THE SILURIAN
BOOK NINE
THE FOX ON THE WATER
BY
L.A.WILSON
SMASHWORDS edition JANUARY 2012
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Copyright L.A. Wilson 2012 the fox on the water
L.A. Wilson asserts moral rights as an independent author in portraying characters, character actions, life, and sexual mores true to the historical age in which they lived.
Cover art by Callisto
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Caution: may contain traces of myth.
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THE SILURIAN
Book Nine
The Fox on the Water
4. Arthur’s Trouble-making Gift
5. The harshest Winter Ever Known
18. The Terrible Truth of Armorica
21. Prancing at the Horse-fair
32. Fucking that ol’ Goat-warrior
45. Attack on Amren’s Man-hood Night
50. Britons on the their Knees
51. The little Church in the Forest
57. A Little Tapestry of Flowers…
CHAPTER 1
It felt as if the land had fallen asleep; from north to south it was slumbering all over the hills and vales; the rivers ran free, and it seemed that without Arthur, all Britain could do was fall deeply asleep, and it felt that way to me. Two quiet years went by, and he did not come home.
When it came two years of Arthur being gone, I had worked myself into a strange place of being. Was I still the Fox? I had not touched my sword in battle since Brendon’s death and we had ridden wild to take revenge. It seemed an age ago, and I missed my brothers so badly it was an open wound in my flesh. Still I lived a quiet life at home, as a husband and father. I loved my son and would do anything for him; Longhand sent my daughter, Enefog, to come and live with us, and she was more Clodia’s than mine, and I had little to do with her. It was not a man’s place to raise daughters, and Clodia was happy, but still she carried no babe of mine, and I knew now, Fate was punishing us.
So when the second-year spring came of Arthur’s absence, I felt a need to ride out of Gwynedd and visit the south. I wanted to visit my brothers in Venta Silurum; meet again with Llwyd, Brodi, and Sandedd, and Dorian too. I was going out of my mind, alone in my villa, surrounded by children and women.
And for it, I began again to put myself into training. Up with spear, javelin and sword. It was no easy thing, sparring alone. My cousin Manos was no warrior, though I had him hold a sword and forced him to attack me. He did not want to do it. I knew now I had to leave, or go mad. I planned my trip, down the southern road, where I would stop in Aquae Sulis for business of my own, then on to Venta Silurum, and after it, maybe spend time with Prince Cador at Caer Cadwy, and get to know him and his men. I began packing to leave, and gave out orders to everyone around me. I was going alone, and that was the end of it. I would hear no refusals.
Clodia had had me all to herself for two years, as had Lucan, and it was time now for me to see what was going on outside my own borders. I could not be contained. Clodia tried to stop me.
As I packed my gear to leave, I told her, “You know I am no house-husband and farmer like Manos. I’m a warrior, and I’m going to hire my sword to Prince Cador. If I stay here, I will go mad, if I am not mad already. You’ll not be alone, you know that, Dee. And Longhand is not far away; Lucan is only down by the lake, and you have your women friends and your girls. Be happy.”
Be happy I told her, but she told me, a hand on my arm, “I want you, and your baby.”
“My time here is over. It’s time for me to go back to battle, and be who I am. The day after tomorrow, I go.”
She held me even tighter; “Bedwyr, no, please…stay.”
I did not answer her.
I pulled away, for I had already answered her.
I went.
Packed Brutus well and took a pack-horse to carry supplies. I left in April, almost two years to the day that Arthur left me. I took all my weapons of war and my armour, and went and did not know when I would come back.
I knew these southern roads so well I could ride them while asleep.
I moved straight on to Venta Silurum and went to Dorian’s house first. Here I did not expect such a welcome! He held on to me as if he was a drowning man. For when he brought me into his house, I found it shrouded and closed. For only a week before, his wife had died. And Dorian was in mourning. I felt badly that I had walked in on him and his grief, but no, he found my sudden arrival on his doorstep a sign of aid and friendship from the gods, who knew his suffering heart.
He gave me the room I had once shared with Clodia, the room with the wonderful painting of the Via Appia in Rome. His daughters were gone to live with their grandmother and he was alone, but not anymore. I vowed to him I would stay as long as he needed me. And once I was unpacked and settled, I knew I had to write home and tell Clodia where I was and what had happened to Lady Sulwen, of her death. I did so on my first night with Dorian, and after it, I sat with him and he told me how Sulwen had suddenly died; said she had fallen in the garden and died and that was that and no reason for it. We sat together in his shrouded living room.
He said, “You see, Fox, what the world does to us? How can a woman like her, so strong, just fall dead on her feet? I am a surgeon, and I have no answer for it. The gods took her and I hate them for it.”
I said, “Dorian, I am so sorry. She was a good woman, your lady-wife, and I don’t want you to think you have no one to care about you. I care. And Arthur would care, if he was here. Damn his bones for leaving us. But I will look out for you now.”
I made him cry.
I went to him, sat with him on the Roman couch, and held him as best I could, and he cried, “With Arthur gone, it is hard, but the men are still here and at Caer Llion, but Fox, how did you know?”
“I didn’t know; it’s only mere chance I came at such a time. Where else would I go with Caer Melyn closed? Is there no one else to help you?”
“Aye, I have family, and my wife’s family, it’s not that. It is I needed a friend and there you were, on my doorstep, the one who always tried to kiss me.”
He laughed at this and I felt good that he could still laugh.
So it was I slept in the Via Appia room with the garden scents of spring, and knew that Sulwen had died out there—and yet, what a place to die in. So sweet, so peaceful, but if it was sudden, she would not know it, and her last sights were of flowers blooming in springtime.
I went to her grave the following morn, and stood with Dorian as he wept. And after it, we went to the Caer Llion barracks to look for Llwyd.
I found him in charge of a detachment of the Clan Bear and they welcomed me like a lord. A lot of the men here were Silurians, and a lot with faces I knew only in passing, as the core of my brothers were gone with Arthur. And being with Llwyd again, I could not see myself returning to Dogfeiling for a long time. I was at home with these men and my heart lifted. I went and sat in the Commander’s headquarters, Arthur’s old room, and wrote him a letter at the big dark-wood desk; only how to get my letter to him? Even so, I still did it in my bad Latin script. I gave him a full report of events in Britain, that the land was slumbering without him. I told him of the death of Dorian’s wife, and begged him to come home soon.
I put the finished letter into Llwyd’s hand as he told me, “It has to go to Caer Cadwy, where there are stationed men enlisted as messengers from Arthur to us and back again.”
So my letter went out with Llwyd and I cried at him as it did, “Why won’t he write to us!”
“He did!” Llwyd shouted back at me. “Letters in that chest by the window!”
I was amazed, for all this bloody time there were letters from Arthur in this very place, and why did I not know about them? So I found them, a pile of them in the chest and sat down to read every last one…
His letters were scripted as a military log, with dates and details of what he was doing and where he was, all dated and signed. He wrote he had fought two battles against some chieftains of the Alamani, and won them both, of course. He was stationed in some city called Copia Clodia Augusta Lugdunum, and the Armoricans would not let him return home. I grew angry about this; it was like they planned to hold him hostage, for ransom, and might threaten us to keep him bound if we did not pay for his return. And though Arthur did not say such a thing himself, this was what I felt in his words. Though on some of the letters he wrote:
Let the Fox know where I am. Tell him I am safe and well. Tell him I do not know when I will return, as there are many battles to fight in this harsh land.
And reading this, I felt a sense of darkness come over me.
I was sure now the Armoricans were holding him hostage. For Arthur’s worth to us, and to them, knew no bounds. I did not know what to do about it. Mount a rescue? But we had few ships and even fewer men to sail them; still I would do it, and talk to Llwyd about it. But I read on, two years worth of letters, till the final one, dated only four months ago:
I am safe, they are not holding me to ransom; they know better than this. My power is greater than theirs, but they want me like they want the Sun. And they tell stories and make legends of me even as I stand in front of them. They say Escalibor was given to me by a goddess who lives in a lake; one of their lakes of course. She raised her arm through the water, wielding my immortal blade, that I took. I told them I won the sword off a Jutish warlord in battle. This they do not believe, for the sword is British made, not Germani. They say I waded out into the water and took the sword from her hand, as she gave it to me and me alone. The people here are by far greater storytellers even than my own British bards.
They have another legend about me as a boy, that I pulled a sword from the stones of the earth, that marked me as the future king—I admit their stories are clever and worth hearing around the night-time fires. They also give me women by the horde and I have ploughed most of them and planted seeds in a fair few, already two sons born…
My jaw dropped. What was he up to doing over there? Fucking or fighting? I grew angry at him.
Wild with anger, and cursed and swore, “All you do is fuck and fight and leave me behind to worry. Curse you, Silurian!”
I sat in a fume of anger with my heart pounding.
Llwyd came back and sat with me. He said, “See, I told you not to worry about him. He’s the best, isn’t he?”
“You think that do you? You think that mad Silurian is the best? I think he’s a bastard and he should have taken me with him. Two years, Llwyd, two bloody years he’s been gone and I suffer for him every single day. He tells me he loves me and then he leaves and cocks everything that walks in a skirt. I hate him.”
Llwyd howled with laughter at me and said, “He makes of himself a legend. Do not be mad, be happy that he is so powerful and winning the battles he fights. Let’s drink to his successes and wish him well. Britain is safe, and you know as well as I, he will return the very moment some stinking pig-dog of a Saxon warlord lays a ripe turd on our soil.”
He went then to find us something to drink. And I calmed myself. Llwyd was right of course, but I was not happy. Why did Arthur not write to me? Where were my letters? Personal to me, from him? I could not bear it, and drank with Llwyd and went home to Dorian’s to sulk in my own misery.
CHAPTER 2
Autumn soon came, and another letter from Arthur arrived, and this time, it had my name on it; relief touched me, for I knew now he had received my last post to him. I took the letter to my room at Dorian’s and read it under lamplight.
Brother Fox, I miss you every day, but I have much work to do here, this work is not just for the Armoricans—I have battle challenges from the Inglass after the loss of their Atheling, Essoa, that we killed after Brendon’s murder. They want revenge on me for that, so I am taking the battles to them before they can leave their homelands and invade ours.
Know in your heart I am working for Britain and have not abandoned my own kind. Know in your heart I cannot return until this work is finished, and when this will be, is something I cannot know just yet. I cannot risk returning home until the Inglass have seen me on the field of war. And know in your heart that wherever you are, I will write, and I will carry on missing you. For on some nights, I wish I could turn and see you striding towards me and bringing me your fire and your love. Hold up strong, Brother Fox…the Bear will come home, but not yet. Know this: your wait may be long.
Your brother, Artorius.
So there it was in his own hand; my wait may be long.
I missed him so much…two years gone!
And now, it would be more.
I sat at in my room, thinking of him. I thought of him more than my own wife. How wrong was I? My duty was to go home and be with my wife, and to give my time to my own kin, to my son, and to Longhand. I knew I had to leave and go home. But I did not make it, as once again, Fate took me on another path.
The following morn, a messenger came to Dorian’s house with an invitation to attend a private party, given by Master Julian Ambrose in Aquae Sulis. Personal invitations on beautifully scripted slates, my name and Dorian’s.
“We are wanted men,” Dorian told me. “And Julian’s gatherings often come with rewards.”
“How so?” I asked, and went to sit with him in the living room.
“Contacts, mutually beneficial contacts. I have made many contacts through him, bringing me medical supplies I would never make from British merchants. Julian finds ways to bring in goods no other has ever done for me, but again, his gatherings are worth the travel merely for his food and wine. I would like to go. Come with me, Bedwyr, please? I think I need some distractions from this house.”
I was interested in going, so I said, “Of course. I can make my way homeward from Aquae Sulis after the gathering, for I doubt I’ll be needing medical supplies. Not unless you plan on sawing off my remaining arm.”
“I have no plans for that.”
And he looked out of the window and sighed.
I got up and went to him, crouched at his side.
I said, “Dorian, things will be right soon. You will find another woman—you’re handsome still, and a surgeon. Do not be sad. Or is it me being your only companion that makes you so?”
“Aye, it is,” he laughed. “I am glad you’re here. And wish you would not go home, but stay with me till this new woman comes to me.”
“I wish I could. Maybe you will find a woman at Julian’s gathering.”
“There are no unwed women there my friend. But please think of it—Clodia will have you for all her life, I need you for only a few more months. Stay. Please.”
“Dorian…this is hard for me. I have a family, but I will think about it.”
So I thought about it, and waited with him for the date of the gathering, in five days time. And when the time came, we went together, riding side by side to Aquae Sulis, carrying our best gear to look good before Julian’s guests.
Dorian and I were given fine rooms in a new outhouse to the rear of Julian’s estate, on grounds with gardens and arbours styled, he said, on Roman likenesses. The man was truly growing rich. My room was huge, filled with rich furniture—a huge bed, with thick blankets and linen sheets and skins, and a fine widow looking out into the garden. Dorian next door to me, and for two days and nights, we were entertained and our every need granted.
On the third night, traders of all kinds began to arrive to discuss business: dealers in goods, from slaves to horses, from home-wares to weapons and armour—the thing that interested me the most. Medicines for Dorian, foodstuffs and rich wines. Gold and silver, with their makers, who traded their skills to our local kings and chieftains. Materials for women’s dresses and I knew that Clodia would love to see this herself, and I missed her.
The third night also saw Julian host a dinner for his guests. And I was given the seat of honour, and they all watched me eat with one hand, but there were no women for Dorian at our table, or any other.
After dining, we went outside to the courtyard to drink under lanterns, with trestle-tables set out with wares to barter and bargain for. A cool night, but not cold. Many traders to talk with, but I could not make trades on Arthur’s behalf. I told the arms-dealer to go and find him in Armorica, or else, leave me a sample sword, what seemed to me to be a genuine Roman gladius. I thought the man would give it to me, but he refused, and I refused him and went and sat at a small table under a lantern hanging from a tree, and drank with Dorian and some other men for a while.
And as I sat, a new group of traders arrived, coming in late, six of them in a group, and even in the low light of the lanterns, one of them I swore I recognised…a familiar face, and I watched him as he went and joined with Julian at his own table. I watched him, aye…I knew him, and he knew me.
Julian called me over, and I went to his table and looked at the trader and said, “Urad? Anthony the Athenian merchant-trader from Dun Pendyr…”
“Yes!” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Prince Bedwyr, the very one who was to write me a letter of introduction for this very magistrate, Julian. Well met; such a long time I have been gone from Britain, and return now, and here you are.”
We shook hands hard, and I said, “You left on a ship and went home. I told you I knew our man Julian Ambrose. Welcome back to Britain, Anthony. You come to trade?”
“Yes, I do. Please, sit with me, and I will tell you.”
Strange night, strange times.
I sat, and he told me, “I have moved my home to Britain. I am buying a house in Venta Silurum, and another here in Aquae Sulis, as I plan to trade from here. I have been meaning to do this for years, and now I do. It is good to see you, Bedwyr…all that trouble on Dun Pendyr Hill with Prince Medraut, and I gave you an amphora of wine, for which you still owe me.”
I knew he was jesting with me, and his eyes did not show anything but friendship. And how he had changed!
I said, “The last I saw of you, you were bald-headed, now look at you. You did warn me that you grew your hair long. Longer than mine, and I don’t like that.”
He laughed.
He wore his hair long, two braids, like mine, one each side of his head and pulled back, rich dark hair in long curls, and his eyes were deep brown; he was the handsomest creature I had ever seen other than Arthur himself…Anthony was a god; tall and lean, dark, his voice and his accent, his language; the long deep way he looked into my eyes, this was dangerous to me, and yet, I could not move away from him. He was different from what he had been on Dun Pendyr, almost three years ago, and I could not believe the passing of those years, so swift, and lonely for love. I sat with this man, and every time he looked at me, something inside me turned over and begged for more. And in quiet moments, when other men did all the talking around us, he looked at me and I gazed back at him, and it was not right.
Strange night, strange times…this turning inside me. I sat with Anthony in a crowd, and I knew I had to leave.
But it was late before I found the strength to pull away from him, his powerful trap, dark-eyed, for what trap was this? That I drank the last of my wine and stood up and looked down at him and begged to leave. So I left him, and went back to my own room, and stood for a long time at the window and looked out at the moonlight and thought myself in a dream.
I needed to go home, but I could not move. I wished for Arthur to come home and put me back to battle, for I needed my sword in my hand, where I again would be a warrior, and not a trembling fool for the yearning for other men. I sat on, and when it was very late, someone knocked on my door. I thought it was Dorian, but when I opened it, no, it was Anthony. He carried something in his arms, a long box.
He said in his deep exotic voice, “I have something for you, Prince. Let me show you under the lamplight.”
A fool, I let him in, and I closed the door.
I went and stood by the window again, for the moon was full and gave good light with the lamps. Here I watched him take out something from the long box; he rolled it out on the floor. It was a tapestry of such beauty I could not believe the design or the colours. I had never seen such colours before and moved to his side.
I knelt and ran my hand over it, and said, “So beautiful, what kind of tapestry is this? It is exquisite.”
“No, my prince, it is no tapestry, it is a carpet from the Orient. It is very rare and very expensive, and I want you to have it. You cannot walk on it mind, for it is a thing of beauty and only to look at. It is made from the threads of worms.”
I did not believe him, and yet I did.
He spoke something in his own tongue, then, “I cannot say it in British, what it is made of. I thought of you when I acquired it, for your Oriental eyes that I have never forgotten.”
We looked at each other from across the square of this thing called a carpet.
“Your eyes I have never forgotten,” he said again.
I could not answer him. Too close to me he was and I stood up and went again and stood at the window, my heart racing…he followed me. Together we stood, his eyes on mine, the moonlight touching us.
I said to him, “Anthony, I know what you want, but I cannot give it.”
He said, “Be with me.”
“I’m married, I have a wife, a son, a daughter; you will kill me.”
“I will kill us both.”
He moved to kiss me.
I stopped him, pushed him back gently.
“Anthony…why me?” I said.
“It is those eyes of yours…do you not want me?”
“What I want I cannot have; I have already told you, I am married. I have had male lovers, and each time, it has nearly destroyed me to love them, and lose them. I cannot.”
He looked into my eyes till I was lost.
“A man with only one arm,” he said. “And more beautiful than any other with two. Is this the British way? To be beautiful when you are broken? Even more beautiful when you are broken. How do you do it?”
“I will not go with you. You should leave now, please, leave now.”
“So I will go, but I will not give you up. I have found you again after all this time, and I will not let go now. Tomorrow, my prince.”
He bowed to me and moved from my room, closing the door with a sound that to me was final; that he would be still be here in the morning, waiting to claim me.
And yet I did not see him again till the following night at the supper table. We ate all together in the dining-room, where all through supper, Anthony sat and watched me from over the table between us. And when our eating was done, Julian and Dorian left me and Anthony sitting alone; and over the table top, he tried again to woo me.
He looked at me deeply, his deep dark eyes; he said, “I want you. You will come to me here, when I buy my houses. You will be mine. What I claim as mine I do not give up. If you go home, you must come back. Or I will come and get you.”
I told him, “You are a fool, Anthony. I’m a warrior. You cannot lay claim to me. I will go home.”
I left the following morn with Dorian for Venta Silurum. We took our horses back on the long walk to the river-crossing, and over to Venta, and arrived safely at his house.
Six days then went by in some kind of peace, and I helped Dorian with his work when I could.
Then someone arrived at his front door. Anthony. Dark-eyed, tall, full of desire. Just seeing him again almost floored me. But Dorian, of course, being a good host, invited him to stay. And if Anthony was to stay, I would have to leave. Only I was invited to stay for supper. I had to accept, and we dined together that night, cooked by Dorian’s sister, Efelyn, who came in every night to cook for us.
And Anthony said to me at the table, “You left your carpet behind. I gave it to you. You should not have left it behind; it is precious and my gift to you. Why did you leave it?”
“I forgot about it,” I told him.
“You forget what I give you? I brought it for you.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at Dorian and said, “My friend, this man is a prince, and yet he behaves like a barbarian. No man would leave behind an Oriental carpet of precious fibre, but he does. Who teaches manners in this land?”
“I have manners,” I said to him. “I just…forgot about it.”
He turned back to me. “Do not forget about it!”
His eyes were fierce. I saw his hand shaking as he drank his wine. He was in a fever.
“Bedwyr is a law unto himself,” Dorian told him. “And a jewel. But know this, he is a law unto himself, remember that, Anthony. You cannot tie him down.”
“I will try,” and Anthony laid his dark eyes on me again. He had not given up his chasing, and deep inside me, his persistence thrilled me. I had never been so hunted by a man before, and he was determined to have me. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me like he had never wanted anything before. I vowed to shut Anthony out. I would not take another male lover. I stared back at him from over the tabletop.
We went on with our meal, and all the time he stared at me, and I looked at him, and it became unbearable. And as soon as Efelyn cleared the platters and tidied away, and went home, when it was only the three of us, when the night became late and Dorian left us to sleep, when all was done, what was left? My heart in my mouth, racing fast as Anthony followed me to my room, as he forced his way in behind me, as I allowed him to follow me.
He pushed me back, back against the wall, and forcing his body hard against mine, he said, “You…I cannot stop thinking of you! You left my gift behind. You made me wild, hurt; you walked away from me, you cannot do this to me, you cannot!”
“I will.”
“I love you,” he said, and I did not believe him.
Though he was strong, I knew I could split his skull right here and now with my sword, but he held his lips over mine without kissing.
I said, “Stop talking about love. I’ll not listen to it. You will not use that word again to me.”
“I love you.”
I laughed at him, turned away; he pulled me back and held his lips over mine, poised to kiss me, but he did not touch me, and I thought he must surely feel my heart racing. He forced himself harder against me; I felt his cock, hard. He touched his lips on mine, but did not go deeper; he put his fingers into my hair, stroked my neck, and touched my lips again.
“My desire is you and no other,” he sighed. “You will love me,” and his kiss when it came finished my resistance.
So deep he kissed, I thought the world around me had ended; that he was forcing me to eat after years of starvation. To drink after years of intense thirst. Anthony fed me and quenched me, and took me. I gave myself to him, but I would not let him speak of love. That word was forbidden. And I believed I hated love, for love only hurt worse than any weeping battle-wound. I would not love again. But curse this man to all hell-fire! What a lover he was, an endless spring of love that I could drink from, and he took me to the highest places of pleasure and made me cry out in the deep of the night, “Anthony, I will not love you!”
My protests meant nothing to him; he wrapped me in his arms and drowned me. He held me, kissed me, and all night long, made love to me.
Then in the after-time, he spoke to me of his life in Athens.
We talked all night. He told me his wife had died five years ago; that he was the father of five sons, and four daughters, all grown with families of their own, and he was alone. The owner of rich olive groves in Athens; born into a noble family, landowners and men of wealth. And he was beautiful. But I would not love him. I was angry at him for making me feel this way, so when it grew light, I got up first and began dressing while he slept. I had to go home and be with my family and not stay here and be a wretched sodomite with another man in my bed; but it was dark in the room and when I opened the window for more light, I woke him.
He looked at me and I told him, “Anthony, I have to go home. I will leave today.”
“I beg you no,” and he leapt out of bed and came for me. “Please no, I have only just met you, please do not go. My need is as great as yours; my need for you the greatest I have ever known. Please do not go...you told me not to say the word, love, but I will. I love you.”
“No! No. I am going home and that is all I can say.”
It was so hard to dress! The way he looked at me, the sorrow in his eyes. I struggled to dress and he came to help me. And kissed me all the time, desperate kisses, the kind a man gave to one who was leaving, dying, going away forever. He helped me pack my gear, but I would not go before seeing Dorian risen and breakfast done. Dorian understood why I was leaving and gave me firm pledges that he would be all right, that he would send on Arthur’s letters, if and when they came. That he would write to me himself, as I would write to him. We breakfasted together, and after, his servant went to bring my horse from the stables, to saddle him and pack on my saddlebags, to load my pack-horse, and this time, I took Anthony’s Oriental carpet in its long box; difficult to rope on, but we found a way.
Outside, at the garden gate, Anthony tried to stop me from leaving, but Dorian said, “Let him go, Anthony. I know him well, and you are hurting him, so let him go. You cannot keep a wild fox in a cage.”
And when Anthony stood back from me, I saw only pain in his eyes. How could he feel this way about me, so soon? And yet I should know—for I knew what it was like to love and not have. And still he broke my heart, and I his. I went to my horse after holding Dorian farewell, and I mounted high, and looked back once at Anthony as I walked away. I could not turn away from his look, but I had to go, and this was what I did. I went home to Dogfeiling.
CHAPTER 3
It was nearing October’s end by the time I reached my villa and I sensed an early winter on its way. And when I rode up to the door, everything seemed quiet and stilled. I was not expected, I knew, but where was everyone? I banged hard on the door, and Cleary came and opened it.
He said, “My lord, we were not expecting you till spring! Lady Clodia is not here.”
“Where is she?” I did not like this news. “Where is Manos and Siona?”
Cleary helped me inside, saying, “They are here, but Lady Clodia is staying with Lord Lucan and his wife for company.”
“Send someone to bring her home,” I told him. “I am home now.”
“Yes, my lord,” and he went off to do my bidding.
I went to my room and threw off my cloak and fell down on my bed, so exhausted by my travel that I let myself fall asleep...
Woke sometime later to soft hands on my face, brushing back my hair. I did not know where I was, till I saw Clodia over me, kissing me softly.
“My love,” she sighed. “Do not get up, stay here and I will bring you some supper, so tired, my love,” she kissed me again, and I threw my arm around her and pulled her down on top of me. I held her hard, and breathed the sweet scent of her hair. I held her and held her, as I felt so guilty and wrong, I could have cried. I did love her. I was so wrong to her; what harm had she ever done to me?
“Clodia…”
“Why did you come home so soon?” she kissed me as she spoke.
“All was quiet in the south. So I came home. Where is Amren?”
“Away with Lucan’s sons, hunting. I cannot stop him from going, he is so headstrong and growing taller every day. He will not be tied to the home.”
“No, let him do what he wants; and the girls?”
“Siona has them in their wing. They are safe; please stop worrying. Let me bring you supper.”
I let her go, and watched her first light the lamps; her beauty was fine, and I sat up to change out of my travel-gear. Aye, I was home.
The following morn I showed Clodia the Oriental carpet thing Anthony had given me. I could not hide it away. I threw it out on the bed and she looked at it long.
“So beautiful,” she said.
“What do I do with it?”
“Leave it on the bed?”
“Hang it on the wall.”
She said, “I will do that—such a rare thing, you have fine friends in the south. I would like this merchant to bring us more fine things.”
Then she took my hand and led me outside into the courtyard and sat me down on the bench where the sun was warmest.
She had with her combs and razor, said she was going to comb out the knots in my hair and shave me, in a new way that she herself had planned for me. I let her do what she wanted, I didn’t mind. So she sat on a stool in front of me, with our girls playing around us: Rhiann, Ffion, who Arthur had sent to Clodia for fostering while he was away; and Enefog.
Clodia first combed my hair and I endured it with gritted teeth.
“Bedwyr,” she said. “Do you never comb your hair?”
“I’ve been travelling for days; a man does not stop to comb his hair when he travels.”
She almost ripped it out from my skull. But when it was done, she started on her new way of shaving: first with the snips and trimmed my beard to my flesh, and almost snipped off lumps of skin.
“Sit still,” she said, and there was something in her eyes when I held her gaze. For a moment, she looked at me, then dropped her eyes, and never before did Clodia drop her eyes from mine.
I frowned, but she snipped me neat to my skin, then began shaving everything off down to my jaw, only she left a thin line of beard along my jaw, and took everything else off, off my top lip, save for two lines of beard each side of my mouth and that was all. She said she had seen some men wearing this style at Longhand’s court and said it looked so handsome, and now even better on me. In fact, I was now clean-shaven save for a thin line of beard along my jaw-line, no moustache at all, save for the two thin lines of it each side my mouth. So this was her plan to handsome me up.
She went to fetch her mirror. I sat feeling my face, it felt good.
The girls came to look at me, this strange trio of girls: my daughter, Arthur’s daughter, and Clodia’s daughter; strange it was, and they did not speak to me, as I thought them shy of me, though they did laugh and smile, especially Ffion, for she always did laugh at me, and I told her news of her father to ease her.
Clodia came back with her mirror and showed me her handiwork; aye! It looked good and I was impressed.
She said, “When you have no moustache, it makes your lips even more kissable.”
“I’m glad to hear that. See, I’m so bloody good to look at, Clodia.”
I laughed and she laughed, and again, when I took her gaze, she dropped her eyes a moment and busied herself with tidying away her grooming tools. Like our girls, she suddenly seemed shy of me and I wondered what was going on; something was going on.
I said, “What’s wrong, my love? Did I come home too soon and frighten you?”
“Why say such a thing!” And she suddenly flared with temper. “Frightened of you? You are a beautiful man, and all I do is dream of you, and you leave me here alone. I miss you so much,” and she fell on me and began kissing all over my newly shaven face, kissing where she had nicked me, even licked the tiny cuts of blood. Then on my mouth.
“So good to kiss,” she sighed. Her sweet tongue pushed into my mouth and I took her in a long kiss, and when we broke apart, again she dropped her eyes.
I stared at her.
She suddenly looked up again, saying, “Oh, I forgot! A letter is here for you from Prince Medraut. I forgot about it in the excitement of you coming home so unexpected. I will fetch it for you.”
And she was gone, almost running. I frowned again; what was going on? Clodia soon came back with my letter; she opened it for me, and I read it quietly in the sun.
It was all about Arthur. Him, Medraut, whining about Arthur being away from Britain, and when would he come home? I felt fear in his words. I was sure now he was feeling fear at being left alone to oversee the north while Arthur was so far away; for if trouble came, Medraut had no one to call on for aid. I began to wonder if he was beginning to regret his new role as king-warlord of the Lothians. I felt unhappy for him, even though he had made this happen himself. But without Arthur, Medraut was bereft, and so, he wanted me. At the end of his letter, he begged me to come to him this coming spring, back to Dun Pendyr.
I said to Clodia, “Medraut wants me to go to him in the spring. Do I go? I cannot leave him this way, needing help and not getting it. He needs me, Clodia. Will you write back to him and say I will come. Tell him Arthur is safe and fighting the Inglass in Armorica, and will not be home for a long time. I don’t like it any more than he does, but this is the way of it. Write back at once.”
“I will,” she said, and got up and took the girls inside the house with her. I felt in her only sorrow. Once the spring came, again I would leave her. I would not take her this time back to Pun Pendyr. I would go alone.
And that same night, together in bed, as she held me and kissed my neck, I said to her, “What’s wrong, Dee? Tell me...why do you avoid looking into my eyes?”
“I do not. I love you so much it’s like a pain inside me, and when you go away, I suffer so much; I want your babe, but again, there is no babe from our last coupling.”
I understood her now, and I rolled her onto her back and held her down; she put her leg up and over my hip, opening herself to me, but I only kissed her. She melted, she always melted when I kissed her, and when I did, far away inside me, there was Anthony; I missed him in some way, missed the deep penetrating touch of him. He sustained me enough to give Clodia what she wanted, and again I filled her and she cried against my chest.
For some days after this, she went about in a dream, looking at me with love and awe. She began sewing things for me as I went out into the pasture with Manos to check on our horses and bring them in for grooming.
Together we stood, watching my Mischief. I was sure he was on his last legs, and my heart ached for him. I loved my old horse so much.
Manos said, “There are frosts now in the morning. Mischief aches in his old bones.”
“He’s breaking my heart, Manos.”
“Do you want me to end him? I’ll do it swiftly and without suffering. These freezing mornings are killing him slowly.”
“Keep him in stables with Brutus, just for a while longer. I cannot bear to end him, not yet.”
He put a hand on my shoulder; “Do not soften your heart over him, Bedwyr, this winter will kill him slowly. I can finish him fast, no suffering.”
“A few more days, please, just so I can get used to the idea of him leaving me. I’ve had him for so many years. He’s like a brother to me.”
Manos gave a small laugh. He himself had never owned a warhorse, had never ridden to battle on such a trusted mount—he did not understand. I told him, “A few more days, then I’ll decide. Let’s take him in to stables.”
I went to take him, and as I did, I heard a high cry, looked up and saw Amren riding towards me on a horse of his own. I could not believe him! He no longer looked like a boy, but a boy growing to a man, tall for his age and fiercely handsome and strong. He came riding up to me, and leaping off, ran to me and cried, “You came home early, Da!”
“Amren, I don’t believe how you’ve grown! You’re almost a man.”
He hugged me, looked up into my eyes. Aye, he was almost a man. I stroked his hair, so handsome, my son.
He said, “I heard you had come home, we can go hunting together again. Did you fight any battles?”
“Na, so you came riding home just for me?”
“I love you,” he suddenly said. I think, for the first time ever. “I want to go to war with you.”
I turned him with me to take our horses to stable, and Amren tortured me with his love, filled me with wild love for him. I would never put my son to battle, not send him to war, not put him in armies like my father had done to me.
I said as we went walking home, “You do not want to go to war, my son. War is terrible. Look what it did to me. I want you to grow up and be a hunter, with all your limbs on your body, where they should be, nowhere else.”
“I want to fight for Lord Arthur and you,” he said, so eager; to him, it was a dream. To me, it was a nightmare. I was already weeping for him inside, if he so much wanted to fight for Arthur. I would not let him.
CHAPTER 4
So another year began, and with Arthur still away, I began to ache for him in every bone in my body. The dark of winter came, and with it, letters from Dorian by courier. I put the courier-man up in my house till he could return south, and took my letters to my room and read them alone.
Here Dorian told that all was well in the south, and quiet out from Caer Cadwy, even down at Venta Belgarum. Cerdig’s West Saxons, quiet. Llwyd doing well in Caer Llion barracks; and there was nothing for me to worry about. Save there were no letters from Arthur, and why say there was nothing for me to worry about, then tell me there were no postings from Arthur? Now I would worry, and I did…I felt my guts turn over and I cursed a thousand deaths under my breath.
Yet with Dorian’s letter there was another. I knew it…it was from Anthony. Oh, I had never received a letter such as this one! Such beautiful script I knew was Greek, and under it, words that followed to the bottom of the page, where he had drawn an eye—an eye like one of mine, and next to it, a fox with Anthony’s own monogram beside it. He made to me pledges of love, that he would never stop wanting me, that I was his love, and said:
My lover, do not think I have forgotten you. Such a small time together, and such a long desire apart. Will you love me when I say to you I am loyally yours? I have made a purchase of a house here in Venta Silurum and decided against Aquae Sulis, though I travel there often for trade. Will you not come and visit me? And we will love each other and not make demands, though I would demand you come to me. I think of you all the time, for it is an ache inside me, as the Wisdoms say this ache is love. Do you not think of me? Did I make no mark on you? What was I to you? I felt desire in your kiss and love in your beautiful eyes…please come…yours in heart and body, Anthony…
My hand shook as I read his words; too much feeling to deal with. And I stared at the little eye on the page, and I felt him drawing this thing with his own hand, felt him in this letter, as if where I yearned for Arthur, Anthony had answered with a letter of love. It was no easy thing to admit I did feel for him, that I longed to see him again, but I would not go to him. I folded the letter down and put it back into its leather wallet, and went to find a place to hide it, for I could not bring myself to burn it. I put it in the chest where I kept my armour and went out into the courtyard to see to my old horse. Mischief was still on his legs, and eating well in stables with Brutus, so I had no thoughts of having Manos destroy him. And my mind was alive with thoughts of Anthony…and of Arthur. Torn between the two of them, torn between the love of men and the love of one woman.
We had our first heavy fall of snow a few days later, snow that fell for days on end, and this confined me to the house, as it came down thick. Manos and Cleary dug a path out from my front door, it was so heavy, the first time I had seen such a heavy snowfall for many years.
Only I remembered one year when Arthur and I were boys, and we were trapped in the house, and Lord Darfod the Merlin came—he came with a skull in his bag, a carved skull from the bones of a sea-monster, or so he told us, and as we were boys of nine and ten, we believed him.
He said this sea-monster had tusks for teeth, that pointed down its chest, and he put the skull on the shelf near the hearth. And Arthur, that night, threw pieces of wood from the fire at it.
I said to him, “Do not upset sea-monsters.” And he said, “It’s not a sea-monster, it’s only bones, carved like a skull.”
“It came from a living-thing,” I warned him. “That’s real bone, I’ve seen real bone enough; do not throw sticks at it, it won’t like you if you do.”
We spoke all of this in whispers, as we were both really afraid of it, that it could hear us. I told this story to our children, to Ffion especially, who devoured everything I told her of her father, such were our winter nights in snow. Amren thought my story was funny, but the girls sat with wide eyes, yet it was me who dreamt of Arthur later that same night. I saw him on his warhorse, turning its head in a wide circle to make a charge, as he called to his men, wild with bloodied armour, helmet-less, crying his orders and I tried to answer and obey, but I couldn’t. I could not obey, for I was not there with him.
This dream woke me on a cold dawn. A special dawn; for another courier came through the snow up from Deva. Two of them in fact, youths who would brave the weather for Arthur. They brought me a small chest, and when I brought them inside to warm and feed, they put the chest down and told me it had come via ship to dock in Deva’s port. For Arthur had guessed I would be home for winter, and sent it via the shortest route to reach me.
Letters inside and gifts.
One letter said it was peace time in Armorica, and like the old Roman ritual of gift-giving at Saturnalia, that the Romani Christians had usurped for themselves and since called Christ-Mass, he sent us gifts. It was the best way to break the cold and the snow and melt it. So Siona set about making mulled wine, and I found a letter for Ffion in the chest, from father to daughter. I handed it to her and she gave a squeal of delight and ran to read it by the fireside.
On the floor I sat with Clodia and we plundered the chest. For the women she found beautiful rolls of dress material; a delicate gold necklace, found in a little box addressed to herself. Next, a beautiful hunting knife for Amren with a handle of antler, carved with animals. Little carved toys for the girls; all of it packed like a chest of treasure that seemed to me like a trader’s wares, all of it exotic—from faraway lands, like Anthony’s Oriental carpet. Pots of sweet smelling oil that Clodia loved, though what they were for, we did not know. A smaller box, sealed, with my name on it.
I showed it to Clodia and she cut the twine for me, and said with her hand on mine, “As it was sealed, I say it is private for you, sweetheart, open it in our room.”
“It’s only letters,” I said. “Open the lid for me.”
So she did, and inside, I saw a parchment letter and something else.
“It’s a book!” Clodia sighed. “Oh, open it, it is a real book.”
“A book?” I said. “Like that thing with bound pages the Christians read?”
“Aye, my love, yes, bound pages.”
She was so excited, she took it out and together we saw the thing was overall bound in leather, embossed with a design of two people entwined on its cover, yet the book too was bound, and again, Clodia cut the twine, and took it in her hands and opened it and gasped; her mouth fell open and she blushed red. She snapped it closed fast and gave it back to me. She got up and moved away to see to the girls with a hard look on her face.