‘You’re a devil of a child,’ Artorex muttered to himself. ‘You should know the dangers of these places - especially for a woman. Why can’t you weave, or sew or even clean, like every other female in the villa?’
Ducking and weaving on Coal’s back as he avoided low-hanging branches, he rode Coal deeper into the woods.
Perhaps it’s because she’s not like any other woman, an internal voice warned him.
The trees had no interest in either Artorex or Gallia, so he received no answer to his questions except for the rustling of small, unseen things that had been disturbed by the passage of his horse.
‘Gallia!’ he roared at the top of his lungs, once he was deep within the woods, knowing that he could search these wild places for weeks and still not find her.
‘Where are you? Shout if you hear me.’
Coal picked his way daintily over the uneven ground while Artorex strained to hear an answer to his calls. When a response came, it was unexpectedly clear - and very close. Artorex leapt off Coal’s back and led the stallion through the treacherous tangle of tree roots and fallen logs, and into the silence of his long-unseen glade.
Gallia was seated on his stone, her head lifted and her eyes already flaring with panic. Instinctively, she knew that only a matter of great urgency would cause the steward to seek her out when, under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t expect to see him till the evening meal.
‘What is amiss, Artorex? Is it Julanna? Or little Livinia?’
Artorex gazed down at his sandalled foot and fiddled with the reins of his horse.
‘I . . .’ he began, but Gallia leapt to her feet impetuously.
‘News has come from Aquae Sulis, hasn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Is it Father?’
Artorex nodded. ‘Yes, Gallia, I have news from Aquae Sulis . . . and it’s bad tidings, I’m afraid.’
He paused but could find no platitudes to ease the pain he was about to inflict. Gallia’s eyes were wide and frightened, and the half-light that filtered through the tall trees cast a greenish light over her features. Artorex was stricken, but he knew that only the blunt truth would serve him now.
‘Your father has died from the pestilence. A courier has just arrived with news from your brother, Gallinus, who is now the new master of your father’s house. Several of your brothers, the son of Gallinus and one of his daughters have also gone to meet their ancestors. Other members of your family have also perished. Gallinus sent few details, except to warn us that it might be some time before he can fetch you home. I regret that I must bear these sad tidings and I wish I could say something to console you in your grief. ’
Gallia stared at Artorex blankly.
‘But Gallinus is my third brother. What of Gallicus Minor and Gallius? They must be dead as well - and Gallinus has lacked the heart to send word to me directly. Help me, Mother, help me!’
Horrified, Artorex saw that Gallia’s eyes had rolled back in her head and she was falling sideways in a dead faint towards the depression in the rock with its strange and disturbing design. Even as he sprang forward and caught her, he could picture her blood filling that cup and escaping along the spirals in a thin ribbon of crimson.
‘Gallia!’ he whispered in her ear as he effortlessly lifted her slender body. Her face was only inches away from his lips.
‘Wake up, Gallia! Wake up!’ he said urgently into her ear.
Gallia’s eyelids fluttered but she made no sound. Artorex swung her soft, pliant body up into his arms and, whistling for Coal to follow him, he began to pick his way back through the tangle of trees to where the forest met the fields of the farm.
Gallia lay limply in his arms. It was almost as if she, too, were dead, like so many of her kin, and Artorex wondered how it would feel to lose someone who was so close in blood and affection. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine such a loss. He would mourn for Targo, Frith or Ector if they should die, for he had known them all his short life. He had mourned the loss of Mistress Livinia, and whenever he heard the swing and beat of the shuttle and the loom, his throat constricted with an emotion that was surely grief. But, with no blood ties to a family, he could never fully understand Gallia’s loss.
Once he was clear of the trees, Artorex remounted Coal with Gallia still in a dead faint in his arms. She began to return to consciousness as they approached the villa, but her eyes were dry and glazed. Something essential to her spirit had fled away with the news that Artorex had delivered.
‘They’re all dead,’ she murmured against his chest.
‘Not all of them, Gallia. Not all! Your brother struggles to put his father’s affairs in order, and he’ll come for you when his duties permit. The pestilence decided that many of your kin went to the funeral pyres long before they were fated to do so, but I have been assured that all the burial rituals were observed exactly as your father would have wished.’ He looked down at her upturned face. ‘I’d take your pain away myself, Gallia, if only I knew how.’
Absently, she squeezed his arm to express her thanks, but her mind was struggling to comprehend the depth of her loss.
‘I know you’d help me if you could, Artorex, but there’s nothing we can do, is there?’
‘No, Gallia, there’s not.’
At the very least, he could present her with the truth.
At the villa, Gallia’s maidservant came running and assisted her mistress into her quarters. Julanna had been disturbed by the fuss and now she listened to the report from Artorex with growing concern and horror.
‘Will this terrible year never be done?’ she moaned, and hurried to the side of her friend.
The evening meal was bereft of womenfolk. Ector was saddened by Gallia’s tragedy, but was fully aware that there was nothing he could offer to assist Gallia in her time of mourning.
‘We’re very fortunate to be so distant from Aquae Sulis. If the pestilence has truly passed, as the courier suggested, our isolation has been instrumental in keeping us safe.’
‘Aye, master. You acted wisely when you determined to keep us isolated from all contact with outsiders.’
‘I wish Lady Livinia was still here. She’d know how to ease the burdens that little Gallia must carry. It must be nigh impossible for her to linger here in comfort when her family is such a short distance away and yet not be able to help them in their suffering.’
‘Aye. The mistress would have known how to help little Gallia,’ Artorex agreed. But Caius remained non-committal and silent.
Frith reported that Gallia was now awake but remained dry-eyed, shivering and distracted.
‘Will she be well?’ Artorex asked.
‘Never fear, master, she’ll start to talk soon, and then she’ll remember the happy years and the joyful times she spent with her family. She’ll shed some good, healing tears. The little mistress is young, and her body is not yet ready for death, although she’s half mad with her loss.’
And so, old Frith, faithful Julanna and a few trusted maidservants sat with the grieving Gallia and tended to her needs. At first she was mute, and then the memories poured out of her as if the simple task of repeating tales of her childhood could keep her father and her brothers alive for a little longer.
The tears followed, and the nightmares, and yet more tears, until Gallia emerged from her bedchamber, pale, thin and as insubstantial as thistledown.
During her ordeal, a strange friendship had been forged. Julanna had the running of the household and the care of her child pressing down upon her narrow, girlish shoulders. Although she longed to ease Gallia’s sorrow, time kept her from the side of her loyal friend more often than she wished.
But, smoothly and naturally, as if she had always been there, Frith sat with Gallia beside her pallet or coaxed her to eat. When the girl wept in her restless sleep, it was old Frith who woke her, held her gently to her withered breasts and soothed away her nightmares with kisses and kind words. The first thing that Gallia saw when she awoke each grey, winter morning was Frith’s wrinkled, smiling face, and the last sound she heard before sleeping was the sweet sound of the old woman’s singing.
Gallia had barely risen from her bed of grief when her brother suddenly arrived at the Villa Poppinidii. New streaks of grey now bleached his black hair and he was without even a single manservant to attend to his needs and comfort during his journey.
After a tearful reunion, Gallia took to her bed once again, too worn and weary from tears and misery to face the tangible person of her last sibling. To pass the time, Gallinus sought the advice of Lord Ector, seeking an older head to guide him, while Artorex took pains to ensure that he was also present at the meeting.
‘I couldn’t speak what is in my heart with little Gallia present. Ten members of my family are dead, and over half our servants have perished with them. The family business is in tatters. Oh, it is sound at the roots, for everyone needs fish, but I must labour hard to repair what the pestilence has stolen from us. The markets of Aquae Sulis are silent, the fleet from Abone is halved and the warehouses are stripped of those labourers who are necessary to carry out the physical work. Little Gallia knows little of trade so it will be difficult to tell her she is unlikely to have a dowry when she is eventually married.’
Ector rumbled his distress at this news.
‘Gallia has always been the little singing bird in our house,’ Gallinus sighed, and then continued. ‘She’s the youngest, and she has a tender heart.’
He paused once again, while Artorex grinned inwardly at the thought that Gallia was either fragile or tender.
‘I lack the words to explain to my sister the true circumstances of the disaster that has afflicted our house.’
Ector nodded his sympathy and understanding, but there was little he could say that would alleviate this young man’s concerns. Instead, in the Roman tradition, he attempted to keep his spine straight and his gaze direct.
Artorex watched Gallia’s brother impassively. Gallinus was disturbed and frightened, as any sensible man would be who was suddenly faced with the task of salvaging an extensive trading empire that had inexplicably been brought to its knees. His brothers were dead, and he was suddenly forced to assume control of his father’s many business interests at a time when he was ill prepared for the task before him.
After a few moments of silence, the young man began to explain his quandary over the future of his young sister.
‘My most pressing problem is Gallia. Our father intended that she should be wed months ago, but all past arrangements have failed to bear fruit. Unfortunately, Father’s most recent choice of husband was also a victim of the plague.’
He pondered his situation in silence.
‘To be frank, Gallia will have no possibility of dowry until she is much older, for I must use our remaining gold as wages for those fishermen, artisans and workers who have survived,’ Gallinus said softly. ‘I must diversify if I’m to survive, but I’m at a loss to know what to do with my sister, for who’d wish to marry a woman who is no longer young and fresh?’
‘She’s welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish,’ Ector replied. ‘She’s a charming young girl, and she brings much happiness to our Julanna.’
‘I thank you for your generosity, but the problem will continue to grow. She’s now more than fifteen years and will soon be past her first bloom of youth. By the time the family fortunes are rebuilt, she will be at least twenty years old. Heaven knows where I will find her a husband, for Aquae Sulis has been stripped of its suitable young men.’
Artorex interrupted before he had really considered the importance of the words he was about to utter.
‘I would make an offer to marry Gallia - and would do so gladly - although you may not want a lowly steward as the husband of your sister.’
Ector, Caius and Gallinus turned to face Artorex as one. They were dumbfounded by the proposal, and stared blankly at him.
‘I know I’m not worthy of her by birth and by wealth but I have a most sincere affection for your sister,’ Artorex added. ‘Nor will I always be a landless man, for I intend to make my mark on the world. But I will understand if you find my proposal presumptuous and insulting.’
Ector gave Artorex a fleeting smile.
‘My foster-son is overly modest, and he need not be landless, for I can always settle a small parcel of Villa Poppinidii land upon him if he so desires. Further, the holy Lucius, Bishop of Glastonbury, would also settle gold on him if Artorex decided to take a wife of good lineage. It is a fact that Lucius prevailed upon me to raise young Artorex, and a priest of his renown wouldn’t take such pains if Artorex wasn’t of respectable birth.’
Belatedly, Artorex realized that Gallinus was actually considering his offer. He could readily understand that Gallia was one problem too many for a man beset by the trials confronting a younger son who was attempting to make his mark on the world.
As his stomach churned with a sudden attack of nerves, Artorex had no idea if he was more afraid of rejection or of acceptance.
‘I’ll sleep upon your proposal, good steward, and I’ll give you my answer in the morning.’ He smiled at Artorex. ‘And now, Artorex, if you aren’t offended, I’d ask you to leave me with Master Ector so that he can acquaint me with your character. I may be in desperate straits, but my sister is precious to me.’
‘I understand, sir, and I’ll leave you to your deliberations.’
What have I done? Artorex asked himself as he strode back to his spartan bedchamber. How can I take a wife when all I own is a horse? I must be moon mad!
The measure of the financial troubles besetting Gallinus was amply proved by his agreement to the marriage when he met Ector and Artorex the following morning.
Bemused by the unexpected turn of events, Artorex and Gallinus sealed their bargain with a clasp of hands and an assurance from Gallinus that, in time, a bride price would be paid so that Artorex could build his own small villa. Documents would be drawn up in Aquae Sulis and Ector had already agreed to give the young couple the field that bordered the Old Forest.