by M. K. Hume
With an arrogant nonchalance, Marcus bowed perfunctorily to the queen of the Dobunni tribe and stared around the atrium with a desultory glance that spoke of his scorn for these bucolic provincials. While the pear tree seemed to satisfy Marcus’s expectations, it was obvious that the entire area lacked the dignity and beauty to which he was accustomed. Then, as he listened to Aeron’s descriptions of Severa’s virtues, Marcus gave a bored kick at one of the stones edging the garden bed and succeeded only in smearing fresh manure across the clean terrazzo floor. With a muffled oath, he cleaned his sandal on the same garden edging, muttering under his breath in irritation.
The king paused. He was aware that his guest was paying little attention to his host’s welcome, so Aeron’s mouth and brows scowled with displeasure.
‘Should I send for a servant to clean your sandals?’ Endellion asked scornfully.
‘No! It’s just some muck from your vegetable patch,’ Marcus replied, although the suggestion that ornamental cabbages were planted for human consumption caused Endellion to bite her lip. Aristocratic villas in Italia often grew edible plants in their atriums; Marcus’s scorn indicated his ignorance. Endellion was beginning to dislike Severa’s young swain.
Surprised at the tone of the discussion, Aeron’s face stiffened with his own insult. Either Marcus was partially blind, or he was determined to provoke the sensibilities of his hostess.
Constantinus, Marcus’s adjutant, stepped forward and spoke tersely to Marcus. The Roman officer nodded his head apologetically towards the Dobunni rulers, his eyes seeming to reflect embarrassment at the rudeness of his superior officer. This centurion was handsome, in a masculine way, and something about his eyes both charmed and repelled Endellion.
‘Do you wish me to stand the guard down for the night, my lord?’ the adjutant asked in a carefully modulated voice. ‘I’ve inspected the stables and the accommodation provided for our men will more than meet our expectations. Men and horses will be quite comfortable.’
‘That would seem to be in order, Constantinus. You can stand them down immediately.’
Turning to Aeron, Marcus casually introduced his adjutant to the king and queen. ‘May I present this young centurion to you? He is Constantinus, my adjutant and my second-in-command. He is one of Rome’s best officers and has my total confidence. Any questions regarding the activities of my men can be referred directly to him. He has limited experience in the social graces, but he will carry out any tasks you may ask of him.’
The face of the young adjutant became flat and expressionless. Endellion felt a frisson of sympathy for him.
For his part, Marcus smiled vaguely and spoke directly to Aeron without any consideration for his lack of good manners. ‘I’m rather tired after my long journey, King Aeron, so I’ll feel more comfortable if I take some rest and meet with Lady Severa at a more convenient time.’
Aeron apologised tersely and turned to his queen. ‘Endellion, send the maids to find the girl. She was here a moment ago, but she decided to brush her hair and refresh herself. Perhaps you might ask her to present herself immediately so our guest can recover from his long journey.’
Both Aeron and Endellion felt their hackles rise at Marcus’s presumption. For a suitor who was petitioning for Severa’s hand in marriage, he was acting as if he was conferring a meaningful gift on their household through his very presence.
‘Not so, Highness! I’m very tired! As I said, I have undertaken a long journey and Mistress Severa will no doubt be grateful for some extra time to primp and pamper herself for the meeting with her suitor. Young girls like to be prepared for such meetings.’ For reasons known only to himself, Marcus seemed eager to defer his first meeting with his prospective bride.
The young adjutant returned after ensuring that his legionnaires were satisfactorily billeted. Those who were part of Marcus’s personal guard had been allocated better quarters within the palace itself.
Endellion had concluded that this Roman aristocrat who intended to court Severa was actually older than she had first thought because, although his ginger hair had a slight curl which even close shearing couldn’t hide, one of his fine locks had escaped from his oiled hairline to roll over his ear, revealing traces of greyness. Endellion’s lips curled scornfully, but she managed to suppress all signs of dislike and contempt by rising to her full height, staring directly into Marcus’s eyes and launching into speech.
‘If you’ll follow me, sir, I will take you to your quarters where you may rest and refresh yourself. I will instruct your manservant as to the location of the baths and other facilities you will need for your personal comfort. Severa will be present at the evening feast, so you can meet her at a time when she’s at her best.’
Marcus nodded and stalked away ahead of her. He was obviously unwilling to permit a woman to lead the way. So she skipped ahead of him with a wicked smile and led the small party into the domestic wings of the villa.
When he was ushered into his spacious apartment, Marcus could find no fault with the large, airy rooms. Endellion pointed out the small cubicle intended as quarters for his manservant and another, smaller anteroom that had been provided for his adjutant. Marcus nodded rather ungraciously before throwing himself across the fine bed and soiling the furs with the dirt from his sandals. Behind her, Endellion heard a slight indrawing of breath as the adjutant winced.
Endellion made her bows and pulled the door closed behind her, before sighing deeply. This Roman was a bore and his manners were execrable, but he had the power to deliver Severa from a life of barren uselessness. Would he make a suitable husband, or was his character too flawed?
Time will untangle this skein, the queen decided as she made her way back to the atrium. I’ll not coerce her, regardless of the cost.
Oddly, Endellion was certain that the problems of this match would be solved. How this would happen, or why, eluded her gift. She must wait until in the fullness of time everything was revealed.
As Endellion reached the atrium, the adjutant caught up with her in the passageway, having ensured that his master’s immediate requirements had been met. He bowed low as he drew level with her, his black curls catching the light with the colour of mulberries.
‘Your Highness,’ he greeted her as he paused, allowing Endellion to notice that his dark eyes were very intelligent and knowing. The hair on her arms rose in response.
‘Yes?’ she answered.
‘My master is weary from his travels, so I’d ask that you excuse any failings in courtesy on his part.’ As he spoke, Constantinus blushed; he was breaking the first maxim of the legions. Rome’s soldiers must never apologise to the local aristocracy.
Endellion smiled and waved away any hint of an apology, for she realised that this centurion would not normally have made such an admission.
‘I noticed a very young Briton among the cavalrymen and I could clearly see that he wasn’t a Roman. Who is he?’
Grateful to the queen for ignoring his earlier gaffe in protocol, Constantinus was more than willing to satisfy Endellion’s curiosity.
‘The lad’s name is Vortigern, Highness, and he is the son of the king of the Demetae tribe. He has been sent to Deva to learn the ways of the legions. He’s a promising young man, so he absorbs knowledge like a sea sponge.’
Endellion nodded as if this trivial piece of information was of little account. However, the name echoed through her skull with the sound of storm winds. Vortigern! It had an ugly sound and her extra senses quivered with the recognition of danger.
With her feelings under control, she smiled distantly and escaped into the triclinium where the servants were preparing for the night’s feast. Nor did Endellion depart from this room until she was certain that the adjutant had passed through the villa’s entrance that took him out into the forecourt. His eyes saw too much.
CHAPTER III
Love and Marriage
Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt though love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?
Solemnisation of Matrimonial Exhortation,
Book of Common Prayer
The priests had come as representatives of several disparate groups of tribal kings, with assorted princes, to oversee the interests of their families and absorb every detail of Corinium, its defences and the efficiency of Aeron’s agricultural and military expertise. As an afterthought, these aristocrats were also charged with the task of recording details of Severa’s appearance, manners and opinions and to watch the performance of the Roman, Marcus Britannicus, who was expected to become the High King of the Britons.
The villa was filled to bursting and every Dobunni aristocrat was expected to do their duty and either find space for a visiting dignitary or provide billets for their attendants. Endellion, given no peace, was required to rush through every waiting hour ensuring that her guests were content and replete. Her facial muscles ached from hours spent smiling inanely while attempting to look sincere, a seemingly hopeless task since she was convinced that Severa could never find happiness with such a rude and pretentious Roman as Marcus Britannicus.
Aeron and she presided over the legal rites of the marriage agreement without any real enthusiasm, but they maintained brave faces out of respect for Severa. When Endellion’s girl had finally met her Roman suitor, he had exerted himself to be charming and, because Severa was inexperienced for a woman of twenty summers, she was easily impressed by his suave boasting.
Endellion had sought out her ward on the third day of Marcus’s visit.
‘Well, my dear, what do you think of him?’ Endellion asked in her most forthright manner. Severa blushed hotly at the question. ‘Can I assume that you liked him?’
‘I’m having difficulty making up my mind, Mother Endellion. I’ve had few opportunities to meet potential suitors, so I’m unable to make a reasoned assessment of his suitability. He’s very free with his compliments and he does have a manly appearance.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Endellion answered with an edge to her voice that Severa knew indicated her dislike for this particular young man.
‘I know you worry about me, Mother Endellion, and you’re concerned that the man I eventually marry will try to use me to win power and a throne. But I will have to marry someone at some point in my life. I yearn to give birth to babies of my own before I’m too old and too careworn to enjoy their creation. Master Marcus might be a little pompous, but he’s attractive enough and we know that he’s a man of means.’
‘A little pompous,’ Endellion almost spat out the words. ‘That young man’s sense of his own importance reminds me of a bladder that has been filled to its full extension. He must be careful where he stands in case someone inadvertently pierces that self-importance. Have you ever considered another man in your search for a husband?’
Severa’s cheeks paled with embarrassment, then two spots of colour gradually appeared on each cheek.
‘So there is another young male who has caught your eye. You must tell me, Severa. Who is this man?’
‘My feelings shouldn’t be a matter of vulgar curiosity, Mother Endellion,’ Severa retorted shortly, but she was quick to apologise. ‘I have no reason to think that Marcus’s adjutant even notices me . . . but my heart has skipped a beat on the few occasions I have seen him. I’ve learned that he has a young son called Constans. He must be wed, but he is a fine young man and seems to have excellent manners. I’m told that his men hold him in high regard. Unfortunately, I must seem like a halfwit to the poor man, for I have been rude to him or stupid on those few occasions when I have been in his presence.’
Endellion carefully examined her ward’s face as the girl began to blush even more under her foster-mother’s close scrutiny. Severa may have been flattered by Marcus’s compliments, but in the days that followed, Endellion had many opportunities to see the admiration in her ward’s eyes whenever the handsome young adjutant came into view.
Endellion began to wonder about this young man and his prospects in Roman Britannia.
For his part, the adjutant also felt the same feather-like brush of attraction, but he was tortured by other, darker emotions less palatable to an honourable officer of the legion.
At first sight of the beautiful Severa, Constantinus had recalled the ravings of an old hermit and his promise of future greatness. Instinct, or the touch of Lady Fortuna, told him clearly that Severa was the woman who could hold his future in her aristocratic hands.
But this princess was so far above his station that any thought of the prophecy reaching fruition was nonsense. He told himself to put all thoughts of her out of his mind.
‘You didn’t know what you were talking about, old man,’ Constantinus muttered to himself as he fled from Severa’s tongue-tied presence after they accidently met in the atrium.
Both young people had been unable to look directly at the other.
Late at night, in the cubicle allotted to him in the villa, Constantinus wondered how Severa would fare as the wife of Marcus Britannicus. The Shit-head was known for his pretentiousness, his rudeness to inferiors and an all-consuming taste for low sex, so Constantinus feared that the girl would have reason to regret the match that had been made for her. But since the centurion had neither birth nor powerful friends to recommend him, Severa would soon become Marcus’s wife. Fortuna had turned her ironic face away from this girl.
With some regret, Constantinus decided to dismiss the prophecy as the madness of a reclusive old hermit in an attempt to forget Severa’s clear and trusting eyes.
With almost indecent haste, the clerics and contract-makers of the land were summoned to carry out the formalities of marriage from the moment that Severa gave a bland acceptance to Marcus Britannicus’s final proposal. Neither the prospective bridegroom nor the bride seemed terribly excited about the prospect although, when Marcus placed what should have been a chaste kiss on the cheek of the bride, he took the opportunity to grip her firmly by the buttocks with one hand in a manner that embarrassed both Severa and her guardians.
He was already laying claim to his property.
Sharp-eyed Endellion saw Marcus’s groping hand and noted that the Roman adjutant winced and turned his eyes away from the spectacle.
As the city began to fill with strangers and citizens with important and dignified names, both Aeron and Constantinus began to feel some concern. The king’s young son, Pridenow, had caused some alarm during the previous night, when he woke screaming after a series of sleep-horrors in which he babbled of blood-splattered bodies and burned features. For her part, Endellion had also felt the presence of nameless terrors that rose in her imagination like a tide of filthy water.
Yet Marcus felt no inkling of this miasma of impending disaster. As arrogant as ever, and as patronising as any emperor who had already been crowned, the Roman wandered through his days in Corinium, signing the required documents with a flourish whenever he was asked to do so, while devouring the last pears from the trees in Endellion’s orchard. He even dropped the cores indiscriminately and ignored most of the dignitaries with scant regard for diplomacy or tact. By the fourth occasion that she had been forced to pick up his fruit cores, Endellion would have happily killed the man herself.
The business aspects of the matrimonial contract were eventually completed and the last cleric departed from Corinium. The princes, kinglets and witnesses were on their way, surrounded by their guards, and the Dobunni royal family sighed deeply, for their premonitions had told them that there was some risk of a political assassination. Despite the departure of their noble guests and the completion of the regal betrothal, Pridenow’s
eyes remained hollowed and bruised from his recollection of his bad dreams, while Endellion felt revolted by the sight and smell of food. Mercifully, Marcus did not insist on his conjugal rights with his betrothed, a demand which he could have exercised before the wedding, once the legal niceties had been met.
In fact, he was feeling in a celebratory mood. Aeron had insisted that Severa’s dowry should be provided by the council of kings, so his betrothed came with a casket of river pearls, bars of Cymru gold, a cache of fine weapons from both ends of the province, many bolts of finely woven wool and exotic cloth. Like a large fat cat, Marcus purred in the sunshine and drank Aeron’s best wines with the appreciation of an epicure.
But Marcus chafed under the dignified confines of family life. He was aware that the tribal queen, that long streak of opinionated and aging womanhood, considered his appearance and his manners to be inappropriate. His own stepmother in Italia had worn that same scornful look, as if she could smell something rank on his person. Meanwhile, Severa would suffice as a wife in these backward lands, but he had no intention of taking her back to Rome. His friends would laugh at him.
Inevitably, Marcus broke away from all strictures.
Corinium was far from the ports along Britannia’s coasts, so the town lacked a discreet district where whores and houses of ill repute were in clear evidence. But no town will ever be entirely free from prostitution; outside the town gates, and free from the direct control of the city fathers, several grimy streets boasted houses with grandiose names like the House of Rose Petals and the Bower of Beauties. The actual structures were ramshackle and dun-coloured. Neither Endellion nor her husband considered for a moment that a guest of breeding, such as Marcus Britannicus, would contemplate a visit to the verminous streets of the Whore’s Quarter.
