Chapter 34
Nestled in the sweeping curve of the wide estuary, I saw a large, civitas of brick and stone and ordered streets, with houses and villas and churches and markets stuffed with goods, and a harbor with a wharf and timber docks with ample mooring places for all the ships and boat anchored there. The lower slopes of the surrounding hills were dotted with clusters of dwellings and . . . more than I could readily take in at once. Indeed, everything I had imagined—and over the many miles and daily trials of my long journey, I had unknowingly allowed myself to imagine very much indeed—it all was there, sprawling before my eyes on a shining river. Deva lived up to my dreams and surpassed them in ways I could not have conceived.
Admittedly, looking back now, much of my flattering assessment of the place was yet to come: all in good time, unfolding like a roll of fine-spun cloth, over the course of many days. The more I came to know this almost perfect harbor town, the more wonders it revealed.
In those first heady moments as we crested that last long hill and paused to gaze down upon our destination, I was glad beyond words to see the end of the road at last. Truth to tell, with my sore feet and tired legs, and the thirst clawing at my throat, the sight of any haven of rest would have cheered my just as much at that moment, I’m sure.
“Well, there it is,” Garan said, indicating the civitas with a wide seep of his arm—as if he had conjured the town solely for my pleasure. “It is grand, is it not?”
“And big!”
“Aye, grand and big.”
I stood there filling my gaze with this wonderful sight when I realized that Garan was already starting down. I stirred myself to follow, but Ursa hesitated; she made two steps and then stopped, still looking down at the town.
“Ursa, come!” I commanded, putting some force to the words and patting the side of my leg. The dog looked at me with her large dark eyes, shook herself, but refused to budge.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. I went to her and put my arms around her neck. “What is troubling you?”
“It’s the town,” suggested Garan. “She doesn’t like it.”
“Nonsense,” I told him. “She’s been in towns before.”
He shrugged. “Not one this big.”
I put my arms around her and whispered. “Come on, girl. We’re almost there.” Cocking her head to one side, she searched me with her big, dark eyes, and I felt again that curious bond we shared. “It’s going to be alright,” I told her. I stood and patted my leg again and held out my hand. “Come, let’s go find something to eat.”
Ursa nuzzled my extended hand, licking it both sides, then took her place beside me. We joined Garan and he said, “Well? Shall we go down and if Deva Vitrix will have us?”
Setting my sights on the road ahead, I nodded. “We shall.”
Down the hill, morning light strengthening as we went, we soon approached the town gates with soldiers standing guard either side. They paid us no attention as we passed through and into the town. Full to overflowing with a welter of emotion—joy, relief, exultation, triumph and thankfulness—my eyes welled up with tears so that everything seemed a dazzling blur.
“Where to now?” Garan asked as we paused in a busy square to rest. Just reaching Deva had been my sole ambition, my all-consuming desire for so long that it was only as I sat on a mounting block in the corner of the square that my thoughts turned to how I might find Helena and what she might say when she saw me.
Shoes off, I sat rubbing my feet, I looked around as if I might see her or Aridius strolling through the square in amongst the townsfolk hurrying around us.
“Where are your friends?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.”
He shrugged. “Well, your friend is the legate, is he not? He won’t be difficult to find. I expect we can just ask anybody. . . .”
With that, he hurried across the square to accost a man selling bread from a sort of table on wheels. I watched while I laced up my shoes, and saw Garan move on to one of the stalls lining the perimeter of the square. There, he spoke to a man in a leather apron; I saw the man point across the square; they exchanged a few words, and then Garan was back to report: “The Civitas House is at the end of that street—” He pointed in the direction indicated by the man in the apron. “We can ask there.” Without waiting for a reply he started off.
I finished tying my shoe and gave Ursa a pat on the head. “I could not have got this far without you, my friend. Come, just a little farther.” Her ears pricked up. Clearly, she did not like the noise and commotion of the town—ever alert to every sound and movement, it put her on edge. I tried to reassure her now even as she had sought to protect me on our way.
“Coming?” called Garan a few paces away.
I stood, adjusted my cloak, with a guiding hand to Ursa’s collar, said, “I’m ready.”
Crossing the square, we entered a narrow lane—walled on one side, and lined on the other with shops including a butcher, with the dressed carcass of a wild boar hanging on a hook, its head on the ground beneath it. At the end of the street a large white-washed building rose behind an iron gate. Before the gate stood a young soldier in a helm and hardened-leather breastplate, and leaning on his spear. At our approach, he straighted himself and made a half-hearted challenge.
“We’ve come to see the legate,” Garan announced, trying to make himself sound important.
“Then you have wasted your time,” the soldier informed us, his voice full of the lilting speech of the hills ’round about. “The legate is in council today. He sees no one.” He cast his eyes over us from head to toe and back again. Apparently unimpressed by what he saw, he made a gesture with his spear. “Move along.”
Garan made to leave, but I stood my ground. I had not come this far, endured so much and risked even more, simply to be turned away by some pimple-spotted youth with a shiny helmet.
“We will go,” I said, speaking loud and slow so there would be no misunderstanding. “But you must think carefully what you will tell the legate when he asks you why you turned Domina Helena’s cousin away from his door.”
I turned on my heel and walked away, and had taken but a few paces when the guard called, “Wait!”
I glanced back at the young fellow’s anxious face. “Her cousin?”
“That is what I said,” I replied. Garan, silent beside me, stared, but held his tongue. “If I were you, I would be thinking of a very good explanation. I’m sure the legate will want to hear it as soon as you tell him you refused me.”
“Wait there.” The suddenly solicitous soldier slipped through the gate and ran to the entrance of the big white house.
Garan bent close and said, “You told him you were his wife’s cousin?”
“No, I didn’t,” I replied. “I merely advised him to think what he would do if she should appear. Best to be prepared if such a thing were to happen, don’t you think?”
Garan laughed and shook his head. “I would never have—”
Before he could finish, the soldier reappeared on the run. “Enter, please,” he said, pulling open the gate for us. “Follow me. The legate will see you.”
The young guardsman led us up a paved walk to the Civitas House door. As we stepped beneath the shelter of the portico a tall, dark-haired man in a spotless white tunic and dark leggings appeared. One look at me and a look of astonished amazement washed over his handsome face. “Aurelia?” he cried. “Is it Aurelia?”
I halted as relief and joy flooded through me. He remembered me! Only slightly less relieved, I suspect, was the young soldier who thought himself to have avoided an imagined scolding.
Spreading his hands wide in welcome, Aridius rushed to gather me into his embrace. “Aurelia! Do I believe my eyes? My dear, dear girl,” he said, speaking mostly to the top of my head, “what are you doing here?”
I could not speak for the sudden tears. He hugged me and then, holding me at arm’s length, glanced around quickly, and said, “Does Helena know you are here? No, of course not. Come, we will go to her at once.”
He stepped away and summoned one of the aides who followed him from the house and now stood looking on. “Bring my carriage!” he commanded, and the man darted off. To the second aide, he said, “Run ahead to my villa and tell my wife that Aurelia of Venta is to be our guest.”
Aridius then looked down at Ursa, standing stoically by my side. “And who have we here?”
“This is Ursa,” I told him proudly, “my most loyal companion and protector.” The dog regarded Aridius with such an air of watchful intelligence that it brought a smile to his face.
Looking up, he saw Garan standing in mute amazement at the reunion. “You, there,” he called, “are you with her?”
“This is Garan,” I said, speaking up. “He’s been my guide through the hills.”
“Then you must come along, too. I would hear more of your journey.”
“I am at your command, legate,” replied Garan, adopting a formal tone I had not heard before. Clearly, he wanted to make a good impression on the man who might secure him a place in the legion.
The next thing I knew I was bundled into a large, well-made carriage and we were rolling through the streets of the town. Aridius sat next to me, stroking my hand and restraining his curiosity for my sake, he said, so that I would not have to repeat everything all over again for Helena. Meanwhile, he interrogated Garan about how we had come to be there. “Am I to understand you have walked all that way? Alone?”
As far as I could make out, Garan told him how I had turned up at the family steading where it was agreed that he would accompany me to the market at Bryncadlys. “But the market was overrun in a raid some few days ago,” I heard him say. “Barbarians . . .” He said some more and then ended saying, “ . . . for her safety . . .”
“I know about what happened at Bryncadlys. God knows, you were lucky to get here alive.” Aridius said, and gave my hand a little squeeze. “You are both to be commended for your bravery in undertaking such a journey.”
Commended, he said. Perhaps he was right and praise was in some way fitting; but I remember thinking: Ah, but you don’t even know the half of it.
He lapsed into a thoughtful silence that lasted until we reached a small square lined with ash trees. The carriage drew to a halt and Aridius declared, “We’re here! Helena will be so pleased!”
We emerged from the carriage to stand before a large, walled villa which, like the Civitas House, featured an iron gate and a soldier to guard it. At a gesture from the legate, the guard opened the gate and Aridius led us inside, shouting for his wife to come and greet their guests. Before I could take in much more than the spacious courtyard and the red-tiled roof of the central wing of the villa, a cry rang out from a darkened doorway; there was a sudden rush and Helena stood before me. She snatched me to her and hugged me as a lost sister returned from long exile. “Aurelia! Oh, Aurelia! I have so often thought of you and yearned to see you again. And here you are!” She kissed me on the cheek and smoothed my hair and hugged me again, before asking, “And who is this with you? Hello,” she said to Garan, “I don’t think I know you.”
“I’m Garan,” he said simply. “Aurelia’s friend.”
“He’s been travelling with me.” I started to explain but, confounded by the length and complexity of all that had happened, ended in a sigh instead, saying, “It’s a long story.”
“Never mind, we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“They’ve come all the way from Tŷ Bryn,” Aridius announced. To Garan he said, “Have you eaten? No? And what of this magnificent animal?” He gave Ursa a pat on the rump and then clapped his hands and called for a servant. A pale, slender youth, appeared and Aridius told him to hurry with water and meat scraps for the dog, and cakes and sweet wine for the rest of us. Then he turned to shepherd everyone into the house. “Come in! Come in! Let us sit down and you can tell us everything th—”
“Ari!” snapped Helena. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Forgetting?” He looked around, surprised. “What am I forgetting?”
“Tullius,” she replied. She reached out and took my hand. “Aurelia, where is your father? Something tells me he would never have sent you off on your own. What’s happened?”
A lump formed in my throat and I could not speak.
“Where is your father?” The softness of her voice told me she already suspected the worst, and the look of sympathy on her comely face sent fresh tears to my eyes. Instantly, I was awash in grief renewed. “Where is Tullius?”
Tears stared to my eyes as I struggled to force out the words. “My father is . . . gone.”
“Gone? You mean—”
“He died,” I choked out. “The wound worsened and the poison spread. Tullius is dead.”
“Ohhh, Aurelia.” Helena gathered me to her once more. “Dearest heart, I am so, so sorry. This is terrible news . . . simply terrible.” She looked to her husband. “Did you know about this, Ari? Oh, Aurelia, you poor thing. I am so very sorry.”
Bless them, they did not require any further explanation than that. They both glimpsed the shape and meaning of my predicament in that instant and did not press me then for more. After a moment, Aridius said, “Well, come inside. Sit down. We’ll eat something and when you are ready, you can tell us all about it.”
“Take all the time you need,” Helena told me. “You are here now and you are safe. Consider this your home—for as long as you care to stay.”