8

Elen recognised him as soon as he walked into the room at the head of the procession. She remembered clearly the amused face of the helmeted commander who had bent over her as she lay in the field covered in mud and extended his hand to pull her to her feet in front of all his men. At first he saw only the beautiful composed young woman who rose to greet him and it was a moment before he identified her as the wild young woman who had so spectacularly flown off the spirited black colt to land at his feet in the mud. This was the girl who had dressed in tribesmen's trousers, her hair tangled, her eyes at first furious at the fall, then perhaps a little embarrassed, then indignant as she had pulled her hand away from his. But never afraid. At no time had she been the slightest bit afraid of him.

Neither betrayed any sign of ever having met before. He wasin the uniform of a general now, the crested helmet underhis arm being passed to his attendant, a scarlet cloak draped over his shoulder; she was wearing a long white tunic -beltedwith an elaborate silk girdle and a matching mantle -bordered with-silver thread. Her hair, neatly coiled round her head, was covered with a veil. He noted the heavy carved gold necklace and earrings.

She was not required to be present at the protracted final-isation of the wedding contract between her future husband and her father, swathed as he was in the full formal toga, but then came the blessing in the chapel with its mosaics and frescoed pictures of ancient weddings. The bishop had come in the general's party from Venta to intone the prayers, place the -floral wreaths– hers redolent with wild mint and roses– upon the heads of bride and groom, and to supervise the exchange of rings before at last the groom was permitted to lift her veil. As he looked down into her face for the first time that day, he winked.

The feasting would go on for several days but at last -Flavius Magnus and his wife withdrew to the wing of guest rooms which had been put at their disposal for their wedding night. Even as they reached the door it appeared they were not yet to be alone. With a bow in her direction he allowed himself to be led away towards the palace bathhouse while she entered the bedroom to be prepared for her husband. Her wedding garments were removed, her skin anointed with scented olive oil and a shift of softest silk slipped over her head. Her own attendants, slaves and freedwomen brushed out her hair and at last left her alone. She stood looking around. The bedchamber was lit by a single lamp. Someone had arranged vases of flowers in the alcoves and there were refreshments on the table, a jug of wine with two golden goblets and a plate of almond cakes. She looked around uncertainly. She hadn't expected to be alone. She could hear the faint sounds of the party going on in the distance and the splatter of water from the fountain in the courtyard. The scent of roses drifted through the half-open doors.

She could feel her wedding ring, strangely tight on the fourth finger of her left hand. Her women had removed the rest of her jewellery with her clothes and the wreath of flowers on her hair. She twisted the ring uncomfortably and shivered as a gentle breeze blew in from the peristyle. She reached over to the couch by the wall to retrieve the embroidered stole Nia had left there, perhaps suspecting she might feel cold. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she stood in the doorway looking out. The whole area was deserted, lit only by twocressetsplaced -discreetlyonthecolumns, amongst the pots of honey-suckleandbay. The shadows danced. No one came. She assumed the guests had been steered away from these rooms to give the newly-weds some privacy, but the privacy was becoming frightening. Where was her husband? He had barely spoken to her. She had felt his fingers, strong and somehow reassuring, grip hers as her father put her hand in his, and she had met his gaze as he lifted her veil to kiss her forehead, but that was all. They had not exchanged as much as a word in private. Her thoughts flew back to that other meeting in the field when she had been lying at his feet and she felt a moment of total panic.

Behind her the door from the corridor opened and he was there at last; not the eager bridegroom she had been half expecting, half dreading, but a fully armed soldier. Only his helm was missing as he strode towards her and caught her hands.

‘The gods are against us, sweetheart, but only for a while. I have just received intelligence that pirates from Hibernia have landed an invasion force in the land of the Demetae on the south-west coast. I have spoken to your father and he agrees it is safest that you stay here with him. I will return as soon as I have sent the invaders packing.' He leaned forward and kissed her forehead for the second time. ‘Did you ever succeed in training that colt?' His eyes danced as he looked down at her. ‘This will give you more time.'

And with a swirl of his cloak and a brief waft of the cedar oil with which his skin had been massaged in the bathhouse, he was gone. She heard him shouting to her servants to attend her, and the tramp of his heavy sandals receding down the passage, then the room fell silent. She had not uttered a word.

As Delyth appeared in the doorway the silence was broken by the distant sound of barked commands, of troops falling in and then marching in step down the stone driveway towards the road. The general and his attendant cohort was gone. His bride was left alone slowly twisting the ring on her finger.

It was Rhys who found the little dog. It was wet and cold, cowering under some bushes in a corner of the paddock. He had heard it whimpering as he turned the colt out to graze. Picking the little thing up, he carried it back to the stables. The -animal was wearing a collar, otherwise he would probably have knocked it on the head as a stray from the hill fort, but the -collar intrigued him. It was made of soft leather and was the colour of the palest wild rose. Attached to a metal ring near the buckle was a medal, engraved with strange symbols. The little creature seemed friendly and lonely and very hungry, and an idea dawned on him. He took it, bathed, brushed and fed with scraps from his own plate, to find Nia. ‘For the princess. To cheer her up in the absence of her husband.' And, he thought quietly to himself, to help if she had to part from the colt. He knew how men worked. If the general fancied the horse for himself as he had warned her, it would remain hers in name only and even that for no time at all.

Elen was enchanted. The little dog and she took to one another at once. ‘Gemma.' The name carved on the medal was easily read, but the other symbols defeated her. It didn't matter. If they were there to bring luck to the little jewel of a dog they had certainly done so. She now belonged to the greatest lady in the land.

Elen's husband returned to the palace a month to the day after he had left for the west. The bulk of the legion marched on to Isca while he turned north with a hand-picked troop of men as escort, to collect his bride.

He had brought her a gift. Alone together at last in the courtyard garden after he had given his formal greetings to her father, he produced the package with a cautious smile. ‘Our marriage has had an inauspicious start. I'm sorry. I'm afraid the life of a soldier is never predictable. I hope this will convey my respect with a promise to try and do better.'

She was astonished at the flood of anger that swept through her. ‘I hope you will do more than try! Presumably you have officers below you in your command who could have led a sortie against the pirates– who fled, I hear, without so much as a blow struck. Some invasion!'

He recoiled slightly. If he had expected a submissive bride ready to welcome him into her arms, she soon clarified the -situation. ‘I have waited for a message; a sign from you that you had survived some fearsome massacre and instead my father told me– from a message he received, not me– that your hasty departure had not been necessary. You humiliated me, a princess of the royal blood of Britannia! And you think to make good with a paltry present!' She stormed away from him and stood staring down into the alabaster bowl of the fountain, her fists clenched.

His amazement was genuine. For a moment he was speechless. She heard the creak of the leather base of his breastplate as he moved towards her. ‘Forgive me.' Luckily she did not see his smile. By the time he was standing beside her he had managed a note of contrition. ‘My behaviour was ungracious and unforgivable. Your father has so often emphasised how young you are. I was trying to spare you. I had understood I was marrying someone not long out childhood.'

‘Childhood!' She spun round.

‘No.' He took a step back. This young woman was far from childish. Even in the short month he had been away she had filled out a little and he could see the womanly curves beneath her tunic. ‘I can see you are no child. I have married a great lady. A royal lady. And I have come to fetch you back to my headquarters. I hope one good thing has come from our extended nuptials– my men have had time to supervise the last stages of building a palace fit for a queen.'

‘At Isca?' She was dismissive.

‘At Segontium.'

She was taken aback. ‘And where is that?'

‘Beyond the mountains to the north. No more than three orfour days' march from here,' he added hastily. ‘Perhaps fiveor six.'

‘But why there? Why not here?' She managed to stop herself from stamping her foot. That would indeed be childish.

‘Because I need somewhere to keep you safe. If nothing else, my sortie to the land of the Demetae has shown how vulnerable the coast down there is to attack. I have requested again and again for the emperor to send extra field army units, but so far I have had no response. The empire is threatened on every side. Here in Britannia alone we have to contend with Saxon raiding parties in the east, Picts and Caledonians to the north, tribes from Hibernia who may come in force next time. In Gaul they face even greater threats and the emperor seems unable or unwilling to face up to them. At Segontium you will be safe. We'll travel the land together, you and I, north south, east and west, but I need to have somewhere secure as a base for my family.' He smiled down at her. ‘Your father would find me remiss if I let anything happen to my royal princess.'

Her snort of derision was anything but royal. Again he managed to hide a smile. ‘Will you not open my gift?'

‘If I must.' She turned to face him and he was surprised to see the amount of hostility held in that slim body. Grudgingly she stretched out her hand and he placed the package in it. It was heavy and awkward in shape, wrapped in rough flax-blue linen. She tore off the silk ribbon, dropping it at her feet and unfolded the cloth. Inside was a miniature statuette of a -prancing horse. It was made of solid gold. She stared at it for several seconds. ‘It's very beautiful,' she said at last. She glanced up at him. ‘Did you have it made specially?'

He nodded. ‘Your horse is the colour of ebony, but I felt gold was more suitable. It was made by a craftsman in the hills where the gold is mined.'

‘My people are clever craftsmen.'

He noted the possessive pronoun.

‘Indeed they are.'

‘Is he a slave?' Her tone sharpened.

‘A freeman and so a citizen of the Roman Empire. As youare.'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Then I thank you for the gift. It is beautiful.'

‘And it will be one of many.' He stooped and picked up the dog that had crept up to sit near her feet. It wore a pink collar, and his fingers rattled the medals that hung from it. One carried the symbol of luck and blessing, the other, the dog's name, Gemma, engraved in careful script. On the reverse was a sequence of other symbols. He stared at them. ‘How strange. Your dog carries a message similar to those I saw used in -Arabia to represent numbers. She must be a well-travelled little creature.' He bent and set the dog down on the floor. Then he reached out for Elen's hand. ‘Can we start again? Our relationship needs to be built on rock. May I call you Elen?'

‘That is my name. I am Elen ferch Eudaf, my father's -daughter. And I shall call you Macsen, that is Magnus in our language. Macsen meaning greatest.' She raised an eyebrow.

He smiled. ‘So what does Elen mean?'

‘A ray of sunlight.'

‘Perfect. Together we will rule the world.'

They looked at one another in all seriousness for a second, then both burst out laughing. ‘Come,' he said, ‘your father has ordered a second wedding feast to celebrate our union. Let us go in together, then together we will set off on our new life tomorrow at dawn.'

But after the feast and before dawn would come their wedding night. And that, he thought with a tingle of anticipation, was going to prove interesting.