After Rome

by Morgan Llywelyn

  “What do you mean by ‘our way of life’?” wondered Meradoc.

  Dinas was anxious to be on his way again. No great effort was needed to persuade Pelemos to go with them. The man seemed almost relieved to turn his back on the ruins of a lifetime. His reaction was not unique. Throughout Britannia Superior people were struggling to find ways to deal with drastically changed circumstances. Some would flee, some would fight.

  Some would try to pretend nothing had changed.

  Dinas allowed Pelemos another day to rest and gather his strength, then the three men set out together. Dinas appeared to be more cheerful than he had been. Responding to him, the dark horse pranced and jingled his bit. Pelemos was quiet but that was to be expected. For him it was a victory to be able to keep going. Meradoc kept a watchful eye on him, prepared to help if necessary.

  It was not necessary. The man was as strong as he looked.

  Things are falling into place, Dinas told himself. First Meradoc, now Pelemos. What about Cadogan?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cadogan and Quartilla had returned to the fort laden with food and necessities such as lamp oil. Cadogan carried the bulk of the supplies on his back, but Quartilla, to his surprise, willingly carried her share. He never knew what to expect of the woman. Nor what to do about her either. Foolishly, perhaps, he had hoped she might want to remain in the village, but from the moment they arrived she had been openly contemptuous of the simple thatched houses and the ordinary country people who occupied them. She clung to Cadogan like a burr to ensure he would not leave without her. When they arrived back at the fort she declared herself “delighted to be home.”

  Among Cadogan’s purchases had been a thick pallet stuffed with goose down. A useful article in any case, but particularly useful for a man who was going to sleep on the floor. He knew he needed to sleep well; he would have to chop a lot of firewood.

  The pair had settled into an uneasy domesticity. Uneasy on Cadogan’s part, apparently satisfactory to Quartilla. The evening they returned from the village she had bustled about the place by lamplight, putting away their supplies and rearranging Cadogan’s possessions. Neither wife nor servant, she was defining her position as co-occupier with equal rights.

  It was not in Cadogan’s nature to throw a woman out by the scruff of the neck, but he was not fooled by her clumsy attempts to ingratiate herself. He did not want her, nor did he want her in his house. Her presence only served to remind him how much he still wanted Viola. During all the long hard days he had spent constructing the fort, it was Viola he imagined waiting for him in the doorway. He refused to believe she was lost to him. The misunderstanding between Dinas and Aldina had caused her to take a stand that did not reflect her true feelings. When enough time had passed Viola would regret her decision, he was certain of it.

  Almost certain.

  For five nights Cadogan slept on the floor. On the sixth morning he awoke with such a pain in his back he had to get to his feet in stages. His stiff back helped to stiffen his resolve.

  The woman was still sleeping soundly in his bed—most of the sound being her explosive snoring. He shook her, not too gently, by the shoulder. “You’ll have to get up now, Quartilla, it’s time for you to go.”

  She opened her eyes and stared blearily up at him. “Go where?”

  “Back to wherever you came from.”

  She sat up, keeping a blanket across her naked upper body. “You don’t know where I came from.”

  Cadogan was in no mood to play games with her. “Then you’d better tell me so I can send you home.”

  “I’m not a piece of baggage you can pack off on a mule!” she spat at him. “I’ll have you know I am the daughter of a chieftain.” Raising her chin, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders like a royal robe—as if indifferent to the fact that the movement uncovered her breasts. Two scrawny sacks hanging on a bony rib cage. “I was born and raised in a real fortress on a mountaintop, nothing like this pathetic hovel of yours.”

  “You said your father was a centurion,” Cadogan reminded her.

  “I never! I may have mentioned that my grandfather was a centurion, but you misunderstood.” Her hauteur changed to belligerence. “That’s so like you, Cadogan! If you’d been paying the attention I deserve, you’d know I said my father married a centurion’s daughter.”

  Cadogan noticed beads of sweat on her forehead. She was not a good liar, so why did she keep trying? “British chieftains marry women of their own rank, Quartilla, so I’m surprised that one would marry a foreigner’s daughter. Which tribe does your father belong to?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He is … he was … a chief of the Iceni.”

  “The tribe of the warrior queen called Boudicca?”

  “The same.” Her confidence was coming back. She tossed her head and smiled at him. “I inherited my red hair from Boudicca.”

  If Cadogan had not been thoroughly sick of Quartilla by now he would have felt sorry for her, but this was a matter of survival. “Your red hair,” he echoed blandly. Then he pounced. “Your dyed red hair.”

  Her face flamed. “It isn’t dyed! Besides, Roman matrons dye their hair red to make them look like Helen or Cleopatra, and why shouldn’t they?”

  Cadogan had decided she was a pretentious peasant, yet she knew something about Helen of Troy and Cleopatra. That demonstrated a degree of education. But how? Where? Suddenly he was interested.

  When he tried to question her she drew into herself like a snail into its shell.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  Cadogan was halfway down the hill before he paused to wonder how she had driven him from his own home. She had not asked him to go yet here he was. Failing to communicate with her on any useful level, he had left the fort, calling back, “I’m going to the well for more water.” But he had not brought any buckets. Had not brought anything except his own frustration.

  The first spatters of an icy rain struck his face.

  Perhaps I should do what Dinas did—wisely, in retrospect—and simply abandon the woman. Walk away without looking back, and start over in a different place. I’ve started over before, I can do it again, only better, with the knowledge born of experience. This time I’ll find land near a quarry so I can build with stone. But first I must dig a real basement and put in a foundation. I’ll need …

  Concrete! The Romans often used concrete in place of stone because it could take any form. They mixed it themselves using … using what? Who still remembers? Someone must, I’ll have to ask …

  The rain began to fall harder. The air turned bitterly cold.

  When the basement is finished I can install a hypocaust. Definitely, a hypocaust! Warm floors, warm water … But a hypocaust requires a furnace and slaves to stoke it. Perhaps not a hypocaust, then. I do want water piped inside, though, and good drainage. When I was living with my father I should have learned how such things worked, but that was left to the servants. Are the pipes tile or concrete? And how are they laid out, is it complicated? I’ll find out. And I’ll learn how to make concrete for the foundation and I’ll buy tiles for the roof. Beautiful red tiles. I can do it. I can build …

  For one heartbeat Cadogan’s villa stood complete and splendid in his mind. On a high hill against a windswept sky. The home he would offer to Viola.

  The vision was abruptly blotted out by a mental image of Quartilla.

  Cadogan swore aloud.

  If he abandoned her he knew he would never forgive himself. The woman would become a recurrent nightmare, spoiling any happiness he might find. His Christian conscience was not the only thing holding him back. Walking away was not practical. His most cherished belongings were in the fort, together with a substantial sum of money, cleverly concealed.

  He turned and started back up the slope. He had only taken a few steps when he heard hoofbeats and a familiar voice shouted his name. With a sense of relief, Cadogan saw the dark horse emerge from the woods to the west and gallop toward him.

 
; As Dinas drew rein Cadogan said, “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you.”

  Dinas slid down from his horse. “Same old cousin, affectionate to the end.”

  “It almost was the end between us. You told me about the danger to Viroconium and then rode away as if it didn’t matter.”

  “It mattered, but there was little I could do about, so I got on with my life—which is the advice I gave you, Cadogan.”

  “You knew I would go anyway. You could have offered to go with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you no family feeling, Dinas?”

  For a fleeting instant the other man’s expression changed. Then he went on the attack again. “What about your own family feeling, Cadogan? You left your home just as I left mine, only it look you longer to do it. Which reminds me—what did you do with the woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “I forget her name; the woman I left with you. Did you sell her or”—Dinas flashed his familiar sardonic grin—“did you eat her?”

  Cadogan smiled too; Dinas could always make him smile. “She told me her name was Quartilla. A real problem, that one: too ugly to sell and too skinny to eat.”

  Dinas raised one eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you kept her! You must have been desperate for a woman.”

  “Not that one,” Cadogan assured him. “I’m glad you came back for her, she said you would.”

  “Oh no. No, no, no.” Dinas was vigorously shaking his head. “I gave her to you as a present, you’d be insulting me if you returned her.”

  “But I don’t want her, Dinas! Can’t you understand?”

  “I understand completely, I don’t want her either.”

  “Then why on earth did you…” Cadogan broke off as he saw two more men come out of the forest. One was tall and unusually handsome, the other was short with unusually large ears. The dark stallion stretched his neck toward the short man and gave a soft whinny.

  Cadogan said, “I thought he only liked you.”

  “He still likes me best,” Dinas replied confidently. “But Meradoc seems to have a touch with horses.”

  “Meradoc?”

  “The little fellow over there; he joined me in Deva. The other one is called Pelemos. We met him along the way.”

  Cadogan brightened. “You went all the way to Deva and then returned for Quartilla after all?”

  “Of course not,” Dinas said scornfully, “I have no interest in her. I came back for you, cousin. I could use your help with a plan I have in mind. If it works we’ll both be powerful men. We can have anything we want.”

  Suddenly wary, Cadogan said, “I have enough for my needs already.”

  “You’re too easily satisfied, cousin; you always were. That’s why you settled for plain little Viola while I went for the prettier one. What was her name? I’ve forgotten that too.” Ignoring the angry look Cadogan gave him, Dinas glanced toward the sky, then beckoned to Meradoc. “That rain is about to turn to sleet. Take my horse into the woods and find shelter for him, then you and Pelemos can join us inside.” He handed the stallion’s reins to Meradoc and ran up the hill to the fort.

  “You could have waited for an invitation!” Cadogan shouted as he ran after him.

  He entered to find Quartilla seated at the table with a heaping bowl of food in front of her, but she was not eating. She was staring openmouthed at Dinas.

  “No warm welcome from you, eh?” Dinas said to her. “Enough of this lounging about. Obviously Cadogan hasn’t trained you properly, but when guests arrive the servants bring fresh water to wash their faces and feet.” When she continued to stare he struck his hands together like a thunderclap. “Now, Luculla! Jump to it!”

  She jumped. As she ran out the door with a bucket in her hand Cadogan said, “What did you just call her?”

  “Luculla. That’s her name, I just remembered it.”

  “That’s not what she told me. She said her name was Quartilla and her father was a centurion. Days later she claimed he was a chieftain of the Iceni. What did she tell you?”

  Dinas laughed. “We didn’t have much conversation; I don’t believe in talking to women. Exchange a few pleasant words with them and they think they’re entitled to ask for your time—or your purse. I found her squatting in the weeds beside a trackway south of here. She was furious because I saw her relieving herself, so to make up for it, I offered to take her someplace where she could get food. She followed me here and I left her with you. As a gift,” he added.

  “But weren’t you even curious about her?”

  “I’m curious about many things, cousin, but not about some stray woman I found in the road. From the look of her she was nothing and nobody. I did her a favor, that’s all.”

  If what Dinas had said was true—and it probably was, it fitted with his character—he had treated the woman shamefully. “What about those two strays you have with you now, Dinas? Are you hoping to dump them on me, too?”

  “They aren’t strays, either of them; I’ve recruited them. I told you I have a good idea. After your woman serves us a hot meal I’ll explain it to you.”

  “She’s not my woman!” Cadogan sputtered.

  Quartilla returned, red-faced and panting, with a brimming bucket carried from the well. In the doorway she almost collided with Meradoc and Pelemos. She hastily set the bucket down and stood staring at Pelemos as she had been staring at Dinas a few minutes earlier.

  “Bring us some wine that’s fit to drink and then prepare our meal,” Dinas said. “Roast meat if you have it. Otherwise, cook something in a pot.”

  Awakened from her trance, she flared. “I’m not yours to command!”

  “You’re the only woman in the house,” he replied in a reasonable tone, “and there are four thirsty, hungry men here. Do your duty.”

  Cadogan told his cousin, “I don’t have any wine, just barley beer flavored with wormwood. And I don’t know if Quartilla can cook.”

  “Jupiter and Juno, man! Have you been cooking for her? I got here just in time.”

  An hour later the four men were polishing off the remains of an adequate if not sumptuous meal of bread stuffed with pot cheese, venison stewed with dried fruit and juniper berries, and boiled apples flavored with cinnamon. The beer with which Quartilla filled their cups was a dark, musty beverage not to Meradoc’s taste. When he set his cup aside Pelemos promptly drained it.

  “Where did you learn to put cheese inside a loaf of bread?” Cadogan asked Quartilla.

  “It is a great favorite in Egypt,” she said.

  Dinas lifted an eyebrow. “Been to Egypt, have you?”

  “No.” She would not look at him. Her eyes kept returning to Pelemos. But he remained oblivious to her, gazing into a faraway place.

  “That good mare of yours, cousin,” Dinas remarked. “I haven’t seen her yet. Where is she?”

  “Outside somewhere,” Cadogan said with an airy wave of his hand. He would be embarrassed if Dinas knew he had lost the horse. “Grazing, you know.”

  “In this weather? You should take better care of that animal, cousin. There’ll be no more like her.”

  While the woman cleared away the remnants of the meal the men gathered around the fire. A barrage of sleet was battering the roof; its chill seeped into the room. Meradoc took off his boots and set them to warm close to the fire. Cadogan rubbed his hands together, then blew on his fingers. “Now what’s this idea of yours, Dinas?”

  “In Deva I noticed that the market square was half abandoned, and the merchandise that was available looked like rubbish. Does that suggest anything to you?”

  Meradoc lifted his head at the familiar question.

  “Only that Deva is impoverished,” said Cadogan.

  “Under the Romans it was a major garrison stocked with every sort of merchandise, just as Viroconium was when it served as a supply center for the western frontier. The resources of this island were traded for valuables from the far corners of the empire, and that trade used the sea-lanes. T
he importance of Deva’s neglected market lies in its implications, cousin. The imported luxury goods that brought such high prices are gone. But the sea-lanes are still there.”

  “I understand now!” Quartilla cried. “You want to reestablish the luxury trade yourself!”

  Dinas shot her a look that Cadogan found hard to read. “Aren’t you the clever thing, Luculla? There is only one problem with that idea. I know nothing about merchandising.”

  “Neither do I,” Meradoc interjected, “but I think I could learn.”

  Dinas turned to Cadogan. “Now you understand why I brought him along.”

  “I don’t understand anything, Dinas. Is Quartilla right, do you intend to sail to Iberia and buy olive oil for import? Knowing you as I do, the idea is bizarre, but…”

  Dinas laughed; a laugh intended to hurt. “You poor sad fool, you never see more than part of the picture, do you? I have no intention of risking my life on the sea, I’m too fond of living. Since I have to spell it out for you, listen closely so I don’t need to repeat myself. Cargo is still being shipped through the sea-lanes but it isn’t guarded by the legions. Commerce is wide open. Do you see the opportunities now? What I propose is this…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They talked until late in the night; pausing only to add another log to the fire on the hearth. Meanwhile Quartilla lay snoring on Cadogan’s bed. Meradoc was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. His eyes were closed. Pelemos, still awake but indifferent to his surroundings, sat on a stool, staring into his empty cup. The golden lamplight loved the planes of his face.

  “This idea of yours,” Cadogan said, “reminds me of the wild schemes you dreamed up when we were boys. You never thought anything through, Dinas; you never took things step by step. You rushed right in and expected me to back you up, and your half-baked notions invariably got me into trouble.”