Chapter 35: Bella

The long dark part of the year was a time of healing and gathering strength. By Imbolc he was no longer so gaunt and haggard-looking. At last he decided to cut his beard close, like before. Fontus in his pool, but with a livid scar. Kaswallon would seek me out to talk to me, and ask how Eadweard was doing. He appreciated the care I was giving Eadweard, even if Brina wanted to close her eyes to it. I like Kaswallon: a stiff, formal but kind man, brought low by grief. But he, too, was recovering as the days lengthened.

At Beltane, Eadweard and I were married. We have exchanged our bronze rings for gold ones. Kaswallon made sure I understood the British way, that it was a contract, not necessarily involving love. So like the Roman way. I was surprised. But he explained that it would protect me from any – er – bad behaviour on Eadweard's part, not that he was expecting any. I knew that Eadweard would never lay a hand on me; even in the darkest days after his return from the war, he never even came close to raising a hand to me. Whether he would ever stray from me, only time would tell. Apparently, getting drunk with the lads is not considered bad behaviour by the British: it is what their men do. Kaswallon was kind enough to say that he thought Eadweard was happy and settled with me. He welcomed me to his family, and told me he would expect me to sit with them in village meetings and that Eadweard and I would eventually live with them in their house. He reminds me very much of my father in his warmth and generosity of spirit. I told him this, which made him smile. Brina went out of her way to explain that as I brought nothing to the marriage, Eadweard would be free to take a second wife of higher status, if he so chose. So much for the contract protecting me. Only so far, it seemed.

On the wedding night, Eadweard asked me why I looked so sad. I had tried hard not to tell him what Brina had said, but it weighed heavily on me.

'She knows nothing,' he said. 'What you bring is more precious than gold. Without you, I would not be here.'

He took my hands, and kissed the palms. Then he pressed them, one on top of the other, on his heart.

'This,' he said, 'belongs to you, and only to you. I love you, Bella Romana, with all of it.'

I was overwhelmed. He laughed gently, kissed away my tears, then swept me up in his arms and carried me to the marriage bed.

I, Aurelia, daughter of the late Marcus Aurelius and Livia, am now the wife of Eadweard of the Dumnonii, son of Kaswallon, chief of this village. All because I ran away into a British forest and was brought to ground by a young British man, after a stranger came to dinner and did not want to marry me. I have not married the man my father chose for me, because he did not have the chance to make that choice. I hope he would have liked Eadweard. I'm perfectly sure Eadweard would have completely charmed my mother. I am only sorry that I will not get to see that.

And now, as Lughnasa approaches, he is his old, sardonic self, which I love. It started at Summer's End, after he found communion with his mother and Cador, after weeks of silence. He worked hard to make peace with the spirits of this place, and they were gracious enough to speak to him, as they had not before. His faith was very badly shaken by the war; he is not used to having his prayers and invocations go unanswered. His gods are not as Roman gods. They are hefted to this place, and they do not stray; they protect the village and its fields and animals. They are nameless and many. They do not go to war, it seems to me. But what do I know, the Roman girl? This is what they call me in the village – Romana. Eadweard and Romana. They mean no insult by it, so I accept it. Because they have heard Eadweard call me that, they think it is my name.

I am pleased that he and Bearchan have come to an accommodation with all that has happened. They talk to Jori, and talk him through the nightmares and terrors he still has. They were too slow to help him at first, leaving him out of their drinking and smoking, too wrapped up in themselves to notice if he was suffering, but they look after him now. They have a strong bond, the three survivors. It is quite common to find Jori outside our door, just wanting to be with Eadweard. No-one can replace Cador, but Jori is like Eadweard's new younger brother: less worldly-wise, more shy, but no less attached to him, bound by their shared experiences. Eadweard is slowly drawing him into Cador's old role. Jori is conscientious in carrying out the tasks, and eager to please.

A young man has appeared in the village, a beardless youth of about sixteen, I guess. He is staying in Kaswallon's house. Why he is here, I am not quite sure. He is having a strange effect on Adsiltia. When she is not challenging him about his sword skills, being outrageously rude to him or giggling about him – so he can see – with her girl friends, she is running away from him and hiding behind her mother, her father or Eadweard. She blushes quite a lot. It is quite funny, in a bittersweet way, watching Eadweard trying to play the stern older brother towards this boy, the way he knows Cador would have. He can't keep it up for long. Then his arm will be round the boy's shoulders and Eadweard will be chatting pleasantly to him. But not about the war: he never speaks of it to anyone who didn't go through it. The boy shows me deference and respect, as he does to Brina, keeping his eyes downcast in my presence and speaking to me only when I speak to him first. Eadweard tells me he will get over this eventually, but for the moment I am finding it a novelty. Thanks to Eadweard, I have status now, something which still surprises me. Not bad for a Roman girl brought up on a farm. I hope I wear it as lightly as he does.

If I am up in the fields, and I think he is out and about in the village, I like to stop and look for him and at him. I do not tire of looking at him, that red hair standing out round his head, that slow smile, those green eyes. I think my heart will burst with love for him sometimes. Somehow, he always seems to feel when I am doing this, and he turns to look for me, as well.

The crops are ripening, and I am, too. Round about Imbolc next year, the women tell me, hopefully after the snows, there will be a child. If it looks like him, it will be the most beautiful baby. Cador Marcus, or Kerenza Livia. We have already agreed. The old, blended with the new. Everything changes, nothing stays the same. As it should be.

End

So, dear readers, we have reached the end of the story. We leave Bella and Eadweard here, settling into married life in the village, in the Devon countryside, and awaiting the birth of their first child. Thank you for coming with them on the journey, and for your comments and reviews, which have been the best part of the experience for me. If you have enjoyed the story, if you like my writing, please do write a review and tell your friends.

Edward and I will be moving on, to a city in modern times. If you are Robsessed, you will know where that city is. Even if you are not, I hope you will consider joining us. There may be a bit of a wait, as posting The Roman Girl has taken all of my free time.

I look forward to seeing you there.

After that, it might be a return to a vampire story, but a dark one. But that one is not even started yet (although I do know what happens in the story).

Historical notes to The Roman Girl:

Lucius Rusticus was a real Roman connected with the fort at Topsham, although I do not know his exact role.

The battle that Eadweard and the others went through is known as the Battle of Watling Street, if you want to look it up.

Poenius Postumus (remember him?), camp commandant of the Legion Second Augusta at Isca Dumnoniorum, was in charge when Boudicca began her revolt. He failed to come to the aid of Governor Suetonius, and committed suicide when the extent of the rebellion became known.

All of the other Roman characters are fictional.

The druids and the Celts left very few written records, so a lot of Eadweard's rituals I have invented, based on scraps of information, or borrowings from more modern Celtic practices or rituals from other belief systems and religions.

Till we meet again,

Arnamentia