I talked to her. Sometimes angrily, sometimes with affection. She answered me with words that she had used.
‘Sergius, why do you pull things down on your head? Why can’t you just be quiet, and enjoy? You make bad things happen to you, if you expect them all the time . . .’
I said, ‘I didn’t make this one happen, Domina . . .’
Other times the sweat stood on my body. I needed to slide into her, unroll like a glove.
I wrote her letters. I always tore them up.
I’d been offered accommodation at the house of a curiale. I refused it. Valerius had brought a tent. I had it pitched in an open space under the town wall. We were building catapults. I slept on the job.
The days were filled with noise. In the mornings I’d oversee the training of the new militia. They slashed and banged at the practice stakes, charged up and down their makeshift parade ground uttering fearsome cries.
‘No,’ I’d say. ‘Like this. No, this way. Keep your shield-rim up, damn and blast you. Cover yourself, man, cover and thrust.
Thrust
, don’t dangle it like a bunch of wet lettuce.
Thrust
, sod you,
thrust
. . .’
In the end I fought a practice bout with Valerius. He came at me with unexpected vigour, forced me to give ground. He knew some unpleasant moves. He offered a hamstring cut. If he’d followed through he’d have reached me. I ducked my shoulder and barged him, slamming with my shield. He measured his length and I stood over him. I swung my arm and let it fall.
He was watching up at me with an odd expression. He said, ‘Permission to get up, sir?’ His voice sounded strained.
I grunted and stepped aside. He rose gingerly, fingering his temple. There was a red weal where the shield-rim had caught him. He rubbed it. I said, ‘Sorry about that, Tribune, but you asked for it. Next time be more careful. Fancy strokes are all very well, but be ready for the counter. Otherwise you’ll find yourself suddenly dead.’ I wiped my face. ‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ I said. ‘You’ve earned it.’
We sat in a tavern. I found my hands were shaking. I’d strained my finger, too, in the fight It was starting to throb. I must be getting old.
He was still watching me. He said, ‘I thought I’d bought it for a minute then.’
‘If I’d been Scotic, you would have done,’ I said. ‘It’s not a game.’
He said, ‘You’re a bloody good swordsman, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. Where were you trained?’
‘In Hispania,’ I said. ‘When I was a lot younger than you. At least it’s one thing I can do.’ I glanced across at him. ‘Where do you come from, Valerius? You’ve never mentioned your people.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘they were nothing much. They died when I was young. I lived with my aunt. I was glad to get away.’
‘Where was that?’
‘Brigantia.’
‘What?’ I said, half to myself. ‘You too?’
‘Sir . . .’
‘Yes?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘I’m ... can I make a comment?’
I said sourly, ‘Be my guest.’
He said, ‘You’re not... well, you don’t seem your usual self. Is there anything I can do?’
I stared at him. ‘I don’t think so, Tribune,’ I said. ‘Thanks anyway.’ I drained my cup. I said, ‘I think we’ll go back.’
‘Back?’
‘To Corinium. I’m sick of this collection of amateur gladiators.’
‘Do you think they’re good enough to leave?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t. One look at an enemy and they’ll probably all run like Hell. But no amount of prodding’s going to alter that. And to be quite frank, I don’t give a damn.’
We rode through Lindinis and Aquae Sulis. I’d felt vaguely curious to see the latter town. The baths are the thing, of course. They say the healing properties of the waters are remarkable. I was impressed despite my mood. Rain was falling, dimpling the great dull-green pools. Steam blew steadily across the surface of the water. The spring that feeds the place comes roaring up from a grotto, piping hot. I listened to the bubbling and splashing and thought, She’d like it here. If ever a cave was haunted by a Nymph, it was that one. I was still thinking of life in terms of Crearwy. Once she had been Coventina. Now she was Minerva-Sul.
Corinium was much as I had left it: noisy, and a little malodorous. I rode in grimly through the gates, Valerius at my heels. I’d achieved nothing by coming back. I was merely nearer the source of pain.
There were letters waiting for me. Tammonius had written, irately, from the north. What the devil was going on in my sector, where were my reports? He told me the Picti had been
active again along the entire Wall. He had had to reduce the flank garrison at Deva. It all seemed very far away.
There was a wooden tablet. I left it till last. I didn’t want to open it. Eventually I cracked the seal.
You anger me almost as much as I love you,
she had written
. When will you come to me again? Forgive me, Sergius, for what I said. I want you so badly. I love you, I love you. My soul cries out for you. Does that sound stupid? I’m sorry, it's what I feel. I haven't your use of words.
See, you've made me speak. Women aren't supposed to say these things. Haven't you heard me calling? I was a bird, that flew over your roof. I was a cat, that watched you through the window. I was a fox, I saw you ride along the road. Nothing matters except that you come.
Please trust me. Can't you see how much you mean to me?
There was a strong-box in the room. I locked the letter carefully away. Before I slept I spent an hour trying to resurrect the remains of my pride. In the morning, at last, there was peace.
‘See,’ I said to Melinda. ‘When you pull the string, the monkey climbs the stick.’
She stared, intrigued. ‘What has Nessa got?’
‘A wooden lion. He can wag his tail.’
‘Monkey’s better,’ she said. ‘He climbs a stick.’
When they had gone I said, ‘Parcels for you, ma’am.’
She said, ‘Oh, no . . .’
I’d wrapped them as Calgaca used to, with sprays of green leaves on top. She stood them on the table and walked round them. She said, ‘I don’t want to open them. They look too nice. I’m being a cat. Sniffing them all over first.’
‘Are you a cat?’
She mewed, and pounced.
She slipped the bracelet on her arm. She said, ‘It’s Scotia.’ ‘I know.’
‘What’s in the other?’
‘Walk round it some more.’
‘I can’t tell,’ she said. ‘It’s heavy. It isn’t wine.’
‘No. Not wine.’
She undid the wrapping, gingerly. Lifted the crock, and sniffed. She said, ‘It’s honey. It can’t be heather honey.’
‘From Dalriada. A piece of your sky.’
She wiped her face. She said, ‘I’m such a fool.’
‘Here!’
‘I cry when I’m happy,’ she said. ‘I cry when I’m sad. Sergius, you are good to me.’
I hadn’t expected her to be moved. But she was homesick; and bees, as is well known, gather an essence from the ether through which they fly.
Later she said, ‘Sergius, I love you in so many ways. Did you want me?’
‘Very much.’
‘Do you want me now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shall we go to bed?’
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I just don’t want to.’
She said, ‘It’s the children, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘They were here last time.’
‘I know.’
She said, ‘You’re right, of course. Do you want to go?’
‘No.’
‘What shall we do?’
‘Nothing. You can invite me to dinner. Pelgea can sing.’
‘Can we talk? I just want to be with you. All the time.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We can talk.’
‘That will be nice ...’
She said, ‘You’ve made a hit with Melinda at least.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Melinda. She’s nuts about you.’
‘I can’t see why.’
She was reclining, as she usually did when we ate alone. She pushed her plate away and smiled. ‘You can never see. You always underrate yourself.’
‘What does she say?’
‘Asks when Sergius is coming back.’ She paused. ‘She knows I love you.’
‘She’s too young.’
‘She’s not. I heard her telling Nessa.’
‘Good God! What did she say?’
‘Nothing. She’s very reserved.’
‘She takes after her father.’
‘Perhaps.’
A silence; then she sighed. ‘I went to see them last night,’ she said. ‘After they were asleep. I think the lamp disturbed them. Melinda said, “Mummy, I do love you.” She didn’t wake.’ She smiled. ‘What can you do?’
‘Nothing. It’s our tragedy.’
She reached to touch my wrist. She said, ‘It was such a long time.’
‘I know.’
‘Were you unhappy?’
‘I nearly killed Valerius.’
‘Who?’
‘My Tribune. Don’t you remember him?’
‘Of course. Now you say. He’s nice.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘I think he loves you too. In his way.’
I was silent. She said, ‘What else did you do?’
‘Made some catapults. Not very interesting.’
She said indignantly, ‘I think they’re terribly interesting. I always wanted to fire one. Wham great rocks about.’
‘That’s strange. For a girl.’
‘I didn’t want to be a girl. I wanted to be a boy. All my father’s other children were sons. They used to take me fishing. I wanted to go with the war boats. They would never let me.
‘I’m glad.’
‘Why?’
‘You might have been killed.’
She said, ‘Nobody ever cared about me before. Whether I was killed or not.’
‘Didn’t your father?’
‘He sold me. Girls aren’t any use. Censorinus had me educated. I was ten.’
I sat up. I said, ‘That’s the most horrible bloody thing I ever heard.’
‘It didn’t matter.’ ‘Crearwy ...’
‘Yes?’
‘What did you mean? About the Purple?’
‘Nothing. I told you. I was being silly.’
‘I want to know.’
She frowned, staring down at the table, tracing a pattern aimlessly with one finger. She said, ‘It’s ... I don’t know. Really I don’t. He doesn’t say much to me.’
I waited.
‘He feels . . . very strongly,’ she said. ‘About Rome. And Britannia.’
‘Who was the other man? Gratianus?’
‘I don’t know.’
I said, ‘You wouldn’t really want to see me beheaded, would you?’
She looked at me sombrely. She said, ‘You’ll make me miserable.’
‘I feel strongly too.’
‘Yes,’ she said wryly. ‘I remember.’ She frowned. ‘Sergius . . .’
‘Yes?’
Why were you angry? About the mines?’
I said shortly, ‘I ran one.’
She said, ‘Was it very bad?’
I rubbed my face. ‘How old’s Nessa?’
‘Ten. Nearly eleven.’
‘Do you know what she’d be doing? If she was a mine slave?’
‘No.’
‘Working at the face. Or on the wheels.’
What are the wheels?’
‘They lift the water. Like a treadmill. She’d be naked. If she wanted to relieve herself she’d have to do it. The wheels don’t stop.’
‘Sergius . . .’
I sat up, and poured myself some wine. ‘She’d have sores,’ I said. ‘On her feet and shoulders. Probably inside her mouth, She wouldn’t be a virgin, of course. Not at eleven.’
She said, ‘You were badly hurt.’
‘I was the overseer. It was the slaves who were hurt.’
She stared at me. She said, ‘I didn’t know.’
‘You weren’t expected to.’
She said, ‘That’s why you were angry. Because of how we live.’
I didn’t answer.
‘They were left to him,’ she said. ‘The mine shares. He doesn’t make much profit on them.’
‘That’s bad luck.’
‘You think we’re hypocrites.’
‘I think you’re fortunate.’
‘Why?’
‘Your children see the sun.’
She said bitterly, ‘Would you prefer to see them in the mines?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t want them to be in the mines.’
A pause. She said, ‘Have something else to eat.’
‘Not for the moment, thank you.’
‘Sergius . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry.’
I shrugged. ‘Where’s your husband?’
She looked at me warily. ‘He went back to Gaul. I don’t know why. He was only here two days. Sergius, promise me something.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t get us into trouble.’
‘How could I?’
She said, ‘You’re an Imperial Praefect.’
‘Not a real one.’
‘Why not?’
‘Real ones have Legions.’
She gestured, silently, to Pelgea. She came forward, with the harp.
I could have stayed overnight. I refused. It was dangerous for her. She came to the gate with me. There was a groom with a torch. I walked my horse out of earshot. She said quietly, ‘When shall I see you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will you come here?’
I shook my head. ‘It feels wrong.’
‘Would it feel righter anywhere else?’
‘It might.’
She said. ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘What?’
‘Just something. I’ll write to you.’
‘Be careful.’
‘I will. Sergius . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing. I’m being silly. Ride now. You’ll get cold.’
I said, ‘Good night, Crearwy.’
‘Good night. God bless.’
I was cold before I reached Corinium; cold in my bones. The journey back seemed endless. As I neared the town I remembered I hadn’t told her about Aquae Sulis.
The children are away with friends,
she wrote.
They usually go about this time of year. C. has written from Gallia. He’ll be back in a month's time.
I’m afraid I feel a sickness coming on. I shall stay in my room. Pelgea will look after me. But I really think sea air would do me good. Do you know anywhere nice? Think of it, Sergius; us, on our own!
I cried when you had gone. I wanted to run after you. Please write to me. I’m so lonely without you.
I feel as if I’ve known you years. As if I’ve always known you . . .
I sent for Valerius. When he came in I mixed him a glass of wine. He sat sipping solemnly, watching my face.
‘Tribune,’ I said abruptly, ‘when we were in Isca you asked if you could help me. Does the offer still stand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘It does.’