Dragon's Child (7 page)

‘So she took to the quirt, then, boy?’

‘You’re an evil old man, Master Targo,’ Artorex replied evenly. ‘You knew this horse wouldn’t respond to that sort of treatment.’ His voice was a gentle murmur to spare the horse from nervousness.

‘You did very well with this task, lad, and I’m pleased.’ Targo smiled. ‘The best horsemen I have encountered had no use for whips and quirts, but controlled their beasts with the bridle, the reins and the sure touch of their heels. I’ve seen Scythians who can guide horses with the reins in their teeth - and empty-handed - so that they can use their murderous bows while on the gallop.’ He grinned at Artorex. ‘Some men say those devils were centaurs once but I believe they’re just excellent horsemen who regularly practise their skills.’

‘Someone has scarred this horse very badly, Targo. Who ruined her?’ Artorex asked.

‘It’s not for me to say, boy. But I think you could make a good guess.’

It’s what I’d expect of one such as Caius, Artorex thought to himself but, like Targo, he wisely kept his opinions to himself.

Aphrodite and Artorex gradually became friends - of a kind.

The boy brought her a carrot every day, so the kitchen staff began to keep the misshapen or slightly elderly vegetables for Artorex’s use. Artorex always rewarded her if she kept her temper with him, and he knew that this was all the consideration that he could ask of her. He understood that she would never fully trust him, for a damaged horse, like a betrayed child, cannot ever be quite whole.

The next spring, after Artorex turned fifteen and had become quite a competent rider, with or without a bridle and rein, Aphrodite broke one of the weaker fence rails and escaped. For a weary and interminable week, Artorex searched for her, expecting to discover that she had been killed by boars or was hobbling on a broken leg in the Old Forest. But when he finally came upon her, he found that she had inexplicably found her way to his secret glade in the forest, where the old stone still drew his eyes with its strange carving, and the grass grew fresh and green wherever the sun’s rays penetrated the treetops.

Amicably, Aphrodite submitted to the bridle and placidly followed him home. Behind them, in the deepest groves, Artorex heard the challenging whinny of a stallion, as if some strange centaur really did inhabit the ancient places. Superstitiously, he didn’t look back, and Aphrodite quietly ambled behind him without any fuss.

In time, the mare bore a colt out of season, a long-legged, tiny thing, with slick black hair and an unnaturally large head. Once Aphrodite had cleaned the curly coat and nuzzled the colt to her dugs, Artorex stroked the short, wiry curls on the little creature’s flanks.

Aphrodite snorted her displeasure just once, and then permitted Artorex to fondle her foal.

The colt grew and grew, as different from Plod and Aphrodite as Artorex was from Caius. The small creature would never be quite as tall as its dam, but it had inherited the same length of leg. It was also cleaner of limb, with legs that were unmarred by thick hair above the hooves, although its body coat was still rough and curly. Its head was smaller and more delicate than its mother, yet, for all its apparent fragility, the young horse appeared strong and heavy-boned.

‘She must have found herself a wild pony when she was in season,’ Targo decided. ‘Perhaps it was a descendant of the horses brought from Gaul, or it might have been one of the hillside beasts that are still found in the high places. I don’t know if he’ll be any good, but he’s a handsome colt.’

‘He’s beautiful, Targo,’ Artorex breathed, as the foal nuzzled his arm with soft, questing lips.

‘I hope he’s not too beautiful or else the young master might be tempted to take him off you,’ Targo murmured regretfully.

‘Master Ector has already ordered me to become a horseman, so could you ask him if I could be responsible for the foal’s training?’ Artorex asked.

Artorex expected Targo to reject his request outright, but the veteran pursed his lips, then bit on one calloused knuckle until, finally, he came to a decision.

‘I’ll ask him before the young master decides to take the foal for his own use.’

Privately, Targo had already determined that he would keep Aphrodite’s foal safe from the grasping hands of Caius. His gorge still rose whenever he remembered Aphrodite’s coat, slick with blood and sweat, after Caius had beaten the mare almost to death. Targo had believed the mare would die with her spirit crushed, but she had found a well of hatred within her being that kept her alive. This foal wouldn’t be spoiled like its dam if he had any say in the matter.

When Targo approached Lord Ector with his request, the master was inclined to be generous. For several months, Ector had been concerned that Artorex’s riding lessons were inconvenient for the smooth running of the villa and this small, bastard horse was of very little value, except to solve the problem. If his foster-son could make something of the unpromising creature, then Ector would be advantaged once again.

And so Coal, as the young man named him, became Artorex’s horse.

‘Why did you give him that particular name?’ Targo asked curiously. He had expected a far more grandiose title, even for such an awkward little colt.

‘Coal burns hot and it fires the forges that make iron. It’s stronger than wood and yet it is glossy and easily shaped. Yes, Coal is his name, for he is my fire,’ Artorex answered with perfect seriousness.

‘Well, he’s your horse, boy, so you can select whatever name you like for him,’ was Targo’s non-committal reply.

Horsemanship was the least of Artorex’s newly acquired skills. Golden limbed, cleanly muscled and fair of face, Ector’s foster-son drew the eyes of the villa women with little effort or conscious use of charm. Perhaps his innocence contributed to his attractiveness, for the lad had no notion of his sexual power. But Lady Livinia recognized Artorex’s burgeoning manhood and, belatedly, remembered her promise to Myrddion Merlinus.

Towards the end of one long, tiring day, as Artorex trudged back from ploughing, slick with sweat, soil and the cold water he had sluiced over his head and shoulders, Lady Livinia left orders for her foster-son to attend to her in the atrium once he had bathed. Artorex was surprised, but he complied as quickly as he could, joining Lady Livinia and her maid on a limestone bench under a single linden tree. Lady Livinia was working her large floor loom while her maid was spinning degreased wool on a simple, wooden spindle.

‘You asked to see me, my lady?’ Artorex asked carefully, his grey eyes watching the flicker of coloured thread as her shuttle passed across the loom.

‘Yes, Artorex.’ She smiled in welcome. ‘I’ve been remiss in your education. As Lord Myrddion explained, a true gentleman should understand how to speak to both servants and masters, how to practise courtesy and economy, and to display the good manners that oil the wheels of society. From tomorrow, you will attend me in the atrium each afternoon after the noontime meal.’

She smiled inwardly as she glimpsed the frown of chagrin that the lad attempted to hide by dropping his head. From Artorex’s point of view, hard work was preferable to such pointless activities.

‘Don’t fear that I’ll keep you from your duties to the villa. An hour a day should be more than sufficient to correct any deficiencies in your deportment or manners. My woman, Delia, will oversee the more . . . physical . . . aspects of your education.’

Artorex was truly horrified. The words ‘physical aspects’ had an embarrassing, terrifying ring and the lad turned to face Livinia’s maidservant with trepidation.

Delia was well past thirty years of age and seemed very old to Artorex, although her skin was still fresh and her hair was rich with an auburn sheen. She had served as Lady Livinia’s servant from childhood and was devoted to the interests of her mistress, so Artorex had known her for years, at least from a distance. As Delia stepped forward into the light of the setting sun, Artorex had an opportunity to gauge the kindness in her mild, brown eyes.

Delia had borne five living children and her body was plump and strong. Her hands were her great beauty, although they were calloused from sewing, washing and the women’s work of the villa. Her fingers were long, with sensitive pads and almond-shaped, pale nails, while her palms were unusually large and well fleshed. Those hands were clasped together firmly as she smiled at the thunder-struck young man.

So, in the noontime, Artorex learned how to dance, to turn a courtly sentence and to take a lady’s arm. He mastered courtesy and deportment, and found nothing shameful in conversation with an interesting and intelligent woman. Lady Livinia’s lessons would last the boy for the rest of his life and serve him well as he grew to manhood.

More importantly, Lady Livinia taught Artorex the woman’s point of view, filtered through the Roman matron’s idea of female duty. Without conscious effort, Artorex absorbed Livinia’s values, her style, her respect for family and her uncompromising ability to face painful truths. A single caress upon his hair, as light as thistledown, was cherished as he luxuriated in her regard.

After an afternoon’s toil, Artorex would report to Delia at the servants’ quarters. There, over a period of two weeks, the cheerful and motherly woman taught Artorex the pleasures of the bed. Her warmth, her good humour and her earthy common sense revealed many of the mysteries of women to the round-eyed boy, and for the first time he grew to appreciate the strength and pragmatism of the other sex. Wisely, Lady Livinia contrived to end these special lessons before Artorex teetered on the brink of lovesickness, for this clever matron understood that teacher and pupil might begin to care for each other if their arrangement continued overlong.

Artorex continued with Lady Livinia’s lessons and discovered that he enjoyed his new friendship with Delia. Although any sexual liaison was over, he discussed the relationship with Frith who explained that Delia loved Lady Livinia, not him, and had taken him to her bed for her mistress’s sake. Artorex should be grateful to these two women of such different stations, and free himself from any residual sentimentality.

Artorex examined Frith’s amused blue eyes closely and saw no sign of mockery or falsehood in their clear depths. As he kissed Frith’s withered cheek, Artorex realized that women like Frith, Delia and Livinia, who seemed so delicate and easily shocked, were actually stronger than iron and far more ruthless than a man could ever be.

‘The mistress is a marvel,’ Targo informed the young man after Delia had completed his education. ‘She knows a boy needs guidance or else he’ll likely develop some silly ideas.’

Artorex blushed hotly and wondered what Delia had let slip to her friends.

‘Don’t colour up, boy.’ The warrior smiled at his protégé. ‘I’m reliably told you’ve no cause to be ashamed of your performance.’

Artorex wished fervently that the earth would swallow him whole.

‘It’s a pity that Mistress Livinia didn’t see to the education of young Caius so sensibly. He spends too much time with whores and catamites.’

‘Gossip, Targo?’ Artorex goaded, grateful that Targo had veered off the subject of his sexual education. ‘I thought you disapproved of idle sniping at your betters and their habits.’

Targo responded with a quick clip to Artorex’s ear.

‘Don’t be impertinent,
Master
Artorex. I see what I see, and a wise man stores away useful information in case he needs it later. Mistress Livinia should have entrusted her son to someone worthy, like Delia - or me for that matter. I’d have been a better guide to the beds of willing maidens than that Severinii brood.’

Wisely, and before Targo became really cross, Artorex changed the subject.

 

When Artorex turned sixteen and the colt was a yearling, they made a unique pair. Artorex stood at well over six feet and was still growing, and his wild hair was now plaited to tame its curls. He was shapely and strong, yet not so fair as Caius in face and form. But, alongside Artorex, Caius seemed insubstantial and a man of straw, although he was five years older - and had recently brought a wife to the villa.

Coal was still outsized in head and length of leg, but his coat shone from constant brushing and he trotted after Artorex like a dog. Even as a yearling, nimble and unafraid of the most treacherous terrain, he was faster than any other horse at the villa, save for the Gallic gelding owned by Caius. In the Old Forest, his coat made him almost invisible among the shadows of the trees, while he was sure-footed even where the forest was almost impenetrable.

When Artorex reached his seventeenth birthday, and the full duties of manhood, Ector set his foster-son to work. Cletus, the villa’s steward, had succumbed to a lung disease that often kept him to his bed, so the master realized that the time had come to train Artorex as his replacement. On his good days, Cletus taught Artorex the role of steward while the young man served as the steward’s ears and eyes outside the walls of the villa. Artorex rode around the estate checking provisions, supervising the rotation of crops and serving his master with diligence and speed.

Artorex began to understand the responsibility of leadership and the command of men.

Ector blessed the day when Lucius of Glastonbury had sent the boy to him.

Mindful of the promises he had made to Myrddion Merlinus, Luka and Llanwith pen Bryn, Artorex still practised the art of weaponry and horsemanship with Targo on a daily basis, and conducted all farm business from the back of a horse.

The young man’s days were full and he was now permitted, on rare occasions, to eat with the family. These marks of favour occurred at those times of the year when he was required to report on the success of the harvest and the well-being of all those souls who lived at the Villa Poppinidii. Unlike Cletus, who was a slave, Artorex still existed in an odd no-man’s land, neither fish nor fowl, neither slave nor master. As Cletus weakened, Artorex learned how to manipulate the many cogs that made up the machine that was the estate. He also learned to lead men with firmness, fairness and efficiency. He worked with them, when need be, and they appreciated the care he took to protect their interests.