‘What does it mean?’ I asked.
‘What does it mean?’ said my father. ‘It means just this. Theodosius had the chance to clear things up for good and he let it slip through his fingers. Arbogast is a barbarian. He can’t be trusted; and that the Augustus knows as well as anybody.’ He swore again. ‘He should have destroyed him,’ he snarled, totally forgetting his vaunted liberality. ‘And if necessary, young Velentinian and his mother as well. This is what comes of bloody religion.’
I said, ‘What’s religion got to do with it?’
He favoured me with a steely glare. ‘What I shall never understand,’ he said, ‘is why this education of yours has failed to instil the slightest awareness of what’s going on in the world about you. Theodosius was taken seriously ill, years ago; he thought he was going to die, and had himself baptised. Since then he’s surrounded himself with an entire corps of Bishops, all prating on Heaven, Hell and this sin, that and the other; and it’s them he listens to rather than his military advisers or his own common sense. We haven’t heard the last of that clan of Pannonian misfits, not by a long chalk. You mark my words.’
His face altered.
‘But I forget myself,’ he said viciously. ‘Politics have always been a little too mundane for your taste, haven’t they?’
I stared at him, finding no answer. I saw the balding head, the lined face, the cold, angry eyes; and I realised I had grown farther from him with every year that had passed.
I got up and wandered off to find Calgaca.
Over the years my relationship with my mother had undergone a subtle change. After the initial shock of my injury, when I had been carried home unconscious and smothered with blood, it seemed a deeper bond had grown between us.
True, the old days were gone for good; I no longer expected Calgaca to come running if I cried out in the night, those things were ended. But instead, as she recovered from the strange grief that had oppressed her, she began to treat me more as an equal. I would sit with her by the hour, often at night after the lamps had been lit, chattering about all manner of things. I would report to her, in detail, on my training; and though it frequently pained her to hear of my growing skill she was always careful to show an interest, and quick with questions and praise. She could never hear enough about the day-to-day events of school; in fact I would probably have tried to secure an early revenge on Publius had it not been for a promise she extracted from me. In return she told me more of the history of her side of the family.
I knew that her parents had originally emigrated from Britannia, but I was surprised to find what a hold the place still had on her affections. She sometimes described it to me, sitting with her hands quiet in her lap, eyes watching thoughtfully out across the darkening peristyle. ‘You’ll hear often enough that the climate is very bad,’ she would say. ‘It isn’t. It’s beautiful. The skies are veiled and misty, not hard and brilliant like the sky over Italica; and the grass is richer and greener than any you see here. Evenings and mornings are often the loveliest part of the day. Especially evenings. The sun doesn’t rush into the sea like it does here in the south, as if the Devil were behind it. You have time to watch the shadows lengthen, and the whole land slips into the dark like a countryside seen in a dream.’
How much she truly remembered, I couldn’t say; for she was very tiny when she left, not much more than four or five years old. In Britannia, too, her family had been breeders of fine horses; but the persistent raiding of Picti from the north and pirates from the east, from what they call the Saxon Shore, had rendered the raising of livestock too hazardous to be profitable. Julian eventually sent an expeditionary force to dispose of the nuisance, but by then my grandparents had had enough. They owned considerable wealth, mainly in the form of gold and silver plate; the heirlooms, melted down, secured passage to Gaul for them and the best of their stud. Some of the horses died in the crossing, but enough survived to re-establish the line in Hispania. The new blood proved highly successful; and had it not been for the generally impoverished state of the Empire the family would rapidly have restored their former fortunes. ‘As it is,’ Calgaca would say, ‘it sometimes seems we exchanged one set of troubles for another just as bad. That’s why I’m grateful to your father for providing us with such a fine living and home, and why you must be too.’
I remember one evening spent with her particularly well. It was a hot summer night, shrill with the chirring of insects. She had had a chair carried out to the peristyle, where the air was a little cooler. She was working on a new altar cloth for the local Bishop; embroidery was one of her favourite occupations. Her fingers moved deftly, busy with the needles and coloured thread; I sat at her feet, watching the last of the afterglow fade from the sky. The lamps, burning steadily, cast gently moving pools of light on the columns and pale walks of the place; above the shield walls of the little court, the blue of dusk seemed intensified by contrast. That was the night she first told me of Tir-nan-Og, the Land of the Blest. ‘When I was very small,’ she said, ‘I used to stare out over the sea, usually about this time, and imagine I could see it far away in the west. They used to tell me it was a cloud bank that came at night, low down on the water, but I always knew better. In the morning it would be gone; but it always came back. All the peaks and valleys of it, shining in the sunset like gold.’
I frowned. ‘Mother,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand. What did you say, Tir-nan-Og?’ There was silence between us for a moment; then Calgaca laughed, and leaned forward to smooth my hair. ‘Don’t tell your father I talk to you about such things,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid he wouldn’t approve.’
I waited again, for her eyes had darkened, assuming the misty, far-off expression I had come to know so well.
‘Tir-nan-Og,’ she said finally, ‘is the oldest faith of our people. And we are a very old race, older even than Rome. Years before she was ever built we were worshipping Gods of our own; some of them very like the Christos we’re taught to pray to now. We had a Heaven, too. It lies over the western sea, a very long way away; so far that no boat has ever sailed to it, or ever will. For us, it is the Land of Heart’s Desire. There you can find eternal sunshine, eternal freedom and peace; and the lucky ones who reach it never grow old.’
As she spoke she had slipped unconsciously into the present tense; so I saw the legend was still a living thing to her, and very close to her heart. I sat still, unwilling to interrupt; but when she paused again I stirred myself. ‘But, Mother,’ I said, ‘if no boat can sail to your land, how does anybody ever get to it?’
She waited, still with the strange, withdrawn expression on her face. Behind her the image of the Virgin watched from her plinth. The lamp flames wavered in a stirring of breeze; as the light played and shifted over the statue its expression seemed to alter. It was as if the stone itself had come to life, and was listening.
My mother laughed softly. ‘There is a Boat,’ she said. ‘A white Boat, with no oars, that needs no wind to drive it. But no man can order its coming.’
Her hands were still now in her lap. ‘I dreamed of it once,’ she said. ‘It was sunset, all the water glowing for miles and miles like a new, polished shield. There seemed to be a great crowd of people on the shore. And one by one they stopped and stared, and pointed at the sea. And there it was in the distance, so small at first I could barely make it out. It was like a swan, and golden in the light. There was no wind to send it in. Even the waves on the shore fell softly, like ripples in a brook.’ She was quiet again for a long time. I turned my head to look up at her face. Her eyes had widened with the intensity of what she saw; she seemed unaware either of my presence or the house in which we sat. Suddenly, I was uneasy. A shiver ran through me, so that I spoke quickly to break the silence that had fallen. ‘Why did it come, Mother?’ I asked her. ‘The Boat? Was there any meaning in the dream?’
She nodded slowly, lips half parted, not looking down. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘there was a meaning. My sister’s soul was on the machair. Only then I didn’t know. In the morning the Boat had gone. And I never saw the Land again.’
She shook herself then, as if from a heavy spell. ‘Well, Caius,’ she said, ‘I haven’t the slightest doubt your father would call all this a load of nonsense. And who’s to say he isn’t right? Run along to the kitchen, will you, please, and ask Ursula to bring us two cups of wine. Then I think I’ll go to bed. I’m feeling a little tired.’
I spoke impulsively. ‘Mother,’ I said, ‘one day I’ll take you to Britannia. I promise. I’ll promise by the Virgin, if you like.’
She turned to me, smiling, and reached to touch my arm. ‘Never make vows, Caius,’ she said, ‘unless you know you can keep them.’
I answered a little awkwardly, unsure of my ground. ‘I don’t, Mother,’ I said. ‘At least, not to you.’
I glanced at the Virgin again as I passed. For the first time she too seemed to be smiling.
Calgaca’s pregnancy came as a most unwelcome surprise. I had assumed for some reason that she was past the age of childbearing; and in any case the doctor and midwife who had attended her at my own birth had warned her it would be dangerous for her to conceive again. Some deep part in her tore as she voided me, so that she nearly died, and for months afterwards could neither walk nor stoop without great pain. Now I blamed my father, bitterly, for the danger in which he had so casually placed her; but when I mentioned this to her she frowned and gripped my arm. She was resting on her bed at the time; she looked up at me sternly and said, ‘Caius, for Heaven’s sake don’t be so silly. It’s perfectly right and natural for your father to want another child. In fact we both did, and I for one was pleased when I found out I was expecting again. You should be as well. You’re going to have a sister; and she’ll grow up to be very beautiful, I can tell already.’ But even as she spoke a spasm of pain gripped her; I saw her pale suddenly, and bite her lip. ‘You’d better go now,’ she said, ‘I want to have a sleep. But before that, will you ask Ursula to come in? If you want to make yourself useful, and please me as well, you can help Marcus. I asked him to clear one of the spare bedrooms out for the baby. Go on now, Caius; and whatever you do, don’t go about with a long face like that. You’ll only get your father annoyed. When you know more about these things you’ll realise how easy it all is.’
But for my mother carrying the child was far from the simple affair she made out. As the year wore on, and she came nearer her time, I would lie awake at nights listening to her moaning in her sleep. Once she called out loudly, bringing the housepeople scurrying to her room. They wouldn’t let me in; I crouched outside, cursing and praying by turns and starting at the slightest sounds. An hour or more passed before I was told the crisis was over. I had hoped, sincerely, that Calgaca would lose the child; I was beginning to hate the unborn baby too. But it was not to be.
My father remained his usual self; courteous to his associates and the servants, cold and distant with me. I avoided him as much as possible, spending all the time I could at my mother’s side. She talked continuously now, when the griping pains would let her; about Britannia, and her childhood, and the strange land across the sea. Sometimes it seemed her mind wandered, so that she would burst into that other tongue, the lisping chatter my father had forbidden her to use. Then she would roll her head and groan, gripping the bedcovers with her fists; and Ursula or one of the others would come bustling, shoo me out in spite of my protests. At such times I raged at my helplessness; when my fear became too much to bear I would take a horse, ride like a demon to our old practice ground, hew and slash for an hour or more at a stake till the sweat ran from me and my body shook with fatigue. Sometimes Marcus would come with me; but usually he left me alone. Nobody could help me, any more than I could help Calgaca.
A doctor was sent for from Gades to assist at my mother’s delivery. Typically, I knew nothing of it till the raeda came clattering up to the door. I suppose he was a good man in his way; he dosed Calgaca with drugs, extracts of poppy and laserpicium, and advised complete rest and quiet. But he denied her my company; and I hated him for it too.
Things stood at this unsatisfactory pass for some days. Then one morning, just before first light, my mother sent for me. I was up and dressed; I hurried to her room, and was shocked at the change in her. Her eyes, once bright, were lustreless, and pain had drawn deep shadows beneath them across her cheeks. Her hair lay uncombed on the pillows, draggled with sweat; and her hands, resting loosely at her sides, were so thin and white as to seem almost transparent. She must have seen the expression on my face, for she laughed and tried to raise herself. ‘Well, Caius,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear all our waiting is over. Your new sister will arrive today.’
The roof of my mouth had dried, so that I had to swallow and wet my lips before I could speak. ‘How do you know, Mother?’ I said. ‘How can you tell?’
She said simply, ‘I can tell. Now, Caius, bring that chair over and sit with me for a moment. I want you to listen very carefully. I have an important job for you.’
I did as I was told. When I was seated she lay back, again with a little smile. ‘You must have heard from the servants’ talk,’ she said, ‘that women get odd fancies at times like this, and like being pandered to. So will you do me a favour?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anything, Mother, you know that. Anything at all.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then I want you to go and find Marcus. He knows what it’s about, I’ve already spoken to him. I want you to go hunting.’
For the moment I was too surprised to answer. It was about the last thing I had expected to hear. Eventually I said, ‘But where, Mother? Where?’
‘To the north,’ she said. ‘Where you always go. I want you to shoot me a deer.’
My jaw must have sagged. Nothing I could think of would have taken me from her side at that time. I started to protest, but she stopped me, raising her hand. ‘Caius,’ she said, ‘a moment ago you were promising to do anything I asked. Are you going to go back on your word already?’