Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 21

I forgot about the conversation with the king, and the days slipped by. Viroconium had finally emptied of its visitors. Enniaun Girt, among the last nobleman to arrive for the council was the first to leave. He and Ambroisus had been curt with one another the whole time they were together, and you could feel the hostility between them. Thus my uncle spent as little time in the city as possible before leaving, and with him went Cei.

Cei embraced Owain and me before leaving, chattering excitedly about coming back again. I think he would have liked to have given a certain redhead a loving embrace goodbye too, and I was relieved he was taking happier memories back with him to dilute the horror. Cei went worryingly quiet whenever the riot was mentioned. I hoped that the men would not talk about it too much on the way back to Gwynedd, it would damage his confidence in himself as a warrior. Ector, I was sure, would help him make sense of it all.

Owain spoke to me of what had happened of the council and I confess I took little of it in. I did listen to him though when Ambrosius had spoken about the Angles, about how he anticipated more raids in and around the borders with future invasions likely. King Engist, the Bretwalda, it seemed, had a son with ambitions to the hero of his people. The man who would bask Britain with the blood of the Britons. I quickly zoned out though. I didn't care about the name of some foreign prince. I would worry about that when he came, and then I would cut his head from his shoulders. I had drunk a lot of wine by this point!

Beyond the emptying of the Viroconium there was little that happened. Autumn had truly set in with the promise of an early winter as there were flurries of snow. People cursed Ambrosius, saying that it was because he had hanged a priest. Others cursed the priest and said it was because he had committed blasphemy in the crucifixion of another priest. Others blamed the Hibernians. Others the people from other kingdoms. Nobody blamed themselves.

Julia had been passionate in her fury about the riot. Their street had seen a little disturbance but such a rich establishment as theirs had been well defended and sturdily barricaded. Strangely she did not aim her anger towards the men who had rioted. They were men, she explained tartly, it was to be expected that they behave like animals.

The used words she used to describe the women who had taken part in the riot though, no real lady would be expected to use and I stared aghast at her.

'You notice they didn't cut the ugly whores?' Julia flashed at me for the umpteenth time. 'They don't care what they do. They were jealous of girls more beautiful than they are!' and she said it with all the passion and outrage of one who knew that she was one of those more beautiful.

I was frequenting her brothel more and more as I was still trying to avoid Feidlimid. This was still a complex task that involved me avoiding her but being ambushed by her during the day. Or me coming back from the tavern late in the night and deciding on my way back that I wanted her. Feidlimid took these nightly incursions as a signal that despite my erratic behaviour towards her, I must still which to carry on our relationship.

This lasted until the dark and fateful evening long threatened. I was sitting in the brothel with the beautiful Julia upon my lap, laughing at me as I described an elaborate escape from Feidlimid to come to the brothel. Aglovale and Dirandon were also laughing at me for going through such effort to avoid a simple handmaiden as I was doing. 'Maybe you should just marry her.' This was Aglovale's amused advice. 'My wife prefers me in here, that way I don't have to disturb her!'

But our laughter died on our lips as the door slammed open with a thundering crash. You could hear the wind howling outside. Instantly a draught chilled the room. Rain was being blown inside but not one person called a curse to the person who had opened the door so viciously, for she was a woman, sparks were flying from her eyes and men were scared, though none more than I.