by M. K. Hume
He patted Myrddion across the back to show his appreciation for the satisfactory outcome of what could have developed into a disastrous political scandal.
‘The time has come to burn this pest hole to the ground,’ he ordered without further discussion.
The group of workmen carrying the torches leapt to do his bidding and soon the building was ablaze from end to end. As Myrddion and Artorex rode away, they could feel the heat of its destruction on their backs and, long after night had fallen, the black sky was lit by a hellish redness as the villa on the hill crumbled into hot ash.
Two very tired men returned to the Villa Poppinidii shortly after moonrise. Myrddion decided that the hour was too advanced and Artorex was too exhausted to complete the final, sad task of delivering the urns to the villages. The parents of those children who had vanished had waited for months, even years, to learn the fate of their children; another night wouldn’t matter, especially when it would end in tears and grief.
Artorex was almost asleep on his horse as he rode into the stables at the villa. The strong arms of the servants assisted him as he climbed down from the horse cloth, while other hands respectfully unloaded the urns from the pannier on Coal’s back.
How could word have spread so quickly? Artorex wondered in his dazed state, before remembering that Luka and Llanwith had returned before him. Bad news always travels fast.
Stumbling and ashen, Artorex hastened to the baths where he cast aside his cloak, tunic and loincloth. He stepped out of his sandals and fell bodily into the cleansing waters. When a servant peered cautiously round the doorway, Artorex ordered that every stitch of his clothing should be burned, and new robes brought to him.
He finally emerged, cleansed, shaved and in fresh clothing, but his grey eyes still spoke volumes of matters no man should have to contemplate.
Artorex ate in the kitchens with Myrddion, the household having already gone to its rest, and even though fresh apples, nuts, cheese and milk were wholesome food and pleasant to the palate, he was not hungry. He could still feel the poison of the Severinii family working through his veins.
Myrddion laid a narrow hand upon Artorex’s forehead.
‘It’ll pass, my friend. It’ll pass.’
‘Will it? Can it? I feel as if I’ve lived in a safe bubble my whole life. I wasn’t able to recognize evil when I saw it. Severinus was just an annoying, patronizing pig. And what of Caius? What can I do about my foster-brother?’
‘We’ve done all that we can, Artorex,’ Myrddion replied. ‘Caius has been given one last chance, for the sake of his mother. What he does with the rest of his life is up to him. My advice is that you should ignore him, if you can.’ The older man paused before continuing in a soft voice.
‘Sometimes, when a wound must be cleansed, the pus and corruption fills the nostrils with a rank odour that seems to endure forever. But new flesh eventually grows to replace that which was rotting. The Severinii have now been amputated from this world and they will soon be forgotten, and all will be healed again.’
‘Until the next monster appears,’ Artorex replied with a weary sigh.
‘Until the next,’ Myrddion agreed. ‘Perhaps men such as we are born for nothing else but to bear witness, and then crush those human horrors, so that simple men, women and children may sleep safely in their beds.’
‘Then it would be better to be a simple man,’ Artorex whispered, exhausted almost to the point of tears.
‘Of a certainty,’ Myrddion agreed. ‘But we rarely choose our own fates. Something else - something more powerful than we frail creatures of flesh and bone - does the choosing for us, and a man is measured by how well he bears the weight of the travails with which fate burdens him.’
‘Is the whole world so simple then, Myrddion? Do the evil ones balance against those who would only do good? The magistrate of Aquae Sulis is a good man, but he knows that Severinus and his mother were merely the leaves of a noxious weed that is only seen above the ground. Too many evil men lurk where they can’t be seen, and their roots are too strong to be easily dug out. The magistrate didn’t even try to find all the malefactors associated with the Severinii. Is the earth, and all things that live upon it, bound in shades of grey, neither good nor bad, but just muddling on as best it can?’
‘If I knew all the answers, I would be Emperor of Constantinople and all wars would cease at my command. But chance, I know, is not the balance of which you speak. Men and women choose how to live with what fate has given them. Did Mistress Severina always hide a streak of cruelty in her nature? Or did fear of old age create her viciousness? Does her motive matter? All I know is she chose to act as no man or woman should, and she paid the price for that decision.’
‘I’m too tired for riddles, Lord Myrddion,’ Artorex replied, and he rose to his feet and staggered away to his simple bed. He slept in little more than an alcove near the kitchens and the triclinium, at the heart of the house, where he could feel the beat of its pulse. Now, exhausted, he wished he were the meanest field worker, billeted in the servants’ quarters and far from Livinia’s cold body, the grief of Master Ector and the problem of Caius. Not surprisingly, on his lumpy pallet, Artorex’s sleep was disturbed by unspeakable, half-remembered nightmares.
He woke shortly before first light but exhaustion quickly drew him back into dreamless sleep.
He slept long past his usual hour for waking and old Frith set herself on a stool before the door to his small bedchamber. She allowed no man or woman, not even Master Ector, to disturb his rest.
‘The boy is tired to the bone, master, what with setting all to rights in your household. Let him sleep as long as he’s able and then old Frith will help him to break his fast.’
Wisely, master and servants permitted the old woman to have her way.
The morning was well advanced before a stray beam of light angled through the shutters, causing Artorex to stir in his bed. In an instant, Frith was aware of his movement and a servant was dispatched to the kitchen to prepare his meal. Soon, Artorex was faced by a huge selection of food.
‘I’m a man with a healthy appetite, Frith, but only an Atlas could eat this excellent repast.’
‘The village has sent it, boy, so you must try to eat a little of everything. The women who prepared these dishes will expect a report from me on what you eat.’
‘But why?’ Artorex asked, his confusion clearly written on his open face.
‘Last night, you brought the children home, young master. The villagers know that you, above all men, were responsible for their return.’
‘But there were other men at the villa - Myrddion, Targo, Llanwith and Luka. We all did what was required of us.’ Artorex was quite shocked at the idea that his small part in the events that had unfolded at the Villa Severinii should assume such huge proportions in the eyes of the villagers.
‘Get on with you, my little lordling,’ Frith admonished him with the familiarity of long custom. ‘Was it not Lord Llanwith himself who described how you went back into that nasty pit to bring the little ones home? You may gull some people in this house but you can’t fool your old Frith.’
Artorex knew that it was pointless to argue with the old servant, so he tried, heroically, to eat as much of the meal as he could. Then, when he’d dressed and washed, he took himself off to find Lord Ector.
Ector and Caius were seated together in the scriptorium, and both faces were etched in lines of grief. Father and son had been checking the household accounts when Artorex entered, although they sat some distance apart from each other, locked away in their separate, lonely silences. Neither man knew how to speak to the other, and Ector’s face bore the puffiness of weeping. Caius was unable to meet his father’s eyes, and he stared at the scrolls with painful intensity. Ector gave Artorex a small smile of welcome, but Caius couldn’t look at his foster-brother and stared fixedly at the wall.
Ector was the first to break the small, awkward silence.
‘Does pen Bryn speak t
he truth? The Villa Severinii has been burned to the ground?’
‘Aye, Master Ector. It was well alight when we departed. If the magistrate holds to his words, the foundations are being torn asunder as we speak, and the raw earth will be sown with salt.’
‘Gods!’ the bluff old man swore, ignorant of how close the Villa Poppinidii had come to a similar fate.
His head sunk low on his chest, Caius managed to suppress a sob.
‘If their Osiris is a kindly god, Severinus and Antiochus will soon be dead, if they aren’t dead already,’ Artorex said softly. ‘And the world is cleaner for their having left it.’
‘Llanwith told me that there were seven children buried in the crypt below the house,’ Ector replied. ‘And two others who had been buried elsewhere.’
‘Aye, Master Ector. Since his father died, Severinus and his mother have indulged in all manner of perversities.’
Ector turned to his son, who tried desperately to avoid eye contact with his father.
‘Did you know, Caius? You’ve been in that man’s company since you were a boy. He even ate food in our house. He breathed the same air as your mother.’
Caius flinched as if his father had struck him.
Artorex was watching his foster-brother very closely in the hope of catching him out in deceit or to discover a trace of guilt, but he couldn’t tell what Caius was thinking. The handsome, chiselled face was sombre and closed, the eyes were lowered and turned inward, and his lips quivered, but Artorex had no idea what prompted his foster-brother’s distress.
‘I knew he was wild and had strange tastes, Father. I was afraid of him, especially when some of his moods took him. He was terrifying and dangerous, a pederast, although he never dared to touch me.’ Caius looked up at this point, and stared directly into the eyes of Artorex.
‘You said something else when we questioned you a mere day ago,’ Artorex stated with the same blandness of face that Caius had adopted.
His foster-brother paled. ‘Very well, Artorex. I lied! Are you satisfied? Severinus raped me before I was fifteen, but I hoped to spare my father that shame.’
‘Caius!’ Ector gasped, aghast.
‘It’s better to tell your father the whole truth and be done with it, Caius. Your father is owed an explanation of why Severinus had such a hold on you.’
‘I didn’t know what Severinus did to those children, Father,’ Caius swore.
Even Artorex, who knew about his foster-brother’s role in the first murders, could have wagered that he told the truth. But the words were false, although those few who could prove it were now either dead or dying. With newly educated eyes, Artorex recognized the open face of Caius’s guile.
‘He had a terrible power over me, Father, that I cannot deny. He ordered me to attend a feast last night, and I was overcome by my fear of him. And now, neither you nor the gods will ever forgive me.’
In truth, Artorex wasn’t entirely sure if Caius was deliberately telling a falsehood to his father or if he had already convinced himself that his sins lay at the feet of Severinus. And perhaps it was true that many of his faults were caused by his friendship with Severinus, Artorex thought to himself, knowing, even as he made this excuse, that Caius was still the young man who had brutalized the mare, Aphrodite, and beaten his young wife.
Artorex watched a tear trickle out of Ector’s eye, only to be dashed away as the master wrapped his right arm around the shoulders of his son.
‘Your mother forgave you, Caius,’ Ector said sincerely. ‘So it’s up to you to justify the belief she had in you.’
So, Lord Ector has chosen to forgive his son’s sins, Artorex marvelled. He is choosing to blind himself to his son’s character for love of Livinia. But Caius is too old to change - and the mistress knew it.
Compassionately, he kept his thoughts to himself, for his mind was heavy with dread and guilt. How could he blame a fond father for trying to protect every father’s dream - the heroism and success of his son? He himself had been complicit in the whole cover-up; Ector only knew what his steward and his friends told him. If Ector was at fault, so was he.
His respect and love for his mistress, as well as the oath she had wrung from him on her deathbed, was a yoke around his neck.
‘I must ride to the village, master,’ Artorex interrupted his circuitous thoughts with action. ‘I have been charged to return the remains of the children to their families, and I must set their souls to rest.’
Ector nodded in understanding. In truth, Artorex welcomed the horror of this task as his punishment for his sins of omission.
‘Of course,’ Ector agreed. ‘Do you think we should accompany you?’
No, by God! Artorex thought. The very sight of Caius would only rekindle all the suspicions that still lay just beneath the surface.
‘No, master. The villagers may be embarrassed to show their grief when they are in your presence. You can trust me to say all that is needed. I’d lief not go myself but I’ve vowed to do so.’
‘That’s understandable, my boy, entirely understandable.’ Then Ector sighed heavily. ‘Livinia goes to the fire tomorrow. You may inform the villagers that food and drink is to be gifted to them in her name. Perhaps they might pray to their gods that her shade finds rest.’
‘I’ll relate your sympathy and good wishes to the villagers, my lord,’ Artorex replied.
Before taking his leave, Artorex turned to Caius, and nodded to him.
‘Young master, could I have a private moment of your time?’
Caius followed Artorex to the doorway, where Artorex slipped a ring into the palm of the young man’s hand.
‘I’d advise you to avoid such roads as those you have travelled in recent years,’ Artorex warned. ‘Even my fond memories of your mother won’t save you from my retribution should you fail to heed my words. I’ll always treat you with the respect due to the son of Ector but you must beware, Caius, for if you act in any way that is unseemly, I can promise that I’ll find some way to bring you to justice, oath or no oath. Don’t test my resolve!’
Caius appeared vulnerable in his humiliation. His obvious relief made Artorex long to strike him down.
‘I’ll gladly promise you that, and I thank you for your kindness.’
And those few words have almost stuck in your teeth, Artorex thought sadly, as he strode away to the stables to prepare for his visit to the village. Difficult tasks may only be tackled directly, Targo had taught him. But they need good preparation.
How he could possibly offer comfort to the parents of the vanished children was a daunting problem for Artorex, for he could not anticipate how their kin would react to the unexpected return of the children’s remains.
Artorex realized that the innocents had already become the stuff of legend. In the wider world of the region, the common folk now whispered that the boys had been stolen away by creatures from the otherworld, wraiths that the superstitious swore dwelt in the chaos between the real world and an imagined place where the rules of men didn’t apply. Those villagers who had experienced the actual loss of their children were driven by more primal needs for revenge and, for them, the loss of the vanished children was no tall tale designed to frighten children around the firepit. It was real. These villagers knew that men had ridden forth, had taken their innocents and had burned the lives of their families into ashes.
‘I must find a way to bring them peace,’ Artorex murmured. ‘And still protect Master Ector.’
‘Lord?’ said a bright-eyed stable boy with tousled blond hair and strong shoulders in response to Artorex’s words.
Artorex emerged from his dark reverie. He’d made his way to the stables without conscious thought, and now he stood before Coal’s stall with the reins hanging loose in his hands. The stable boy took the leathers from Artorex’s limp fingers and began to prepare Coal for the steward’s departure.
‘I’m sorry, it was nothing. I was thinking aloud of how fair and good it would be to know nothing of the evil t
hat exists in the ways of the world.’
The stable boy snorted in derision, just as Artorex would have responded in those long-past days before he had been forced to become a man.
‘Begging your lordship’s pardon, sir, but I’d rather ride a horse than walk.’
Artorex gave the boy an affectionate cuff about the ears.
‘A wise answer, young man. Do you desire to work with horses when you are grown?’
‘I want to ride with you, sir, whether to ruin or to triumph. Walking is for those who have no choice.’
Artorex stared with interest at this sturdy boy.
Under the grime and smut, a pair of very sharp hazel eyes gazed back at Artorex respectfully, but without a hint of fear. The boy’s hair was almost white in its blondness, and his light eyes were very clear and pale.
‘What is your name, young wise one?’
‘I am Gareth, my lord, great-grandson to Frith of the Villa Poppinidii. She said I am now old enough to work, so here I am.’
‘I am no lord who has warriors to ride behind him, young man. If you believe such nonsense, then you are bound to be disappointed. I was a boy, just like you, not so very many years ago.’
‘Everyone knows that, sir.’
‘A good morrow to you then, wise one. I will watch for reports of you.’
As Artorex kneed Coal into movement, the boy ran after horse and rider into the sunshine.
‘My name is Gareth, my lord,’ the boy called out once more. ‘Pray remember me!’
‘The world is very strange,’ Artorex muttered to himself, ‘when ragged boys want to follow me . . .’
The first village he visited was a drab cluster of wattle and daub buildings built around a well-defined roadway leading south towards Sorviodunum, which was situated on the Great Plain where the fabled Giant’s Carol danced. The village, which was nameless because it lay upon a minor Roman road, boasted a clean alehouse and a village elder, who sometimes called upon the protection of the men from Villa Poppinidii when the wolves were on the prowl in the dead of winter. Well-tended fields stretched out around the conical houses, and the multitude of healthy domestic animals was evidence of a prosperous community.
