The Singing Sword

XVIII

The next day did not start off auspiciously. I awoke in the pre-dawn to the sound of torrential rain and decided to start off my day with a hot bath and a massage, only to find that, for the first time anyone could remember, the furnace that heated our hypocausts, our central heating system, had broken. I settled for a cold bath and a stinging massage and drew little comfort from the knowledge that an entire army of workers was busily trying to trace the source of the trouble.

I had intended to ride up to the fort in the course of the morning to check on our operations up there, but the mere exercise of crossing the courtyard to the bath house in the astounding downpour was enough to convince me that a prudent man would look for things to do indoors on such a day. And yet the house was cold because of the broken furnace, or the broken pipes, or whatever else it was that was causing the trouble, so I wrapped myself up in my cloak and made my way down to the forge and its welcome warmth.

Equus had already been there for more than an hour, I reckoned, by the time I arrived, since it was full daylight outside and he still had lamps burning. He looked up from his work as I hung my sodden cloak by the forge to dry.

"Raining outside?"

I thought at first he was jesting, but quickly saw that he was not really interested in my response, whatever it might be.

"Raining? How long have you been here?"

He was concentrating on something on the bench-top in front of him and spoke perfunctorily over his shoulder, his eyes on his work. "All night, I reckon. Wanted to get your spear done." He finished something, tapped metal with a hammer and straightened up, looking out for the first time towards the daylight. "Looks like a whore of a morning out there."

I ran my fingers through my wet hair, flicking them afterward to shake off the rain. "Not pleasant, Equus — but why a whore?"

He grinned down again at what he was doing. "Wet, and available to anyone who wants to get into it, but basically cold, unpleasant and taxing to everyone."

I returned his grin. "Philosophizing this early? You must have had a rough night. What's the matter?"

He straightened up. "Ah, I don't know." He looked disgusted. "I'm not happy with the way this spear thing turned out."

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

"Split me if I know! But something isn't right about it."

"Where is it? Let's have a look."

"It's over there." He nodded backwards with his head. "Against the back wall."

I saw it from where I was standing. "It looks all right from here — a little strange-looking, but that's what I expected."

I went and picked the new weapon up. It felt heavy and serviceable. The blade was three feet long and double-edged, flaring from the point to a two-inch width within six inches, and then gradually to about four and a half inches at the top. The edges on both sides were wicked. The thickness of the central spine was more than half an inch. He had left the tang the full length of the shaft and had bound strips of wood around it with iron wire, making a solid, two-and-a-half-inch diameter, three-foot-long grip. It was a heavy weapon, but not ungainly.

"What's wrong with this?" I asked over my shoulder. "What don't you like about it?"

Equus shook his head abruptly and dismissively. "I told you, I don't know. I sat on the saw-horse over there and practised with it for a while. There's something not quite right about it, but damn me if I can pinpoint what it is."

"You think it's too heavy?" I raised it shoulder high, springing my arm, testing the weight of the thing.

"No, not for the job it has to do."

"Well, then what about the balance? Are you satisfied with that?" As I spoke, I gripped the shaft in both hands, holding it out straight-armed.

"I think so. Yes, damn it, I am! It balances well for thrust and stab. And it'll cut, too ..." His voice reflected the frustration he was feeling. "It's just... it doesn't feel right, Publius. Even though it does what it's supposed to do, it doesn't feel right. Does that make any sense to you?"

"No, my friend, it doesn't." He grunted in disgust. "Well, what do you want me to say? I don't know what would feel right to you. It feels fine to me, but I didn't design it or make it."

He sighed and turned back to a piece of iron he had left heating in the coals. I watched him lay it on the anvil and start to hammer it, sending sparks flying with every blow. On the fourth stroke, he stopped, his shoulders slumped in thought, and then turned back to me, the hammer dangling from his huge hand.

"I think what's sticking in my craw is that the thing is neither fish nor fowl. It's a spear, but it has to be used like a sword."

"But it's a new weapon, Equus. It will have to have rules of its own. It is different."

"Aye, I suppose it is...Well, I hope it works well for you. I'll never use it."

He sounded very despondent, and I put the new weapon down and crossed to where he stood, placing my arm along his shoulders.

"You'll get used to it, old friend. Once you see how well it works for the others, you'll be proud of it."

He grunted. "I doubt that."

"Well I don't. Britannicus charged me with the responsibility of coming up with a new weapon for his new tactics. I passed it on to you. And this is it."

"No, Publius, this isn't 'it'!" He was emphatic, his voice impassioned. "I'm not as clever as you and the Gen'ral, and I don't live well with words. But I know inside myself that thing isn't the answer. It might do for now, but it isn't right."

I picked the weapon up again, hefted it in my hand and tested the edge with my thumb. "Well, Equus, we'll see. It's too wet outside to do much in the way of testing today. If the weather dries up tomorrow, we'll see how it performs in the hands of a mounted man."

He punctuated the end of my words with a clanging blow of his hammer on his now-cool iron, cursed and thrust the cold metal back into the coals, and as he did so, Caius himself walked into the forge, his military cloak wrapped tightly around him.

"Ah, Publius, Equus! I was hoping I'd find you both here. It's the only spot in the whole place where there's a chance of escaping the chill today. What's that you have there, Publius?"

I held it out to him. "Your new cavalry weapon. Equus finished it last night."

"Excellent! Well, let's have a look at it." He reached for the weapon, but I hung on to it.

"I will, when you take off that wet cloak. You don't need pneumonia at your age, Caius."

"Hmmm," he grunted. "You're worse than your wife." He removed the wet cloak and I handed him the spear while I hung the garment by the heat with mine, which was already steaming, adding the smell of wet wool to the odours of the forge. By the time I turned back to him, he was feinting with the thing, holding it over his shoulder as if it were a javelin, testing its weight and balance. Equus was watching his face, clearly trying to gauge his thoughts.

"Good. Hmmm, yes. This is good, Varrus. Well done, Equus, I think this is what we have been looking for."

"Do you, Gen'ral? I don't." Equus was at his disconcerting best.

"What? What d'you mean?" Caius looked quite astonished.

"Equus isn't happy with it. It's his own design and he feels he could have done better."

Caius flicked a finger against the edge of the blade as though he had detected a flaw. "Well," he said, looking at no one, "perhaps he could, particularly if he feels that strongly about it. You might indeed be able to do better, Equus, but we won't know until you've tried, will we? In the meantime, I think you've done an excellent job with this experiment." He was peering closely at the blade. "Yes, indeed, this is quite excellent. This will give our men something to master, something to be proud of, something to make them different. No, this is very fine. May I take it with me?"

"Aye, if you want to," said Equus. "Make sure you keep it dry, though. I don't want it rusted before it's been used."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. In the meantime, please don't let my enthusiasm interfere with any thoughts you might have about trying to improve upon it."

Equus sniffed audibly and returned to his work with a marked air of finality.

"Publius." Caius turned to me, a smile on his face at Equus's ill humour. "Ullic was looking for you. Did he find you?"

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, well, if it's important he'll come looking for you, I suppose. He knows you well enough by now to know where to find you. Luceiia asked me to inform you that she would like some of your time today, too. She is preparing a special meal for you at noon, and you will eat in the family room. Were I you, I would make sure not to forget."

"In the family room? At noon? What's going on, Caius?"

Caius shook his head, a look of genuine innocence on his face.

"Well, there's something up. Something's going on, and I suppose I'll find out when the time comes for me to know about it."

Caius nodded, sagely and solemnly, his face expressionless. "Probably around noon, I would suspect."

"You can wager on it, my friend. The family room is used only for domestic courts martial and important events. If you see her between now and then, please inform my wife that I shall be there."

Luceiia's family room was her holy of holies. It was a large salon furnished with comfortable chairs and couches, and it was the one room in the entire house where entry was restricted to a privileged few. When we were there as a family — and of course Caius was a member of the family — no one, servant or visitor, was allowed to enter or disturb us. The other rooms were all more or less public, with the exception of the bedchambers, but only close friends, intimate friends, were allowed entry to the family room. Luceiia even did all of the cleaning and maintenance of the place herself, and it was uniquely hers in a way that made it different from any other room not only in the house but, I am sure, in the entire land of Britain. Of all the people we knew, Ullic Pendragon was the only one who had the prerogative of casual access to the family room.

The rain dried up about an hour before noon, but the clouds showed no sign of breaking, so I worked on in the forge until it was time for me to make my way back for this intriguing "special meal." "Be careful," muttered Equus as I shrugged into my cloak. "Summonses from women — wives in particular — can be dangerous. You're going to get talked into something. I just hope you're going to be fit to live with afterwards."

I laughed at him and headed for the house, wondering idly what this was all about. I had no real worries. Luceiia had been in a fine humour the night before, and even this morning, with no heating, she had been cheerful. I had become adept at sensing even mild wifely dissatisfaction in its early stages, so I was sure that there were no storms on my personal horizon.

The first thing I noticed on entering the house was that the central heating was working again. There was a noticeable improvement from the early-morning temperature I had left behind when I fled to the forge. Luceiia met me at the door with a kiss and a hug and a smile, took me by the arm and led me into the family room, and I was quite happy to allow her to do so, relieved as I was by her friendliness in spite of my conviction that nothing was amiss. The room was bright and cheerful, as it always was. A fire blazed in the fireplace and warm light flooded the room from the translucent glass windows that were Luceiia's one major extravagance, specially made and brought to the villa from Gaul at outrageous expense. A small table had been moved into the middle of the space in front of the fire and there was fresh fruit, bread, cheese and wine surrounding a covered earthenware pot.

In her travels as a young woman of substance, Luceiia had picked up a number of recipes for exotic dishes. She loved cooking the way I love working with iron. She had made one of these dishes for me before we were married and it had become a ritual "happiness" meal for us, appearing only on special and momentous occasions. I knew that was what was in the pot. I had no idea what made this occasion special or momentous, but I was prepared to take it on trust, for the aroma of pheasant and chicken breasts simmered in wine with herbs, small onions and mushrooms drew the saliva into my mouth as soon as I entered the room. I stopped just inside the door and looked around, taking notice of the vases of flowers on every table, the light aroma of some eastern incense from Constantinople, and Ullic standing against the wall to my right.

"Luceiia? What are you up to?" My eyes went from her to Ullic and back to her again. "What is going on here?"

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at me, full of love and mischief. "Going on? There's nothing going on, my love. Ullic came all the way from his mountains to welcome you home, and it has been so long since he was last here, it seemed a shame not to celebrate his visit in some way. We see him far too seldom."

"Seldom?" I growled. "Two or three times a year is too often for an untutored savage to see the inside of a civilized home. It will make him dissatisfied with his own rude hut. Next thing you know, he'll be getting ideas above his station, thinking he can mix with real people all the time."

She punched me playfully on the shoulder. "Come now, behave yourself and stop growling like an ill-natured bear. I saw the rain this morning and I knew you would be staying close to home, so I decided to brighten up your day. And ours, too."

I kissed her, squeezing her waist with my arm. "About time, too. I swear that the only time I seem to get decently fed nowadays is when this great Celtic boor comes by."

She tossed her head and crossed to the table, moving like a young girl still, in spite of the fact that she was a matron who had now borne five children.

Ullic had not responded to any of my jibes, which was more than unusual. I looked at him more closely. "What's the matter with you?" He grinned foolishly and shrugged his big shoulders, saying nothing. The foolish grin was his normal expression around Luceiia, but his silence was strange. I followed it up.

"Are you feeling unwell, King? I've never known you so quiet and well behaved." Again, no response. I turned to Luceiia. "Where are the children?"

"They're eating in the kitchens today. I decided they were too boisterous this morning so I banished them."

"Good. They'll love that."

"That they will. Sometimes I wonder if they think more of Gallo and the servants than they do of us."

"When it comes to eating they do, my love. They are pampered, fussed over and spoiled when they eat in the kitchens. We discipline them when they eat with us."

"Come and sit, both of you."

The meal was delicious and the wine, a light yellow nectar made by the Burgundians, matched it perfectly. Ullic found his tongue shortly after we sat down and we chatted pleasantly throughout the entire meal. Finally, I finished the last of my goat's cheese and fresh-baked bread and pushed myself slightly away from the table.

"Very well, my friends... Luceiia, that was a beautiful meal — magnificent. All the more so for being unexpected. I am well fed and mellowed by wine, and warmed by the light, the fire, the flowers and the scent of incense. So. What is it that you two have in store for me?"

Ullic immediately looked as apprehensive as a sneak-thief caught in the act. He glanced wide-eyed at Luceiia.

"Nothing outrageous, my love," she said. "Ullic wanted to speak to you, but was unsure about how to approach you. You two speak so ill-manneredly to each other all the time that he was afraid you might not take him seriously enough and so he asked me for my advice."

"And you devised this scheme to loosen me up! It must be quite a favour you are looking for, Pendragon."

"You see what I mean?" Luceiia's tone was sharp. "You have proved him right already. Ullic has no favour to ask of you, and he needs no irony."

"Not fair, wife. There was no irony there!"

"It certainly sounded like it."

I raised my hands, palms outward in surrender. "Forgive me, then. Ullic, I beg your pardon. I am impressed, honestly, with the way you have approached this problem, as you call it, even though I have no idea of what's involved. But I must confess to being a little hurt that you would think that after all this time I would be insensitive to anything you asked of me, or said to me, that obviously means so much to you."

He cleared his throat. "Don't be hurt, Publius." That shocked me. He never called me Publius! "You will understand in a moment why I had to come about it this way, when you hear what I have to say."

I waited. He was obviously thinking hard. Luceiia had a strange half-smile on her face.

"It's about your eldest daughter."

"My daughter? Veronica?" I was puzzled. "What about her?"

"I want to marry her to my son, Uric."

"You what?" I was dumbfounded.

"I want my son Uric to be married to your daughter, Veronica."

Even hearing it the second time, I still could not believe my ears. "Veronica?" I said. "She's just a child! An infant!"

There was total silence for a few seconds. Ullic sat looking uncomfortable, his eyes lowered to his hands, which were clasped on the table in front of him. My thoughts were chaos, so great was my surprise. Veronica? The Magpie? It was unthinkable! I fastened on that aspect of my outrage and put it into words, hearing the harsh tone of my own voice.

"It's absolutely unthinkable! We will not speak of it!" As soon as I had said it, of course, I knew I was being too abrupt, for I knew she would have to marry some day. "There will be time enough in years to come for talk of marriage, once the child has grown."

Luceiia spoke, her voice gently chiding. "Publius, that is unfair. Where are your eyes? The child is almost grown."

I swung around to face her. "Don't interfere, woman. This is none of your affair."

She flinched as though I had slapped her, and in a way I had. When she spoke again, there was an implacable quality to her voice that I had never heard before.

"I am sorry, husband, but this is my affair. Veronica is my daughter, too, and I love her no less than you do. Your responses to me and to Ullic are both emotional and inconsiderate." I made to interrupt her, but she overrode me. "Let me finish!" I subsided and she continued. "Veronica is twelve years old and already, physically, a woman. Ullic is our best friend outside of the family. He is not suggesting that we ship the child off today, before supper. His thought was only to arrange a marriage, a marriage that would not take place until the girl is fully grown and ready to be a wife."

I was almost appeased, but not quite. The first stirrings of guilt at my harsh reaction made me sound surly, even to myself. "Then why all this secrecy?"

"What secrecy? Ullic was worried that you might behave exactly as you have. He knows how great your love for Veronica is. She is your sun, moon and stars."

I had to smile, and the surliness was gone. "No, wife," I said. "You are my moon and stars."

"Well, anyway, poor Ullic came to me, hoping I might be able to help him blunt your wrath. Look at the man. He is your dearest friend, your guest and a king, and he sits squirming at your table!"

I turned to Ullic, my guilt running at full flood now and tinged with shame. I reached across and grasped his left wrist. "Ullic, my friend, forgive me. My reaction was overstrong, I can see that now. But you hit me in a tender spot. We almost lost Veronica once ... She is very precious to me. In my eyes, she must always be a little girl... my little girl. The thought of losing her, even to a fine husband, is repugnant to me, even though, deep down, I know I'm being foolish. She is growing up. I've noticed it, and I've been resenting it. Your proposal surfaced unexpectedly. It hurt. I reacted violently. Pardon me."

He shrugged, his face breaking into a smile. "Publius, we are friends. There is nothing else in the world that I would have hesitated to ask you for. But I know how you treasure her, and I knew that everything would be in the asking, so I approached your wife, instead. And I was right, was I not? So was she."

I picked up a piece of bread and tore off a pinch of it, kneading it between my thumb and forefinger, seeing my daughter's lovely, smiling, innocent face in my mind. "So," I said, "tell me about this son of yours, whom you would have as husband to my Veronica."

"You met him when you visited me the time before last, two years ago. He was the age then that Veronica is now."

"So that makes him, what? Fifteen?"

"Almost. He has not quite filled his fifteenth year."

"So, when would you want them to be wed?"

"On his eighteenth birthday." This was better. Veronica would be a woman by then. Fifteen, almost sixteen.

"And why Veronica?"

"Why Veronica? Are you serious?" His smile was broad and easy now. "She is her mother's daughter! And yours, of course, although that's a misfortune she has learned to live with. I know my son could do no better."

"But she's a Roman."

His grin was all teeth and crinkled eyes. "Not so. She's a Briton, Publius. Don't you remember? The Britons were reborn at Stonehenge the night we met."

"So, you believe a Celtic-Briton match would be a good one, do you?"

His smile vanished instantly, to be replaced with an expression that contained no levity.

"Aye, my friend, I do. It would be good for the young ones and good for us. We are both kings, Publius, each in his own way, for you are Britannicus's heir, his spiritual heir if you like, in spite of Picus's return and in spite of your Roman fears of kingship. For I swear I never saw two more kingly men than you and he."

"You flatter me, Ullic." I was pleased. "I would not have expected that from you."

"I flatter no man, friend. It is the truth. No more than that."

We spoke no more for some time, each of us absorbed in his own thoughts. It was Luceiia who broke the silence, placing her hand gently over mine as she asked me, "My love, are we agreed? You seem to be in favour of the match, but you have not yet said so."

I looked from one to the other of them. "Is there any more wine?"

"Plenty."

"Then pour us all a draught to seal our bargain, woman. If we are to mix our blood with Celts, we might as well get drunk."

Ullic threw back his head and laughed a great laugh of relief and pleasure, and then he jumped to his feet and embraced each of us, and we drank a toast to our children and to their children whose own children would join our two peoples long after we were gone.