Chapter 33: Bella

In the morning I led him back to the village. Summer's End was coming, and he needed to prepare. There had been no proper sacrifice at Lughnasa because there had been no druid, no real celebrating because the men were away fighting, so people were keen to make up for it at Samhain. The harvest was gathered, the animals fattened, and people wanted to give thanks for something. They built the bonfires, ready. Like Beltane, there were two, with a path down the middle.

Without Cador, he had no-one to assist him, so Adsiltia stepped in. Between us, we cajoled and encouraged him. She pulled out the wolfskin he usually wore and shook off the dust and the moths. She made me a headdress from goose feathers.

'It was the geese that pointed your way here,' she said.

She explained that we needed to be disguised, to hide us from any bad spirits that might visit the village. I wondered if Eadweard feared that Cador's shade would seek him out and accuse him. But I did not ask; I did not say anything that would remind him of his burden. If he did not think of it, was my reasoning, then it was as if it did not exist.

As the festival approached, Adsiltia and I worried that he would balk, and refuse to carry out the sacrifices and the ceremony. He was skittish, like an unbroken horse, but between us we never left him, even when he went to relieve himself. How we all hated that. Adsiltia was not able to translate his angry comments, her Latin was not that good. She would not give me an idea of what he said, either. On one occasion they had a stand-up row, which left her pale and shaking. He strode off, past the fields. After that, Kaswallon subtly passed the word round the village elders that Eadweard and Bearchan were not to be left alone, or with each other. If Bearchan came to talk to him, one of us was also in the house, or someone came up to them and joined them, if they were outside. We did not allow them to drink to excess, or to smoke the leaves together. I can't say they accepted these restrictions with a good grace, but, deep down, I'm sure they knew they had to. It was not long before Eadweard stopped resisting, and wore a resigned look for most of the day. Like a beaten dog, Adsiltia said. Slowly he started to offer the occasional opinion on the healing we were doing, then he could not resist taking over some of the work. Adsiltia and I smiled at each other behind his back. We were winning. There had been no sweet-smelling smoke, the smoke that brings dreams, in his house since he came back from the war.

I still thought of the hut as his house. While he was away, I had lived in the women's hut, otherwise I would have been very lonely and isolated. But I also felt I had no right to live there without him. He and I were hand-fasted, he still wore his ring, but that might last only until next Beltane. I did not regard myself as married, even though I shared his bed. We did not lie together. I ached for him, but he did not seek comfort in my arms, although he liked to sleep close to me, so we were touching, for most of the night. My only consolation was that he showed no interest in lying with anyone else.

During the day of the festival, we as a village returned to the earth the strange little corn dollies and decorations we had made at Lughnasa. It was something to do with seeds lying dormant in the ground over winter. Just before dusk, Adsiltia dressed Eadweard in his robes. The fires were lit, the hearth fires in people's homes went out, one by one. Like Beltane, he and Adsiltia drove the cattle between the two fires, to purify them, and bring them to the winter quarters. There was no white bull this time, but he sacrificed, between the fires, two ordinary ones. They would be roasted for the feast. His final task was to take a flaming brand round the village, and re-light all the hearth fires, blessing each house as he did so. The last house was his father's house. I noticed a momentary hesitation before he entered and re-lit the fire. Then he was free to return to his own house, and prepare for the feast. It took me a while to realise he had not disappeared to carry out the ritual cleansing. When I thought about it, I could not remember him visiting the sacred grove even once since his return, not that I knew everywhere that he had been since then. Was that part of the problem between him and the gods? Was that why he thought they did not speak to him?

Outside, people started to emerge from their homes in their costumes, their faces painted. There was an air of excitement as they prepared the feast, an air that had been missing for months. The harvest had been good, the grain stores were full, there were cattle and other animals to slaughter and salt for the winter. There was plenty of seed for the spring sowing, after Imbolc. And their rites were being properly followed again. There had been worry, after a Lughnasa with no druid, that the harvest would be poor. I had watched people as Eadweard had performed the re-lighting of the hearth fires. No-one shrank from him or turned away. I am sure no-one thought of him as he and Bearchan thought of themselves.

It was cold and clear, and we could see our breath in the night air. I wore my goose feather headdress, and a cloak. Eadweard had painted dark lines on his face, which made him look quite fierce, combined with the wolf skin.

'It is in case Cador's spirit comes looking for him,' Adsiltia whispered. 'It will not be able to recognise him.'

Dark shapes flitted above the fires and shadows jumped between the houses. The main avenue of the village ran from the setting to the rising sun, and the main doors of many of the houses opened out on to it. I noticed that outside the houses of the men who had died in the war, especially those whose bodies had not been returned, there were burning brands, pushed into the ground on the side of the setting sun.

'It is to guide the spirits home,' Adsiltia explained.

If it made me shiver, then the gods alone knew what it did to Eadweard, Bearchan and poor Jori. There was a burning brand outside Kaswallon's house, as well as two dishes of food. One for Cador, and one for . . . ? Presumably Eadweard's mother.

'Kerenza is given to the gods. She will not return here. It might be for the grandmother,' Adsiltia said.

'What do you mean – given to the gods?' I asked.

So she told me. I was horrified. Valeria had been right and the rumours were true.

'He told me she was killed in battle.'

When he talked to me about her, that last time, up by the fields, before he left, had he told me this? In my state of shock at his news, had I not been listening properly?

'That's what he thought people meant when they said she died because of the Romans, apparently. No-one felt able to tell him the truth. He found out just before the grandmother died, just before you came to live in the village.'

Just before he had to come and rescue me. Just before he killed Fabius.

'So the Romans didn't kill her.'

'Not directly. But she died because of them.'

And all for nothing, because the Second Augusta came anyway.

As the night wore on, I went to look for him. He was with his father and Brina, but they graciously allowed me to take him away.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

By the light of the torch I was holding, he could see I was carrying his satchel.

'There is one fire you have not re-lit,' I said. 'Take me to the sacred grove.'

He seemed reluctant but he did not argue. He led me though the forest, full of shadows and sounds. I jumped many times, but I tried to calm my breathing and keep going.

He paused outside the ribbon, unable to step inside. I took his hand. He let me lead him to the little hut. Even under the paint on his face, I could see he was anxious.

The little brazier was cold and full of ashes. I gave him the torch to hold while I emptied it and re-laid it with kindling and some of the sweet-smelling wood. So he had not been here since his return, as I had suspected. This was my last gamble to bring him back, my last throw of the die. I had not allowed him to enter the smoke since our talk on the hillside. Then I got him to re-light the fire.

I put him, holding the torch, in the doorway of the little hut. Slowly I got undressed, looking at him the whole time. He looked puzzled, uncomprehending. I waded into the water, holding my breath so as not to scream with the cold, trying not to think about what might live under the water, and plunged my head under. Then I waded out, squeezing the water from my hair, wiping it from my face, trying not to fall on the stones under my feet. Trying to look dignified. I took the torch from him and extinguished it; I didn't want the hut burning down. Shivering, I undressed him, and held out my hand to him. Unsure of himself, it took him a moment to put his hand in mine. I led him into the water. He winced as the cold bit into his wound. I made my hands wet and washed the paint from his face. He looked better without it. We plunged under the surface together, then I put my arms round him. I reached up to kiss him, praying to Venus as I did so. And for the first time since his return, he kissed me back.

'I love you,' I said. 'I love you. More than anything. More than my life.'

He held me tight, like he would never let me go. He looked up and around for a moment, as if he was reminding himself of the look, the shape, of a place once familiar but now forgotten, then we clambered out. We gathered our clothes and entered the hut.

The blankets were still in a heap at the back. Something scuttled out and ran away as we shook them out and laid them down. There were a few holes, no doubt made by mice. I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, down his chest. I could barely breathe; I had waited so long for this. When he did not move, I took his hand, kissed the palm, then placed it on my cheek. I could not read the expression in his eyes. For a long moment he still hesitated, then his hands were on my shoulders, my hair, down my back to my hips, and we were sinking down on to the blankets. It was a bit frantic, a bit rushed, the release of months of tension and waiting for both of us. I could not get enough of the taste, the scent, the touch, the feel of him. It was my turn to bruise him with my kisses. I am sure I saw tears in his eyes at one point. Afterwards he lay wrapped in my arms. I was drowsy and content. The smoke from the brazier drifted in on us.

'I am here,' I said. 'Whatever dreams the gods bring you, I am here. Just hold on to me. It will be all right.'

When I woke, with the dawn chorus, he was asleep. We had separated in the night and rolled ourselves in different blankets, but he slept gently, different from his usual restlessness. I lay on my side and stroked his hair. I kissed his shoulder, and snuggled up behind him, my arm going over and round him, avoiding the wound.

'You are insatiable, Bella Romana,' he murmured. 'Who knew, a well brought up Roman girl like you.'

He took my hand and kissed it.

'I have missed you so much,' I said.

He rolled on to his back, and I slid under his arm, my cheek against his chest.

'I saw them,' he said. 'In the smoke. My mother and Cador.'

'And is all well?'

'It will be. They are together, which comforts me. I feel I can make peace with them, given time.' He kissed my forehead. 'Such a good idea, to bring me here. I had given up hope. I didn't think I should even try. I was worried, though, about the gods and spirits.'

'In what way?'

'Your gods are stronger than our gods. I realised that, on the battlefield. When I came home, and they didn't speak to me – I thought the Roman gods had driven them out.'

'Your gods are here, in the trees and the earth and the animals. They will always be here, the spirits of this place. They are like the goats and the sheep – they will not stray.'

'Your faith puts mine to shame.'

'My prayers are answered, yours have not been.'

'Some of them have.'

He then apologised to me for the way he had treated me, and tried to explain why he had acted that way: all to do with his grief for Cador; distress at the horrors he had seen, which haunted him; his feelings of disgrace and failure. He knew how much he was hurting me at the time. He had felt that he did not deserve to be happy, and that I deserved someone better than him.

'No, no,' I said. 'There is no-one better. Don't tell me you are not the man you were. I don't care. You are no longer the man who came back from the war. That's all that matters. I love you. That's all that matters.'

'And I love you, too. It has taken me too long to realise it. And to say it. I love you, Bella Romana.'

I took his face in my hands and kissed him passionately. My Roman endurance, Adsiltia's advice to fight, had brought him back to me. My reward was to know at last that he loved me. I thought I knew: his body had already told me, before he left for war. But after the way he had been behaving, I did not know if he had changed, although last night suggested that he hadn't, not deep down. I had longed to hear him say it.

He began to kiss me, too, re-arranging blankets so that skin could find skin once again. His hand strayed down to my hips. I began to stroke and caress. This time it was gentle, tender, loving. It was a while before we set off back to the village.

As we walked back, my hand in his, I told him about talking to the goats. He stopped to look at me.

'Seriously. You talked to the goats.'

I shrugged.

'Who else was there? We understand each other, me and the goats.'

He laughed. For the first time since he came home, he laughed.

'You are so funny, Bella Romana. That is one reason why I love you.' He put his arm round my shoulders and kissed me. 'Talking to the goats, indeed. You must introduce me to your new friends.'

We walked on, to a happier, more hopeful future. He was on his way back to me, and he loved me.