Dragon's Child by M. K. Hume Read Free Book Online

Caius and his friends, and without Artorex and his kind, how shall we hold back the darkness when you and the High King go to the shadows?’
    Ector blinked, and then shook his leonine head in understanding of what loomed before the Celtic peoples. Livinia gripped his hand across the eating couch.
    ‘Artorex, continue to learn.’ Myrddion added, and then smiled. ‘You will be needed. But we must not forget to praise you for your studies, young man. Our friend, Llanwith pen Bryn, had no doubt that you’d pass any test that Luka could devise, so he sent you a trophy of victory. He hopes it will be a small compensation for your many unanswered questions - and our unspoken motives.’
    ‘Did Lord pen Bryn truly use those words?’ Artorex asked. ‘Or do you embroider them in his name?’
    Ector gasped at the effrontery of his foster-son, but Myrddion simply rose, lightly tapped the boy’s cheek and offered him a scroll case.
    ‘Much to my surprise, he said those very words. You have my word on it, Artorex. Llanwith pen Bryn is in no doubt of your value to our plans.’
    ‘You should thank the masters, boy, and you should remember your manners,’ Ector ordered. He had understood very little of the conversation except for the imminence of the Saxon threat, but the purse sent by Lucius had held seven imperial gold coins, a vast amount, and Artorex was obviously favoured by fortune.
    Artorex did his foster-father’s bidding and courteously thanked Myrddion.
    Soon, the feast was over and the villa became still. The night had a cool privacy that enfolded the boy in his own thoughts, lending him the illusion of autonomy. In the quiet of his cubicle, Artorex opened the scroll case and discovered another part of the Commentaries of the great Caesar. He hugged the scroll with a pure and child-like joy.
    On silent, bare feet, Artorex moved out into the colonnades, and thence to the atrium where he could observe the stars of the autumn night.
    The midnight air was chill, and Artorex wore only his loincloth, but the gelid cold steadied the hot blood that thundered in his veins and denied him sleep. The moon was waning and now it appeared like a sickle or some strange silver blade that curved low towards the roof. Artorex’s breath steamed in the night. He was too weary for fear, and too confused for questions. He must consider the information Luka given him during the coming days at times when his brain could dissect and measure the message behind his words.
    And tomorrow, he would begin to learn the art of riding a horse.

CHAPTER III
    CHILDHOOD’S END
     
    In the early morning, winter announced its arrival with chill, white fingers that left serpentine trails of frost in the drying grass. The days shortened noticeably as the corpses of leaves fell in great, scarlet carpets. A single gate barred the path to the villa, although it was never locked and any child could raise the long, iron tongue that held it closed. The path was deeply rutted by farm wagons and, in winter, it was a frozen agony of hardened mud and dried grass. Settled firmly on deep foundations, the villa and its outbuildings, its rich storehouses, its capacious servants’ quarters and its herds of horses, cattle, pigs and fowl hunched on the low hill overlooking the Roman road, brooding in the fading light.
    Provident masters of the Villa Poppinidii had scorned to hide the villa and its wealth behind a strong exterior wall but, ever mindful of the dangers in an outpost colony, they had built their home to last. Over a foot thick, and largely free of any openings, its frame offered a blind, uncompromising face to the casual visitor. Its neat, fruitful orchards, the fields that were a patchwork quilt of prudent agriculture and the verdant kitchen gardens might promise a warm welcome, but the villa’s heavy, studded door was prudently locked at night. The Villa Poppinidii looked inward at its fountains and its atrium garden, rather than outward at the long road