with a squeal of rusting iron hinges. Beyond the coarse timber, the darkened alleyway promised cool, indigo shadows after the dazzling sun of the cul-de-sac.
His curiosity piqued, Myrddion passed through the gateway and entered the narrow, dark tunnel between the stone buildings.
The absence of sunshine had promoted the growth of lush ferns and moss where water collected in stone hollows against the walls. The sudden coolness was a balm to Myrddion’s sun-blinded eyes, but the cobbles under his feet were slippery with black slime. Keeping to the middle of the alleyway for safety, he picked a path towards the rear of the buildings.
As he made his tentative way through the alley, he noticed that there were no windows to threaten the security of the house on either side. Narrow apertures on the upper floors were secured with odd-shaped iron straps that were securely bolted into the stone. Entry into the buildings from the alley was rendered impossible. ‘Someone has a penchant for safety,’ Myrddion murmured to the empty laneway as he moved towards the brilliant splash of sunlight that signalled the end of the narrow tunnel.
‘Ah!’ he breathed as he stepped out into the enclosed space thatbacked onto both the guardhouse and its neighbour. His surprise would have been laughable if anyone had been present to see his slack mouth and round, amazed eyes as he gazed at the scene that lay before him.
The narrow, dark alleyway opened onto a rising series of broad terraces bounded by high fieldstone walls. Within this enclosed area, a large roofed structure protected a fire-pit, complete with spit, several brick ovens and a smaller fireplace constructed for the preparation of lesser meals. Two rock walls sheltered this outdoor kitchen from the elements, while an alcove served as storage space for a neat stack of firewood.
At the rear of the more imposing of the two buildings flanking the alley, a well was centred on the lowest terrace beside which several decorative fruit trees were planted. The petals had already fallen and small citrus fruits were forming on the branches. Myrddion tried to imagine the size, shape and taste of the grown fruit but, as he had never seen an orange, he could only marvel at the pleasant smell of the leaves when he crushed them between his fingers.
A series of stone benches were laid out where idlers could sit in the shade of the building and enjoy the bars of brilliant sunshine, the deep green of several narrow pine trees and a riot of vivid scarlet flowers that created a colourful splash under the impossibly blue sky. Against his better judgement, Myrddion leaned against the wall and drew the lightly scented air deep into his lungs.
‘And who might you be, to enjoy the pleasures of my garden without permission?’ A deep, resonant voice cut through Myrddion’s reverie, shattering the feeling of peace and well-being that had embraced him. He raised his eyes.
The woman who stood on the terrace was slender and very tall, so that she almost reached Myrddion’s own height. Her colouringwas vivid, with lips that were pomegranate red and glistening over her large, beautiful teeth. Those lips were full, bee-stung and voluptuous, and an incongruous counterpoint to her imperious, patronising voice.
‘Well, clod, I’m waiting for a very good explanation,’ she continued in perfect Latin. ‘Or must I set my guards to teach you a lesson in manners?’
Completely confused, Myrddion met a pair of snapping eyes which possessed an unmaidenly directness that made the young man’s hackles rise. The fine-boned, aristocratic face was topped by a head of rich auburn hair that shaded from carrot red into gilded bronze. Its owner was obviously wilful and impetuous by nature, her aquiline features suggesting charm and temper in equal measure.
Conscious of his rough clothes and dusty hair, Myrddion bent his head in a deep, courtly bow.
‘Forgive me, my lady. I am Myrddion of Segontium in Britain. I have
His curiosity piqued, Myrddion passed through the gateway and entered the narrow, dark tunnel between the stone buildings.
The absence of sunshine had promoted the growth of lush ferns and moss where water collected in stone hollows against the walls. The sudden coolness was a balm to Myrddion’s sun-blinded eyes, but the cobbles under his feet were slippery with black slime. Keeping to the middle of the alleyway for safety, he picked a path towards the rear of the buildings.
As he made his tentative way through the alley, he noticed that there were no windows to threaten the security of the house on either side. Narrow apertures on the upper floors were secured with odd-shaped iron straps that were securely bolted into the stone. Entry into the buildings from the alley was rendered impossible. ‘Someone has a penchant for safety,’ Myrddion murmured to the empty laneway as he moved towards the brilliant splash of sunlight that signalled the end of the narrow tunnel.
‘Ah!’ he breathed as he stepped out into the enclosed space thatbacked onto both the guardhouse and its neighbour. His surprise would have been laughable if anyone had been present to see his slack mouth and round, amazed eyes as he gazed at the scene that lay before him.
The narrow, dark alleyway opened onto a rising series of broad terraces bounded by high fieldstone walls. Within this enclosed area, a large roofed structure protected a fire-pit, complete with spit, several brick ovens and a smaller fireplace constructed for the preparation of lesser meals. Two rock walls sheltered this outdoor kitchen from the elements, while an alcove served as storage space for a neat stack of firewood.
At the rear of the more imposing of the two buildings flanking the alley, a well was centred on the lowest terrace beside which several decorative fruit trees were planted. The petals had already fallen and small citrus fruits were forming on the branches. Myrddion tried to imagine the size, shape and taste of the grown fruit but, as he had never seen an orange, he could only marvel at the pleasant smell of the leaves when he crushed them between his fingers.
A series of stone benches were laid out where idlers could sit in the shade of the building and enjoy the bars of brilliant sunshine, the deep green of several narrow pine trees and a riot of vivid scarlet flowers that created a colourful splash under the impossibly blue sky. Against his better judgement, Myrddion leaned against the wall and drew the lightly scented air deep into his lungs.
‘And who might you be, to enjoy the pleasures of my garden without permission?’ A deep, resonant voice cut through Myrddion’s reverie, shattering the feeling of peace and well-being that had embraced him. He raised his eyes.
The woman who stood on the terrace was slender and very tall, so that she almost reached Myrddion’s own height. Her colouringwas vivid, with lips that were pomegranate red and glistening over her large, beautiful teeth. Those lips were full, bee-stung and voluptuous, and an incongruous counterpoint to her imperious, patronising voice.
‘Well, clod, I’m waiting for a very good explanation,’ she continued in perfect Latin. ‘Or must I set my guards to teach you a lesson in manners?’
Completely confused, Myrddion met a pair of snapping eyes which possessed an unmaidenly directness that made the young man’s hackles rise. The fine-boned, aristocratic face was topped by a head of rich auburn hair that shaded from carrot red into gilded bronze. Its owner was obviously wilful and impetuous by nature, her aquiline features suggesting charm and temper in equal measure.
Conscious of his rough clothes and dusty hair, Myrddion bent his head in a deep, courtly bow.
‘Forgive me, my lady. I am Myrddion of Segontium in Britain. I have
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