morgan’smalicious tones, although thewords used were almostidentical.Gruffyddfeltachillthat had nothing to do withthe giant Jute, or the small,fretfulgirlchild.

‘She belongs to Artorexnow - or perhaps he belongsto her,’Gruffydd said. ‘I amnotcertainwhichiswhich.’

Both Gruffydd andGallwynexaminedthechild’s

tattoo.

A skilled hand hadreshaped Morgan’s reptilianform. The mighty northerndragon was incongruous onthechild’sbodybutGruffyddcould see that the dragonwould grow in power as thechild aged. With an eldritchlife of its own, the blackscales and the vivid redeyeball of the beast wouldglow against the white flesh

ofanadultwoman.

‘I’ll wager that Odin, orwhatever he calls himself,finished that tattoo himself.And I can easily believe thatsuch detailedwork has takenmost of the night. Poor littleNimue! She must live intothismark.DamnationtoLadyMorgan for starting thiswholesorryprocess.’

Gruffydd felt a burningresentment against thewitch,

and wished heartily that hispath had never strayed intoherbower.

Hespatonthehearth.

Gallwyn grinned impishly.A rather odd expression hadappeared on her plain, broadfeatures. ‘I can’t wait to seeLadyMorgan’sreactionwhenshe sees that tattoo, for it isfinishedbeyondherpowertochangeit.She’llfairflyintoarage.’

‘I have no desire to beturned into an insect orpoisoned - I wouldn’t putanything beyond thatcreature.Youshouldheedmywarnings, Gallwyn, and nottweakthewitch’stail.Nimuewill have need of you, and Iwillbegoneintwodays.’

‘Butyou’llbeback?’

Gruffydd laughed. ‘Aye.Artorexhaspromisedme thehead of a truly evil man, so

you can be certain of myreturn.’

Gruffydd was closeted withMyrddionwhenMorgan senther servant to collectNimue,after the fasting of the nighthadbeenbroken.

Gallwyn asked the servantto report to her mistress thatLord Artorex himself hadalready ordered the tattoo to

befinished.

The servant girl paled infear. ‘How am I to tell mymistress?’

‘I’dtellherverycarefully.’Gallwyn grinned with drygoodhumour.

Gallwynwas not surprisedwhentheservantgirlreturnedwithin minutes with amessagethatsheshouldbringthe child to Lady Morgan’s

rooms.

The cook consideredrefusing the instruction, butGruffydd’s warningsprevailed. After pausing togive swift orders to thekitchen staff, she picked upthe sleeping child, furs andall, and followed Morgan’sservant to a hexagonalwooden structure built justbeyond the smooth stonewallsoftheVenonaefortress.

Gallwyn was awed and alittle frightened by thestrange, exotic chamber intowhich she was ushered.Heavy fabrics covered thewalls, and arcane symbolswere painted on the floor.Jars filled with unspeakablethings filled five shelves onone stone wall, and Gallwynmarvelled that the containersweremadeof preciousglass.She was glad that shecouldn’t see what lay within

thoserepulsivephials.

Morgan sat at the verycentre of the room, with aband of hide across herforehead.Gallwyn shudderedwhen she realized that thehide seemed too delicate forcoworsheephide,andhadafinely grained texture. Itwasfragile, just like human skin.Her blunt, woman’ssensibilitieswere revolted bythethought.

‘Show me the child,woman!’Morganordered.

Gallwynobeyed,herhandstremblinguncontrollably.

Morgan examined thetattoo-andhissed.

‘Go!’shecommanded.

Crossing herself as thegood Bishop of VentaBelgarum had taught her,Gallwyn went as fast as herchubbylegscouldcarryher.

Morgan pulled the hidebandoverherclosedeyesandcommenced swaying to amuttered chant that shewhispered under her breath.Fasterandfastersheswayed,untilherblackhairlashedherpaleface.

Then, as abruptly as shehadbegun,Morganfrozeandallmovementwasstilled.Theonly sound in that exotic,woodenroomwasthewitch’s

labouredbreathing.

‘Artorex thought to bindme,’ she whispered. ‘But hehas bound himself - for thelittleNimuewillbethecauseofhisgreatestloss.’

She smiled, and her lipswere as moist and asseductiveasthoseofayoungwoman.

Thenhereyesopenedwithasuddenrealization.

‘But she also binds me toArtorex, for his dragon hasnowswallowedmyserpent.’

Her pale face whiteneduntil it resembled a fleshlessskullofbone.

‘I’ll remain silentuntilmychance arrives. I waited onUther these many years forhisdayofreckoningtocome,so I can wait on his bastardson as well. Artorex is nogreater than his father was

beforehim.’

With this comfortingthought, she reclined uponher furs and closed her tiredeyestodriftintosleep.

ButMorgan’sdreamswerefilled with scenes of bloodanddeath-andapale,whitewomanwearinganecklaceofsilver water and moonlightwho laughed at her. Beforethewoman, shrouded figuresappeared, bearing harps,

crosses,hammersandchisels.As one, the figures turnedtheirbacksonMorgantofacethe woman in white. Shecontinued to laugh until hermirth stopped the witch’sheart.

Morgan screamed in hersleep.

CHAPTERXVIII

ACHILD’SRECKONING

Gruffydd was ordered toreturn to the Wash to moveamongst the Saxons andJutes, and to become afamiliar face in one of thetowns so that he could

regularly come and gowithout causing suspicion.Prudently,onceGruffyddhadsafely departed, Artorexcalled for Caius to join himthatsameevening.

‘Artorex!’ Caius greetedhisbrotherjoviallyashewaswelcomed at Artorex’s plaineveningmealofmeatandflatbread.‘HowmayIhelpyou?Ihaven’tseenyouforoveramonth.’

‘Does Ector continue ingood health?’ Artorex askedmildly.

‘I received word not twodaysago.Hehaspainsinthejoints but, otherwise, seemsset to outlive even Targo,who is older than time itself.Julanna has presented mewith another daughter andEctor’s foster-child, Licia, isverywell andgrowing like acolt.Sheisallarmsandlegs.’

Artorex winced a little atCaius’s mention of hisdaughter but returned brisklytothematterathand.

‘You have done very wellinyouroperationsagainstthebarbarians, Caius. Excellent,in fact. Your familymust beproudof the leaderyouhavebecome - and I won’t forgetyour efforts in the years tocome.’

Caiussmiledcomplacently.

But, having sweetened thecup, Artorex was now aboutto force his foster-brother todrinkgall.

‘However, I have amatterto discuss with you thattoucheson thehonourofourcause and your personalreputation.My council, fromwhom I take advice, isconcerned about someinstances of unnecessarybrutality that have come to

theirattention.Sovilearetheclaims made to the councilthatanycontinuationofthesepractices might defeat thevery principles forwhichweare fighting. We areconcernedthatifwearemorebarbaric than the barbarians,thenwewillunitetheirtribesinto one force that will bealmost impossible to defeat.Burnedvillagesandthedeathof simple villagers is,regrettably,apartofwar,but

IhaveheardtellofactionsatDurobrivae that areunnacceptable.’

‘At Durobrivae? Littleuntoward happened in thatflea hole. We expected agarrison - and found only afew warriors. Spit it out,brother, if the matter is sograve.’

Artorex formed a steeplewith his fingers and stareddirectlyintotheblackeyesof

Caius, eyes thatwere so likethecolourofthoseofLivinia,hismother.Forhersake,andto honour his promise to thedyingwoman,Artorex chosehisnextwordswithexquisitecare.

‘I have been made awarethat a woman was rapedbeside the river atDurobrivae. It’s not amatterof great moment during thecourseofacampaign,Iknow,

but thiswomanwas about togive birth. One of your mencut the child out of thewoman’slivingbelly,severedthe cord, and then threw thebabyintotheriver.’

Caius made a smallexpressionofdisgust.

‘I share your concern,Artorex.Butthere’slittlethatIcandoaboutlamentablebadtasteonthepartofoneofmywarriors. These men are not

particularly scrupulous intheirpersonalhabits.’

Artorex suppressed hisdistaste for his foster-brother’slackofconcern.

‘Thechildwassavedandisundermycareinthekitchens.Sheisnowmyvassal,Caius.Herrescuerhasrequestedthehead of the murderer, and Ihave agreed to his request.We are concerned that suchbehaviour could spread

through the ranks until webecome worse than thebarbarians whom we wouldoppose. I’ve decided that anexamplewillbemadeof thisparticularwarriorwho,asyousay, has had the lamentablebadtastetobecaughtout.’

Artorex’svoicehadasharpedge, and Caius studied hisfoster-brother’sfaceinalarm.

‘The mother of that childwasaGalliatosomeperson,’

Artorexadded.

The statement causedCaius to drop his haughtyeyesinembarrassment,andtosilently curse the murderer,whoeverhewas.Thefoolhadbrought the anger ofArtorexdownonCaius’shead.

Caius was more than alittle affronted, althoughArtorex had attached nopersonalblame tohim.Caiusunderstood that Artorex

expected him to make anexample of the culprit whenhewas eventually found, buthe also understood his troopand he felt certain that theoffender would never admitto the crime. Time wouldpass and other urgencieswould send Artorex off inother directions. Caius hadonly to stall his investigationuntil circumstances deflectedArtorex’swill.Withluck,therapist would never be

punishedforhisactions.

‘Of course, my brother,’Caius answered silkily. ‘Youshall have my fullcooperation. I’ll order thesergeants to make a diligentsearchfortheoffender.’

Artorexsmiled,althoughitstopped well short of hiseyes.

‘Iexpectareportfromyouwithin three days. Yourmen

will remain on guard dutyuntilthattime.’

‘Ofcourse,Artorex,’Caiusresponded with equalblandness.

He smiled across atArtorex and changed thesubject adroitly. ‘I havereceived a note for you fromthe Villa Poppinidii. Shouldyouwishme tosenda reply,youhaveonlytoask.’

AsCaiusstrodeawayafterdepositing a sealed piece ofrough vellum on Artorex’scampaign desk, the DuxBellorum reflected on howlittle he could trust thejudgement and behaviour ofhis foster-brother. WhileCaius was a brave man inbattle, and a clevercommander, his occasionaltasteforviolencecouldneverquite be slaked, making himan enigma to most of the

captains who servedalongside him. Caius couldpretend to be the nobleRoman foryears at a stretch,butoncepowerwasplacedinhishands,heseemedtoreverttohisdark,sinisterandsecretnature. Unfortunately, heknew that Artorex had aliving daughter, a secret thatgave him a measure ofprotection.

One day, brother or not,

Artorexknewhewouldhavetoremedy theproblemofhisfoster-brother.

The Dux Bellorum turnedthe sealed scroll over andover in his fine,well-shapedhands. Who had he becomethathecouldcontemplatethesanctions hewas consideringagainstCaius?SinceGallia’sdeath,he’dhardenedhishearttoallmannerofatrocitiesandknew that his tiny, civilized

wife would have beenhorrified that her husbandcould make such dreadfuldecisions with so littlefeeling.

But Gallia was dead, andhe’d never see her again thisside of Hades. Theprincelings and the commonpeople had never heard hername and, in any event,would probably havedisapprovedofapureRoman

wifefortheirDuxBellorum.

Idoubtthatyou’dstillloveme if you were alive, myGallia, he thought, with apang of self-pity. In fact, Ican’tevenrecallyourface.

It’s odd, he thought. I canseehermouthasclearlyasifshewasstillalive.IfIputmymind to it, I can rememberthetextureofherskinandtheshapeofher face. Icanevenrecall those almond-shaped

eyes that could snap andglitterwith excitement. I canremember all the individualparts of her face but, nomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tseemtoputthemtogether.

Artorex felt a surge ofsadnessratherthangrief-thekind of sadness that comesafter the initial pain of losshas gone. Gallia was dead,cold ash. She had been deadforsuchashorttime,andyet

hismindhadalreadybeguntoexpungehermemory.

But Artorex couldremember the flowers thatwerenurturedaroundtheoddlittle villa that he had builtwith his own hands. Hewould probably remainprouder of that smallachievement than thesalvation of the kingdom, ifthat goal were ever to bereached.Herecalledagainthe

scorched roses and thecracked stones of his fallenhousewithadimregret.

Artorex opened the scrollbybreakingthewaxenseal.

Well, boy, all is as ever atVilla Poppinidii, and theflowers and bulbs have beenplanted at Gallia’s grave asyou requested, although aruinseemsanoddmonument.Once thewinter thawcomes,her resting place will be as

prettyasever.

Licia is now nearly three.How quickly time travelswhenyouareasoldasIam!She follows Gareth like apuppy and he dotes on herlikeaparent.

He can be depended uponto keep the girl safe. At anyroad, she takes no notice ofwhatIsay,ratherlikealumpof a boy that I remember alltoowell.

Iamalwaysgratefulforthelove and care Gareth hasgiventoourfamily,andIamdetermined that one day hewill make his own mark ontheworld.

We hear of your deeds,even in quiet Aquae Sulis,and I cannot help but thinkmy dear Livinia would havebeen so proud, with both ofhersonsfightingfortheland.If you come home in the

summer,wewillfeastliketheolddays.ButIwon’taskyoutowaitattable.

Ector, Master of VillaPoppinidii, and your proudFather

Such letters always madeArtorex yearn for the peaceandpermanencyofthelifehehad enjoyed in his youth; heknewthathisfuturewasnowinextricably entwined withthe past acts of Uther

Pendragon-andtherewasnohelpforit.Evennow,hewasavoiding decisions that hadbeen made for him by birthandfate.

With a knife and apolishing stone, he removedevery trace of the words onthe vellum as he always did.Too many eyes and earswatched and listened for theDux Bellorum’s weaknesses.He never wrote to Ector and

the old man understood hisreasons, but even as the oldArtorex slipped away, thenewArtorexwishedferventlythat his destiny had allowedhim to remain a humblesteward at the VillaPoppinidii.

Threedayspassed,andCaiusreported to Artorex that noone purported to knowanythingofthewomanunder

the willow. He hinted that,perhaps,shemayhavebeenavictimofSaxonbarbarity.

Artorexheldhispeaceandwaited.

Gruffydd returned toVenonaethefollowingday,ata time when the icy groundwas turning to slush and thefirst shoots of springappeared on the trees aroundthecitywalls.

Hebroughtgravenews.

‘Oakheart’s name isKatigern.He is the grandsonofVortigern,akingwhowona foothold in the south-westsome forty years ago,’ hereportedtoMyrddion.

‘I remember Vortigernwell,’ Myrddion murmured.‘He believed he couldsacrifice me to stopper up anaturalspring-ofallthings-whenIwasonlyasmallboy.

I revealed a demonicprophecy to him that heseemed to expect, and I wasfortunate to escape the longreach of his arm. UtherPendragondrovehissonsoutofourlandsmanyyearsago.’Hefrowneddeeplyandtoyedwithasmallfruitknifeonhistable.‘Wewillhaveproblemswith this Oakheart. I judgedVortigern tobeakinglymanand he was exceptionallyclever - except for some

stupid superstitions. Whattypeofmanishisgrandson?’

‘He’s vigorous, ambitiousand is fair of speech, mylord,’ Gruffydd responded.‘He’s extremely capable anddangerous. I discovered thathe has allied himself withOtha, the Saxon princeling.Together they intend todestroyourworld.’

‘With such a pedigree, theman could prove to be

dangerous.’

Myrddion was worried.Normally, his thoughtswouldn’t be so evident but,on this occasion, his browwas furrowed and his darkeyes appeared uneasy.Gruffydd could plainly seethathismasterwasdisturbed.Local gossip was full ofArtorex’s inaction - and abelief was growing that theDuxBellorumwaspermitting

the throne to slip throughhisfingers.Myrddion had begunhis search for the relics ofUther’s reign, but Artorex’sattitude was a source ofconcern. The young man’smanner was reticent and hewas stubbornlyuncooperative.

‘Vortigern, and his sonsKatigernMajorandVortimer,were more than half-Britonso, as High King, Vortigern

wasn’t much different fromtheRomanswhentheylordeditoverus.Buthisbitchqueenwas Saxon to the bone andherlegacyshowedinthesonsthat Vortigern bred off her.Katigern Minor might beyoung, but he has becomewhat his grandfather neverwas-moreSaxonthanCelt.’

‘Aye, lord. He claims hisgrandfatherwasHighKinginthewestinyearsgoneby,and

thathehas therightofbloodfor all thewrongs thatUtherinflicted on his descendants.His birthright giveslegitimacy to the Saxoninvasion and he claims tospeak for those remnants ofVortigern’s people who stilllive in thehighmountains inthe west - both Saxon andCelt.’

‘Ofcourse.I’ddothesameif I were in his boots. It’s

unfortunate that atrocitiessuchas theone thatoccurredat Durobrivae happen - theyfeed the growing flames.’Myrddion sighed deeply. ‘Iwish our barbarians weresimple pillagers anddestroyers - as they oncewere.’

Gruffydd stoodimpassively in his raggedSaxongarb.

‘Off with you, Gruffydd.’

Myrddion smiled. ‘You’dbest bathe and dress so thatthe garrison doesn’t decideyou are a Saxon - and turnyouintoapincushion.’

‘No chance of that, mylord.’ Gruffydd grinned anddeparted.

Later, Myrddion spentseveral hours with Artorex,but the weight of his fearswere far from lifted.However, he was able to

assure Gruffydd that a fullparadeofalltroopsthatwerein bivouac outside Venonaewould take place on themorrow. No absences orexcusesweretobepermitted.Artorex had tired of theendless excuses made byCaius.

This man was born to bethe king of the Britons,Myrddion thought proudly,after Artorex had issued his

instructions. Caius will notenjoy Artorex’s method offinding the culprit andapportioning blame. Nor, forthat matter, will the rest ofour warriors, for they willinitiallyseethemurderofonewoman as insignificant. Still,the Dux Bellorum must beseen to be fair in all mattersrelatingtodiscipline.

Myrddionsighedalittleashe recalled the tender and

considerate youth thatArtorexhadoncebeen.

Gruffyddwouldbepresentattheparade.

‘I require you, personally,to bring Gallwyn and thechild Nimue to the exerciseyard outside the gates ofVenonae,’ Myrddion toldhim. ‘The infant will beshown to the people whoattendourentertainment.’

‘Aye, my lord,’ Gruffyddreplied, and hastened toinformGallwynofherpartintheday’sactivities.

Word soon spread likewildfire through thegarrison,village and bivouacs thatArtorexwishedtospeaktoallgood Celts. An hour beforeArtorex’s scheduled arrival,the meeting place held a seaof faces and the event wasbeginningtodevelopafestive

air. Artorex’s warriors hadthoroughly preparedthemselves and their horsesfor the occasion and were asplendid spectacle for thetownsfolk tomarvel at, eventhoughachillwindblew.

Flanked by Myrddion andhis vassal kings, Artorexarrived in full state, thewolfcloak now full length andsplendidlybarbarousoverhisRoman breastplate and

helmet. His great height, hisamazing hair and his sterndemeanour were sufficientlypowerful to silence thecrowd, butwhen he divestedhimself of his weapons andhis helmet, placing them inthe arms of Targo andOdin,thecrowddrewintheirbreathwithexcitement.

This would be amomentousday, foreven thewitch, Morgan, clad in her

crow-black clothes, wasstanding on a vantage pointoverlookingthecrowd.Manyeyes were turnedsurreptitiously towards herstill form and each personprayedthathereyeswouldn’talightupontheirface.

‘Ihaveheardthatherlookscankill,’ oneoldbesomsaidto another in superstitiousdreadandsecretenjoyment.

‘The HighKing turned up

his toes when she gazed athim,’herfriendadded.

Shortly thereafter, thebrazen roar of battle hornssilencedthecrowd.

Artorexsteppedupontoaraised dais over which hisbattlestandardflew,snappingviciouslyinthecoldwind.Heturned to survey the horsetroopsandtheircaptains.

As was his strategy,

ArtorexofferedpraiseforthefieldsofSaxongrainthathadbeen burned black, thegranaries that had beenplundered and the traderoutes that had beendisrupted. The troops smiledat their leader’s approval,although like good soldierstheyheldtotheirpositionsintheranks.

ThenArtorexexplainedtheemergence of Katigern

Oakheart,Saxon to thebone,but born and nourished inBritain. He added thatKatigern had claimed atenuous legitimacy tosupremacyoverthewest.Thetownsfolkandsoldiersroaredtheir anger and defiancewhileArtorex smiledopenly,although his eyes were verycold.

‘But great trouble afflictsus all, my loyal men of the

west.HowcanIspeakofthechargeslaidagainstustomensuch as you, men whodemonstratetheirbraveryandloyaltyeverydayinpursuitofour freedom? How can Ipermit your efforts to betarnished when the Saxonsaccuse you of wantonbloodlust and depravity? Atfirst, I could not believe thattheserumoursweretrue.Thatis, until I discovered formyself that, indeed, these

tales were not lies. Some ofyour brethren have floutedtheirvows,mynoblesoldiers.They have killed for sport -notfornecessity.’

Agreat roarofdenial rosetodisturbthecrowsandrooksthat gathered on thewalls ofthe stone garrison. For oneshort, prophetic moment, theair was alive with black andshiningwings.

‘Bring forth the infant

known as Nimue,’ Artorexdemanded.

Gallwyn had begged,borrowedand,itmustbesaid,stolenwhat finery she could.Thebabewasallbutinvisiblebeneath her wrappings offurs. She mounted the dais,bowing almost to the rawwooden planks in homage,and then stood to face thehorsesoldiers.

‘Show the child to the

men,’Artorexdemanded,andCaius felt his knees turn tojelly.

Gallwyn lifted the nakedbaby high above the neatlines of men, and the infantwhimpered a little at thesudden chill upon her skin.But then she smiled, and herrounded limbs and extremefairness reflected her naturalbeauty.

By now, Nimue’s tattoo

had mostly healed - and thesymbolwascleartoseeuponherrightlegandankle.

‘It is for innocents suchasthis babe that we fight. Wedie to preserve the old waysof honour and duty. Tomaintain peace for childrensuch as this little one, webravethesnowsofwinterandleaveourwidows toweep intheir loneliness. We riskeverything we have so that

such children might grow inbeautyandsafety.Wearethechampions of the west, notragged barbarians who burnchurches, rape women andsplit infantsasunderwithouraxes.’

The whole crowd roaredtheir approval. Artorex heldtheminthepalmofhishand.

He took Nimue fromGallwyn’s hands andwrappedheragaininherfurs,

leaving only her right legexposed to the air. Hundredsof eyes watched his everymove.

‘The bruises have fadedundermymark.Thischild isno longer the bloody, bluecreature found in frozenreeds. She was nigh deadfromexposure.’

The crowd was utterlysilent.

‘One of you betrays thewest, and this mongrel dogsulliesthenamesofourgreatdead. Let me tell you ofNimue’s birth and then youshalljudgewhatIshoulddo.’

Clever!Gallwynthoughttoherself.

‘Good man!’ Myrddionwhisperedunderhisbreath.

‘Mithras save me!’ Caiusmouthed, while taking care

that he shouldn’t be heard.His Roman face remainedimpassive.

‘The child’smother was awoman from the village ofDurobrivae, a nothing placein the marshes. Our troopcame to this place deep inenemy territory, ably led bymy foster-brother, LordCaius. The soldiers did theirwork, distasteful as it mightbe, and burned the granaries,

the fields and the villageitself, for such is the way ofwarfare. Nor do I begrudgethemwhatspoilstheytookinmyname.’

Artorex grinned fleetingly,establishing an immediaterapportwiththewarriors.

‘Much that was taken wasours anyway, stolen bymarauders. Yes, there werevillagerswhowereput to thesword, and there were

women, too, who died, forsuchmeasuresaresometimesnecessary when Saxonwomenfightlikemen.’

Many heads nodded inagreement, as Artorexcontinued in the perfectstillness of their completeattention.

‘But Nimue’s namelessmother was near to birthing.She had no weapon, otherthan her great belly and her

beauty. She ran towards theriver,andanoldwillowtree,to what she hoped would besafety.’

The silence was intense, aliving thing composed of theindrawn breath of over ahundredcitizens.

‘She was wrong!’ Artorexroared.

A sigh ran through thecrowd, especially from the

women. In Artorex’s mind,the vision of Gallia, alsoheavily pregnant, rose upspectrallytonodherassentatherhusband’swords.

‘One of our men saw herflee into her sanctuary - butmanisnotawordIchoosetousewhen I speakofhim, forto do so insults all warriorsand citizens of decency andhonour. He pursued her,followedherintothesafetyof

thewillowbranchesandthen,free from prying eyes, herapedher.’

Afewwomenandsomeofthemenremembered thefateoftheirownkin,andtearsranuncheckeddowntheircheeks.

‘But such horrors happen,do they not? Terrible,unmanly, secret horrors thatwedonotcaretopulloutintothelightofday.Suchiswar.’

Fewer men nodded inassent this time, while theircompanions looked sidewaysat them with the stirrings ofdislike.

‘But this man wasn’tfinished with the fair youngwomanunderthebranchesofthe hanging willow. No, notnearly. Hard as it would be,she could have survived herrape and borne her child,suckledNimue at amother’s

breast and lived with thenightmaresofthewillowtreeas her daughter grew tall.That woman might yet havefound some reason in thischildtoliveon.’

Thewholecrowdwasnowmute with awful imaginings.Thatthechildwasheremeantthat her mother was dead.Theypicturedthevictimwithher throat cut or her heartpierced, and felt a little

squeamish - just as Artorexintendedtheyshould.

‘Icannot tellyouwhy thisman - this Celt - this one ofus - carried out thisabomination. I can’t reallybeartothinkuponhisactions,fortheystepfarbeyondwhatyou and I would consider tobetherulesofwarfare.’

Soldiersnowstaredattheirfeet, as they recalled thelitany of their own hate

crimes. Their own deeds inbattle, small and great, flewlike stinging wasps throughtheirconsciences.

‘This cur cut this youngwoman with his knife. Hesplit her belly open like ripefruit and hacked at the openwound while she screamedandtriedtofighthimoff.Heput his hands into herwomband ripped the unborn childfromherbodywhile shestill

lived.’

A rumble rose from thecrowd,soft,butfullofdisgustandloathing.

Artorex barely paused forbreath.

‘He cut the infant’s cordwith his knife, for he hadplans for this tiny, perfectlittle thing. Aye. And thismother still fought, even asher blood gushed forth until

theearthwasredwithit.Herhands were cut to the bonewhere she gripped his knife,for she feared that he wouldcommit further unspeakableacts upon the body of herdaughter.’

You clever, clever man,Myrddion thought silently.The rape of babes isn’tacceptable inany society.Tohint at it is enough to sickenanyrationalperson.

‘But he didn’t rape theinfant. Not him. Perhaps hewasnotmanenough,orbeastenough, for such a deed. Heleft the mother to bleed todeath under the willow tree,safefrompryingeyes.’

Artorex paused todetermine the effect of thetaleonhisaudience.

‘This man gorged himselfonsuffering,’heroared.

He lifted Nimue’s tinybody high into the air withonegianthand.

‘He took this child by herfragile ankle, whirled herroundhisheadandtossedhertowardstheriver,ariver thatwascoveredinwinterice.’

The growl of the crowdwasnowlouder,likethestartof a heavy thunderstorm thatbuilds andbuilds in intensityuntilitblackensthesky.

‘The gods saw what wasdone, and perhaps they weptinpityforwhathadoccurredthatday.Thedriedrushesonthe banks of the rivercushioned Nimue’s fall andprotected her. Only animpossible chance sent agoodmanwhowas fortunateenough to find her, a babewhose ankle was black withbruises and whose skin wasblue with cold. She wasmeant to live, this little one,

as a symbol of what ourCeltic peoples can become ifwe degenerate into Saxonways.Yet,IhaveheardfromourspiesthateventheSaxonswere sickened by the actionsof this beast whose victimbledtodeathinagony.’

Now the crowd roared itsdisapproval.

‘Are we such beasts? Isthisthewaywemakewar?’

He held Nimue high onceagain.

‘Should I dash this child’sbrains out now, so that shewillnotgrowuptobeaJuteorSaxonwhore?’

‘No! No! No!’ the crowdroaredinunison.

‘AndwhatshouldIdowithsuchamanasthisdesecrator?I, theDuxBellorum,askyouwhat the punishment should

be?’

‘Death! Death! Death!’Thechantechoedthroughtheassembled populace assoldiers and townsfolk alikeshoutedasone.

Artorex remained silent,and handed the babe toGallwyn. The cook wrappedherinherwarmfurs,andheldhertoherwitheredbreasts.

‘But I can’t tell you who

this man is. And neither canLord Caius, who’s beenunable to extract the answerfrom his troop. His warriorsprotectthisbeast-foratleastonewarriormustbeawareofhis identity. The poor girl’sbloodmusthavecoveredhimfromheadtotoe.’

A number of the warriorsfrom Caius’s troop paled,concernedat theangerof theassembledthrong.

‘Hear me!’ Artorexordered. ‘I am the DuxBellorum,andIscorntoshedinnocent blood! I’ve thoughtlong on thismatter, and I’veasked myself what the greatoneswouldhavedone.’

The crowd was silent to aman.

‘There,inthewordsoftheimmortal Caesar, was myanswer.’

The crowd remained muteas they waited for hisdecision.

‘The troop of my brother,Caius, is thirty in number,and they shall be decimateduntil the murderer standsforth or his brothers deliverhimtojustice.’

Thecrowdbegantostir.

‘May I have yourpermission to invoke the old

punishment of the legions?Dowedecimate?’

Gradually, slowly at first,and then growing in power,the crowd roared theirapproval.

‘Decimate! Decimate!Decimate!’

A secret part of Artorexfelt ill at the thought of thepunishmenthewasproposingwhilethevengeful,bitterpart

of him sang for the purejusticeofit.

Thetroopwasisolatedanddivided randomly into threegroupsoftenmeneach,whileCaius watched impotently.Heschooledhisfacetoshowno emotion as each man inthe ten was forced to drawstraws. The man with theshortest straw in each group,gibbering with fear, wasplaced inside a circle formed

bytheotherninewarriors.

‘Are you the man?’Artorex asked each of thethree condemned men. ‘Doyouknowwhoheis?’

Desperately, the victimsdenied the charge in turn,including all knowledge oftheincident.Perhapstheystillhopedformercy.

Thecrowdhelditsbreath.

‘I am the Dux Bellorum.

Any guilt associated withwhatisabouttooccurwillbemine,andminealone.’

Hepaused.

‘The nine must kill thetenth. They may use theirhands, their spear shafts, orthepommelsof their swords.No metal or sharpenedweaponsmaybeused.’

Hepausedoncemore.

‘And those who will not

carry out these orders willjoin their brothers within thekilling circle until they agreetohandover themurdereroftheinnocent.’

Artorex waited andwatched.

Perhaps thesewarriors feelthat my threat is a bluff, hethought as he watched thethree condemned men. Orperhaps they hope forintercession from the crowd.

But Artorex knew that thethrill of bloody spectaclegrippedtheassembly.

‘You will begin,’ heroared.

The sound of wood, fistsand even stone on flesh wassickening; Artorex felt everyblow.

The three warriors took alongtimetodie.

‘Now,will anyman in the

troop speak out?’ Artorexwaited. ‘No? Then we beginagain,thistimewitheight!’

The decimation wassickening, for its coldnessgave added horror to thejusticethatitsymbolized.

Finally, when Artorexasked the question for thethirdtime,oneofthewarriorswalkedtothefootofthedaisandliftedatear-streakedfaceto look deeply into the grey

eyesofArtorex.

‘I suspect the murderer tobeGwynnapOwyn,mylord.He is my sister’s husband. Ihave no proof, but he wascovered in blood to theshoulderswhenhereturnedtothe campfire at Durobrivae.He wouldn’t say where he’dbeen, and just gave me awink.Forgiveme,lord!Ikeptsilentforthesakeofmysisterandherchildren.’

‘Return to your group,’Artorex ordered. ‘You willreceive a just punishment atmydiscretionforyourfailureto impart this information atanearlieropportunity.’

He gazed over theassembledwarriors.

‘Gwynn ap Owyn! Youwillstandforth.’

No one moved, butsuddenly two veterans in the

troop turned and began todragforwardalarge,middle-agedman.

The warrior immediatelybegantosnivelandbeg.

‘Do not protest yourinnocence to me or I willpersonally cut your tonguefrom your head. You are noCelt, for you allowed six ofyour brothers to die for yourcrimes.Youdonotdeservetolive.’

Artorexlookedattheashenface of Caius among hiswarriors.

‘Lord Caius, you willpersonallyhangthismanwhohas brought dishonour uponyour troop, then youwill cutoffhisstinkingheadandsendit to my rooms. You willthrowhiscarcass to thedogs-iftheywilleatsuchcarrion.Then you will bury yourinnocentwarriorswithalldue

respect,fortheydiedasgoodCelts - and they didn’t beg,like this cowardly animal.Reparation will be made totheir families for their loss,althoughgoldisnotworththelife of a good man. We areCelts!Wedon’tmakewaroninnocents, and we don’tbetray the justice of ourcause.’

One by one, eachmemberof the troop spat on the

weeping face of Gwynn apOwyn, and the warriorsdraggedhimaway.

Oncemore,Artorexlookeddown sorrowfully at theassemblage.

‘The duty of maintainingthehonouroftheBritonsisaresponsibility that weighs onall warriors. But the verysurvivalof thewestdemandsthat our actions reflect theglory of our cause. I am

ashamed that a creature suchas Gwynn ap Owyn hassoiled the reputations of hiscompanions and of us allthrough his cowardice andbrutality.’

Artorex looked directly atCaius, to ensure that hisbrother understood the fullimport of his words. ThenCaius escaped to follow theDux Bellorum’s orders andsalvagehishonourintheeyes

ofhismen.

‘We are nothing if we donot hold to honourable andancient ways that exemplifyour history. Saxon men areourenemies,nottheirwomenand children. We fight forhome and hearth and thegloriesofourpast,notforthethrill of bloodshed. Let it beunderstood from this timeonwardsthatnoblameforthesix innocent men who died

todaywillbeattached toanysoul here. I take it uponmyself, for I am the DuxBellorum.’

Artorex’s sadness, hispatriotismandhischarmhadthecrowdroaringhisnameashemadehiswayback to thegarrison.HisheartwasheavyasheorderedTargotoensurethatredgoldshouldbesenttosix innocentwidowsand thatgood land should be deeded

totheirsons.

That little tactic workedwell,didn’tit?asmallpartofArtorex’s consciousnesswhispered wickedly. Perhapsit’s time to send MyrddionbacktoVentaBelgarum.

CHAPTERXIX

UTHER’SLEGACY

Myrddion Merlinusunderstoodhisownnaturefartoowell.Heacceptedthathewas born to be a strategist,the right hand of great men,and a coldness in his nature

ensured that his intellectalways ruled his emotions.There was no hardship inreplacingawifeandchildrenwith theactualitiesofpower,forhissexualdrivewaseasilyslaked.

If the truth were told,Myrddion loved plots andbooks far more than anyliving, breathing creature.Horses were mere transportand a dog was a slobbering

nuisance. Books and scrollsneverfailed,whiletheyneverdesiredanythinginreturn.Hehad friends, includingLlanwithandLuka,but thesetwomenonlyunderstood theedges of his agilemind.Oneday, theywoulddieandhe’dweep -hewhohadn’t shedatearinnearlyfortyyears.

Fortunate is the man whohas such self-control for,without love, therecanbeno

painandnosenseofloss.Hispreternatural youth was bornout of his even temper andthe great walls he had builtaround his heart. EvenArtorex,Myrddion’spersonalcreation, was often just ameans to an end. Myrddionrecalled how, at thedecimation, he had felt pridein Artorex’s cleverness andfixity of purpose, withouttruly recognizing at the timethe connection between the

death of Gallia and of thewoman who had been killedunder the willow tree. Now,in the darkness of the night,Myrddion felt a thickness inhis throat and anunaccustomed prickle in hiseyes as he thought ofArtorex’swordstothecrowd.Myrddion winced as herecognized the pain that theyoungmanmusthave felt ashe lifted small Nimue high,acknowledging an orphaned

child, while his own Liciawouldneverknowherfather.

‘You’re becoming old andmaudlin, Myrddion,’ he toldthe lamp flame. ‘You’ll soonbe fit for nothing but hoaryold stories around a warmfire.’

But Myrddion’s knife-sharpbrainknewthathelied.Hispath through lifewas setand his allegiances had beengivenlongago.Therewasno

path forhimother than tobewhat the gods, or demons,had decreed for him, sothoughtsofsufferingmustbeshovedaside.

He turned to the tangibleproblemathand.

‘The sword.Wemust findthe sword. Without a HighKing to counter KatigernOakheart, we’re finished.And Artorex cannot becomeHigh King without that

soddingsword.’

Myrddionhadpuzzledandteased his brain overUther’sfinal spite for nearly a yearand a half. Morgan was notprivytoallofUther’ssecrets.Shehadheldgreatswayoverthat terrible old despot, buttheirs was a relationshipbased on hatred and need.Myrddion had no doubt thatMorgankeptUtheralivewellpast his appointed time, not

outofcompassion,butsotheold monster might suffer ashe watched his natural soneclipse him. Had Morganpossessedthesword,itwouldalready be in the acquisitivefingersofKingLot,forLot’swife was, after all, her dim-witted sister, Morgause.Morgan had been shrivelledwith hatred when Utherexpedited the death of herfather, and she would gladlydestroy the kingdom using

King Lot, rather than allowArtorex to succeed to thethrone.

‘Ah! Old loves and oldhatreds,’ Myrddion told theflame, his only confidante.‘I’dpityMorganifshedidn’thate quite so hard. Utherdeserved every second ofpain she gave him, butArtorexbearsnoguiltforthecrimes of the High King.Morgan has blighted her life

foracurdledjustice.’

No, the sword was as lostto Morgan as it was toeveryoneelse.

When Uther was near todeath, and even his servantswere fearful of entering hisapartments in VentaBelgarum,Myrddioncametobelieve that Uther hadentrusted the sword andcrown to Bishop Branicus,Uther’s personal confessor.

He’d asked the venerableman outright if Uther hadgiven him the symbols ofkingship,andcouldstillrecallthe bishop’s stern andseeminglyhonestreply.

‘I don’t have either crownorsword,LordMyrddion.IfIhadtheminVentaBelgarum,Iwouldgivethemtoyou.’

Theoldbishophadpassedaway only one month afterhisobstinatemaster.Another

priest, a younger man, hadreplaced Branicus and thetrailwasnowcold.Myrddionknew and understood theways of priests, so he couldhave sworn that the oldbishophadn’ttoldadirectlie.

‘But did he tell thecomplete truth?’ Myrddionaskedtheflame.‘TheChurchof theChristus is aworld ofits own, and power is themortar that holds it together.

Didhetellthetruth?’

Myrddion selected a pieceof raw chalk and wrote thebishop’s words on his tabletop. Then, his sensesstraining, he measured theweightofeverywordusedbytheoldbishop.

‘Thebishopspoketomeasa man, flame, and not as apriest.Hesaid,Idonothave,he did not say the Churchdoesnothave.’SotheChurch

probably did hold the sacredobjects, but not at VentaBelgarum. The priest hadbeencarefultonamethatcityand deny that the crown andswordwerethere.Thebishopdidn’t lie, he simply didn’trevealallofhisknowledge.

MyrddionrememberedthatBranicus had been half-Roman, but hewas also partSpanish, a man whounderstood the frontiers and

the terrible cost of barbarianinvasion.He probablywouldhavepreferred togiveup thesword and the crown, but hehadnot.Why?

‘BecauseUther had boundhim to an oath. Of course!Theold foxmade thebishopswearthatArtorexwouldnotreceivethesymbolsofpowerfrom his hands. The bishopknewthat IwouldeventuallycometohimwhenUtherwas

on his deathbed. Herecognized that he would beobligated either to break hisvow or damn the safety ofChristianBritain.TheSaxonshavenolovefortheChristiangod.Branicusmustalsohaveknown that he, too, wassickening. What would hedo?WhatwouldIdo?’

The candle didn’t answer,but it flickered inencouragement.

‘If Branicus didn’t lie tomedirectly,he indicated thathe sent the objects away tosomewhere safe. But wherehave they been sent? Thereare no clues for me in hiswords.’

Myrddion struggled tofollow thebishop’sdilemma.No one, not even a man ofGod, could have listened toUther’s confessions withoutdistaste. The bishop was

privy to all of Uther’sgruesome secrets, but he’dtakenthemtothegraveastherulesofhischurchdemanded.But did hewant the relics tobefound?

‘Yes, flame!Thatdouroldman has told me so in hisownwords.He’d have giventhemtomewereitnotfortheoath he gave to UtherPendragonandthesanctityoftheconfessional.’

Myrddion was bone-deepweary.Hehadunravelledtheedges of the bishop’sreasoning but only rest andfurther contemplation wouldsolvethepuzzle.

After wiping away thechalk words with his sleeve,Myrddion retired to his bed,buthissleepwastroubledbydreams of a willow tree, itsancient branches trailingdown to thewater of a deep

andsilent lake.Heattemptedto enter its confusion ofbranches but the tree itselfbarredhisway.

Gruffydd had received aroughhide sack thatheld theheadoftheviciousGwynnapOwyn.Helackedthehearttoviewthosecoarse featuressoinstead he decided to returnthe gruesome trophy toDurobrivae in the care of

trusted confederates. Theywere instructed tomount thehead on a stake before thewillow tree as a tangiblemessageofCelticjustice.

He felt that Nimue hadbeenamplyavenged.

‘Should she be told of herbirth when she is older?’Gallwynaskedhim.‘Thetalemight cause her pain, butsomeone else will certainlyinform her of the fate of her

birthmotheroneday.’

‘Of course she must betold,’Gruffydd retorted. ‘Butwe shouldwait until she canfully understand, and weshould give the girl hermother’shairpinat that time.LetushopethatshebecomesaCeltbeforethatdayandhasceasedtobeaJutlander.’

‘Thebloodpriceyouaskedforherhassurelybeenpaid,’Gallwyn murmured

nervously.

‘Aye. But Nimue is underArtorex’sprotection,soIfearfor her safety in the yearsahead. He has set his sealupon her and she may growtoresentwhatitrepresents.’

‘I’ll do my best to guideher along the paths shemusttravel, Gruffydd, for I’ve agood few years left beforeI’mdone.I’llraiseherright.’

‘At any road, LordMyrddion has sentword thathe and I will ride to VentaBelgarum tomorrow. He isplanningArtorex’sstrategies,so we must prepare for hisnextcampaign.’

Gallwyn gave a briefshudder. ‘I always hatedVenta Belgarum. Uther waslikeathin,whiteslug,andhisslime was everywhere. Takecare,my friend, for there are

rumours among the commonfolk that Lord Artorex mustdeclare himselfHighKing ifheistofightoffthisKatigerncreature.Ifhewaitstoolong,a pretender could steal hiscrown.’

‘That’s thewhole trouble,’Gruffydd responded dourly.‘At the moment, he doesn’tknow where to find thecrown, or even if it stillexists.’

Inhundredsofotherroomsthroughout the kingdoms,innumerablemendreamedofthe sword, thecrownand thelegacy of Uther Pendragon.Some of these men werehonest at heart, while somewerealmostwhollydevouredbylustforpower.Somewerenobleandotherswereviciousopportunists,fortheswordofUtherPendragonhada lustreandallurethatdidnotdependupon its gems and its blade.

Theswordwasthekeytothekingdom, and the crownwasa mark of the favour of theoldgods.

In the frozen north, KingLot was desperate to findUther’s sword. He and hisfamilyhadexcellentclaimstothe throne through hismarriage, while his eldestson, Gawayne, was evenmore likely to win thecrowd’sacclaim,forhewasa

handsome young man withmorethanhisshareofnaturalcharm. More importantly,Gawayne was mad for gloryand had begged his father toallow him to serve inArtorex’sarmy.

Artorex had beennonplussed by PrinceGawayne’s open admirationand his total inability to lie.Quixotically, he had sentGawaynetoleadthegarrison

atVentaBelgaruminthefullknowledge that Gawaynewould have been urged byboth parents to search outUther’s sword. He hadgambledthatMyrddion’sbestguesses were right and thatUther had hidden the swordelsewhere. Gawayne hadindeed searched assiduouslyfor the sword, but it hadremainedstubbornlyelusive.

At first, as Dux Bellorum,

Artorex had been unfetteredbytheabsenceofthesymbolsofpower, forhewas thewarchieftain and that role wasmore powerful than theinherited status of the tribalkings. The Dux Bellorumcoulddemandtroopsfromthetribes and was solelyresponsible for theshapeandoutcomeofthewar.

Artorexwasalreadyakinginallbutname.

But Gruffydd knew withcertainty that KatigernOakheart had a legitimateclaim to the throne of theHigh King of the Britonsthrough his grandfather.GruffyddalsounderstoodthatVortigern himself would nothaveapprovedof thewantondestructionthatthebarbarianshad brought to the east. TheWhite Dragon, a creature ofice and cold, came aspredictedandithadspreadits

wings over the land of theBritons and killed themwithitsfrozenbreath.

ItremainstobeseeniftheRed Dragon of Artorex canwithstand such an onslaught,Gruffydd thought. TheSaxons fear prophecies evenmore than we do, whileKatigern knows our history.He’ll do anything in hispower to hinder Myrddion’ssearchfortheswordofUther

Pendragon.

Venta Belgarum was Celtandwouldremainsountilthewhole kingdom turned todust. The High Kings hadbeen crowned in its church,whereoncea sacred treehadflourished in the days ofDruid ascendancy. VentaBelgarumwasnottheheartofBritain, but it was the bloodofthebody.

The city was unchanged

from Uther’s time, becauseArtorexkeptastronggarrisonto combat the Saxons whohad refortified the coastlinenear Anderida. Artorex hadchosen Gawayne as leaderafter seeing the youngredhead in battle, as icy andas controlled as Myrddionhimself. But off thebattlefields, the boy hadroguish charm, rash passionsand a natural bent forleadership so, in the teeth of

objectionsfromLlanwithandLuka, Venta Belgarum hadeventually becomeGawayne’scharge.

Thus far, Artorex hadfound no cause to regret hischoice. Gawayne may havebeen subject to his parent’sambitions,buthewasaloyalCelt with a ferocious desireforvictory.

When Myrddion andGruffydd arrived in Venta

Belgarum, after severalgruelling days on horseback,Gawayne was quick towelcome his visitors. Afterthe usual bowing, scrapingand detailed reports, the twomen were permitted to restbefore preparing for thenight’s feasting. Gawaynewas determined to impresshis noble visitor with hishospitality and planned anight of enforced carousingforhisguests.

So, instead of resting,master and servantmade useof the afternoon to visitUther’serstwhileapartments.

‘These rooms have beentightly sealed since the deathofUther,myLord,’Gruffyddreported. ‘To be honest, theservants are terrified of thispart of the palace andwouldrefuse to clean it anyway, sowecanexpectcloudsofdustonceweareinside.’

‘I’m certain the relicsaren’t here but I wish tounderstand the bishop a littlebetter. It may help mediscoverwhathechose todowithhisdifficultinheritance.’

Privately, Gruffyddbelieved that Myrddion wasindulging in superstitiousnonsense, but hismasterwasvery nearly always rightwhenheassessedasituation.

Gruffydd took a long, iron

key and inserted it into thegreatdoorstoUther’sprivateapartments.

The door fittings protestedas rustymetal hinges groundagainst equally rustysupports. The doors seemedjammed, although only sixmonthshadelapsedsince theentrancewassealed,andbothMyrddion and Gruffydd hadto use their best efforts toforce open the great oak

planks. Uther’s servants hadobviously neglected hisapartments during the periodbeforehisdeath.

With a groaning and asplintering, the doors finallygaveway.

‘Thestenchinthisroomisfoul,’Myrddionexclaimed.‘Ismell the works of Morganhere.’

I smell something long

dead, Gruffydd thoughtirreverently.

Amantleofdustlaythinlyon every surface, andMyrddion drew his fingerthrough a cobweb thatmasked the entry to Uther’sbedchamber.

‘There’s something evilresting here,’ Myrddionshuddered.‘Icanfeelit.’

Thegreatbedwithitsthick

coverlet of fur had beenneatlymade.Onone side, tothe right, a cushioned stoolwas placed so the bishopcould hear Uther’sconfessions. Every corner ofthe roomwashazywithdustmotes,apatinaofneglectandamiasmaofsickness.

But the white furs on thebed had been ruined foreverby the remains of a largecrowwithoutstretchedwings

thatwaspinnedtothebedbylong nails. Its skeletal bodyand empty eye sockets stillseemed to shriek with life.With distaste, Myrddionrealized that the torn wingfeathers around the nailsholding itscarcass to thebedindicated that the bird hadbeen alivewhen itwas fixedin place. It had been left tostarve to death - or to bedevouredalivebytherats.

‘What is that, lord?’Gruffyddwhispered,pointingtowards a cloth-coveredshape across the greatwindowofthebedchamber.

So vast was Uther’sprestige that hiswindow hadbeen constructed of smallpieces of imported glass, sothatnochillshouldfindentryand attack his old bones.Gruffydd knew the windowexisted, but now it was

completely shrouded by adustylengthofblackwool.

‘Pullthatblanketdownandlet in some light,’ Myrddionordered.

Gruffydd approached theblackcloth.

He gripped the fabric, andpulled-andalmostscreamedwithshock.

Thecorpseofawomanhadbeen nailed to the window

frame by her spread-eagledhands and feet so that herremains formed an obscenecross. The rats had leftevidenceoftheirpresenceonthedriedcorpseandGruffyddwas revoltedby thisproofofMorgan’s malignancy.Transfixedbythegrimscene,Gruffydd realized that thestains on the floor, and agaping wound in the throat,indicatedthatthewomanhadbeendeadordyingwhenshe

hadbeennailedintoposition.

‘What sickness is thisabomination, lord?’Gruffyddaskedinawhisper.

‘It’snothingtodowithherDruid teachings, and it’snothingChristian.But it’sallMorgan. I believe sheintended to keep Uther’sspirit locked within thischamber forever. She placedthe woman to guard thewindowandusedthecrowas

the vessel for his soul. Thenshe attempted to have theapartments sealed off for along,longtime.’

‘She’s a strange woman,master. And her hatred isappalling.’

‘Pitiful is a betterdescription of Morgan,’Myrddionreplied.‘Sheneedsto believe that she can stillcontrol Uther’s body andspirit even after his death.

Howunutterablysad.’

‘Sad?’ Gruffydd spat, andthen crossed himself. ‘Thewomanisdemented.’

‘Morganhasprobablybeencrazed for years. She hasburiedeverynaturaldesireinorder to take her revenge onUther during themany yearsshe remained with him. Butthis!It’ssopetty-andsuchadreadfulwaste.’

‘Well, I’m not going tospare any sympathy for thewitch.’ Gruffydd wasaffronted by the barbarity ofMorgan’s actions. ‘If anyoneshouldbestakedoutlikethis,it’sMorgan.’

‘No.Morganismoretobepitied. EvenwithUther deadandgone,shecannotgiveupher hatred. But staring atthese old crimes does notserveourpurpose.’

Myrddion looked acrossthecorpseatthesuperstitiousface of Gruffydd, and thenissuedhisinstructions.

‘Leave this unhallowedplaceandfindservants,andawarrior or two. I want theseapartments completelyrefitted for the High Kingwhen he comes to VentaBelgarum. Every stick offurniture, every piece ofcloth, every fur and every

traceofthepresenceofUtherandMorganis tobeburned.’He gazed around the dust-filled room. ‘And you mustfind a priest to pray for thisgirl’s soul and give her adecentburning.’

Gruffydd hurried off toobey his master’s wishes,glad to be released from themouldering room that wasstillfullofimplacablehatred.

Myrddion knelt upon the

dustystoolbesidethebedandrested his forearms, as if inprayer,closetowhereUther’sheadmusthavelain.Thiswasthe position where Uther’spriest had spentmany hours,even years, listening toUther’s confessionsthroughout the period of hisslowdecay.Here,inthefinaldays, the bishop would havegiven extreme unction to thedying Uther, even though hewasclosetodeathhimself.

Myrddion was noChristian, but he hadconsiderable knowledge ofthe Roman sect. Heunderstood that theunfortunate Branicus, in hispiety, must have crushed hisnatural feelings for years. InMyrddion’s imagination, thefinal confession of UtherPendragon must have beengrotesque.

How often had the bishop

knelt here? If theembroidered stool was anyguide, a pair of knees hadflattenedtheplumpnessofthestuffing. How many hourshadthebishoplistenedtothesavage ravings of a decadentold tyrant as he struggled tobringthatunrepentantsoultohis God? Uther would nothave parted with his swordandhiscrownduringthefinalstages of his illness, fearingthat Morgan would lay her

henna-tipped claws upon hissymbols of kingship. Lot asHigh King would have beennearly as bad asArtorex, forUther loathed Morgausenearlyasmuchashersister.

No, Uther would havehidden the sword and thecrownwhen Artorex becametheWarrioroftheWest.Seenfrom Uther’s point of view,what other choice did hehave?Hisbodywasbetraying

him, Botha was dead andArtorex was beloved by thepeople.

No, the sword and thecrownwerelonggonebythetimeUtherreconciledhimselfto the certainty ofapproachingdeath.

Myrddionkneltandtriedtoimagine the filth that hadpoured into the ears of thebishop.HetriedtounderstandhowBranicusmust have felt

when he had taken theseritual objects that were sosoiledanddegradedwithlust,murderandambition.

Accompanied by twowarriors and four terrifiedmenservants, Gruffyddknocked quietly on the doorbefore entering. But,engrossed, Myrddion didn’thearhim.

The grisly remains of theonce virginal girl were

removed from the window,whileMyrddioncontinuedhisreflection. And, when thecrow was gingerly pulled upas a mere tangle of blackfeathers and stick-likechewed bones, Myrddion’sconcentration was so deepthat he didn’t evenacknowledge the presence ofservantsintheroom.

Hewasfarawayinsidethemindofthelong-deadbishop.

As the servants tiptoedaround him, glancingfearfully at his still, whiteface and tightly closed eyes,Myrddion was thinking.Whenhesuddenlyopenedhiseyes, theyblazedwith anewunderstanding. One of theservants squealed like afrightened pig whenMyrddion suddenly leapt tohisfeet,ignoringhiscrampedlegmuscles.

He picked up the prayerstool and thrust it into thearmsoftheservant.

‘Take this confessionalstooltothenewbishopathischurch. Tell him that it is agiftfromme.Youwillfurtherinform him that hispredecessor, agoodandholyman, used this prayer stoolwhileheintercededwithGodfor the soul of his master,Uther Pendragon. And you

will also tell him thatBranicus’s stool deservesgreathonour.’

The servant scuttled awayto carry out Myrddion’sbidding, while Gruffydddoubted that the poor manwould remember even asentence of Myrddion’swords.

The room was ruthlesslydismantled, and lest theservantsweretemptedtosteal

Uther’s possessions,Myrddion explained thatMorgan had cursed all itemsof value within theapartments. Because he wasdeemed to be so strange andso magical, his words werebelieved,causingtheservantsto flinch every time theytouched an object with theirbarehands.

One servant brought ajewelled box to Myrddion

andplaceditgingerlyintohishands, after which hecarefully cleaned his ownhandsonhisdustytunic.

The box was finepearwood, inlaid with shell,with a rough pearl mountedasaknobonthelid.

Myrddion opened theprettycontainer.Goldchains,apairof finegoldenearringssetwithgarnetsandanumberof thumb and finger rings

filledthepearwoodboxtothelid. At first, Myrddion wasundecided what to do withUther’s jewels. His firstimpulse was to order thejewellery destroyed, but hedecided to retain theboxandhave the gems reset, ifnecessary, as they wereprobably the property ofwhoever next became HighKing. He knew of a skilledJew in Venta Belgarum whocould be entrusted with the

task of remaking Uther’strifles.

As he sorted through thechains and rings, Myrddionhad a dreadful thought. Oneheavy neck chain wasstampedwiththesymbolofaboar, obviously the propertyofGorloisofCornwall.

Thesetriflesaretrophiesofthose victims whom Utherbetrayed, Myrddion thoughtto himself. Perhaps they

should never see the light ofdayagain.

Leaving the cleaning tothose instructed to completethe task, Myrddion andGruffydd returned to theirrooms.Gruffyddwaslongingfor ale, but he accompaniedhis master with resignation.He noted thatMyrddion wasexcitedandhismoodseemeddecidedlyedgyandeager,butwhen Gruffydd tried to ask

whatailedhim,Myrddionputhis finger to his lips in asignaltoremainsilent.

‘I’mtired,andI’mheartilysick of horrors,’ Myrddionrepliedwithhismouth,whilehis fingersmoved in thesignlanguage of the trained spythat said, ‘There may beothers listening here. Wemustwait.’

‘Ofcourse,mylord.Doweridetomorrow?’

‘It’sunlikely,Gruffydd,soit doesn’t really matter if Ioversleep in the morning.We’ll remain here for twomore days,’ Myrddion’smouthsaidblandly,whilethesign language from hisfingers told Gruffydd thatthey would be leaving atdawn.

‘Of course, my lord,’Gruffydd replied withadmirable ambiguity. ‘I live

toserveyou.’

GruffyddspenttheeveninginthecompanyofagroupofGawayne’s warriors as theirhonoured guest, for his hostsknew that Myrddion was aman of legend from one endof Britain to the other.Although Gruffyddrecognizednodirect threat inthe questions they askedconcerninghismaster,hewasaware that Gawaynewas the

eldest son of Morgause andKing Lot, who was anaspirant for the throne of theHighKing.Gruffydd tried tospillasmuchashedrank,buthis head was pounding andhissenseswereswimmingbythe time he eventually tookhimselfofftohispallet.

After drinking copiousamountsofwater toclearhishead, Gruffydd felt a littlebetter. To Gawayne’s

minions, he had simply beenMyrddion’s trusted servant,for his status as a spywas awell-kept secret that evenGawaynehadnotdiscovered.As he fought to clear hisfuzzy thoughts, Gruffyddlongedtobeoutsidethestonewalls and the narrow streetsofVentaBelgarum thatwereso full of secrets.He neededthe wilderness and the cleanair of the mountains to clearhis lungs of the stench of

these Celts who were soruthless in their pursuit ofpowerandglory.

‘The sooner we’re out ofhere the better,’ Gruffyddmutteredtohimself.

He checked his pack andmade sure that it was readyfor their imminent departure.Some instinct caused him toscatter a few items of soiledclothing around the floor oftheroom,andthenhefellinto

alightdoze.

A few hours before dawn,Gruffydd woke soundlessly,aswashis talent,as thedoorto his chamber was slowlyeased open. Two confidentwarriors looked into thedarkened apartment withcompleteease.

Gruffydd feigned a loudanddrunkensnore.

‘This one won’t waken,

andnorwill hismaster,’ oneof the warriors rasped. ‘Ifthere’s anything that can befound in this flea trap, thenMyrddionMerlinuswilldoitfor us. And, if not, we’llfollow them wherever theymightgo.’

‘Keep your voice down,Grimm. Myrddion hasn’tstayed alive for so longbecause he’s lucky. Ourmaster underestimates these

men, for I think they’re on afishing expedition. It’s bestthatwewatchandwait.’

‘Well, our friendGruffyddwon’t see the light of daybeforenoon,’Grimmsneered.

‘Perhaps,’ his friendreplied, and the two meneased their way out ofGruffydd’stinycubicle.

Sothat’s thewaythewindblows,Gruffydd thought. It’s

agoodthingwe’llbegoneinafewhours.

Myrddion and Gruffyddwere mounted and at theclosed gates of VentaBelgarumbeforethebreakofdawn. Gruffydd woke thegatekeeper by pounding onhisdooruntilthemanstirred.He staggered out in hisundershirt and opened thesmaller door within the gateso that the horses and their

riderscouldpassthrough.

‘You may thank yourmaster Gawayne for hishospitality, but I must returnto Venonae on the orders ofArtorex, the Dux Bellorum,’Myrddiontoldhim.

The sleepy man nodded,but Myrddion still requiredthatthedoorkeeperrepeatthemessage.

Thenmasterandmanwere

away.

At first, they took theRoman road that wouldeventually lead to Venonae,but then Fortuna smiled onMyrddion,asshehadahabitof doing, and they cameacross the tracksof a tradingwagonanditsguards.

‘We’ll get off the roadnow. Ride only on the screeor therockwhereourpath ishidden, for we travel

elsewhere on this day,’Myrddionordered.

‘Would it be impudent ofthissimpleservanttoaskourdestination?’

In Gruffydd’s defence, hehadavileheadache.

‘We are just outsideCalleva Atrebatum, and theroad that leads north toVenonae.We shall leave theroadshortly,andonceweare

assured we are not beingfollowedwewilltravelbythemost direct route toSorviodunum.’

Myrddion actually laughedat the face that Gruffyddpulled.

‘Ah,Gruffydd,myfriend.Iowe a good part of theintelligence I receive to yourefforts and, even now, Ishould have you prowlingaround Venta Icenorum or

Camulodunum-ifmypresentneed for your service wasn’tso urgent. You know theperils we face, so you mustforgiveme if Iexpectyou tolisten to my problems as weride.’

‘My thanks, master,’Gruffyddanswered,hisvoicesharpwith irony. ‘You’ll getmekilledyetwithyourplotsandplans.’

‘Gruffydd, we need the

sword of Uther Pendragon.The crown would be a niceaddition, but the sword isvitaltoourcause.’

‘Granted, my lord.’Gruffydd shifted uneasily onhis horse blanket. ‘Nothingelse will unite the west, foreven the most lowly slaveknows the worth of thesword. But whySorviodunum?’ State secretsof this magnitude made

Gruffyddnervous.

‘I began to feel the edgesof Branicus’s mind in thatgrotesque room. I’m certainnow that Uther Pendragongave the bishop the twosymbols as a safeguardagainst claimants to thethrone.’ Myrddion paused.‘Butthebishopknewthatthecrown and sword had beentainted with decades ofinnocentblood,andhishands

must have trembledwhen hetouched them. His skinmusthave crawled when he hidthemunderhispriestly robesasheleftUther’sapartments,for they were defiled byUther’smindandtouch.’

Gruffydd nodded hisagreement.

‘My assessment of thebishoprestsonmybeliefthathe was a man of piety andhonesty.Hewould have sent

these wicked objects ofpower and greed to a placewhere they could be safelyhidden-andcleansed.’

‘At Sorviodunum?’Gruffydd snorted. ‘There’snothingholyforChristiansatthatplace.Quitetheopposite,in fact, with the Giant’sDancenearby.’

He had followed hismaster’s reasoning up to thispoint, but now he was

completelybemused.

‘Think, Gruffydd.What isthe most sacred place inBritain?’

Gruffyddlookedblanklyathislord.

‘It is the place where theHolyChristus is supposed tohave walked. And the placewhereJosephusofArimatheaispurportedtohaveplantedapiece of the crown of thorns

used in killing the HolyChristusinJerusalem.’

In sudden understanding,Gruffydd grinned at hismaster.

‘Glastonbury, my lord.Aye.Glastonbury, the IsleofApples.AplacesacredtotheBritons long before theChristian priests came totempt us away from the oldways and the Druid groves.Glastonbury is doubly

sanctified.’

‘AndLucius,theBishopofGlastonbury,isamanwhoiscapable of keeping secrets.He sent Artorex to Ector inthe north and even I didn’tknow the boy’s whereaboutsuntil he was twelve years ofage.’

Gruffydd thoughthardandscratched his red beard. ‘Butsurely other claimants to thethronecouldfollowthesame

reasoning that you havetravelled, master. And thesword and crown are stillmissing.’

‘It’sapuzzle,isn’tit?ButIswear the solution lies atGlastonbury.’

‘Well, then I suppose weride to the holy of holies,’Gruffydd replied, his voiceladen with melancholy. ‘Ibelieve we have nothingbettertodo.’

‘Pray that we are not toolate,’ Myrddion added. ‘Thewolves are snapping at ourheelsnow,forGawayneishismother’sson.’

‘Aye, but he’s not terriblybright - forwhichwe shouldbegrateful,’Gruffyddsaid.

Myrddiononlygruntedandcast his eyes skyward. Rainwasscuddingin,andtheblueskies of the spring morningweretransformedbyfattening

grey thunderheads. The treeswere already greening, andwildflowersgrewinsecludedhollows. Even the lichen onthefallenoaksseemedbrightand fair, regardless of thethreateningsky.

I’m certain of the course Imust take,Myrddion thoughtas they turned their horsestowards Sorviodunum. Butfirst, I must find where theswordishidden.

As always, only the crowsstirred in the deep woods astheycalled toeachother likeportentsandmourners.

CHAPTERXX

GLASTONBURY

If Britain laid any claims toancient sanctity, it was herein the marshes surroundingGlastonbury Tor and thestonechurchthatwaserectedwhen Christianity first

crossed the narrow seas tocivilize the isles of Britain.But, in earlier, far earliertimes,themerchantJosephus,aJew,wasrumouredtohavetraded in this land.Whenhismaster, the Undead Jesus,rose from Josephus’ owntomb, the merchant came toGlastonbury, bearing thelance that pierced the sideofthe Christ as well as thesimple wooden cup that hadbeenusedattheLastSupper.

True or not, Christianitytook easy root in the oldgroves ofGlastonburywhereaspringpouredredwaterthatwasthecolouroffreshblood,althoughMyrddionknewthatthis phenomenon was onlycausedby the ironcontent inthewater.

In these days, it was asmall, often-ignored,religious centre, butGlastonbury still held

enormous power for all menof belief, whether they werepagan or Christian.Glastonbury Tor wasmountedthroughastonekeepthatsomemenstillcalledtheVirgin’sTeat.Othersreferredtoit inwhispersandcalleditbyolder,fardarkernames.

Noble titles wereimmaterialattheGlastonburymonastery and Myrddionknew that the Bishop of

Venta Belgarum must haveconsulted with Lucius, themaster of this ancient place,oninnumerableoccasions.Bybirth, both clerics were ofLatin origin and both werewashed up in an alien land.Would the goodly Luciushave refused to shrive thekeystoUther’skingdom?

No!

Myrddion knew thatLucius had arranged for

Artorex to be raised in thefar-off Villa Poppinidii. Hehad also ensured that theyoung man would beeducated, in case MotherChurch needed the boy’sservices at some future placeand time. The bishop wouldneverput relicsatany risk iftherewereevenafrailchancethat the true king mighteventuallyneedthem.

The spring thaw had left

the fields, streams andmarshesofGlastonburyfilledwith shimmering stretches ofwater. From above,Glastonburywasanisland,itswaters aglitter like the scalesof a great fish, and its tor, afinger of rock and earth,pointedtowardsheaven,eventhough only an earthencausewaylinkeditsbasewiththe church and its village.Gruffydd swore that he hadnot seen such soft green

beauty in all of Britain, norbreathed air so sweet andclean, except in the tallmountainsofhislostyouth.

Entryofarmedmen to theIsle of Apples seemed asacrilege. Centuries before,the Romans avoided itsemerald fields, an oddity initself, although a road ranthroughit.AsDuxBellorum,Artorex had ordered thatGlastonburyshouldbefreeof

all trespass. The tribesobeyed, but unwillingly for,liketheGiant’sDance,itwasa prize worth coveting. Itsfertile fields, its ruddy-facedpriests and its villagers whowere clean and well-fedreflected the success of thereligious community. Yetthere was something strangeandexoticaboutGlastonburythat stirred the hardest heart,while reminding the mostcynical warrior that beauty

and truth still existedsomewhereintheirworld.

Christian or pagan, somedeity had blessedGlastonbury.

Myrddion and Gruffyddwere treated to a warmwelcome by the priesthoodand penitentswho comprisedthe church community.Gruffydd never truly learnedto tell thedifferencebetweenthevariousorders,for thelip

service he paid to the faithwas like a tunic over hisessentially pagan flesh. Still,the men of the Church atGlastonbury seemeduntroubled by his obviousignorance of theirways. Thetwo visitors were fed sweetbread and new milk, goodcheese,andcrispapplesfromlast year’s store, until theyfelt as if they had eaten afeastofgreatsplendour.

In a simplewithy and sodhut, with undressed stone onthe floor, and at a table ofrough pine, worn smooth bymany hands over yearsunmeasured, the two menwere served water in brown-glazed jugs and beakers, andbelieved the taste was finerthan the best importedFalernian wine. With acertain regret, Myrddionbrokethisquietidyll.

‘We’ve come for anaudience with Lucius,’Myrddion said to one of thepriests at their table. ‘I methim many years ago, so hewill remember my name. Iam Myrddion Merlinus andthis is my servant, Gruffyddof Venta Silurum. Our questis urgent, else we would notrepay your generosity withbrusqueness.’

‘As always, Myrddion,

your tongue is honey-sweet,’a voice said from behind thetwo visitors. ‘Well met, myfriend.’ A plainly garbedpriest in the same roughwoollen robe as his fellowsplaced a water jug on thetableandsatwitheasygrace.

Gruffydd’s eyes nearlypoppedoutofhishead.

‘Yourfriendseemsamazedthat I would serve youmyself, and wear the same

robes as my fellow priests.Theworld is truly a placeofvanityandshame,soIchooseto dress and act as did myLordwhenhewashedthefeetof his disciples and brokebread for them. Not all thegold in Britain can change aman’sheart,noreaseitwhentimes become hard. Uthercame to learn that all hispower and wealth meantnothing in the end. I, myfriends, am far happier than

Utherwouldeverhavebeen.’

‘This fair-spoken man isLucius, Bishop ofGlastonbury, Gruffydd, soplease close your mouth,’Myrddion said, not unkindly.‘Youlooklikeagaffedfish.’

‘Well met, friendGruffydd. You must be agood man if you travel withMyrddion, regardless of thegod you serve. You willalways be welcome at holy

Glastonbury.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’Gruffydd stammered, feelinglikeachildnotyetfreeofitsmother’scare.

‘There’s no need to standon ceremony with me,Gruffydd. To you, as to allsouls who live here, I amsimply Lucius.’ The priestsmiled and Gruffydd finallydared to examine the agedmanwho sat so easily at the

table.

Lucius was very old; theknuckles of his hands weretestaments to the joint painsthatcomeaftermanyyearsofliving. His palms werecalloused, as if he stillworked manually, but hisbody was unstooped. Thelargebonesofhisbodyspokeofabroad,strongframeinhisyouth, although he was nottallofstature.

Lucius’s face carriedunmistakable authority. Hehad once had black hair, buthis tonsured locks were nowcappedwithafringeofsilver.A hawk-like Roman nose,intelligent black eyes, and awhitened scar that ran acrosshissun-bronzedforeheadlikethe circlet of a kingdominatedthebishop’sface.

Lucius noticed Gruffydd’scareful regard and gently

touched theslightlypuckeredcicatrix.

‘Thisismypersonalcrownof thorns. I was a soldieronce,aboysoldier,andIwastempted by dreams of glory.My name is all I retainedafter a sword cut took awaymy wits and my lust forblood.Iservedinthelegions,Ibelieve,asatribuneinGaul,but when I recovered, I wasquite,quitemad.

‘Somehow, I found myway to this holy place. Godtook pity on me, and thepriestsnursedme,ignoredmyravings and loved me. Thevery air ofGlastonbury blewaway the haze in my brainandallowedspacewithinmyheart for the Holy Child toenter. I am now what thepriests have made of me, aservantofGod,andeachdayImakepenanceforthelivesItookandthebloodIwantonly

shedduringmyyouth.’

Gruffydd knew little ofholiness, pagan or Christian,butherecognizedthesanctityof Lucius and bowed hisshaggyhead.

‘Blessme,Father,forIamnot Christian. I, too, haveshed much blood and willshed more before I die.Perhaps the hand of Luciuswill help a little when mysoulisjudged.’

Lucius rose and movedgracefullyroundthetableandplaced a forefinger inGruffydd’s beaker of water.He inscribed the sign of theCross upon Gruffydd’sforehead.

‘You are a goodman, myfriend, regardless of whatgods you serve. The Lordknowstheworthofgoodmenin this terrible world, so hewill not hold your

bloodletting against you ifyou fight for a just cause. Ireadinyoureyesthatyoudonot kill wantonly, or withhatred. I see, too, that yousave whom you can, so youmay accept an old man’sintercession and blessing,although God knows youalready.’

He smiled once more atMyrddion. ‘But your mastergrowsimpatient.’

Myrddion was irritable, ashealwayswaswhenfacedbyany matter that could not beexplained by intellect. If hewere honest, he would alsohave admitted that he wasenvious ofGruffydd’s abilityto accept what could not berationalized.

Lucius touchedMyrddion’s long black hairgently as he moved back tohisroughstool.

‘I’d also give you myblessings, my son, if you sodesired. The comfort andblessing that I promised toGruffyddbelongsasmuch toyouasitdoestohim.’

‘My thanks, Lucius, but Iwill leave my soul to itsultimate fate. What concernsme is the here and the now,’Myrddion replied tetchily.‘What have you heard of thebarbarianwars?’

‘Less than nothing, myfriend.Littlefromtheoutsideworld touches Glastonbury,and nor should it. But Ideduce from your mannerthatthewargoesbadly.’

Myrddion tapped the tablewith his long, eloquentfingers.‘Badly?Disastrously,would be a betterdescription.’ He grimaced.‘Artorex holds the westfirmly but he isn’t protected

on his flanks. It’s becomingmoreimportanteachdaythatthe Dux Bellorum becomesHighKing of theBritons, orelse he cannot defeatKatigern Oakheart, the newleader of the Saxons.Katigern is the grandson ofVortigern, of infamousmemory.’

‘I remember Vortigernwell.Hewasakingwhowascontrolled by lust, and was

quitewillingtocastawayhispeople for the sake of hisyellow-haired Saxon woman.Ibelieveheeventriedtohaveyoukilledbackinthosetimeswhen the superstitious folksaidyouweretheoffspringofademon.’

‘Yes.’ Myrddion’s replywascurt.

‘A grandson of Vortigernwould be a formidableenemy, especially if the

grandfather had taken theSaxonwoman towife beforehewasmurdered.Yes, I cansee why you are soconcerned, my son.’ Luciusseemedasuntroubledasever.

‘IneedUther’ssword.AndIneed thecrownof theHighKing.Only these objects canforce the tribes toacknowledge Artorex’s rightto lead Britain away frombarbarism. The leaders know

full well that he is Uther’sson but too many of themwant the trappings of powerfor themselves. The personwhoholds the sword and thecrown holds the throne.’Myrddion wasuncharacteristically tense.Gruffydd eyed his master’susually inscrutable face withalarm

‘Don’t upset yourselfneedlessly, friend Myrddion.

TheswordandthecrownaresafelyheldatGlastonbury.’

‘Where?’ Myrddion firedbackatLucius.

‘I cannot tell you,’ Luciusrepliedevenly.

Myrddion swore withparticular venom, and manyof the priests crossedthemselves at his language.Luciusremainedutterlycalm.

‘Onlyatrueclaimanttothe

throne of the High King ofthe Britons may find thesword and the crown. Andthat claimant must find therelics in person, forthemselves. You, my friend,arenotthatman.’

Myrddion beat the tablewithhisclosedfist.‘IfIbringArtorextoGlastonbury,everyfortune hunter inBritainwillbe hot on his heels. The fateof thewestwill thenbecome

amatterofchance.’

‘Myboy,you’rewearyanddisillusionedbyyearsofplotsandcounter-plots.Likeyou,Ialso believe that Artorex isthe one true claimant who,with your help, will find hisbirthright. Let the otherscome if they wish, but Godalone will choose who willrule throughout these blackdays. You, Myrddion, mustleave the outcome of this

questtoahigherpower.’

‘You give me no choice,’he replied. ‘You wouldn’trevealthehidingplacetoanyperson, even under torture.Branicus chose wisely whenheentrustedtherelicstoyourcare.’

Luciuspermittedhimself asmile. ‘Branicus was a farbraverman than Icouldeverbe,’ he explained. ‘I didn’thave the task of hearing

Uther’sconfessions,nordidIhave to devotemy last yearsto a moral struggle with aman whose mind and soulwere diseased. WhenBranicus entrusted the relicsto me, I saw that he wasdrainedofallspiritexceptforhis unshakeable faith in thejusticeofGod.’

Myrddion winced. ‘I knelton Branicus’s stool at VentaBelgarumand, even after the

passageofsometime,IcouldstillfeelthefeargeneratedbytheHighKing,’ he admitted.‘I also felt the same self-loathing that Branicusexperienced.I’mnonoviceinthe service of UtherPendragon, and I can stillsmell the blood that lies onmyhandsinhisservice.’

‘Yoursarethefeelingsofapoor abused servant, myfriend. In fact, Uther

Pendragonwasjudgedforhissins at the time of his death.OurGodwillnotbemocked,and the only true repentanceisonethatisheartfelt,oritisworsethannothing.Youmustjudge yourself for your ownsins, not those of your deadmaster.’ Then Lucius bentand kissed Myrddion’sforehead.

Myrddion blushed to theroots of his hair, but Lucius

simply continued as ifnothinghadhappened.

‘Uther’s sword has beencompletely reforged. Themetal was clean within butblood had corrupted thepommel and its skin. It wasbeyondsaving.Aye,Iknowitseemedcleanandshining,buttherewereinnumerablefaultswithin it. The hilt is waitingtobemadeanew.’

‘Fetchthepearwoodboxin

my bags, Gruffydd,’Myrddionorderedbrusquely.

With the assistance of apriest, Gruffydd hurried towhere the horses were nowstabled. He easily foundMyrddion’sworntravelbags,and extracted Uther’spearwoodbox.

On his return, MyrddionpassedtheboxtoLucius.

‘Could this gold and these

gems be used to form a hiltand guard like no other, onefit for the sword of a HighKing?’

‘Prayer can cleanseanything. I am aware thatmany of these objects werestolen.’

Lucius lifted the heavyearrings with their garnetstones and stared into theirsanguinedepths.

‘These baubles hung inYgerne’searswhenshegavebirth to Artorex,’ the priestacknowledged. ‘And shewaswearing them when Utherfirst saw her, when Gorloisstill breathed. Yes, prayerwillcleansethesetrinkets.’

Myrddion stared at thelamp flame as if communingwith a friend. At last helookedup.

‘We will ride to Venonae

tomorrow. And Artorex willreturnwithus, even ifHadesshouldblockmypath.’

Lucius rose and made analmost invisible sign to thepriests.

‘Youshallremainherethisnight, my sons. You will beprovided with blankets andthe fire staves off anywayward chill while yousleep. Be at peace, friendMyrddion, for my heart tells

methatonedayyouwillfindwhatyouneed,andwhatyoutruly desire above all otherthings. I hope you remembermy friendship at that time,my son, for I fear I will belong inmy grave before thatgreat day comes to you.’ Hesmiled at his guests. ‘Andnow, I wish a good night toall,andmayyouhavedreamsofjoyandlove.’

After Lucius and the

priests had gone, both menmadethemselvescomfortablebefore the dying fire.Gruffyddstaredat thewovenceiling, packed with sod forwarmth and obscured by athick cloud of wood smoke,and considered thewondrousold man he had met thatnight. Rarely do spies sleepwellandrarelydotheyactonimpulse. Gruffydd shouldhave been embarrassed thathe sought forgiveness froma

Christianpriest, but his heartfelt free and light, while hismindwasfilledwiththefacesof those men, women andchildren whose lives he hadsaved rather than the brokenbodies of others whom he’dbeen forced to kill. As heslipped intoapleasantdreamof his own wife and family,heblessedtheoldbishopandthe master who had forcedhim to journey to the Isle ofApples.

Myrddion’s thoughts wereneither so happy nor socontent. When faced by thepenetrating Roman eyes ofLucius, Myrddion had beenforced to confront hisweaknesses anew. He hadbecome comfortablewith hisemotional sterility and wasinclined to considerLucius abenevolentmadmanwhenthepriest had spoken ofMyrddion’sfuturehappiness.

ButLuciuswastouchedbygoodness, Myrddion knew.Hecouldfeelthewarmththatradiated from the old manliketheheatfromnew-bakedbread. Myrddion almostbelieved in Lucius’s sanctityand,forthesceptical,cynicalMyrddion, that threadybeliefin natural goodness was agreat tribute to the characterofthepriest.

Nor was Myrddion truly

angry at the decisions madebyLucius.Hehadhopedthatthe bishop would lay theswordandcrowninhiseagerhands, in recognition that hewould not be tempted by thepower invested in them. Buthis intellect told him thatLucius was correct in hisunderstanding of the tribes.Artorex must find thesymbols of his kingshiphimself, and so be beyondreproachasHighKingof the

Britons.

Eventually, when he fellintoadeepsleep,hedreamedagainofthewillowtree,onlynowit transformed itself intoa milk-skinned woman withsilverhairandbeguilingeyes,a temptress who beckonedhimintoherleafyarms.

By dawn, Myrddion andGruffydd had eaten, packed

their saddlebags withnourishingGlastonburybreadandwerealreadyontheroad.They rode as fast as theirhorseswould allow, sleepingin snatches and avoiding allsettlements and villages.Frequently,Myrddionblessedthe long-dead Romans whohad criss-crossed the countrywith perfectly straight pathsand wide thoroughfares thatpermittedtravellerstodevourthe miles from departure

point to destination in theshortestpossibletime.

On several occasions, thetwomenwere forced tohidein deep woods whendetachments of Celtichorsemenpassedby.

‘Whydowehide,master?’Gruffydd asked. ‘We are notatwarwiththetribes.’

‘They will know soonenoughwhatweareaboutbut

I wish to give Artorex anyadvantage I can, even if wemust skulk in the shadowswhen friends pass us by.Anyway, it is often difficultto truly winnow friend fromfoe.Canyoualwaysspot thedifference,Gruffydd?’

‘Now that you come tospeak of it . . .’ Gruffydd’svoicetrailedoff.

He asked no morequestions and the two men

rode on, the days unreelinglikethreadonaspindle.

Anunseasonalstormragedover Venonae whenMyrddionandhiscompanionfinally returned. The blacknight sky, which wascontinuallysplitbylightning,caused the townsfolk andwarriors to huddle in theirshelters, for they feared theangerofthegods.

However,Myrddionwasin

good humour as he wasushered into the presence ofArtorex.

‘Wellmet,mylord.Igotomy study. Perhaps you willagree to join me presently,once we have freshened anddonnednewclothing?’

Artorexwasweary, but herealized from Myrddion’smanner thatsecretswaited tobe shared. He consumed alight meal of bread and

cheeseandthendismissedhisguard.

For once, the pyrotechnicsin the dark heavens madeMyrddion’swindowlessroomfar more comfortable thanusual. The fierce lightningstrikes, so rare in thesemountains, seemed toshudder through thebonesofthe fortress, demonstrating anaturalpowerthatnokingorarmy or string of fortresses

couldmatch.

As usual, Llanwith penBryn and Luka were presentin the windowless room,havingheardof the returnoftheir friend. Gruffydd servedwine to theassembledgroup,although he, too, was verytiredandsaddle-sore.

‘What news, Myrddion,that you keep me from mybed? First you vanish sothoroughly from Venta

BelgarumthatpoorGawaynebecomes sick with worry.Andnowyoureturnduringadrivingstorm.Atthisrate,thepeople will believe you arethestormbird.’

The kings laughed politelyat Artorex’s jest, butMyrddion did not bother tojointhem.

‘I hope you are not tooexhausted to ridewithme tothe Isle of Apples at

Glastonbury - within thehour.’

‘I’venointentionoftakingto Coal’s back in thisinclement weather. Contrarytothebeliefsofmywarriors,Ilikebeingwarmanddry.’

Artorex was prepared toholdbyhisstatement.Hehadspent half the day in thesaddle, and the other halfdeploying troops along acritically strained defensive

line.

‘You must come now,Artorex, for it’s imperativethat you collect your swordand crown from Lucius. Thebishop holds both safe atGlastonbury, but he will notgive them to me or to anyothermaninthekingdom.AsUther’s legitimate heir, youare the only person destinedto discover them, althoughall-comers are entitled to

carry out their own search iftheywish to do so. By now,half the kingdom will beguessing that I have foundUther’s relics, so I’mdetermined thatyoushallgo,even if Ihave todragyou toGlastonbury.’

Artorex’sfaceflushedwithanger.

‘In case you haven’tnoticed, Myrddion, I’mcapable of making my own

decisions.’

‘YouaretheHighKingbybirthright,Artorex,butifyougrow careless and ignore theurgencyofourtask,youmayfind yourself bending theknee toKingLot or to someotherpretender-immediatelybefore he cuts your throats.Would Lot save the west, orwould he skulk in safetybehind Hadrian’s Wall asUtherdidatVentaBelgarum?

Think, Artorex! You musttravel to Glastonbury, for allour sakes. Even Gawayne isnot so thick that he won’tarrive at the correctconclusioneventually.’

Artorex longed to refusethe demands that Myrddionwas making, for the thoughtof possessing Uther’s crownand swordmadehim illwithloathing.ThebloodofGalliastained these relics of power

and Artorex knew that hecouldneverforgivehisfatheraslongashedrewbreath.

But Artorex alsounderstood that he was nolonger a simplemanof fleshandbloodwhocouldconsiderhis own future in isolation.The needs of his followerswerefarmoreimportantthanhis own desires.Ban’s dyingdemand of him often camestalking into his mind,

remindinghimthatthefutureof theCelts depended on hisfacing Katigern Oakheart onanequalfooting.

The logical part ofArtorex’s brain had knownfor weeks that he must seekout the relics in person. Foreven as one hand flinchedfrom the symbols of power,theother itched tohold themcloselytohisbreast.

I am my father’s son, he

thought sadly,whilean innervoice whispered in his earthat power was the ultimatemeansofdoinggood.

Those words are lies.Galliawouldhaveknownthatthis argument belongs to theDark Ones, and that power,taken and desired for goodreasons, can eventually twistthesoul.

But what choice do youhave?hisotherselfanswered

quickly.

None! he replied silentlyfor, aboveall things,Artorexhad trained himself to be arealist. Only Gallia had seenthe passion and the poetrywithin him - but that idyllwaslongdead.

‘Very well. I’m ready toclaim these trappings of ruleand will accept yourdemands,’ Artorex finallyagreed aloud. ‘But first I

intendtoorganizeacaptaintotake my place during myabsence. The Saxons arebeginning to stir now thatspringhasarrived.’Hesigheddeeply and ran his handsthroughhistousledhair.

‘No. That’s not wise,Artorex,’ Myrddion argued.‘You’ll give an advantage toyour enemies if you bringanyoneoutsidethiscircleintoyour confidence.’ Myrddion

was uncharacteristicallyabruptbutArtorexwasreadyto defy the older man’sstrength of will. The airwithin the stuffy roomcrackled with the first clashofconflictingpurposes.

‘I’d be prepared to act asyour captain during yourabsence,’ Llanwithvolunteered. ‘I hate to missthe fun, but Luka generallygetstheshitework,soit’smy

turn to remain and face themusic.BeassuredthatI’lldomy best to ensure thatVenonae remains safe duringyourabsence.’

Both Myrddion andArtorex sighed inwardly, forthis offer allowed them tostep across a mental chasmthathadbeenopeningattheirfeet.

‘That is generous of you,’Luka quipped. ‘I’m usually

left out - just because I’vegainedalittleweight.’

AsLukawasstillreed-thin,except for a small pauncharound the waist, this sallywas an old joke. Myrddiondidn’tbothertosmile.

‘We waste time, Artorex,for we should leave withinthe hour. And we shouldattempt to make our journeyinconspicuous, if that ispossible.’

‘He’s bossy tonight, isn’the?’Artorexaskedofnooneinparticular.

‘Gruffydd, my loyalservant,I’mafraidthatImustalsoaskyoutojoinusonthisjourney,’Myrddion added. ‘Iknowthatyou’vebeeninthesaddle fornear to twoweeksnow, but someone may tripyou up if you remain here,and you could inadvertentlyrevealourdestination.’

‘Lord . . .’ Gruffydd’svoice trailed off. He wasthoroughly offended at thesuggestion.

‘Or they could put you, oryour family, to the torture.Few men can survivephysical agony silently. Youknowthat.’

Gruffydd felt ill at thethought of Morganquestioninghim.Thoseeyes!The woman had watched,

uncaring,asayounggirlhadbeen crucified at Uther’swindow. What would shecare for him if he fell underherpower?

‘Aye, you’re right, mylord.’

Myrddiongazedaroundtheassembled group. ‘Then wedepartinonehour.We’dbestleave this room separatelyandmeetoutsidethegates.’

And so Artorex, incompany with Myrddion,Gruffydd and Luka, wasforcedtosneaksilentlyoutofhisownstronghold.

A sleepy stable boy sawMyrddionandacloakedmanleave late that night, and thenext morning, the childnoticed that Coal was gone.Inevitably,thewholegarrisonsoon knew that Artorex waswandering with Myrddion

while Llanwith had assumedcommandofthegarrison.

Morgangroundherteethinrage,buttherewasstillhope.She knew thatGawaynewasvigilant, and even Artorexcouldn’thideforever.

Myrddion drove his alreadyexhausted companions withthe urgency of a man whoknowsthatwolvesarehoton

histrail.

Astheywere.

Gawayne, master of theHigh King’s city of VentaBelgarum and the eldest sonofKingLot,wassentwordofArtorex’s departure by ahorsemanwhonearkilledhisbeast in his frantic haste todeliver his message. Morganleftnothingtochance.

Caughtupinafamilycurse

that he had never exactlyunderstood,Gawaynereactedlikeawell-trainedhound.Hiswarriorswere soon searchingfor Artorex and his threeattendants.

Unlike Artorex andMyrddion, Gawayne paidscant attention to the healthand welfare of the horsesused by his warriors. Heappreciatedtheurgencyofhismissionandspurredhistroop

ontogreaterefforts.

GawayneguessedthatCoalwould be the weakness inArtorex’s efforts to avoiddetection. The stallion was ashowyanimalandleftacleartrail of villager attention, soGawaynesimplyfollowedthehorse’sspoorthroughvillagesalong a route that eventuallypointeddirectly to theIsleofApplesandGlastonbury.

Artorex’s party arrived at

the monastery a mere houraheadofGawayne.

‘Hail, Artorex!’ Luciusgreeted the Dux Bellorumand his companions with hisusual courtesy and calmcountenance. ‘You havegrown tall - you resembleyourfather.’

The Dux Bellorumrepressedashudderofdisgustat thecomparison. ‘Sparemesuch a fate, good Lucius.

Wereitnotfortheperiltothewest,IwouldneverseekanyobjectthatcamefromUther’staintedlegacy.’

Lucius pressed the youngmanon theshoulderwithhisgnarledoldhands.

‘Your face and your hairare his, Artorex, as is yourstature.Butyoursoul isyourown,tomouldasyouchoose.Theswordyouseekisonlyaweapon and you have the

power to shape it, and touseit, as you choose. A crown?Whatisacrownbutpreciousmetal and gems? Whoremembers that the evilVortigern wore it in daysgone by, and that hewelcomed the first Saxonswhoarrivedonour shoresashis friends? Youmay followyour own destiny but youmustdisplay thecourageandthe strength to mould it asyourheartdictates.’

‘Are you now prepared tohelp us, Lucius?’ Myrddiondemanded. ‘For otherclaimants pursue our littleband.’

‘I will tell Artorex what Iwill tell all other claimants.God, and God alone, willdetermine who is to becometheHighKingoftheBritons.However,Iampleasedtosaythat you are the first to seektherelics.’

Lucius smiled kindly andproceeded to describe thehiding places of sword andcrowninratherbadverse.

I am sheathed in stone, butmybladeiseverstout.

Nohandbutarightfulking’swilldrawmeout.

Air and darkness are myhiddenshroud.

Lookformewherethespirestouchthedreamingcloud.

‘There. I have now revealedtherestingplaceoftheswordto you.’ Lucius seemedpleased at his obscuredoggerel.

‘My thanks, Lucius,’Myrddion responded withthinlyveiledsarcasm.‘Couldyoupleaserepeat therhyme?Your skills as a priest farsurpass those you have justdisplayedasapoet.’

Lucius shrugged amicably.

Smiling, he repeated therhyme once more, whileMyrddioncommittedittohisformidablememory.

‘And the crown?’ Lukaasked.

Uther’s crown is what itseems.

It does not hide its goldengleams.

SeekwhereUthermadeitso,

For its hiding place a kingwillknow.

‘Ugh!’ Luka growled. ‘Thatrhymeisevenworsethanthefirst. It says nothing! Howcan we find something thathas been so successfullyhidden for so long when theclues you give arelaughable?’

‘Do you say that I am acheat?’ Lucius eyed Lukadirectly, his Roman gaze

stern and unamused. Thesuddenchill in theoldman’svoice, coupled with hisauthoritativeair, ensured thatLuka’s eyeswere the first tofall.

‘No, Idon’t think thatyoucheat, my lord,’ Lukamuttered softly. ‘But youcouldgiveus just ahintof achance.’

‘And then Iwouldneed toreward those warriors who

are galloping towards us,even as we speak, with thesame clues.’ Lucius pointedtowards a flicker of lightreflecting from shields andbody armour as theapproaching warriors movedoutof theeasternwoods intothesunlight.

‘We’d best be at it then,Myrddion,’ Artorex decided.‘At leastLot’sboy is a clothwit - and we should be

gratefulthathe’stheonewholeadsourpursuers.’

Myrddion found a straypieceofrawchalkinhistunicpocket and scrawled thedoggerel on the wall of aroughwoodenstable.

All four men stood backand stared fixedly at thewords, as if they could beforcedtogiveuptheirsecretsbydeterminationalone.

‘The sword is sheathed instone,’ Myrddion murmured.‘And the use of the wordspires suggests that it couldbeinthechapel.’

HeturnedtoLuka.

‘You’d best check thechurch tower - and do itbefore Gawayne is closeenough to see what you’redoing,’heordered.

‘Don’t forget that the

sword has no hilt or guard,’Gruffydd remindedMyrddion. ‘Sowe’re lookingfor a small piece of metaltang.’

Luka trotted off asMyrddion nodded his thankstoGruffydd.

‘Asforthecrown,Icannotmake head nor tail of thepriest’s meaning,’ Myrddionmuttered,pacingnervouslyasheconsideredtheproblem.

‘It’s hidden where it can’tbeseen,yetit’sinplainview.Lucius hasn’t suggested thatit might be buried so thatrulesoutahidingplaceinsidethe walls,’ Gruffydd offered,thumping the sod walls withhisfist.

‘And the floors must alsobeexcluded.That’llsaveusagood deal of search time,’Artorex exclaimed. ‘The keyline is where Uther made it

so. What did Uther do toaffect the crown? As far asI’m concerned, he made thecrown a symbol of murder.Hestaineditwithblood.’

‘Of course! The BleedingPool of Glastonbury,’Myrddion muttered. Artorexlookedathim,theexcitementof the hunt obvious in theeyesofhisoldfriend.

‘The Bleeding Pool?’Artorex asked, andbothmen

ran to find it. Gruffyddbroughtuptherear.

Neither Artorex norMyrddion knew exactlywhere they were going, butthe ever-practical Gruffyddsimply asked one of thepriestsfordirections.

Behind them, Lucius wasalready bidding a courteouswelcometoGawayneandhisexhaustedescort.

The Bleeding Pool was anatural undergroundreservoir, a result of themarshes and limestoneformations that surroundedthiscupofearth,crossedandrecrossedasitwasbyditchesandstreamsinthemysteriousways of nature. OnceMyrddion, Artorex andGruffydd had negotiated theset of roughly-cut stepsleadingdown intoa seriesoftunnels, they were plunged

intodarkness.

In the entrance, Gruffydddiscovered a torch that wasalready soaked in pitchwaiting on one wall. Heimmediately struck fire fromhis flint box and the cavernerupted into a ruddy sea oflight.

The pool was small andstill, except where thestalactites hanging from theroofabovedrippedgore-hued

droplets into the watersbelow. Ripples shivered thesurface,disguisingthedepth.

The Bleeding Pool waswell named, for the watersgleamed with a viscous huethat was reminiscent of old,thickblood.

Artorex was essentially aman of action. Oncecommittedtoatask,hesethissightsfirmlyonhisgoal.

Fearlessly, he waded outintotheshallows.

Oddly, he initiallyexpectedthatthewaterwouldhave the consistency andwarmth of blood. But it wasicycoldand,whenhecuppedit in his hands, he found itwasclearandclean.

Artorex was fascinated bythisopticalillusionfor,inthelightof the flaming torch, hecould swear that he was

bathingingore.

‘Take your time,Artorex,’Myrddionadvised.‘Youmuststart at the edge and feel forthe crown with your handsandfeetasyougo.’

‘Shouldn’t we help him?’Gruffyddaskedhismaster.

‘Artorexmust findUther’srelics forhimself.That is thetask that has been set byLucius,andwemustabideby

it. In that way he will neverneed to speak false to anywarrior, villager or noble.Youareourwitness,forthesearegreateventsthattranspirearoundus.’

Gruffyddpaled.

Meanwhile, Artorex waspatiently sifting his waythrough the impenetrablewaters. The naturalamphitheatre was silent,except for the murmur of

waterfromtheroof.Thecoldwas beginning to numb hisfingers when Artorexsuddenly felt an underwaterobstructionwithonefoot.

Despitehisnaturalloathingfor the waters in which henow waded, Artorex wasexcitedbytheboyishhuntforhidden treasure. Henegotiated his way blindlyover the smooth stones untilhisfingerseventuallyfounda

hardobjectwrappedincoarsefabric.

Exultantly, he heaved itsunexpected weight to thesurface.

As he waded out of thepool, Artorex ripped thesodden, stained homespunwool away from theconcealed circlet. For amoment, themassivebandofredgoldseemedapartoftheBleeding Pool itself,

especially as huge garnetswere set at regular intervalsaround the rim of theembossed gold. The stoneswinked at him like the littleredeyesofadragonlet.

‘Guard this trinket forme,Myrddion, forour task isbuthalffinished.’

Myrddion slung the heavycrown over one arm at theelbow, covered it with hiscloakandgavehisotherhand

toArtorex,helpinghimoutofthechillwaters.

‘I can hear raised voices,’Myrddion announcedcheerfully. ‘One of thembelongs to Luka, ourargumentativefriend.Perhapswe should rescue him fromGawayne’s temper, which isnonetoostableatbest.’

Neither Artorex, nor eventhesharp-earedGruffyddhadheardasound.

By the time they climbedback to the surface andreached the light, Luka wasvisible in the distance as heattempted to bar Gawayne’sentrance into the small stonechapel.Theyoungermanwasalready flushed with angerand,rememberingGawayne’smaddened rages, Artorexroared out to Luka to allowthe troop from VentaBelgarumtopassunhindered.

Luka smiled at Gawaynewith deceptive sweetness,stepped aside and whisperedsoftly, ‘Later, my youngprinceling.We - you and I -will speak again when thisbusinessisfinished.’

Thenhejoinedhisfriends.

‘Whatofthechurchspire?’Artorexaskedquickly.

‘If Lucius hid it in thechurch, it’s too well

concealed for my eyes.Besides, there’snospire,andI’ve got an ache inmy neckfrom staring at all theceilings. Most are made ofwood, anyway.’ Luka was alittle out of breath. ‘I thinkI’mgrowingold.’

‘Then hold what breathyou can, and don’t babble,’Myrddion replied drily. ‘Theonly other stone building isonthetor.’

‘Oh, shite! And it’s uphillalltheway.’

Artorex and hiscompanions had a head starton Gawayne, who wassomewherewithinthechapel,butthetorwasdistantanditskeep was at the very top oftheconicalhill.

‘Do we ride?’ Gruffyddasked pragmatically. ‘Or dowerun?’

‘Werun,’Artorexordered.‘Bythetimewereturnforthehorses, Gawayne will havediscovered that the swordmust be on the tor. He maybeatustothekeepanyway.’

Artorex’s assessment wascorrect. The four men hadonlyclimbedhalfthedistancetothesummitofthetorwhena commotion broke outbehind them. Gruffyddsnatched a quick glance to

their rear as his companionstoiledonwards.HenotedthatGawayne and three of hiswarriorshadjostledtheirwayout of the stone chapel andwere now mounting theirhorses.With the best will inthe world, the companionscouldn’t outrun Gawayne intheracetoreachthetower.

Artorex and Myrddion,breathing heavily from theirexertions,were struggling up

the last few yards of the hillwhen Gawayne swept pastthemwithawhoopofboyishglee.

It’s all a game to him,Myrddion thought as hisbooted foot struggled to findpurchase on the steep grassyslope.‘Soweshallbebeaten-rightattheend.’

Gawaynedismountedfromhis horse and entered thetower at a run, while his

warriors drew their swordsand blocked the narrowentrance.

Their orders had beengiven, and their faces weresetandgrim.

Breathing heavily, Artorexreached the summit withMyrddion only a few stepsbehind.

The tower was a simplefinger of cyclopean stones,

set without mortar, in thevery centre of a perfectlyconical hill. Looking downthe smooth slopes,Myrddiondoubted that nature had castup the regular shape of theembankments.

The maiden, he thoughtirrelevantly.Westandonherbreast and the tower is hernipple.

A church may have stoodbelow the tor, with all the

trappings of Christianity thatsurrounded it, but somethingolder waited here - andMyrddion embraced itspatientsilence.

The game was now in thelap of the gods, but Artorexdid not intend to appearfoolish in front of merecavalry soldiers. He stoodbefore the entrance, fightingto regain his breath, until hiscompanions finally joined

him.

‘Step aside!’ Artorexordered the three warriors ashe stood before them. ‘I amthe son of Uther Pendragon,and I am the Dux Bellorum.Asyoursupremecommander,I give you a direct order onpain of death if you don’tobeyme. Your naked bladesinsultthesanctityofthisholyplace.’

‘You’re too late, Lord

Artorex.Ourmasterwillhavetheswordbynow,’oneburlyCeltgloated.

‘Earlyor late, I’veorderedyou to step aside.’ Artorex’svoice was calm, untroubledandimplacable.Hisgreyeyeswereutterlyflat.

Luka moved his sword initssheathwithanaudiblehissof metal, for he knew thatArtorex’s features had setinto a deadly warning of

impendingforce.

Gawayne’s bodyguardshiftednervously.

Then, as if his path wasunobstructed, Artorex strodedirectly towards the lowentrance to the keep of thetor.

As one, thewarriors stoodaside.

‘You! Gruffydd! You aremywitness.Come!’

Why me? Gruffyddthought to himself, as hefollowed Artorex into thehalf-light of the tall stonefingerofthekeep.

Thenhelookedupwards.

‘Yegods!Thosestairs!I’llnevermakeitupthere!’

ButArtorexwas boundingup the makeshift woodensteps with a boy’senthusiasm.Gruffydd had no

choicebut to followhis lord,although his lungs were onfireandhiscalfmuscleswerealreadyjellywithinhisskin.

Up and up they rose,higher and higher, andGruffydd feared to lookdown; no rail would protecthim from a plunge to thestone floor that lay in wait,farbelow,ifheshouldfall.

Artorex was lookingdeterminedly upwards as he

ran,forhecouldhearcriesoffrustration and the muffledsound of Gawayne’s crudeand imaginative swearing atthetopofthestairway.

Artorex and Gruffyddemerged through a large,open hole in the flooring atthe top of the steps. Theyfoundthemselvesinacircularspace with a high, crudelyconstructedroof.

Gawayne looked over his

shoulder at the two men astheyclamberedintotheturret.His face was a study ofmingledrageandchagrin.

Then, before they couldjoin him inside the tower, hemade onemore leap towardsthecurvingwall.

A tongue of metalprotruded from the stoneblocksofthetower.

Itwasthetangofahilt-less

sword.

Gawaynewasastrongandwell-built young man.Ygerne, Uther’s queen, washis grandmother and the fairMorgause was his mother.Hisfather,KingLot,nowruntofatwithadvancingage,hadbeen a large and burly man,but neither Gawayne nor hisfather stood near to six feettall.

The tang was at least one

foot beyond the reach ofGawayne.

Gruffydd understood whyGawayne was so red-facedand angry. To leap as thisyoung man had done, whilestretching his fingers to theirmaximum reach, riskedplunging to certain deaththrough the hole in thewoodenfloor.

But Gawayne could notreach the tang that was so

tantalizingly close. He couldalmost touchtheblade,but itremained just beyond hisreach. And there was noobjectinthetowerthatcouldhelphimtoovercomehislackofheight.

During his short life,Gawayne had heard tales ofthe murder of Gorlois. HisAunt Morgan had told him,again and again, of theunfairness of all that had

befallen the family and thatthe crown truly belonged tothe descendants of the BoarofCornwall.Theyoungmanfirmly believed that thefindingofUther’sswordwasablooddebtthatwasowedtohiskin.

But it remained a fewinches beyond the reach ofhisquestingfingers.

‘Step aside!’ Artorexorderedimperiously.

Gruffydd considered,irrelevantly, how Artorexcould so easily have earnedGawayne’s life-long enmityhadheaddedthewords‘littleman’tohiscommand.

He recalled the welcomegiventoArtorexbyLucius.

‘Youhavegrown tall,’ thepriesthadstatedunsmilingly.

Gruffydd found himselfgrinning at the old man’s

ingenuity. This priest wasRomanthroughandthrough-their race had not ruled theworld because they werefools.

Unlike Gawayne, Artorexhadnotbeenraisedasthesonof a tribal king. Nor didArtorex accept the stricturesoftheRomanwayoflife.Forhim, there was no glory inraisinghis righthand,almosthesitantly, and gripping the

tang with his strong, work-hardenedfingers.

‘Thisburdenisnotforyou,Gawayne,’ he told the angryyouthgently.‘Truly,Iwishitwere yours to take - but it isnot.’

And then Artorex pulleddown with all his strength,feeling the unmortared steelslide out of its stone sheathwiththelonghissofanangrydragonlet.

He held its chill length inboth hands before him andgazed at his fate withregretfuleyes.

Gruffydd knelt on thedustyfloor.

‘My king!’ he statedreverently.

His thoughts were of theclever Lucius, a priest whohadgambled thedestinyofakingdomonamanhehadnot

seen since he was a three-day-oldbabe.Thebishophadwagered everything on thechance that the son wouldinherit the stature of hisfather.

Gawaynealsoknelton theaccumulated dirt of the floorinfullobeisancetoArtorex.

‘Myliege,’hewhispered.

But the young man’s facewas twisted with the bitter

tasteofhisfailure.

Gripping the blade in hisleft hand, Artorex extendedhis right hand to assistGawaynetohisfeet.

‘You will never have tokneel to me, cousin. Iunderstandonlytoowellhowdeep is your family’s hatredofmyfatherand,perhaps,ofme. I would feel the sameragewereIinyourshoes,forUther used every means

imaginable to take what hedesired, without remorse orconscience. If you believenothingelseofme,youmustacceptthatIhatedhimjustasdeeply as you or yours evercould.’

Gawayne lookedsuspiciously into Artorex’sunshuttered eyes as hestumbledtohisfeet.Thegreyiriseswerenolongerflatandunreadable. Some trace of

Morgan’sgifts toldGawaynethat this man really did notwantthekingship,butthathewasharriedbythedemonsofhis blood towards a fate thatwould be neither fair norkind.

Gawayne shuddered. ‘Ibelieve you, my king, and Ipledge to you that I will beyour man from this momenton.Iamyourstocommand.’

‘Thenmyfirstcommandto

you is to remember, in thosetimes when you are happiestwith your friends and yourfamily, that this burden willprobably make me theloneliest man in the west.’Artorex looked at the swordonce more as if the weaponwas a living, venomousserpent. ‘Come, nephew, wehaveworktocommence.’

Turning to Myrddion’sspy, Artorex smiled

conspiratorially.

‘And you also, Gruffydd.For you are now my swordbearer.’

Withacasualdisregardforthe destiny he held in hishands, Artorex tossed theswordofBritaintoGruffydd,whobarelycaughtitbeforeitcould tumble down thestairwell.

CHAPTERXXI

THEKEYSTOTHEKINGDOM

BythetimeArtorex’sbandofmen left Glastonbury, theDux Bellorum wasthoroughly irked by theunsought honours he was

forced to accept. Myrddion,Luka and Lucius treated himastheyalwayshad,buteverypriest,monkandvillager,notto mention Gawayne’sbodyguard, bowed so lowwhenever he approachedthem that he rarely had theopportunity to gaze upontheir faces. Even before heleft that hallowed place,Artorex was feeling solitaryanduncomfortable.

He refused to partake in acelebratory banquet,preferringasimplemealwithhis fellows of bread, cheese,finehamandfruit.Nordidhewantthepotentcidermadebythe monks in this sacredenclave. Rather, he preferredthe exceptional water ofGlastonbury, filtered in theearth through the ages untilitspuritywaslikebalmtohisangry,torturedsoul.Hehadadislike for the crown, and

Lucius’s assurances that ithad been cleansed by thewaters of the pool didn’tappeasehim.

Asusual, itwasMyrddionwho found a way to resolveArtorex’sstubbornness.

‘Do you have among yourholy men a worker who isskilled in shaping preciousmetals?’heaskedLucius.

‘Aye. The man who

reforged the sword is a Jewwho is knowledgeable inthosearts.’

The men at Lucius’s tablewere shocked for, while thewhole world knew that theJewswere the acknowledgedmasters of working withprecious metals and gems, aHebrew at a monastery suchas Glastonbury wastantamount to a Roman kingoftheSaxons.

‘His Jewish name wasSimeon, but we atGlastonbury have alwayscalled him Simon. He is aChristian now and has cometo this land expressly tofollow in the footstepsofhisLord.’

He looked around theassembledgroup.

‘I see by your faces thatyou consider his raceaccursed, but the Lord Jesus

wasalsoaJew,sohowcouldI bar Simon from themonastic life he craved?Simonisskilledintheuseofherbsandsimples,andhecancure many ailments thatwould normally cause death.Most importantly for yourpurposes, he is also highlyskilled in working withprecious metals. For manyyears, Simon would not usehis God-given skills, butpreferred to toil in the fields

and the orchards, as if onlyhard, physical labour wouldexpiate some sin in his past.Heisnowourblacksmith,buthisfingershavenot lost theircunning. I expect that Simonwould make the hilt ofArtorex’ssword,ifIaskitofhim.’

All the Celts lookeddoubtful. The Jews were ahated race, although thereason for this loathing was

lost in the mists of time.Simplyput,Jewswerenot tobetrusted,becausethewholeworld knew they devouredinfantchildren.

Perhaps we always needsomeone tobear thebruntofour own shame and anger,Gruffydd thought withsuddeninsight.

‘Then you shall use theearrings, the gold and thejewels in theboxIgaveyou,

for theywerepart ofUther’smost treasured possessions,’Myrddionsuggested.

Artorex slammed hissimplewooden cup down onthetable.

‘I’ll not take anything elsefrom that bastard,’ heshouted.

‘But, Artorex, my friend,they weren’t his gems,’Myrddionreplied.‘AsfarasI

can ascertain, the pearwoodbox contains trophies takenfrommanyofhisvictims.Hisservants told me how theysaw Uther toying with thesegems from time to time, andhowhegloatedoverthesoulsof those who had stoodagainst him and were,ultimately, defeated. Thebaublesweren’thistokeep.’

‘Then it is possible thatthese jewels are now the

propertyofMorgan.’Artorexwas adamant, but Myrddionknew he had the better handinthisparticulargame.

‘The earrings belonged toyour mother, part of herdowry,according toLucius’srecollections. Shewore themon the night Uther first sawherface.’

‘She wore them again onthe night youwere born,myking,’ Lucius added. ‘How

she suffered! Trickery hadbrought Uther to her bed,she’d seen her husband’shead set on a spear point,she’d been raped by herhusband’smurderer and nowshe was bearing her ill-conceivedchild.Shecouldsoeasily have rejected you.Many women would havewantedtohaveyoukilledandseen to it long before theycametochildbed.ButYgernecarried you to full term, and

sheplaced thosegems inherears when she felt the firstbirth pangs in the palace ofVentaBelgarum.’

Artorex almost gagged, sodeep was his disgust forUtherPendragon.

Lucius gazed deeply intothe eyes of the new king.‘Ygerne chose to cleansethose defiled baubles withnew life. She knew whatUtherwoulddo to her in the

yearsahead, thedailyviolentrapes while he was stillpotent, and the manyindignities that she wouldendure to keep her daughtersalive.Perhaps shehoped thatyouwouldavengeGorlois,ornullify the death andsuffering that had laid wasteto her life. I could not knowher mind, but her purposewaspure,forYgerneisafrailandbeautifulsoul.’

Artorex was spellbound,for thiswas the first time hehadbeenmadefullyawareofthe suffering experienced byhismother.

‘I was present at thebirthing, Artorex. I had beensummonedtoassisttheking’sconfessor, Branicus, whofearedUther above all livingcreatures. When you wereborn, poor Ygerne cried outforherbabyandshemanaged

tosuckleyoubutonce,beforeUther ordered the bishop totake you away and exposeyoutothewindandthesnow.Icanassureyouthatsheweptmost bitterly for her deadson.’

Luciuspaused.

‘But Branicus was a truemanofGod.Hecouldn’tcasta healthy child upon thesnowdriftsandlivetosingtheMassor shriveother souls in

the confessional. Howevermuch he desired to convinceUther Pendragon to embraceMotherChurch,hecouldnot,atthelast,damnhisownsoulforwhatheearnestlybelievedwouldbringthegreatergood.Heentrustedyourlifetome-andtherestyouknow.’

‘Uther’s hand took theearrings from Ygerne’s ears,for all that she begged to beallowed to keep them,’

Myrddion continued the talegravely. ‘Hewould not evenallow her the solace ofmemories. The midwife toldme so. She had no reason tolie - for Uther had hermurderedwithin theweek tostill her tongue. I think hismadnessbeganwhenhestoletheinnocenceofYgerneoverher husband’s mutilatedcorpse. I often saw him toywith those jewels and gloatoverthem,althoughIdidnot

understand the evidence ofmy eyes at that time. Heowned far more preciousgems, including manybaubles that vanished afterhis death, but not evenMorgan dared to gaze uponthe objects of Uther’smadness.’

‘It is a veritable Pandora’sBox,’ Lucius added to theblank incomprehension ofmostofthemenintheroom.

‘Asyou say,Lucius, it’s aPandora’s Box,’ Myrddionsaid sadly. ‘But instead ofunleashing the ills ofhumanityon theworld, theseobjects are symbols ofdefiance, loveandtherefusalto accept tyranny, even ifdenialmeansdeath.’

Myrddion examined hishandsasifhesaw,andsmelt,traces of blood still uponthem.

‘Do not reproach yourself,Myrddion,’ Lucius advisedsoftly, with infinitecompassion. ‘You kept thedragon in check as well asany mortal could, and youdiverted his worst excessesinto useful pathways. Yourcunning held the west safeagainst theSaxons and,mostof all, you and your friendswroughtArtorexintothemanhe has become. I am humanenough, and sufficiently

Roman, to hope that Utherrages at you still fromHades.’

‘Very well,’ Artorex said.‘I accept that my mother’searrings will shrive the evilfromthecrown.’

‘And the sword?’Myrddion asked. ‘The chainofpowerusedbyGorlois,therings,andthebandsandtorcsof all those nameless menwho lost their lives in

defiance of Uther shouldmake a hilt for your swordthat can cleanse andrejuvenatetheweapon.Inthatway, your hands will alwaystouchcleanmetal.’

‘Yes, the sword as well,’Artorex replied. ‘You win,oldman.’Histemperwasstilluncertain, but he was now alittle mollified. ‘If I’m toaccept your advice, I’llrequire that the hilt should

mirror the pattern of mydragon knife.’ He pulled theweaponfromitsscabbardandplacing it reverently on thescarredwoodentable.

‘Forgive me, FatherLucius, for baring this bladeat holy Glastonbury,’ headdedapologetically.

The bishop smiled hispermissionand turned tooneofhismonks.

‘Boniface, my friend,please ask Brother Simon tojoin us. And I would begratefulifyoucouldbringmethepearwoodboxthatliesonthe chest in my cell. Thankyou, my friend, for sparingthebonesofanoldman.’

Artorex marvelled at thegrace of the orders given byLucius, and how tasks wereturned into pleasures underhissmilinggaze.

ThismanwouldhavebeenabetterkingthanUther.Andhe would be better suited tothetaskthanIcanbe,byfar,Artorexthoughtregretfully.

‘Myfriend,IserveMotherChurch, so earthly power isnotforme,’Luciussaidas ifhe had entered the secretcompartments of Artorex’smind. ‘When I was younger,and learned the cost of ourlossesonthebattlefield,Iwas

driveninsane.Icametolearnthat it isonlymenwithgreatstrength and moral couragewho can ensure that powerdoesnotcorrupt.Yourpathismoredifficultthanmine,forIamnotforcedtotestmysoulwith temptation, day afterday, for the remainderofmylife.’

PerhapsGodhasgiventhispriest the ability to read mythoughts,Artorexpondered.I

would not be surprised, forhis sanctity is certainlybeyonddoubt.

Gruffydd had followed theconversation concerningUther’s relics with interest.He was surprised at theamount of wickedness thatthe great ones indulged in,and was even more amazedthat the common folk neverrealized that their lords andmasters manipulated them.

When the crowds cried theiracclaim for Uther, they hadknown that he had beenresponsible for themurderofthe Boar of Cornwall, butthey also wanted to believetheromanticnonsensetoldbythe storytellers of Uther’sgreat passion and how LordMyrddion had usedmagic todeliverYgerne into theHighKing’sbed.

The people will believe

anything,Gruffyddmarvelledto himself. Still, I’minterested to see what a Jewlookslike.

Gruffydd was soon todiscover, with somedisappointment, that therewere onlyminute differencesbetweenJewsandRomans.

He looks quite ordinary,really, Gruffydd decided asSimon entered, his handstucked into his homespun

sleeves.

Simeon, or Simon, asLucius called him, was ablue-jawed, black-eyed manwhose face was ruddy fromworking at the forge. Hishands, while heavilycalloused,wereverydelicate.Mostly clean-shaven, unlikemany of his race, Simon’smouth was full and red, andhisnosewaslongandnarrowacrossthenostrils.

Lucius smiled a greetingtowardstheJew.

‘Our guest, Lord Artorex,is soon to become the HighKing of the Britons. He haspaid us the honour ofrequestingaboon fromyou,’Luciussaid.

‘I’ll do anything you ask,Father,’ was the quiet,unemotionalreply.

‘The sword that you

reforged for me needs a hiltthatmustbemadeasamatchto this dagger, so theybecome paired pieces, if youlike. Can you complete thistask,BrotherSimon?’

Brother Simon picked upthe dragon dagger with anodd reverence. ‘This isbeautifulwork, for all that itis wrought in iron. The manwho forged this hilt was amaster craftsman.’ Simon’s

hands ran over the curiouslyshaped hilt and hand guardwithobviouspleasure.

‘The maker was a villagesmith from the fringes ofAquae Sulis,’ Artorexresponded with the naturalpride of ownership. ‘He felthe owed me a debt, andrepaidmewiththisdagger.’

‘Yes, I can make such ahilt. But the sword of a kingneedsembellishment,asdoes

this beautiful knife,’ Simonstated. ‘I can feel theman inthis weapon, for he is anartist, one who understandsthefireinthemetal.’

‘We have “theembellishment”, as you callit,’Myrddionresponded.

At that point, BrotherBoniface returned with thepearwood box balanceddelicatelyonhis openhands.At the direction of Lucius,

Brother Simon opened thebox and inhaled a smallbreath of appreciation whenhe saw the contents. Itemafter item was placed on therough planks of the table, asthe Jew gave a runningcommentaryonthequalityofeachornament.

‘These earrings are veryfine - and weren’t made inthese isles. One of my racemadethesedelicatelinks,and

cut thesegarnetssothat theirdark beauty is softened.These rings are only largegems in raw gold,’ hecontinued. ‘They arepowerful, but were wroughtwithout any real skill. Theywere made in the far north.As for this chain and thosetorcs, they are old, very old,thelittlehoneypeopleshapedthem once, but they havebeen remade, and theperfection of the metal cries

out foranoblepurpose.Yes,they couldmake awondroushilt for the sword - and alsoembellish the hilt of thedagger.’

The men around the tablenoddedinsatisfaction.

‘But lords, gold is soft,especiallygoldaspureasthemetal in these objects. Why,thisgoldisalmostred!Ahiltand a guard of such a metalwould be beautiful, but it

would also be dangerous tothe bearer of the sword. Thefirststrongblowwouldcarvethrough the hilt like butter.’He gazed into the eyes ofArtorex.‘Lord,doyouintendto actually use this sword inbattle?’

‘Aye. The sword is asymbol of leadership, so I’llneed it in battle as a rallyingpoint for my warriors,’Artorexreplied.

‘ThenpermitmetosuggestthatImakethehiltandguardout of tempered iron that isforged to a metal that is asstrong as I can devise. I’dthen coat the entire surfacewith this buttery gold. Thesmalldetailofthedesignscanbeofpuremetal,butI’dfeelIbetrayedyou if Imade a hiltthat could cause your death.I’ve enough stones here, andenough gold, to cover yourdagger many times over, so

the pair should become aperfect match.’ He smiled atArtorex. ‘I’d prefer not tocompromisesofairaweaponwith any work that isunworthy of the man whooriginallyforgedthisdagger.’

‘Verywisewords,BrotherSimon,’ Artorex saidgratefully. ‘If Lucius agrees,I’daskyoutotakemydragonbladeandtheswordofUtherandmakethemintomatching

weapons.Makethemfairandglowing, but make themstrong.Shape themto inspireawe and fear in the enemy,for I’ll have need of everyadvantageIcanfind.’

Brother Simon boweddeeply toArtorex andwouldhavetakenupbothbladesandthe contents of the box hadArtorex not plucked the red-gold crown out of his travelbag and dumped it

unceremoniously on the topofthetable.

‘There’sonefurthermatterI’d like to discuss with you,Brother Simon. I don’t likethe crown used by UtherPendragon. It representsmany vices that I abhor,including all those faults inUther’s character that Idislike. The crownmust alsobe reforged in a suitabledesign of your choosing so

that itwillbe fair to theeye.And, once the task iscomplete, I’d ask FatherLuciustogivehisblessingtothisnewsymboloftheBritishrealm.Canyoucarryoutthistask in addition to the swordandthedagger?’

‘Yes,my lord, I can do it.And itwouldbemypleasuretodoso,’Simonrepliedwitha smile of gratitude for thehonourhehadbeenoffered.

‘The earrings in the boxbelonged to my mother, soI’dbepleasediftheyweretobecome a part of the newcrown.Canthisbedone?’

‘Yes, my lord. It can bedone.’

‘Finally, it ismywish thatthe pearl on the pearwoodbox should be made into aringforthethumbofmyrighthand.’

‘That’snotadifficult task,my lord. It will be done.’Brother Simon glanced upunder his brows at Artorexand then down at the crown.‘Lord, you see thesechallengesthroughcleareyes.This crown is ugly, for it isheavy, cumbersome andostentatious in its presentform. I will make theseobjects,whichwill be fit foryoualone, so thatmanymenwill say, I saw Artorex the

Fair,andIwasdazzledbythecrown in his hair!’ ThenSimonblushed,forhewasn’taccustomed to displays ofpersonalvanity.

‘They must be collectedoneweek before the summersolsticewhen thecoronationswill take place at VentaBelgarum,’ Myrddion said.‘Soon, all the world willknow that Artorex is to becrowned there as the moon

waxesandwanes.Failusnot,Brother Simon, for you havebut threemonths tocompleteyour task.’ Myrddion’s facewas grave, but Gruffyddcouldtell thathismasterwasgreatly amused at thehandling of these delicatematters.

Luka broke throughMyrddion’s self-satisfiedcontemplationwithaquestionthat Gruffydd had also been

longingtoask.

‘Why the pearl ring,Artorex? There are stones inthe box that are morevaluablebyfar.’

Artorex grinned, andLukacould not tell if pleasure orpain was the source of hissmile.

‘Iwilluseitasareminder,friendLuka. Iwill onlyneedto run my fingers over the

pearl, as Uther often did, toremember what manner ofmanhewas.’

Luka was struck dumb byArtorex’sreply.

When Brother Simon hadleft the simple room,clutching thebox,crownandweapons awkwardly to hischest, Lucius stared intentlyatArtorexand thenslippedaplain gold ring, much worn,offhisthumb.

‘I ask that you accept thegift of this ring that hasalways been part of mysecular house, Artorex. I amthe only member of myfamilywhoisstillaliveanditwouldceasetobeofvaluetoany person, other thanyourself, once I’ve left thismortalworld.Ifyoulookatitcarefully, thecyphercan stillbe seen upon it, wherecountless paterfamilia of myhouse pressed it into heated

wax. See? The imprint is intheformofaclenchedfist.’

‘I can’t take your ring,Father Lucius,’ Artorexexclaimedwithhorror.

‘Ishouldhavecastitawayfortyyearsago,foritchainedmetomypastwhenGodwasmy only future. I’ve nochildren, and you are theclosesttokinIhavehadsinceyouwerecarriedout into thesnow to die. Then, when I

picked you up and youclutched at me with babyfists, I thought of the cipherand its meaning. This ringprompts fond memories forme and, if at some time youlookat itandrememberyourfriend, thenIwillbecontent.You, my lord, must clenchyourfistaroundthewestandnever letgountildeath takesyou.’

Artorexcouldn’trefuse.He

slipped theringon tohis leftthumbwhereitfittedsnugly.

‘Whileweareallinsuchagiving mood, I needs mustgive you a trifle aswell,myyoung friend,’ Luka said.Helaughed.‘Areyoufast,boy?’

‘Fast enough,’ Artorexreplied inmemoryof theoldgameplayedwithLlanwith.

‘Thencatchthis!’

Luka’s electrum torc,with

the serpent symbol embossedon it, spun across the tabletowardsArtorex’shead.

Artorex caught it in asimplereflexaction.

‘Please,’ Artorex begged.‘Ican’tacceptthis!Yourtorcis a proud possession of anoblefamily.’

The torc, of two serpentsdevouring each other, hadalways been round Luka’s

neck, and Artorex could notrememberatimewhenhehadnotwondered at the delicacyofsuchabeautifulobject.

‘I still have my torc ofkingship,which Imustbeginto wear more often.’ Lukasmiled at his young friend.‘One grows into the habit ofwearingit, it’srather liketheprocess of growing old. Myson will have another madefor him at the appropriate

timeanditwillbethetwinofthis one. So, before youprotest that this baublerightfullybelongstohim,it’sworthrememberingthatIseemore of you than I do ofhim.’

Once again, Artorex wasforced to gratefully accept amagnificentgift.

‘Now, I suppose you’regoing to giveme something,friend Myrddion. This High

King nonsense is altogethermore complex than I canstand.’

‘Never fear, Artorex.’Myrddionsmiledbackathim.‘I give you nothing to wear,or to protect you. But I willgive you a gift that willendure long after you havegonefromthisworld.’

He paused, having gainedtheattentionofallpresent.

‘As High King, you mustselect the standard by whichyour subjectswill knowyou,and by which you will beremembered, for good or forill.WhenUtherbecameHighKing, he adopted the dragonsymbol that was part of hisown name, but I would nothave you borrow anythingelseofhis.Ifyou’llgrantmea boon, my liege, I wish tosuggestyourfinalstandard.’

Artorex was acutelyembarrassed. He spied theglint of a tear in the eyes ofhis friend, and MyrddionMerlinus had never beenknowntoweep.

‘Afterthesummersolstice,I’llacceptanynameyoucareto choose forme.But if youchoose something toounwieldy, I’ll curse youthroughout our lands. Youmay have your boon, my

friend.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’Myrddion replied. ‘Formanyreasons, I ask that you becrowned as King Artor,renowned as the Great Bear,who is a noble and kinglybeast. It is a shortenedversion of your own namethatyoursubjectswillreadilyadopt.’

Artorexfelttearsprickleinhis tear ducts, but he held

thembackwith an effort.Heknew that Myrddion hadnever approved of his briefmarriage to the RomanGallia. He recalled how shehad called him Artor in thestill of the night when theylay entwined, and how shehad taught him to laugh andsee goodness even in sorrowand wickedness. While hehad never really consideredthe roots of the name, heknew that Myrddion was

payinghimagreathonourbythe comparison with ananimal that, while it wasknown for its ferocity, wasalsodevotedtofamilyandtotheprotectionofhome.

Myrddion was giving hima memory of Gallia to holdclosetohisheart.

‘Thank you, friendMyrddion.It isanoblename- and it is one with pure,goldenmemoriesforme.’

Hesmiledattheassembledgroupoffriends.

‘AtleastIshallnothavetolearntolistenforanamethatisnewtome.IhaveansweredtothenameofArtorexforaslongas I can remember, so Iampleased.’

Artorex returned to Venonaewhere he endured theobeisance of a joyous

Llanwith, and received thegift of a strange, gem-encrusted cloak pin from hisfriend, before resuming hisdefence of the mountainstronghold.

Word of Artorex’s newstaturespreadinexorablyoverthe land. On his return toVenta Belgarum, Gawaynetold of the wonders he hadseen, while Myrddion sentcouriers to all the great

personages in Celtic Britain,the kings of all the tribes ofthe west and north, all thebishops and chief Druids ofthe west, requesting theirattendance at the coronationof Artorex as High King atVenta Belgarum during thesummer solstice. There weremany aggrieved anddisappointed claimants to thethrone,andmanyminorkingsand dignitaries vowed theywouldnot attend,not even if

their tonguesweredrawnoutwith red-hot pincers. But allthe great ones of the westknew that the princelingswouldtaketheirplacesinthegreat church of VentaBelgarum-outofcuriosity,iffornootherreason.

Far away, in a silentnunnery in Cornwall, wordcame to Queen Ygerne thathersonwouldbecrownedasKingArtor,HighKingofthe

Britons,andshewepttearsofmingled bitterness and joy.For days, she knelt on thestones of her cold cell, untilher fellow nuns feared shewould die, so deep in prayerwas the once beautifulwoman.

Finally,bareoffootandinthewhiterobesofapenitent,she made arrangements withtheAbbess towalk themanymilestothecoronation.

In Venonae, Gruffydd’snew status was a wonder toall within Artorex’s circle ofcourtiers. Who was thisdishevelled red-headed man,seemingly more Saxon thanCelt, who stood behindArtorex’s chair at all times,along with the shadowyfiguresofTargoandOdin?

‘Really, I cannot help butfeel thatArtorexshouldhavechosen one of you to be his

sword bearer,’ Gruffyddapologized to thebodyguardslate one night over mugs ofale.

Targo answered for bothmen.

‘No. You’re wrong. Theboy is damned clever and hedoesn’tdoanythingwithoutagood reason. Either of uswould have accepted in asecond, but it wouldn’t beright and it would raise

objections that the boydoesn’tneed.’

‘I don’t understand,’Gruffyddreplied.

‘We aren’t Celt,’ Targoresponded. ‘I’m a bastardRoman, and the gods aloneknow what Odin is. No,Artorex couldn’t chooseeitherofus,evenifhewantedto. So sit back and enjoy thefun,Gruffydd.ForlifearoundArtorexisneverdull.’

‘Dull?’ Odin lookedpuzzled.‘Whatisthisdull?’

‘I’ll explain to you later,you dumb ox,’ Targo repliedin a familiar game that bothmenobviouslyenjoyed.

In the kitchens, Gruffyddwas greeted with hystericalcongratulations. Hissuccesses were shared, inpart, by every servant in thegarrison, for no one in thosenether regions of kitchen,

bakery and cider press hadever mixed with the greatones,leastofallstoodbehindtheHighKingattable.

Only Gallwyn wasunimpressedwithGruffydd’snewstatus.

‘Look at you, youheathen,’ she snapped. ‘TheLord Artorex will be fairembarrassed by a woolly-faced ruffian in a tunic thatlooks like it’s been dragged

throughathornbush.’

‘I’mfairlysureithasbeendragged through a thornbush,’ Gruffydd answeredseriously.

‘How will your wife andsons feel any pride in you ifyouarestandinginthechurchat Venta Belgarum lookinglike a scarecrow?’ shescolded. ‘In the absence ofyour good wife, I will betakingyouinhand.’Gallwyn

folded her arms over heramplebosom.

Gruffydd’s eyes openedwide, like thoseof anervoushorse. He had been marriedfor several years, and hisexperience told him that heonly understood women totheextent thathewascertainthat he didn’t understandthematall.

‘Thathairhas tobeforcedintosomesortoforder.Itwill

bewashed and plaited, hear?And if I’mnot satisfiedwiththe efforts you make, I’llwashyoumyself.’

Gallwyn had barelycommenced her list ofdemands.

‘And that beard must go.’Your master is clean-shavenso find a sharp knife andscrape off that puny excuseforabeard.’

Gruffydd growled audibly.‘Odinwearsabeard.’

‘Odinisasavage,andyouare a good Celt,’ sheresponded. ‘Don’t complain,my fine youngman.At leastyou don’t have to pluck outyour beard in the Romanfashion, as I’ve heard theLord Artorex does. But youhave to get rid of it for thecoronation.’

Gruffydd shuddered at the

grotesqueandpainfulthoughtof plucking out each andeveryhaironhischin.

‘You must ask the adviceof Lord Myrddion on thesematters, for he will decidewhat you should wear thatbefits your station as swordbearertotheHighKing.’

‘You’reworsethanmyoldmother, Gallwyn,’ Gruffyddcomplained with a ruefullaugh.

‘Good. And no doubt shewouldapproveofmycarping.You’re no longer a scurvyspywhosesolepurposeinlifeis to look and act like aSaxon, for now you serve atthe right hand of LordArtorex, High King of theBritons.’

At that point, a rosy,almost naked young babycooed and gurgled its wayinto their attention.Gruffydd

noted that, surprisingly, thebabe’s head was still quitebald, except for an almostinvisible fuzz of white-blondhair.

‘Nimue!’ Gruffyddcrooned, seeing the tattoouponherdimpledflesh.

‘Ga, ga, ga!’ the childresponded,herblueeyesalivewith intelligence andmerriment.

‘She is barely sevenmonths old,’ Gruffyddmarvelled. ‘My boys couldnotstanduntiltheywerenighon twelve months of age.Thisoneiscrawling-andshecanalmoststand.’

‘She is a wonder, is littleNimue,’Gallwynrepliedwithaloving,proudsmile.‘Sheisso quick to learn that youwouldn’tcreditit,andIdreadthe day she speaks her first

words.’

‘Why?’Gruffyddasked,intheage-oldignoranceofmen.

‘Because we’ll have nomore peace. I’ll wager thatshe’ll talk and talk until allthelegsfalloffthechairsandthetables.Asitis,wehadtoburn her little fingers on thefire because she thought theflames were very pretty.She’d have toddled straightintothehearth.’

Gruffyddshuddered.

‘Now you can see herwhenever you havecompleted your duties forLordArtorex.’ She smiled atherfriend,hercheeksflushedand ruddy in the firelight.‘You have been missedduring your absence,Gruffydd,’shesaidsimply.

‘To be honest, I didn’thave time to miss anyonewhen we were in

Glastonbury. You wouldn’tcredit what I have seen -pools that looked like blood,and swords in stones. Attimes, my head’s been fairaddled with what washappening.’

Gallwyn’s eyes gleamedwith interest and an unholypleasure.

After her kitchens, andNimue,gossipwasGallwyn’sthirdgreatlove.Shenowhad

the opportunity to score acoupover thehouse steward,who put on airs because hewas the bastard son of aRomanpriest.

She crossed herself forhaving thoughts of suchimpiety and vanity. But,inwardly, Gallwyn wasgloating.

‘Sit down, Gruffydd, overherebythehearthwhereyoucanbecomfortable.’Sheheld

out a chair and ushered herfriend into a central positionnear the kitchen fire. ‘Perce,gettheswordbeareracupofour best ale,’ she instructedher helper. ‘And you girlswillhavenoskinleftonyourbacks if you burn thatvenison.Youcan listen - butonlyifyoukeepworking.’

The kitchenmaids grinnedirreverently.

Gallwyn had a good heart

and never really beat herstaff. However, she kept along birch cane that seemedunable to miss the tenderpartsofalazygirl’srump,sothe staff continued to basteand stir, scrubandboil, theirearstwitchingforeverywordofGruffydd’sstory.

Turning her attention backtoGruffydd,Gallwynnoddedat her friend to indicate thathe could commence the tale

ofhistravels.

Of course, rumours ofArtorex’sexploitshadspreadthroughVenonaeandintothecountryside beyond. Evenunder the threat of a ‘Saxonsummer’, a term now givenforSaxon raids, the commonpeoplewereenthralledbythetale of a boy who had beenraised far way in theprovinces, where he wasprotected from the enmity of

hisownfather,andwhocameto achieve his birthrightthrough the possession ofUther’s magical sword.Within the next twomonths,Gruffyddheardthetaleofthesword repeated on manyoccasionsandwasamazedathow much the story wasembellished with eachrepetition.

The sword had been,variously, set into an ancient

stone by giants, welded intoananvilbymagic,orpartofthefoundationsofthetorleftbyJosephusofArimathea.Inseveral of the stories, thesword had never evenbelonged toUther, ashewasjudged by the gods to beunworthyofthethroneoftheHigh King. And so Uther’sderanged fears became thetruth at last. Without raisinghis hand in battle, his soneclipsed all of Uther’s hard-

wonvictories.

‘People are very strange,’Gruffydd remarked toMyrddion when he went tocollect three splendid sets oftunics and leggings, withcloaks, that had beendesignedbyArtorex’smentorfor the coronation.Chains ofsilversetwiththegoldenbearmotif had beenmade for themen to wear, while pinsbearing a similar but more

convoluted form of the beastwere fashioned to hold theircloakstotheirshoulders.

‘People believe what theywish to believe, includingwhat is convenient for themto understand,’ Myrddionexplained cynically. ‘Youshould know that I wasbelieved to have been siredby a demon, according togossip,andthatIamashape-changer who used magic to

build theGiant’s Carol.Yes,my friend,we live in strangetimes when people decidethat I am a sorcerer simplybecause I can understandmany concepts that otherscannot imagine.Unfortunately, people needsymbols to chase away theirfears.’

‘Personally, I’d prefer astrong sword, a stout shieldand a good battle plan, my

lord. These three gifts seemfar more useful to someonelike me than erecting largerocks into a magic circle.Besides,theGiant’sCarolhasbeenstandingoutthereontheplain for more than athousand years - and you’renotquitethatold.’

‘Themakingofalegendisa form of poetry, my friend,an art that is an extension ofpure gossip, especially when

stories are passed from onemouth into another’s ear. Ifwe could live on and onthrough the ages, I doubtwe’d recognize ourselves inthestoriesthatwillbewovenaroundus.’

‘Well, no one’s likely toremember me,’ Gruffyddgrinned.

‘Don’t be so sure, friendGruffydd. You’ve playedyour part in the making of

thisnewlegend.’

Gruffydd left the presenceof Myrddion Merlinus,wondering if the wisetacticianwasalittlemad.

Three weeks before thecoronationwas to takeplace,Artorex began to moveselected members of hishousehold to VentaBelgarum. The kitchen staff

and under-servants were notrequired, for Venonae couldnot be abandoned. Only anessential, fortunate fewcouldbe spared from the constantdanger that emanated fromtheeast.

Nor didArtorex choose tolead a large company ofwarriors, for those Celtictribes who had answered theDux Bellorum’s call to armscould not supply so many

battle-seasoned men thatArtorexcouldaffordtowastethemonuselessceremony.

In Artorex’s absence,trusted captains would holdthe line, under the strongcommand of Pinhead, orPelles,ashenowchosetobecalled. The new commanderwas the last survivingmember of Targo’s scumwho’d been present at thebattle at Anderida two years

earlier. Since that gloriousday, all but Pelles hadperishedinbattlesagainstthebarbarian hordes. Such werehis survival skills that he’dearned his promotion oninnumerable occasions, andArtorextrustedhimtodefendVenonaetothelastman.

Caius had no cause tocomplainatbeingoverlookedforcommandforhewastobea special guest at Artorex’s

coronation. Caius and Ector,along with other notablesfrom Aquae Sulis, had beeninvited to attend Artorex’sfinal assumption of completepower. Artorex understoodCaiusperfectly, andheknewthat as long as his personalhonour was not insulted,Caius would accept thelimited measure of publicacknowledgement.

Late at night, Artorex

relaxedandreverted tobeinga hesitant young man onceagain as he shared ale andtalked of tactics with Targo.Although his old swordmaster was too old to be atruly effective bodyguard, hewas still the crafty mentorand practical friend he hadalways been.Artorex neededTargo for his bluntness ofspeech and his unrivalledhonesty rather than theflexibility of his knee joints.

Artorex had a niggling fearthatoldTargowouldpineanddie should his master sendhim back to honourableretirement at the VillaPoppinidii.

Odin, for his part, wasenormously strong and inexcellenthealth.Hisweaponsskillsmade him the equal offourmen.

‘The crown and the swordmaybethesymbolsofpower,

Targo, but they are justshowy outward glitter that isdesigned to amaze theordinary people. I wish Iknew the path that leads tothe hearts of somany of oursquabbling tribal chiefs. Wemust gain an edge to forgeunity,buthowdowefindthatedge?’

‘Did I ever tell you thesolutions to your problems,lad?Nay,youfoundthemfor

yourself. Think. How didUtherunitethetribes?’

‘Through fear. With hisswordandanironfist.’

‘And will that tactic workagain?’ Targo demanded,ratherthanasked.

‘No.Utherwasdetestedbymost of the minor kings andhisstrengthwasdissipatedashe protected his own backfrom their attacks. I don’t

have the peaceful kingdomthat Uther wrestled fromVortigern and his sons.Unfortunately, that featherwon’t fly again, not on suchturbulent air as now stirs theheartsoftheBritons.’

‘So how are you differentfrom your father? What isyouredge?’

Artorex pondered theproblem.‘Iamstrong-butsowas Uther. I have excellent

advisers - but so did Uther.Myrddionassistedmy father,as he assists me. I am therightful Celtic claimant butUther took the throne byforce,somybirthrightmeansnothing.’

‘Go back, lad. Go back tothe very beginning at VillaPoppinidii.Whywereyousosuccessful as a steward inthose simple days?’ Targogrinned encouragingly as

Artorexforcedhistiredmindto search out the correctanswers.

Theyoungmanstaredintohissimplewoodencupofaleandthestrong,scarredfingersthatwerewrappedroundit.

‘I had confidence in mypeople and I worked athoningmy skills. Uther tookhisskillsforgranted.’

‘True,’Targoencouraged.

‘I tried to defend theordinary men and womenwho were my charges, andthey were grateful. Utherdidn’tbothertodoso.’

‘That’salsotrue,myboy.’

‘Itriedtotreateveryoneasif they were of equal status,and I attempted to use theirtalents as best I could,’Artorex stateduncomfortably; he found itdifficult to indulge in self-

praise.

‘And Uther didn’t,’ Targofinished for him. ‘He had norespect for anyone. And hedidn’t care if their talentswere wasted - as Bothadiscovered.’

Artorex nodded inagreement.

‘In the greater scheme ofthings, Uther’s misuse ofBothawasaminormatterfor

theHighKing.Butasaloyalservant, I sympathize withBothaandhowhemusthavefelt when Uther ordered himto carry out such an ignobletask. You must alwaysremember the example ofBotha,whowasfaithfultohisliege lord until death. Everyorder that you issue can hurtsomeone like me, orGruffydd, a tribe or even thewholenation.’

‘You’re saying that eventhelowliestsubjectshouldbeconsidered when I make adecision, even if my actionsmay hurt them,’ Artorexsummarized.

‘Exactly, lad,’ Targoreplied seriously. ‘That’s allleadership is, coupled withmaking the best ofwhat youhave.’

‘Leadership can’t be sosimple. Although, now I

come to think about it, youask a great deal.’ Artorexfrowned even harder andstruggled to imagine himselfin the shoes of one such asKing Lot. This man wasmarried to Uther’sstepdaughter, and he wasexpected toallyhimselfwithhiswife’senemyinawarthathad little to do with Lot’skingdom-atleastintheshortterm.

At once, Artorex felt agreater sympathy and respectforLot, simplyby imaginingthe situation in which theOtadini was placed. Targo’slessonbecameclear.

‘It’s also obvious that Imust always be the first tolead, and the first to riskdeath, for I can’t send meninto battle without facingdanger myself. The writingsof the great Julius Caesar

surelyreflect thetruthof thislesson.

‘And I must understandstrategy and the long view.RulerssuchasLothavelittletoloseatthepresenttime,butthe Saxons will eventuallyturn their avaricious eyes onhis kingdom. It will be mytask to arouseLot’s fear andimagination.

‘And I must make everyally, every friend and every

warrior committed to servetheoneunitedcause,andthatcause must not simply resultin an increase of my powerbut empower those who areallied with me. They mustbelieve that they act of theirown free will and that theyaremy equal, even if I havemanipulatedtheirfearsintheprocess.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Targoanswered simply. ‘But can

you do these things? Thereare few rulers who can beartocounttheirpersonalpowerasnothing.’

‘What choice do I have,’Artorexcountered,‘ifIamtohold to the only edge Ipossess?’

‘Why,noneatall,mylord,noneatall.Butwasn’titeverso? I fought for Rome inbattles across the wholeworld, without being given

one single reason for all thedeath and destruction Iparticipated in. But I am ahappiermannow that I haveapurposeinmylife.’

‘Targo, my friend, whatwould I have done withoutyou and your constantlessons?’ Artorex whisperedsoftly to his friend andcompanion.

Targo began to laugh,quietlyatfirstandthenlouder

and louder. His mottledcheeks and jowls quivered,while his horny, scarredhands slapped his knees andtearsleaptfromhisdarkeyes.

Artorex was entirely at aloss.

‘I don’t understand yourlaughter, Targo,’ he said, alittle offended. ‘What did Isaythatwassoamusing?’

‘My boy, did you really

think I knew the answers onthoseoccasionswhenIaskedyou to find a solution to aproblem?By thegodsabove,half the time I didn’t knowthe answers myself. But Ibelieved that you had todissect the problems foryourself so that you coulddevise a solution. And, mosttimes,youdidexactlythat.’

‘Shite!’ Artorex swore.Thenhe,too,begantolaugh.

‘Do you mean that I didn’thave to jump that awfulfence,orfalloffAphroditeontomyarsesomanytimes?’

Targo grinned evilly. ‘Ofcourse you did. How elsewouldyouhavelearned?Anda little pain never hurt agrowinglad.’

‘You’re an old fraud,Targo. I’ve jumped fences,I’ve mounted great uglyhorses and I’ve learned to

fight my way through allmanner of problems becauseyoumademedevisemyownsolutions -when all the timeyou only pretended to knowtheanswers.’

That night, when Artorexfellasleep,hisbodyfeltlightand boyish. Nor was hetroubled by terrible dreamsand nameless fears ofpossibleshortcomings.

When Targo checked his

master’s roomnear dawn, hefoundtheyoungmansmilingin his sleep and the oldwarrior knew that Artorexwas far off in time with hisGallia.

AndTargowascontent.

CHAPTERXXII

ASAXONSUMMER

A multitude gathered atVentaBelgarumonwhat, byancient reckoning, was thelongestdayof theyear.Rainhad fallen overnight androadways,cobblesandhouses

seemed newly dipped in thegleam of water from tile,stone, timber and thatch.Even the cottages of thehumblepeople,clustered likethree-day-old chicks underthe skirts of the city walls,were bright with festoons ofbranches and wild flowers,while rushes, hay andmowngrass soaked up the usualmudoftheroadway.

Not one tavern in Venta

Belgarum could squeeze inanotherguest.Everybuilding,including Uther’s fortress,hadbeenputtogooduse,andnoble visitorswere quarteredwherever space wasavailable, their flags andbanners stirring in the coolbreeze.Thestreetswerealive,as if the hive of the city hadbeen stirred vigorously andallthebeeshadpouredforth,seeking either to work fortheir newmaster or to attack

theinterloper.

Artorexhadnotsleptinthecity, preferring to rest underthe stars on the one night offreedomlefttohimbeforethecommencement of his newlife. For this last night ofliberty, he preferred to lieunder stout canvas, as if hewas still fighting a campaignwith his warriors. Timeenough for soft living if hecould survive the challenges

he knew awaited him on thechurch stairs at the heart ofthecity.

With the aid of Gruffydd,Targo and Odin, Artorexdressed with unhurried care.His bodyguards had alreadydonned their finery, plaitedtheir hair and polished theirarms until every piece ofmetalontheirbodiesgleamedin the sunlight. Against thewishes of his loyal servants,

Artorex insisted on wearingthesnowymantleofwolffurthat he hadwon at Anderidamore than two years earlier,although he acknowledgedthat itwould drag in the dirtonce he alighted from hishorse. King Llanwith’s pinheld the fur together on hisleftshoulderandKingLuka’storcgleamedathisthroatlikea living serpent with silverscales.His long fingerswerefree of ornament except for

the ring gifted by Lucius onhis left thumb and the pearlring fashioned by Simon onhisright.

Beneath his heavy cloak,Artorex wore a gift fromEctor that had beenmade byBregan, the smith who hadforged his dragon blade. Thegift consisted of a curiousvest that clasped at theshouldersanddownhissidesto finish at his thighs. Itwas

constructed of tiny rings oftempered iron that weresurprisingly light for a tunic.Ector swore the smith hadtried, unsuccessfully, topierce the metal rings withdaggers and swords and,although Artorex’s fleshmight be bruised in a battle,thetunicwoulddeflectallbutthe heaviest of blades. Thecoat was laced at the uppershoulders, leaving Artorex’sbronzedskinmostlybare,for

speed depended uponfreedomofmovement.Targohad polished the tunic forhours on the previous nightuntil it shimmered like silverdragon’s scales under thesnow-whitefur.

Under the coat of iron,Artorex wore a snowy-whitetunicintheRomanstyle.Hisbronzed legs were bareexcept where his new bootswere laced up to his calves

andOdinhadensuredthattheleather was as soft as linenand as burnished as bronze.Targo told disgusting storiesof Odin’s use of lamb’sbrains and the otherconcoctions that made theleatheraspliantasanywovenfabric.Odinhimselfhadevenelected to wear boots inhonour of the occasion andplaited his beard into tworatherfrighteningfangs.

Alone, except forhis threecompanions,andwithneithersword belt nor scabbard,Artorex rode Coal into theoutskirts ofVenta Belgarum.With thewolfpelt cloakcastback over his right shoulder,totrailovertheshiningblackflanks of his horse, Artorexwasanimposingsight.

His hair, unbound andwaving in the breeze, spreadout over the pelts like red-

goldsilk.

At each village, thepopulace stared at him withtheir mouths agape for, intheir simple imaginings, heseemed like a hero out oflegend who had returned totheearth.Butthenhegrinnedboyishlyatthevillagerswhilebowingdeeplytotheleftandtheright.Thevillagersshookthe air with their cheers,while maidens ran to strew

flowers from the fieldsbeneath the feetofhishorse.Daisies, lavender, buttercups,mintandlate-floweringbulbsscentedtheairasCoalstrodeproudly over a carpet ofcolour.

As Artorex entered thefortifiedwallsontheoutskirtsof the city, he continued tosmile,waveandbowhisheadto the elderly without a hintofUther’s sullen disdain.He

gave special smiles to thechildren and gratefullyaccepted their offers offlowers.Thecrowdlovedthesight of their heroic warriorking, while many of thepopulace joined theprocession of townsfolk thatfollowed behind him in amulticolouredtail.

BeforeArtorexreachedthefortress, the gates swunginwards. The noise increased

as, on cobbles thick withflowers laid out before himby young women and girls,Artorex made his stately,courteouspassagethroughthenarrow streets. One oldbeldam, dressed in her bestfinery, stopped him andoffered him a circlet ofdaisies, and the young manbent his head low over thehorse’smane,allowinghertoreach up her old arms andplace it over his head. Then,

when he kissed her arthriticfingers, thecrowdhowled itsapproval.

ThecloserArtorexcametothe stone, cruciform church,the heavier the air became,and fewer bursts of newcheering rose to greet him.But with each step that Coaltook, Artorex maintained hissmiling demeanour andexhibited an impenetrablecourtesy. He even smiled

when King Lot staredostentatiously over his headfrom the top of the churchsteps, and Queen Morgausepointedly turned her back onhim.

Lot was dressed with eye-popping gorgeousness in avast woollen skirt of woadblue and dull green stripesandchecksofvariouswidths.His huge chest was encasedin a richly embroidered,

woollen shirt under abreastplate coated with gold.Gargoyle faces with open,leeringmouths decorated thebreastplate, which was lacedover his broad girth withcords of gold and silver.Hiscloak was bound at theshoulder with an enormouspinthatwasintricatelycarvedanddecoratedwith cabochongems. It was as large as agrownman’shandspan.

Beside Lot’s huge bulk,Queen Morgause seemedtiny, but she could never benegligible. Unlike herhusband, her dress subtlyimplied mourning, for heroverskirt was of pale greygauzeoveraheavierkirtleofdark, sanguine red. She hadcovered her hair with aconfectionofgoldenwireandred wool, while her wholeensemble was covered by alongblackcloakthatpuddled

atherfeet.

Her sister outdid her infunereal black, without eventhe pretence of jewellery asornamentation. Because shewas a maiden,Morgan woreher hair unbound and herlong,raventresses,asstraightas a spear shaft, hung downher back to her knees. Thathair should have softenedMorgan’s appearance but,instead, it merely heightened

herunnaturalglamour.

King Leodegran of theDobunni tribe wore a togaand cloak edged, quiteinappropriately,withimperialpurple. His hair was curledaround his smooth face andhis hands dripped with ringsand chains of gold andprecious gems. Bycomparison, his companion,KingMark of theDeceangli,was elegant in a simple robe

ofgreywoolwithbordersofblackandsilver.Mark’s lackof ornamentation wasreflected in his pursed,disapproving lips and hiswomanisheyes.

Enmasse,thecollectionofkings,noblesand their ladiesappeared in a tangle ofcolours and styles that wereas contrasting and asconflictingas theywere.TheKing of the Silures wore fur

and leather, braced withplates of bronze, while theDumnonii queen, wife ofGorlois’sbrother,woregauzylinen thathadcome from theloomsofEgyptbytradeship.Few would even deign tospeak to their nearestneighbour for itwasonly theold pacts enforced by Utherthat had brought themtogether.

The clerics conspired to

stand as far from each otheraspossible.TheDruidsworehomespun and carried tall,intricate staffs. Some haddecorated their long hair andbeards with garlands ofmistletoe or ivy while otherswore bands of gold or silveracross their foreheads. SomeDruids appeared to havewalked, barefoot, out of thewild places, while otherswere obviously intellectualsandsophisticates.

Some of the Christianpriests wore black that wasslashedwith red to representthe blood of Christ, whileothers, like the monks fromGlastonbury,were dressed inunadorned homespun tied atthe waist with simple rope.Aswith the restof thatgreatgathering, no unifying threadof shared thought, belief orempathy joined the clergyintoone.

Artorexgazedathisguestswhowere so symbolicofhisdivided, complex and vitalpeople,andfeltaverynaturalthrillofinadequacy.

But no hint of his innerturmoil was reflected in hiscalmface.

Artorex dismounted at thesteps of the church andclimbedtheshallowinclinetoa curule chair of the Romanstyle, chosen specifically by

Myrddion because itsuggested power without thegrandiosity of a throne.Artorex then turned to facethe assembled kings, princes,priests and bishops, whileMyrddion stepped forward tospeak of the crowning of thekingthatwouldbe.

Myrddionworesableblackwhich emphasized hiswhite-streaked hair. He wore noornamentation, needing no

embellishment other than hisfine-boned face and hisfierce,darkeyes.

The crowd hushed asMyrddion stepped before theassembled guests andtownsfolk.

‘Youknowme,great lordsof Britain, priests and proudpeople of Venta Belgarum. IamMyrddionMerlinus,oncecalled thedevil’s spawnand,later, to my shame, I was

Uther’shound.ButeverhaveI fought for the freedom ofthese lands and, sometimes,the weapons that kept yousafe inyourwarmbedswereunworthy of you. UtherPendragon was one suchweaponthatIusedindefenceof the realm.Aboveallothermen, Iknew thedepravityofhis various sins, but for allthat Uther was a cruel andunscrupulous man, he wonyour safety with many years

in the saddle, as he foughttirelessly to drive away thebarbarians and the Saxonhordes.’

Myrddion paused and hiseyes swept the kings,Druidsandpriestswithfaintscorn.

‘Uther forced us to fightour enemies as a single,undivided people. You, thetribal kings, had squabbledamongst yourselves forgenerations, allowing the

Saxons to decimate ourpeoples and to destroy ourvillages and farms. WithoutUther, flawed as heundoubtedly was, you wouldnotpossesstheluxuryofyourvariousrealms.Youwouldbeforced to flee into themountains to starve in thesnow. Uther was, indeed,HighKing.’

Myrddion allowed hisvoice to soften, so the honey

of his words slid easily intotheearsofallthosesoulswholistened, except for the mostobdurate who would nevertrust the servant of UtherPendragon.

‘Here sits Uther’s son,Artor, who has come to thisplace to claim his birthrightasHighKingas successor tohis father.He ismade in thelikeness of Uther, is he not?But Artor is not his father’s

man.Cast out byhis sire, hewas raised in the Romanlands to our north. He cametoyoutwoyearsagoandwasnamed the Warrior of theWest. Later, Uther gave thisyoung man the title of DuxBellorum.’

Myrddion paused, andlooked directly at hisaudience. Each person felt,irrationally, that Myrddionwasspeakingtohimortoher

alone.

‘Why, do you ask? I cantell you. Not one inch ofCelticearthhasbeentakenbythe Saxons since Artor tookuptheswordagainstthem.’

A rumble passed throughthe great multitude, mainlyfrom the townsfolk and thevillagers, but several kingsnoddedinagreementaswell.

Still,Myrddion recognized

that many faces were stonywithdisapproval.

‘And yet toomany of youturned your backs on yourfellow Celts. You sent nomen to serve the DuxBellorum. And you gave nothanks to a man who, likeUther before him, risked hislife in a hundred skirmishesso that you could feast anddrink daintily, and safely, atyour tables,without theneed

toriskyourownskins.’

A growl of dissent camefrom the assembled nobles,but Myrddion ignored theiroutrage.

‘Henowcomesbeforeyouwith the sword of Utherreforged, bearing the crownof theBritons remade.Speaknow, those among you whowould deny Artor’s claim tohisthrone,oraccepthisrightbybirth,andbybattle,torule

theBritonsasHighKing.’

KingLotstoodandmovedto address themultitude.Hisgreat girthwas impressive inthe yards of tartan edged ingiltthread,andhisgreybeardand hair framed a face thatwasreddenedwithpassion.

Artorex sat like marble inhiswhitecloakandwatched.

‘This pretender to thethrone is Uther’s bastard

child at best. How arewe toknowthathehasanyrightatalltoruletheCelts?Andwhyshouldweplaceourfuturesinthe hands of a man whomevenhisfatherdidnot trust-if his father was, in fact,UtherPendragon?’

Some sections of theassembled nobles roared outtheir agreement, so thatGruffydd felt himself reddenandtenseinresponsetoLot’s

carefully staged insults. Onthe fringe of the assembly,Prince Gawayne cringed inshame,butArtorexcontinuedtosmilecourteouslyandsitathis ease, his back ramrodstraight.

Myrddion would haveanswered, but a thin, white-clad nun stepped out of theportals of the church behindhim, supported by Lucius ofGlastonbury.

Wearily, sheascended twosteps, to stand directly infront of Artorex. She turnedand kneeled in deepobeisance before her son.Artorexwouldhaveliftedherto her feet, but she rosepainfully and turned to faceKing Lot and the hugeassembly. Her voice waslarger than her thin bodysuggested, and the crowdleanedtowardshertocaptureeveryword.

‘Youknowmewell,Lotofthenorth,foryoumarriedmydaughter, so don’t insult mewithyourslursandinnuendo.Did you believe I wouldn’tmake the long journey frommy convent to see my sonassume his rightful place asHigh King of the Britons?Are you so cowardly thatyou’d think to blacken myreputationinmyabsence?’

‘I didn’t intend . . .’ Lot

began, but the frail womanraised one pale hand tosilencehim.

‘I am Ygerne, widow ofDukeGorlois,theBoaroftheDumnonii. Uther Pendragonmurdered my husband andrapedmewhile Iwas forcedtogazeuponthebloodyheadof my beloved Gorlois. I,alone,mayspeakof thebirthof Artorex and if he was,indeed,bornasthetruesonof

UtherPendragon.’

Ygerne paused to controlhershorteningbreath.

‘IquickenedwithchildandUther wed me, seeking totake Cornwall without moreeffortinlivesandtime.AndIagreed,toensurethesafetyofmy living children. How Iloathed the child I carriedwithin my womb. How Iwished us both dead. Godforgivemeformyacceptance

of marriage to UtherPendragon,forIwasdestinedtospendmanygrimandbitteryearsashispossession,andIallowed hatred to eat myheartaway.’

Tiring, she paused yetagain.

‘Then, as the child stirredwithin me, I foundmy hearthad not quite died. When Ibore the child, I saw hisruddyhairandlonglimbsthat

were so much like those ofhisfather.Buthealsohadtheeyes and featuresofmyowndead father, and I found Icouldhatethechildnomore.For many years, I believedmy son was dead and Imournedforhimbitterly.Myproudest day came when hereturned to Venta Belgarumas a fine and strong youngman, a warrior who’d beencleansed of the poison thatcamewithUther’sseed.’

Behind Artorex, Gruffyddwatched Ygerne’s pale facethat was nearly as white asthe coif that covered hershaved head. She had been afamed beauty, Gruffydd hadbeen told, and he could seethelastofthatlovelinesswithhisowneyes.Butthesingersofsongshadneverspokenofher courage,whichGruffyddnow witnessed as sheexposed the deepest feelingsof her heart - her

disappointments, hertragediesandthelong,patientyearsasshewasforcedtositon a cushion at the feet of amonster.

‘IamYgerne,QueenoftheBritons - and a humblepenitent,’ she continued.‘Hear me, my people. Theman who will soon becomeKing Artor is the legitimateson of the Pendragon line,and of myself. His is the

throne-byrightofbirth!’

ThecrowdwasutterlystillasLuciusledthethin,fadingwomanaway.

As she passed Artorex onher painful journey into theportalsofthechurch,Artorexrose, knelt before her andkissed her tiny, bandagedfeet. One hand flutteredlightly over his hair - andthenshewasgone.

Like the slow thunderofabreaking wave, the crowdmurmuredatthecourtesyandgentlenessshownbytheDuxBellorum.

‘Thequestionofparentageis settled, unless one amongyou chooses to doubt thequeen’s word,’ Myrddiondaredtheangryfactionofthecrowd. ‘Who else will speakagainstArtor?’

Awoman inblackstepped

out of Lot’s retinue and astorm of protest cried out atthe effrontery of this hatedwoman who dared to speakbeforetheassembly.

She threw off her cowl,causing many of thetownsfolk to hiss in fear asMorgan pointed one whitefingeratArtorex.

‘Wouldyouordermetobesilent, Artor? I, Morgan, amthe eldest childofGorloisof

Cornwall.AndI’llspeakheretoday, for the murder of myfather at the hands of UtherPendragon gives me thatright.Myfatherhadnosontostandforhim.’

Artorexnoddedhisheadinagreement. He rose to hisfeet.

‘Youhaveearnedtherightto speak, my sister. But Iwould remind you, Morgan,that you yourself are not

withoutguilt.’

Asthecrowdmurmuredinagreement with Artorex’swords,MorganandMyrddionfaced each other. They wereso alike in features, but sodifferentatheart.

Then she pointed atArtorex, and addressed thecrowd.

‘This man took Uther’ssymbols of kingship by

trickery and he will bring usall to ruin, just as his familydishonoured my father,Gorlois of Cornwall. Thismanisthepoisonedseedofadiseased tree. I have knownthefaceof thedragon,and itis evil! Myrddion’s ambitionplacedUther’sswordintothehands of Artorex, for onlydreadful wickedness woulddare toplace thecrownuponthe head of a child ofUther.Uther’shoundconspiredwith

Uther to trick my mother sothismancouldbeconceived,sohowcanyoutrustthewordof Myrddion Merlinus? DidMyrddion not conspire withUther to make every day ofmy mother’s marriage filledwith pain, indignity andhumiliation. How can youdepend upon the decency ofUther’s son? Beware, peopleof the west, for you’ve beenwarned!’

Again, thecrowd rumbled,but this time withdisapproval, not becauseMorgan was female butbecause her vitriolic diatribewas obviously motivated byhatred.Morganhadmadetheerrorofexaggeration.

Myrddion answered herchargesinaringingvoicethatcouldbeheard fromoneendof the great square to theother.Hewon the immediate

attentionofthecrowd.

‘Trickery? Evil?Wickedness? No, woman, itis obvious that spite andhatred distort any truth inyour words, so that all menwholookuponyourfacefleeas if youwere a leper. Yourwords are emptied by hateand you play with innuendoasifitwerealute.Youclaimprophecy, but how may wetrust your words when you

blindyoureyeswithastripofskinfromthespineofachild,apenancedemandedbyyourmastersinreturnforyourevilgifts?Does evil not lie?Andyour foresight belongs tothose who practise the blackand arcane ways ofwickedness.’

Before thecrowdhad timeto shudder at his words, hecontinued,but inavoicethatwassadandslow.

‘Yes, I counselledUther. Ieven mixed a sleepingdraughtsohecouldinsinuatehis way into Ygerne’sbedchamber. Idiscoveredhisplans forGorlois far too lateto warn your father. Yes, Ifelt shame when Uthershowed Ygerne the head ofher husband and shediscovered that she hadopened her body to herhusband’s murderer. Yes, Ishuddered with guilt when I

learned that he rapedYgernewhile Gorlois’s dead eyeswatched this cruelty. Yes, Iwould have given yourmother up to Uther for asingle night, if that wouldhavekeptUther’s feeton thepaththatprotectedthepeopleof thewest from themenaceoftheSaxonhordes.ButdidItrade my soul to the DarkOnes for the honey in mywords? No! My sins, myerrors of judgement and my

dishonour when your motherwas raped were my owntransgressions, they weren’tthe work of demons. I wastooyoungtobearthemarkofprophecythatwebothwear.’

He pointed to the whitebandinhishair.

‘But never,woman,wouldI wantonly sell my soul forthesatisfactionofrevenge.’

Morgan seemed to shrivel

in her black robes at theloathinginMyrddion’svoice.Without giving her anopportunity to respond,Myrddion glanced across atGruffydd, who was standingdirectlybehindArtorex.

‘Stand forth, Gruffydd,sword bearer of the king-to-be and loyal warrior againstthe Saxons,’ Myrddionroared, so that all people inthe great open space could

hear.

Heheldhisopenarmsouttothecrowd.

‘I beg leave that thisservant should speak. For hewas present at Glastonburywhen Artorex successfullyrecovered both symbols ofUther’s power. OnlyGruffydd, Prince Gawayneand the pious Bishop Luciusof Glastonbury Monasterycan bear witness to the

validityofArtorex’sclaimofbeing the rightful heir to thethrone of High King of theBritons.’

Atlast!manyinthecrowdthought. Now we shall hearthe truth of this matter fromone who was present whenthehandofGodrevealed thelocation of these magicalrelics.

‘Let him speak! Let himspeak! Let him speak!’ they

criedaloudasone.

Morgan knew the force ofherwordshadbeen eclipsed,soshebackedintothecrowd,where even Lot’s retinueavoidedhershadow.

Gruffydd stepped forward.He was obviously nervousand his first words markedhimasanordinarymanofthepeople.

‘I am Gruffydd of Venta

Silurum and, for ten years, IhaveservedMasterMyrddionMerlinus in the Saxon cities,collecting information ofplanned attacks by ourenemies. My hands are notclean of Saxon blood, for Ihave often needed to killthosebarbarianswhocrossedmypath,especiallythosewhowere a danger to our causeand to our people. For theblood I have been forced toshed, I am a sinner in every

sense of the word, but thegods themselveschosemeasawitnessofwhatoccurredatGlastonbury.’

Then Gruffydd told whathe had seen, simply andeloquently. He repeated thedecree given by Lucius, thatonly the true High King ofthe Britons could find thesword of Uther and draw itforthfromthestone.EvenasGruffydd spoke, Myrddion

felt the mood of theassembled kings begin towaver, for Glastonbury andthe relics themselvesmarriedboth Christianity and the oldreligion, so none wereuntouched,regardlessoftheirfaith.Yettherealforceofthetruth of the tale wasGruffydd’s simplicity, hissense of awe and therightness of events as theyunfolded. No man doubtedthatGruffyddbelievedhehad

seenaprophecyfulfilled.

Only one other king stoodforth to make a belatedattempt to muddy the watersof Artorex’s claim to thethrone. The crux of KingMark’s complaint was thatArtorex was tainted with theoldRomanways of the past.Ector bristled at the slur andwould have replied himself,but the Magistrate of AquaeSulisrestrainedtheoldman.

The magistrate steppedforward and took Ector’splaceonthestairs.

‘Hearme,peopleofVentaBelgarum!IamVestusoftheVestulii, Chief Magistrate ofAquae Sulis for a decade ormore.IamofRomanlineage.IamalsoaproudBriton,andIserveourpeopletotheverybestofmyability.’

Hepaused.

‘You speak of the taint ofRoman culture, but much ofwhat you are comes fromyourRomanpastandthegiftsthe Romans brought to ourpeoples.’

The magistrate had theattention of the entireassembly.

‘But on this occasion Icome to this assembly ofnotables not to speak of theglories of ancient Rome but

to tell you a tale of a simplestewardwhobravedaterribleevil to save the life of achild.’

This talewas new and thecrowdsuckeditingreedily.

‘At the time of which Ispeak, Artorex was still ayouth.Hehadbarelyreachedmanhood when he becameaware of the activities of avile band of monsters whowere involved in the ancient

practice of pederasty. Thiscult, led by the Severinii, apowerful family who livednear Aquae Sulis, hadinflicted torture, starvationand death on a number ofyoungmalechildrenwhohadbeen stolen from the localvillages. By defiling theseyoung children, and starvingtheir victims to death, theycrossed the boundaries ofwhat any Roman communitywouldaccept.

‘Whenhebecameawareofthe vile activities of theSeverinii family, Artorexdetermined to bring theperpetrators of these crimestojustice.Withtheaidofhisfoster-brother,Caius,Artorexentered the lair of theSeveriniiandsavedthelifeofBrego, a child of the localvillage, from certain rape,torture and death.Bregowasten years of age, and hewasthe sole surviving captive.

The bodies of a number ofprevious victims wererecoveredatthesametime.

‘I ordered the criminals tobe crucified and their villaburnedtotheground.Artorexcould have made a greatfortune, forhewasgiven theopportunity to plunder thestore of precious objectscollectedbytheSeverinii,buthe scorned to touch suchtainted things. Instead, he

permitted the elderly slavesof the Severinii, who werefreeofguilt,totakewhattheyneeded and depart. Do youwant magnanimity? Do youwant courage? Do you wantcompassioninyourking?Allthesequalitieswerepresentinthe attributes of this youngman who bravelyaccomplishedthistask.’

Themagistrateassessedthemoodofhisaudience.

‘The bodies of sevenmurdered children wererecovered and burned thatnight. I watched the face ofthe young Artorex as heendured this trial. He wassickened-asanydecentmanwould be - but he acted as awitness and returned theashes of the lost children totheir humble parents. Whoamong you great leaders ofthewestwouldhavecaredsopersonally about the kin of

the murdered children? Whoamong you would havechosen to bear witness totheir pain and offer comfortto the families of thosechildren? Who among youwould have bothered ? Butthis man did! His Romanupbringing - and thehonourable teachings of hisRoman foster-parents - didhimnoharm.’

Vestus, with his Roman

togafirmlyinplace,andwiththe seal of his office aroundhis neck, pointed proudly toArtorex.

‘The remnants of RomanBritain will fight for Artorand for thewest.Wewillgotobattlewithnootherleader.Noneof thetribalkingshaveearnedtherighttorequestourloyalty.’

Thenoblesweresilent.Nomore voices were raised in

argument,althoughMyrddionwas not fool enough tobelieve their opposition wasfinished, merely drivenundergroundby thehowls ofprotest emanating from thewarriors and the assembledpopulation.

‘Icall theBishopofVentaBelgarum to crown the king-to-be before you,’ Myrddioncalledout loudly. ‘And thosewho choose may take Mass

on this most auspicious ofdays.’

The doors of the stonechurch opened wide and theBishop of Venta Belgarum,accompanied by Lucius ofGlastonbury,cameforth.

Thebishopliftedthecrownhighabovehisheadwithbothhands, so that the awed andamazed townsfolk saw it forthefirsttime.

Brother Simon hadchanged the design entirely,so that now the massy bandconsisted of a dragon motif,with the beast centred at thebrowandthewingsrisingforflight over the head of thewearer. All the garnets andrubies had been placed uponthedragon,withthelargestinits eyes and in the centre ofits forehead. The smallergems decorated the scales ofthebeastsothat theyseemed

to glister in the morningsunshine,asiftheanimalwasaliveandabouttobelchforthfire. The band itself was ofsimplegold,exceptwherethebeast’sclawedfeetroostedonit.

‘Stand forth, Artor ofAquae Sulis, Dux Bellorum,and accept your birthright asHighKingoftheBritons!’

Artorex knelt on the stonesteps,sothatthebishopcould

place the exquisite crownover the daisy chain thatadorned his brow. Theincongruous pairing ought tohavebeenamusing,butwhenArtorex turned to face thepeople,theruddydragonrosealoftoutofanestofflowers.

‘Hail Artor, High King oftheBritons!Hail!’thebishoproared.

‘Hail Artor, King of theBritons! Hail!’ the crowd

respondedinturn.

Theirfaceswereflushedwithexcitement that was mingledwithawe.

ThenLuciuscameforward,beckoning Gruffydd to hisside.

‘Kneel, Artor, High KingoftheBritons,andaccepttheweapons that will hold thewestinsafety.’

ArtorexkneltandGruffydd

fastenedagreatbelt ofgold-studded leather around theking’ships.

Lucius held the dragonknife aloft, with its hilt andpommel in the form of atwisteddragon,nowsheathedingold.

‘ThisisthedragonknifeofKingArtor,’ he informed theassembled nobility. ‘It wasforgedbyBregan,asmith,asa gift to the High King for

savingthelifeofhisson.’

Lucius then turned to faceArtorex.

‘Sire, please accept thisknife in your left hand, andswear that this weapon willnotrestwhileSaxonsraidourlands.’

‘ThusdoIswear,’Artorexreplied.

ThenGruffydd slipped theknife into its waiting

scabbard.

A priest handed Lucius along leather-wrapped bundle,which Lucius unbound toexpose a huge and glitteringblade.

‘Sire, this is the sword ofKing Uther that has beenreforged to become theweapon destined to be wornby the High King of theBritons.Do you swear,KingArtor, that it will not rest

while enemies assail yourpeoples?’

Lucius held up the swordthatboretheidenticalhiltandpommel as the knife, butwhich was now cunninglyadornedwithgemssothatthedragon seemed to twist andturnwhilethelightplayedonit.

Latin script ran down theflatsidesoftheblade.

‘“Hewhobearsthisswordis the rightful King of theBritons,” ’ Lucius translatedinaloud,stentorianvoice.

‘Do you accept and swearthatyouwillusethisswordintherightfulpursuitofall thatis noble for the welfare ofyourpeoples?’

‘Ido!’Artorex replied.Heturned to face the assembly,fully armedand incandescentin his acceptance of his

destiny.

Myrddionsteppedforward.‘From the Isle of Apples atGlastonbury monastery, theplace of the Blessed, comesthis Holy Sword which InameCaliburn,theDragonofBritain.’

‘Go forward then, KingArtor, Golden Bear of theBritons,’ Lucius statedproudly. ‘And let the dragontakeflighttoprotectthelands

of the west both near andfar!’

The people roared theirapproval, as Artorex handedtheweapon toGruffyddwhothen lifted it high in bothhands. The rays of the sunwerereflectedfromthemetal,so that flameseemed toburndowntheedgesoftheblade.

‘And now to Mass, forthoseamongyouwhochooseto enter our Church,’ Lucius

concluded. ‘We shall thenfeast the coming of KingArtor, High King of theBritons.’

The dignitaries in thecrowd, both pagan andChristian, surged forward togain places within theChurch. The ordinarycitizens, barred from theceremonybythesheerweightof numbers, clustered on theforecourt in a great sea of

colour. A surge of joy,excitement and, beneath thefervour, a tide of relief, setmen and women to dancing,casting flowers or cheeringwith abandonment. Thesmallest child wouldremember until its deathbedthe feeling of hope thatpoured into the hearts of therevellers on that golden day.Peacewouldcomeagain,andsecurity would enrich theland with the crowning of a

newking.

Over the babble of thecrowd, the bells of VentaBelgarum began to ring.Trumpets added their brazenvoices and every musiciancontributed to the sweetchaosandthecacophony.

Ostentatiously, Morganturned her back on theceremonyanddeparted.

Artor noted her passing

withasigh.

The feasting was long, andArtor became very tired byevening’s end. He hadutilisedhisedgeuntilhisfacefelt frozen into an emptysmile.Hehadeatenalittleofthrushes in honey, of eels inaspic, of whole roasted deer,boarandsteer,aswellas thedelicacies of the sea and thefruitsof theorchardsuntilhe

felt ill. He had foundsomething praiseworthy withwhich to flatter every tribalkingandhadacceptedadvicefrom old and young, nomatter how banal andimpractical those opinionshad been. Now, as thegiganticmealdrewtoaclose,Artorknewitwastimetoputthe first part of his plan intoaction.

Asherosetohisfeetfrom

a long trestle table where hewas surrounded by clericsand his kin, he gazed downthe other tables in the roomthat were crammed with thearistocracy of the Celts.Flushed faces stared back athim, some in admirationwhileotherswereclosedandsecretive.

The noise rose upwardstowards the smoky, paintedceiling. The laughter of

women, the boomingconversationofanimatedmenand the tinkle and bray ofmusicians competed witheach other in the din. Overthe sounds of merriment intheKing’sHall rose the dullroar of the celebratingcitizens outside the hall, likethe rolling,muffled sound ofthe ocean. Artor pressed onepalmagainst thewallsof thehall and he felt the verystructure of Venta Belgarum

close around him like amantrap.

The mood was joyful andabandoned.

At leastMorgan ishonest!Artorthoughtasheforcedhistiredlipstosmile.Sherefusestoeatatmytablebecausesheis my enemy. How many ofmyguestspretend?

His inner voice answeredhimfairly.

Many. Perhaps, most. ButifyouwinagainsttheSaxonsand gift these sycophantswithrichspoils, they’llcometoloveyouforit.

Artor wasn’t prepared tovoicehisdoubts,preferringtospread his armswide so thathe seemed to embrace thewhole hall, all of VentaBelgarumand thewide landsbeyondit.

The nobles within the hall

fell into attentive silence asArtorbegantospeak.

‘Friends,regardlessofyourstation, I ask that you acceptmy thanks for yourgenerosity. I also call on allmen of heart who wish tostem theSaxon threat to joinwithme at Cadbury Tor, theancientfortressofourpeople,which shall be myheadquarters in the years tocome. There, among the

ruins, we will rebuild asymbol that shall rally allBritons to join hands as oneunited people. There, withadvicefromalltheleadersofour peoples, we shalldetermine the paths wemusttake to strike the Saxons attheirheart.

‘And,atourtable,allshallbe equal and all shall speaktheir minds and be heard. Ifwe are to be one - Celts,

RomansandBritonsall-thenwemustworkinconcert.

‘My kings and mycaptains, on the seventh dayfromthisevening,wemeetatCadburyTor.’

Thelongdaywasoveratlast,and Artor attempted to sleepinUther’squarters-inroomsthat had been scrubbed, re-fitted and cleansed bywater,

fire,saltandair.Ashelayinabedofunparallelledluxury,Artor couldn’t sleep. Heknew that his warriors stoodguardoutsidehisdoor,buthedidn’t fear a stealthy attack.Rather,hewascrushedbytheweight of responsibility thatlay on his shoulders and onhisheart.Heknewthat tobealonewouldbealuxuryfromthis day forward. And to betotally safe would beimpossible.

‘So our many dreams, mysweet Gallia, have come tothis pass. Better I shouldmingle my dust with yourswhere the flowers bloom atVillaPoppinidii, than rest onfine linen in this gilded bed,for the weight of my dutiesmayoverwhelmme.’

Neither the long deadGallia, nor the night itself,chosetoanswerhim.

The flowering face of

Licia, his unacknowledgeddaughter,cametohimduringthe night. She was laughingand playing at some childishgame with string around herfingers.

‘This is why we fight foroursurvival,’Artorextoldthenight. ‘Surely this girl is thereason why Artor has beenbornanew.

‘For the people, thechildren and the future,’ he

swore,asthefirstlightbeganto filter through Uther’swindow, ‘I will take up thisimpossible sword so that theland and Britons can growandflourish.This, then,shallbemypurpose.’

Then Artor left Uther’schamber in Venta Belgarumwithoutregret.Heneversleptinitsillusoryluxuryagain.

AUTHOR’SNOTE

After twenty years ofresearching the Arthurianlegendsforvariousuniversitycourses, I became somethingof an expert on most thingspertaining to Arthur,historical or otherwise.Again, and again, friends

suggested I should use myknowledge and extensiveprivate library to produce awork of fiction based on thelegends.

For years, I resisted theimpulse, feeling that therewas little left for anyone towrite. I had no desire tobranch intosciencefictionorfantasy and, still less, toproduce a romance. I hadwatched all the latest films

and was amused by thevarious interpretations, butnothing really sparked myimagination.Then, in anobscure text, I

discovered a rather vaguereferencetoanotedhistoricalincident that occurred duringmedieval timeswhenagravewas exposed at Glastonburymonasteryduringaperiodofcivil strife. The accuracy ofthe reportshas tobe takenatfacevaluebecausethegrave-

andtheinterredremains-hasbeenirretrievablylost.This particular reference

translated the stone tabletfoundwithinthegraveas:

HereliesArthur,KingoftheBritons,

AndGuinevere,hissecondwife.

Iwas,ofcourse,familiarwith

themore usual translation ofthe stone,whichmerelyaddsthewords‘andGuinevere,hiswife’, so the use of thatevocative word, ‘second’,caught my imagination andgained my immediateattention.

Apartfromthatone,ratherodd reference, I have foundnothing else among all myresearch material that evenhintsatafirstwife.

Who can know? At thetime the grave was found,Arthur had been dead forsomesixhundredyears.However, I began to

wonder once more about theDuxBellorumofthefifthandsixthcenturies.Learned scholars have

shown over the passage ofthousands of years thatenduringlegendsoftenhaveakernel of truth at their heartand that great events in the

lives of human beings areembroidered during thetellingandretellingofheroicdeeds.ButIalwayswonderedwhy any part-Celt, part-Romanwarchiefcouldavoidbeingmarriedatayoungage,as was then the custom.Historically, children wereweddedinarrangedmarriagesbefore they reached puberty.Logic dictates that such animportant young man couldhave been married many

times, especially consideringthehighmortalityrateofgirlsand women during the DarkAges.So, from a simple

reference, thisnovelevolved.Fromthatpointon,IwasfreetocreatewhateverplotlinesIwanted, subject to keepingclose to the spirit of thelegends.Theonlypartsofthestory that define Arthur’searly years refer to a foster-father, Ector, and his son,

whomInamedCaius(theSirKay of later legends). Theywere guardians of somevague, unchronicled placecalledtheOldForest.Notwantingtotraveldown

the exceptional pathsexplored by T. H. White inThe Once and Future King,with its empathic, beautifulmix of medievalism andfantasy, I determined toremain within an area ofwhich I am familiar - the

Romanworld.NordidIhaveanydesire to follow the pathof Mary Stewart and hermagnificenthistoryofthelifeanddeedsofMerlin.Itried,then,toimaginethe

lost years after the Romanlegions abandoned BritainduringtheDarkAges.I make no apologies for

using the original Romannamesforcitiesandtownsofthe period that are usedduringthiswork.AquaeSulis

is, of course, Bath, a citymost likely to have retainedits Romanized flavour farlonger thanmanyothercitiesinBritain.VentaBelgarumisWinchester, a prominent cityintheArthurianlegends,soitseemed appropriate that itshould beUther Pendragon’swinter quarters. Other citiesare placed on the mapsprovided, along with theRoman roads that linkedthem.

Lucius of Glastonbury hasno part in any version of thelegend, but Glastonbury(under many names) was aChristian centre for a verylong time, so it followsnaturally that there wouldhave been a bishop,regardless of his name. Iwould like to think that hewasmyLucius.ThelinktotheFisherKing

and Joseph of Arimatheagives Glastonbury its

pedigreeasaholyplace,soitseems feasible that a HighKingwhowantedtoberidofababe,butwishedtokeephisownhandsclean,woulduseaChurchdignitary to solvehisproblem.Romans,ontheotherhand,

usedfosteringfrequentlyasapart of their social system.Yet Ector, by name, appearsCeltic in derivation. To usetheRomanlink,Ideterminedto marry Ector to the last

child of a powerful Britishfamily of Roman descent.Therefore, Livinia had equalstatus with Ector in manyways, although like manysensible women, she alwaysdeferred to his opinion inpublic.And so my story grew. I

suppose the real fascinationof any legend, forme, is thestrange translation fromhuman to hero that theprotagonist experiences. No

manwillinglychoosessuchapath, so my Artorex ispushed, coaxed, bullied and,finally, brutalized into therole selected for him. Theambiguities in Arthur’ssupposedcharacterhavetobeexplained somehow. Howcould he not act with suchintelligence and sympathy inso many instances, yetattempt to murder the infantMordred and tolerate theinfidelities of Guinevere that

arestarklyevidentinthelaterlegends? I had to create apragmatist who was born tobeadecentman.Ihave a feeling thatUther

wassuchaman,onewhowascharismatic, intensely humanand passionate until powerdestroyed his finer self. Itherefore made my Uther anobject lesson for the youngArtorex, a warning of whatthe corruptive influences ofhubris and absolute authority

canbe.Gallia is totally Roman in

nature, so she is joyous,sensual and practical. She isuntroubled by some of thebrutalities of life and yet isable to find usefulconclusions to even diresituations. In fact, Livinia ismuch the same type ofwoman, only with greatergravity and dignity andinfinitely less laughter.Julanna is more enigmatic

and mercurial. Like allfrightenedwomen,shecanbefrighteningaswell.Perhaps I had most fun

with the characters ofTargo,Gallwyn and Frith. Frankly,the wholly northern name,Frith, was too much of atemptationtoignore,andsoIwas forced to create herwhole story around theoriginsofhername.Sheisallwisewomen,allolderwomenwith their physical

weaknesses, but with all oftheirmagnificenceaswell.Ofcourse, a slave would bedrawn into caring for anunloved foster-child. Ofcourse, she would haveenormous pride if she hadrefused manumission. Thiswomanwasaliveinmymindbefore Iwrotea singleword.AndIhatedhavingtokillheroff.Ihopeshetouchedyou!Targo utters the types of

words and ideas that

aristocratsdon’tuse,inpublicat least. The empire, andbeyond,wasfullofsuchmen.Theyweretheflotsamofwar,lookingdesperatelyforaflagto follow to givemeaning totheir lives. Perhaps he couldhave been cruder, but Irationalized that Artorexwould not have liked hismore pungent statements. Ifound Targo was good funand this practical, ordinarymanwasrenderedmemorable

for me because he wasEveryman.Gallwynisacommonplace

woman who is neitherbeautiful nor tragic. Nor canshe be any kind of threat orpower.Toooften,womenareparagons or monsters withinthe Arthurian legends, and Iprefer to deal with the truthwhere I can. Besides,Gallwyn is naturally noblewhen she faces downfrightening, powerful people

forthesakeoflove.Nimue, with her ghastly

birthandherpart in the laterlegends as a seducer and afemale monster has alwaysworriedme.PerhapsIsimplyhate the idea thatwomenaretypecastaswrong-thinkingorwicked within the legends,especially in this post-modernist era when suchconcepts are not sociallycorrect. At any rate, myNimue is neither wicked nor

wilful-sheissimplyalienina society that has little timeforastrangefemale,onewithbrains andbeauty.Her grislybirth is feasible, as is herupbringing.Perce, later to become Sir

Percivale, makes hisemergenceinthekitchens,assome versions of the legendsstate,andIfoundhisordinarygoodnesstobetheperfectfoilfor Caius and his flawedsadism.

Unfortunately, my Caius,or Sir Kay as he becomesknowninthelaterlegends,isa very unpleasant person.Every story needs a villainandIfeelsufficientsympathyfor Morgan to try tounderstand her violence,rather than damn her out ofhand. Therefore, Caius willhavetodo.In the French romances

and the Grail legends, theromance writers indicated

that they never liked himmuchanyway.Please note that the old

Arthurian traditions avoid allmention of Lancelot, who isan invention of the Frenchromances - and laterdevelopments in medievalcourtesy.On the other hand,

Gawayne was frequently thecourt hero, as in SirGawainand the Green Knight, the

famous alliterative poem ofmedieval times. Mordred isalso a supposed lover ofGuenevere, so I am holdingtothisoldertradition.I hope the reader can see

that my characters lived andbreathed for me. Theydeveloped lives that werequite separate from mine,their creator. However, itwould bewrong to state thatmy beliefs are not embeddedin this book. I believe in the

best and worst aspects ofhuman nature, and that astreak of violence exists inthemost pacific of us. I alsoknowthatspiteandhubrisarealive and well in the humancondition. I have seen - andfelt-theiruglypowers.ButIalsobelievethathope

is the single greatest impetusto human courage. I supposethe three travellers becamethe symbols of that belief.Merlin, Llanwith and Luka

set out to create a weaponborne out of hope. Nor arethey so callous as to leavetheirtooltosurviveasbesthecan after they have placedhiminharm’sway.Theyriskthemselves as well asArtorex, because hoperequires self-sacrifice. Theirrootless lives, as they plotArthur’selevationtoglory,isproofof their dedication to aselflessquest.IbelievethatArthurhadno

choice. Circumstances madeArthur assume the role ofHigh King of the Britonsbecause he was a victim ofhisbirth,hisnaturalgiftsandthe dreams of others. Iwanted to illustrate that helost his own dreams becauseof the needs of his people.For me, that was always thetragedy at the heart of theArthuriad, as it was forHomer’sworks,TheIliadand

The Odyssey, or any otherheroiccycleyoumaycare toexamine.Incidentally, when I veer

awayfromthelegends,Ihavedonesodeliberatelyforthereis no inalienable truth in thefinedetailofmyplotline.Forinstance, wouldn’t Gallia’sgarden be a remarkablething? Wouldn’t such atribute to love be the highestart of human endeavour,perishableasitis?

I give you Morgan’svindictiveness and Uther’scruelty as the ultimateexamples of impotence ofspirit.Thereisverylittlethatis built out of such pettyhuman feelings. Onlygreatness of heart lasts, aswas proved in the modern-daybattleatRorke’sDriftorin the stubborn courage ofthosefewJewswhosurvivedthe concentration camps oftheThirdReich.Themonster,

Hitler, died like Uther,frightened,hiding,hauntedbyhis crimes and his whollyreasonable belief that alldecent human beings wouldturntheirbacksonhim.Whoreally cares where Hitler’sbones lie,orhowhedied, aslongasheissafelydead?Now, in the twenty-first

century,KarlMarx’sgraveina London cemetery is nolonger a rallying cry to thepoisoned idea that the end

justifies themeans.We shallneverknowforcertainwhereArthur lies, or if he evenlived. Ifhewasamyth, thenit was necessary for humanbeingstoinventhim.Hail, Arthur, King of the

Britons!Iwish another herowould

takeyourplace,now that thewesthassuchaneedofyou.