by M. K. Hume
He had unbent sufficiently to permit wine to be served, although the healers refused to drink it themselves, preferring the safety of beer. The amber, frothy drink quickly went to their heads and Cadoc led a crazed romp of dancers in a spirited British interpretation of village round dances. Joy gave the evening the sheen of magic that would live in their memories for many weary nights to come, while Fanum would remember the healers and their bounty in the harsh years of servitude under the occupation of the barbarians.
After much dancing, music and song, the newly wedded couple belatedly fled to the marriage bed, which was incongruously decorated with dried rose petals and some of Rhedyn’s lavender.
‘Don’t ask, master!’ Cadoc had warned when Myrddion had opened his mouth to enquire about the rose petals. ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you.’
Myrddion sighed, but then he grinned with boyish enthusiasm. ‘Whatever makes them happy,’ he responded, and clapped Cadoc’s back. ‘All we need to do now is find a wife for you.’
‘There’s no hope of that, master. Who’d love this ugly mug?’
‘I’m quite certain there are many women who’d happily keep you. I’m aware of your many conquests in Rome, and by all accounts there are queues of women eager to mother you. Don’t colour up, Cadoc. I’m simply speaking the truth as I see it, my friend. You can see how happy Finn is, so don’t you long to experience such felicity?’
Cadoc’s face fell into uncharacteristically sober lines. He threw one arm companiably over Myrddion’s shoulders.
‘Don’t you, master? Hmm? Exactly! Like you, I’m becoming fond of the road and adventures. When I lost the full use of my arm and soldiering seemed beyond me forever, I thought I’d finish my days in some boring trade like farming. But I’m a healer now, and the world clamours for my skills. Bridie is used to the life, so she accepts travel as part of her love for Finn, but where will I find another girl who’ll give up her family and any chance of a cosy, settled home?’
‘Ah, then we’ll be single men together, you and I,’ Myrddion riposted, but his eyes were sad. Myrddion had seen the deep wells of affection that can enrich married life, so part of his nature hungered for a home and a family. Unfortunately, his experiences with his mother had taught him that love was not always unconditional, so he was cautious in all matters of the heart.
Alone on the strand, after the villagers and his own companions had retired to their beds, Myrddion sat on a crab pot and endured the advances of a small black and white dog with pricked ears and a wide, canine smile. He patted the little creature reflectively and it yipped with pleasure.
‘Families are a problem, aren’t they, little one?’ he said, and the dog tilted its head towards him in answer. ‘Marriage is a blessing where love dwells in the heart, as with Olwyn and Eddius. But when it is a matter of convenience and wealth, as with my mother Branwyn and her two husbands, then there’s precious little happiness and a great deal of heartache.’
The face of his grandmother Olwyn seemed to materialise out of the sea mist. ‘I loved you so much, Gran,’ he whispered, realising he was a little drunk. ‘You made me a man of some worth; you protected me and loved me. Your trust made me as whole as I’ll ever be.’
Olwyn’s lips smiled, and then faded to be replaced by his mother’s scornful, hate-filled face. The old, unchanging expression of loathing seemed to radiate out of her to poison him, as it always did when they were together.
‘I know why you hated me so much, Mother, and perhaps I would feel the same if I was raped and then forced to carry the result of that attack. I understand why you can’t bear to even look at me, but I wish I could love you, and be loved by you.’ The small dog licked his dangling hand, and the face of his mother vanished into the mist after his grandmother’s, leaving Myrddion sick at heart.
‘My loneliness is causing me to imagine things, pup, so forgive me.’ He patted the small square head and was amused to see the dog’s stump of tail wriggle with pleasure. ‘I wish I could be as easily pleased as you are, but I suppose that’s past praying for. Anyway, with luck, Finn and Bridie will be happy enough for all of us.’
With a twinge of regret, he turned his back on the sea, with its rime of phosphorescence from the slow, steady ripple of the tide, and made his way back to the inn and his solitary pallet.
The next morning, when the happy couple joined their friends in the sunshine outside the inn, it was to find that Myrddion had commandeered a table on which a pile of gifts from the villagers had been assembled. None of the objects on the table was valuable and few of them were new, but Finn’s grin grew wider until his face was glossy with happiness, while Bridie burst into tears at this tangible proof of affection.
Fish hooks, a stew pot, a necklace of shells, dried apples, a potted lemon bush, loaves of unleavened bread, a conch shell and a strange little household god holding an iron trident stood on the table for the newly-weds to stroke and marvel at. Then the widows, Cadoc and Myrddion, who had scoured the town for suitable offerings, presented their own special bride gifts to the happy couple.
Somehow, Rhedyn and Brangaine had found a baby’s dress made of fine thread that had been knitted, rather than woven. Ignorant of such women’s work, Myrddion had no idea how the small, spider-webbed garment had been created, but he could recognise that it was soft from use and had a creamy appearance that spoke of great age. Tiny shells had been pierced and sewn round the hem so that they rang softly like little bells. The infant’s robe was beautiful in its homely fashion, and alien in construction, so that it would become a fitting heirloom when the fledgling family eventually returned to the land of the Britons.
Bridie wept again and then hugged Rhedyn and Brangaine before clutching the lovely article to her breasts.
Cadoc had been mindful of practical matters and had found two silver spoons, although Myrddion chose not to ask where his apprentice had discovered such treasure, least of all saved the coin to pay for it. To own a single spoon was a sign of wealth, but to own two spoons was a wonder, so the newly wedded couple were incoherent with amazement.
Myrddion’s gifts were thoughtful and strange, just as Cadoc and Finn would have expected. Myrddion had seen first-hand how his grandmother Olwyn had found little time for herself once the babes of her second marriage had been born, so he understood how women longed for personal adornment to make them feel pretty after the demands that childbirth made on their bodies. He had found a length of very fine linen that had been dyed a clear lemon shade that would enhance Bridie’s lovely hair. A long row of abstract shell shapes had been woven into the fine cloth to create a border, thereby turning the cloth into a princely gift. Luck had been with the young healer, for such a piece of weaving could usually be found only in the centres of Rome, Constantinople or Ravenna, but a local trader had accepted the cloth from a fleeing kinsman of Flavius Aetius in exchange for a good horse. A wise man flees when an emperor kills the family paterfamilias. He had been relieved to exchange the cloth for two of Myrddion’s store of Janus gold coins.
For Finn, Myrddion had purchased a bag that could be used to assemble his own healer’s kit. The leather satchel was strong and serviceable, and was lashed together with strong thongs of the same material that had been dyed dark blue to create a self-pattern on the tanned leather.
‘It’s coloured with indigo,’ Myrddion explained to Finn, who had gasped with surprise when the satchel was pressed into his hands. ‘All that is needed now is for you to assemble a basic supply of salves, pain relievers, forceps, needles and lances and you can practise as a fully fledged healer.’
‘This is too much, Master,’ Finn protested.
‘No, Finn, it’s not enough. You and Cadoc have served me well for so long that it’s unfair on my part to consider you to be apprentices any more.’
Then, with a flourish, he produced a matching satchel for Cadoc, different only in that the thongs were coloured a rusty red to set it apart from the gift given to Finn.
‘
You have both served your apprenticeships, and I declare that you are now healers. You may choose to stay with me or to set up a practice of your own if you are tired of the road. I’ll not blame either of you if you choose to stay here, or in Ravenna, or if you decide to return to Britain. As of now, you are free to do as you choose.’
‘Master . . . how could I leave you?’ Cadoc said emotionally. ‘I owe you my trade, the use of my arm and my life. I am your man forever.’
‘And I,’ Finn agreed, standing back from Myrddion and saluting the younger man with one clenched fist over his heart in the Roman fashion. ‘I would have died of shame and madness in Cymru if you hadn’t taken me in and tried to stitch my damaged wits back together. We three are the healers of Segontium, and I’ll not be parted from you. Forgive me, Bridie my love, but not even a thousand wives could force me to break my oath to my master.’
‘Nor would a thousand wives want you to break your vows,’ Bridie said proudly, drawing herself up to her full height like a perky little sparrow facing a cat that threatened her fledglings. ‘We are your widows, master, and you’ve not asked anything of us but honest work in all the years we’ve served you. You’ve treated us as if we were ladies rather than camp followers. I’m a happy woman now because of you . . . and I don’t deserve your gift. It’s too valuable, my lord.’
Embarrassed and touched, Myrddion flushed along his high cheekbones. ‘You are a lady, Bridie – as are Rhedyn and Brangaine. You deserve more than I’ve given, because you’ve been loyal and true, which are qualities worth more than anything that can be purchased with coin.’
‘I don’t know about you, master, but all this sentimentality is getting to me,’ Cadoc said with a wink, as he dried his face with his sleeve. ‘Let’s drink a glass of beer and then have something to eat from last night’s leavings. I, for one, am starving!’
Even two months after the death of Aetius, Ravenna still seethed with fear, excitement and gossip. During those weary weeks before the New Year, the emperor had kept himself alone, preferring the company of Heraclius and his servants to that of the members of the court, whom he distrusted and feared. Every man and woman was a possible threat to his throne and his life.
Even the guards had been drawn into the after-effects of the execution of Aetius.
‘I swear that the general was unarmed when he entered Valentinian’s room. The knife in his hand was far too big to hide in his toga or in his boot. Besides, why would the emperor lock himself in a room with someone he hated and feared?’ The soldier who spoke was Optilia, a captain in Valentinian’s guard.
‘Don’t ask me!’ a burly Goth snapped, his green eyes glowing in the lamplight of their quarters. ‘The general wouldn’t kill an unarmed man. Aetius was hard, but he wasn’t a dog. I think . . .’
‘Don’t say it!’ Aetius’s son-in-law Thraustila had entered the guardroom and overheard Optilia’s conversation with the Goth. To speak treason aloud in this climate of fear was crazy.
‘We’ve already been soaked in the blood of our general and I’d prefer not to be bathed in our own, so keep your mouths shut,’ the Hungvari nobleman went on. ‘There are plots and rumours everywhere I turn. Valentinian has cut off his own right hand to make his left hand stronger, but I think he’s risking everything on a lie.’
‘His lie, most like!’ Optilia retorted.
‘Maybe. Someone will eventually call Valentinian to account, but it won’t be me.’
Optilia and Thraustila looked at each other, but neither man said anything further.
This conversation was repeated, in one form or another, all over Ravenna. Meanwhile, the empress Licinia Eudoxia kept to her apartments and avoided her husband. Her behaviour was so pointed that the dogs of gossip suggested she was afraid that the emperor could turn on her. In fact, the empress expected reprisals for her husband’s murderous action, and she worried that her children could be killed in any struggle for the throne.
Valentinian did not fear his wife, but nor did he trust her to remain true to his interests. Because Valentinian lacked vision, he had expected his life to return to its normal luxurious and pleasure-loving pattern after Aetius was removed from the equation. All too late, Valentinian discovered that every action has its opposite reaction, and the entire court was watching him closely. His enemies had multiplied, so the dangers to his person had trebled.
‘You must act, my lord,’ Heraclius pressed him. ‘Flavius Petronius Maximus remains your most potent enemy and he is waiting to take your throne as soon as he can have you removed.’
Valentinian rounded on the eunuch with reddened, angry eyes.
‘I’ve had enough of your insinuations, Heraclius. If I execute Petronius, then the people will be sure that I’ve gone mad. The latest reports tell me that King Geiseric and his Vandals are massing near the border in the north. For the sake of all the gods, Heraclius, I must have some generals left alive. Are you going to defend the Empire? Or do you expect me to become a military leader so late in life? I need Petronius, else I’d remove him summarily.’
‘You cannot trust either Petronius or your wife. They’d have you killed without a moment’s hesitation.’
‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ Valentinian screamed, bustling Heraclius out of his rooms and locking the door behind him.
The eunuch might have been trying to bolster his reputation and the position of his protector, but he was very close to the truth.
In the New Year, Valentinian demanded that the court should move back to Rome, so while Myrddion and his companions were still in the mountains the court transferred back to the city of Romulus along the Via Salaria, leaving the empress, Placidia, Gaudentius and Flavia behind in Ravenna. Flavia’s husband Thraustila and his friend Optilia accompanied the Praetorian Guard to protect the person of the emperor.
Valentinian distrusted everyone, but especially he feared the scions of Aetius, or those who had married into his family. By keeping Thraustila close to him, he was following the old adage of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer. He judged, rightly, that Thraustila lacked the support or the patronage to attempt assassination in Rome, where his ancestry was hated. Rat-like, Valentinian argued with himself late at night when his fears of murder drove him to the edge of madness.
He’s a Hun, and the people of Rome hate them and would tear them to pieces, Valentinian thought desperately. It’s in Thraustila’s best interests to keep me alive.
The emperor had never really understood the way ordinary people thought or felt. Thraustila’s pride had been wounded, for his father-in-law had died ignominiously and no one had been punished for the murder. According to the beliefs of the young man’s people, Aetius’s shade was unavenged and could never rest peacefully in the grave.
Likewise, Optilia fumed inwardly that his master had died while he had been standing guard. He was certain that Aetius had been unarmed, so the general’s death had been doubly shameful. By Optilia’s exacting standards, Valentinian had forfeited the right to loyalty and Aetius’s murder had now become an affront to the guard’s manhood.
Had Valentinian considered the feelings of others, perhaps he might have decided that taking Optilia and Thraustila with him on the journey to Rome was a risky decision. But Valentinian saw the world through his eyes alone, and not with his mind and his heart, thus rendering him blind in a world of sighted enemies.
As soon as Valentinian departed, Licinia Eudoxia began to suffer from fearsome nightmares and terrifying suspicions. She believed that her husband had rejected her, while she feared Petronius Maximus more than she could express in words. Shortly after the suicide of his wife, the senator had spoken to Lady Flavia and expressed his dislike of Licinia Eudoxia, telling the red-haired beauty that he blamed the empress for complicity in the rape of his wife. Licinia Eudoxia would never trust Lady Flavia, who rushed to tell her of Petronius’s enmity. But Licinia Eudoxia was not surprised that Petronius was seeking to find another scapegoat for the death of the lady Lydia.
The empress was an easy target, especially if Valentinian died.
But even more than Petronius, the empress knew that she had cause to fear the heirs of Aetius. Flavia had been quick to swear her allegiance to the throne, but Eudoxia was nobody’s fool. Flavia was Aetius’s daughter and had inherited her father’s cold-blooded intelligence.
‘Aetius was loyal to you, your majesty, I swear! My father knew that he was too old to rule, so he would never have raised a hand against your husband. My brother is married to your daughter, so our families are tightly interwoven. A blow against one is a blow against all.’
Eudoxia was not deceived by Flavia’s assurances. The girl might be married to a nobleman in Valentinian’s guard, but she was still Aetius’s daughter. Self-willed and careless, Flavia took every opportunity afforded by her husband’s absence from Ravenna to surround herself with her own court of thoroughly disreputable persons, including handsome actors, freed gladiators, and gamblers, and was too fond of muscular young men to maintain a reputation for respectability. The empress’s lips curled with barely concealed contempt.
Then, out of fear and doubt, Licinia Eudoxia made a dire and foolish error. She wrote a letter to Geiseric, trusting in the ambitions of the barbarian king.
‘Should you be prepared to save me from the treasonous actions of those persons closest to the throne, then I will promise my daughter Eudocia to your son Huneric, in a marriage that will bind our houses together. I ask that you understand my womanly fears for my husband, Valentinian, who has been manipulated by unscrupulous men. Should he perish in Rome, I will know that he has been murdered, and I will need the support of your strong right arm to survive such treasons.’
Eudoxia paced her apartments after the letter was irrevocably sent, and she finally came to a decision. ‘Call my daughters, Placidia and Eudocia, to join me at once, and then start packing their possessions for a journey,’ she instructed her guard. ‘You may tell them that I expect us to be on our way to Rome by noon tomorrow.’
