“And by such acts they are erasing our will as well as our towns,” Artorius said. “We still far outnumber the Saxon settlers. But in some parts you feel as if the Saxons have won already. While the old elite flee to Armorica, I’ve seen farmers give up their lands to the Saxons without a fight. But if they think the Saxons will welcome them, they’ve another think coming. For the Saxons don’t want us, we British! Oh, no. The Saxons just want our country. And if we don’t oppose them now — it may take them decades, but in the end they will kill us or push us out, bit by bit, until we are banished from the land that was once ours, our only refuge in the rough lands to the west and north. And the worst of it is, nobody will even realize it’s happening …”
Now Arvandus said, his heavily accented voice as thick as oil, “Perhaps we should wait for the response to our plea to the magister militum.”
Regina had seen a copy of this letter to the Roman military commander in Gaul. “To the thrice consul, the groans of the British … The barbarians drive us to the sea and the sea drives us back to the barbarians. Between these two types of death we are either slaughtered or drowned …” It had given her hope that such a missive had been sent to the Roman authorities, even if it was stated in such ludicrous terms.
“If the magister were going to reply,” Ceawlin said, “he would have done so by now. There will be no help from Rome. Besides, they are too busy facing the Huns.”
“Then we should try again,” Regina said.
Every head swiveled. She was the only woman here, save for the servants.
She said, “We will not defeat barbarians by acting like barbarians. We must ensure we maintain our alliance with the civilized world. That is the only way things will ever return to normal.”
Ceawlin laughed. “ Normal! Woman, what is normal ? It is a generation since Constantius. There are children — adults — all across Britain now who have never heard a word of Latin …”
“The Empire has lasted a thousand years,” she said calmly. “We can wait a thousand days for the magister to reply.”
Artorius shook his head angrily. “I will crawl to no magister, in Gaul or Rome or anywhere else. This is our island. We will defend it, and we will build it anew — not the Roman way, not the Saxon way, but our way.”
There was a silence; none of them seemed sure how to respond.
Artorius stood. “We will break. Eat, bathe, sleep — with your kindness, Ceawlin.” The fat negotiatore nodded his head. “We will talk later.”
After the meeting broke up Artorius came to Regina and led her to a quiet corner of Ceawlin’s colonnaded courtyard, away from the others. “Why do you betray me?” he demanded in a sharp whisper. “I found you in your wretched scraping on the hillside and made you what you are. I brought you into this council. Why will you not support me before the others?”
“Because I don’t agree with you,” she said. “The adventure you are planning in Gaul. Your drive for the purple—”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you worried that I will make the mistake of Constantius, and drain the island of its strength?”
She tried to explain how she felt. “Yes, there is that. But there is more. I think you are being — seduced. Your war against the Saxons is justified, because it is clear that given the chance they would kill every one of us, and fill our island with their own bawling, blond-haired brats.
“But now you are talking of fighting for its own sake. I think to you war as an adventure, a great game. But this is no game of ’soldiers,’ Artorius. The tokens you spend are not stones or beads of glass. They are men — humans, each with a soul, an awareness, as bright and vivid as yours or mine.”
He looked at her blankly. “Regina—”
“Your soldiers believe there were better people in the past,” she said, “who built the great ruins at which they gawp. I wonder if people will be better in the future. Perhaps our remote grandchildren will understand the sanctity of life, and to them using the lives of others, as if they were of no more consequence than bits of stone, will be as unthinkable as for me to pluck out my own heart.”
“But until that happy day, we flawed mortals must get along as best we can,” said Artorius dryly. “How do you think the Empire itself was built, save through war? How do you think its peace was kept for so long, save through endless war?” He grinned. “And — Regina, if it is a game it is a marvelous game. The world is an arena for the ambitious, and the prize for victory is no petty favor from a stadium crowd. What else is life for?”
“Once you prized my strength of character,” she said. “My defiance.”
“But now you are starting to irritate me, my Morrigan.” He stepped closer to her, his face even. “Do not oppose me tomorrow.”
When he had gone she stood for a time, in the cool shade of the colonnade, thinking through her problems. Artorius was determined on this course, a course that must lead him to disaster. And then there was Brica with her moon-faced barbarian boy.
Both her problems had a single solution.
It is time, she told herself. She must not go back to the dunon. Perhaps she had anticipated this decision, for she had after all packed the matres, the heart of her home. The decision made, all that remained was to work out how to achieve her new goal.
And yet, standing here, she felt suddenly old, and weak, and tired. Must she do this? Must she uproot herself again, build yet another life? And would she have to fight even her own daughter to do it? But she knew there was no choice, not anymore.
As it happened, an opportunity to get what she wanted showed itself before the next council.
Ceawlin sought her out in her small chamber. Standing in the doorway, his bulk seemed to fill the room.
“I saw the tension between you and the riothamus,” he said evenly. “If I can help—”
She eyed him, calculating, wondering what motives had brought him here. “Perhaps you can. I need passage.”
“Passage? Where?”
She took a breath. “Rome.”
“Why do you want to go to Rome?”
“To find my mother.”
He gazed at her, his eyes invisible behind layers of fat. “You fear Artorius. You think he is leading us all to disaster. You, specifically.”
“My relationship with Artorius isn’t your concern. Can you get me a passage?”
He shrugged massively. “I am a negotiatore. I can provide anything — for a price.” He considered.
“Come with me.”
He walked with her out of the house and along the line of the wall beside the river, heading west toward the bridge.
After a short time they came to the docks. A massive series of timber quays and waterfronts had been constructed in the shadow of the bridge. Behind the quayside was a row of warehouses, and behind them, as Ceawlin pointed out to her, was a district of workshops. There was a handful of boats in the quays. Most of them were small, but one was larger, with bright green sails furled against its masts.
“Here is the heart of Londinium. Goods from the heart of the Empire flow into these wharfs and warehouses, and our goods flow out. The workshops house crafstmen — shipwrights, carpenters, metalworkers, leatherworkers — to service the ships, and to process the trade goods. Once British wheat fed half the western Empire, and our metal clad the mighty armies that held Gaul. Now the port is much declined, of course. But there is still a profit to be made,” he said, patting his belly complacently.
“Why have you brought me here, Ceawlin?”
He leaned close, so she could feel his breath on her ear; there was a stink of urine about him. “To see that green-sailed ship. It belongs to the Empire. It is bound for the coast of Spain — and from there, my note of credit will buy you passage to Rome itself. Once you are out of British waters, away from the raiding Germans, the sailing is safe.”