If that is the case, as I said, you must pick your own horse from the stable and I will assist you with supplies and coin.'
'Does Gwalchmai live here?'
'No. He is a soldier and lives in the barracks at Caerlyn. He has a woman there, I believe.'
'Ah, a woman. Yes.'
'How foolish of me!' said Victorinus. 'Any of the slaves who take your fancy, you may feel free to bed. I would recommend the Nubian, who will guarantee a good night's sleep. And now I must leave you. I have a meeting to attend at the castle but I will be back at around midnight. My man, Grephon, will show you to your room.'
Prasamaccus watched the Roman leave and then wolfed into the food. He was not hungry, but he had found it never paid to waste the opportunity to eat.
The servant Grephon approached silently, then cleared his throat. He watched as the Briton gorged himself, but kept his face carefully void of expression. If his master had chosen to bring this savage to the villa there was obviously good reason for it. At the very least the man must be a prince among the northern tribes and therefore, despite his obvious barbarism, would be treated as if he were a senator. Grephon was a life servant to the Quirina family, having served Victorinus' illustrious father for seven years in Rome; he ran the household with iron efficiency. He was a short man, stocky and bald - despite being only twenty-five - with round unblinking eyes, dark as sable. Originally he had cbme from Thrace, a boy slave brought into the Quirina household as a stable-boy.
His swift mind had brought him to the attention of Marcus Lintus, who had taken him into the household as a playmate for his son, Victorinus. As the years passed, Grephon's reputation grew.
He was undeniably loyal, close-mouthed and with an eye for organisation. By the age of nineteen he was organising the household. When Marcus Lintus died four years ago, young Victorinus had asked Grephon to accompany him to Britain. He had not wished to come and could have refused, for he had become a freedman on the death of Marcus. But the Quirina family were rich and Grephon's future was assured with them, so with a heavy heart he had made the long journey through Gaul and across the sea to Dubris and up through the cursed countryside to the villa at Calcaria. Here he had staffed it and run it to perfection while Victorinus followed the High King as Primus Pilus, the first centurion to Aurelius' rag-bag auxiliaries. Grephon could not understand why a high-born Roman could concern himself with such a rabble.
He cleared his throat once more and this time the savage noticed him. Grephon bowed.
'Is there anything you desire, sir?' The man belched loudly. 'A woman?'
'Yes, sir. Do you have a choice in mind?' The Briton's pale blue eyes fixed on Grephon. 'No. You choose.'
'Very well, sir. Let me show you to your room and I will send someone up to you.'
Grephon moved slowly, aware of the guest's disability, and led him up a short stairway to a narrow corridor and an oak door. Beyond it was a wide bed, surrounded by velvet curtains. It was warm, though there was no fire. Prasa-maccus sat down on the bed as Grephon bowed and departed. Damned if he would send the Nubian to such as this, he decided. He walked briskly to the kitchen and summoned the German slave girl, Helga. She was short, with hair like flax and pale blue eyes devoid of passion. Her voice was guttural as she struggled with the language, and though she was good enough at heavy work none had so far seen fit to bed her. She was certainly not good enough to catch Victorinus' eye.
He explained her duties and was rewarded by a look close to fear in her eyes. She bowed her head and walked slowly towards the inner house. Grephon poured himself a goblet of fine wine and sipped it slowly, eyes closed, picturing the vineyards beyond the Tiber.
Helga climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. She had known this day would come and had dreaded it.
Ever since being captured and raped
'Does Gwalchmai live here?'
'No. He is a soldier and lives in the barracks at Caerlyn. He has a woman there, I believe.'
'Ah, a woman. Yes.'
'How foolish of me!' said Victorinus. 'Any of the slaves who take your fancy, you may feel free to bed. I would recommend the Nubian, who will guarantee a good night's sleep. And now I must leave you. I have a meeting to attend at the castle but I will be back at around midnight. My man, Grephon, will show you to your room.'
Prasamaccus watched the Roman leave and then wolfed into the food. He was not hungry, but he had found it never paid to waste the opportunity to eat.
The servant Grephon approached silently, then cleared his throat. He watched as the Briton gorged himself, but kept his face carefully void of expression. If his master had chosen to bring this savage to the villa there was obviously good reason for it. At the very least the man must be a prince among the northern tribes and therefore, despite his obvious barbarism, would be treated as if he were a senator. Grephon was a life servant to the Quirina family, having served Victorinus' illustrious father for seven years in Rome; he ran the household with iron efficiency. He was a short man, stocky and bald - despite being only twenty-five - with round unblinking eyes, dark as sable. Originally he had cbme from Thrace, a boy slave brought into the Quirina household as a stable-boy.
His swift mind had brought him to the attention of Marcus Lintus, who had taken him into the household as a playmate for his son, Victorinus. As the years passed, Grephon's reputation grew.
He was undeniably loyal, close-mouthed and with an eye for organisation. By the age of nineteen he was organising the household. When Marcus Lintus died four years ago, young Victorinus had asked Grephon to accompany him to Britain. He had not wished to come and could have refused, for he had become a freedman on the death of Marcus. But the Quirina family were rich and Grephon's future was assured with them, so with a heavy heart he had made the long journey through Gaul and across the sea to Dubris and up through the cursed countryside to the villa at Calcaria. Here he had staffed it and run it to perfection while Victorinus followed the High King as Primus Pilus, the first centurion to Aurelius' rag-bag auxiliaries. Grephon could not understand why a high-born Roman could concern himself with such a rabble.
He cleared his throat once more and this time the savage noticed him. Grephon bowed.
'Is there anything you desire, sir?' The man belched loudly. 'A woman?'
'Yes, sir. Do you have a choice in mind?' The Briton's pale blue eyes fixed on Grephon. 'No. You choose.'
'Very well, sir. Let me show you to your room and I will send someone up to you.'
Grephon moved slowly, aware of the guest's disability, and led him up a short stairway to a narrow corridor and an oak door. Beyond it was a wide bed, surrounded by velvet curtains. It was warm, though there was no fire. Prasa-maccus sat down on the bed as Grephon bowed and departed. Damned if he would send the Nubian to such as this, he decided. He walked briskly to the kitchen and summoned the German slave girl, Helga. She was short, with hair like flax and pale blue eyes devoid of passion. Her voice was guttural as she struggled with the language, and though she was good enough at heavy work none had so far seen fit to bed her. She was certainly not good enough to catch Victorinus' eye.
He explained her duties and was rewarded by a look close to fear in her eyes. She bowed her head and walked slowly towards the inner house. Grephon poured himself a goblet of fine wine and sipped it slowly, eyes closed, picturing the vineyards beyond the Tiber.
Helga climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. She had known this day would come and had dreaded it.
Ever since being captured and raped
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