Arthur Britannicus (33 page)

Max searched his father’s eyes. Had his anger been forgotten? All his life he had sought recognition from this man. The need for his father’s favour had driven him in all he did, its lack making him guarded and defensive at times, when all he longed for was a word of love.

Severus looked his elder son up and down as if saying,
Yes, the boy would do. ‘You’ve changed, Maximus. You’re a man now. A credit to the Catuvellauni. Look at you, powerful shoulders, and that jaw…Shows character…’

‘Your son has changed,’ Paulinus murmured.
‘Grown in wisdom, just as you hoped.’

Voice gruff, hiding any emotion, Severus slapped Max on the back. ‘Then this is the return of the Prodigal Son!’ Max stiffened. He’d had the same thought on the ride in. So far his welcome seemed genuine. But he was still to meet his brother. What kind of a reception would he offer?

‘Come, let us find your mother. Prepare yourself for her joy.’ Fighting his way through the cheering crowd Severus mounted the dais and raised his voice to the rafters. ‘Rhoswen, where are you? Come greet your boy.’ The old man’s happiness was manifest. ‘Tonight, friends, we came here for togetherness, to celebrate my daughter- in-law, Calista. Our table is set, filled with food of the Catuvellaunian earth. We have wine to make our hearts glad.’ Severus raised his silver chalice to toast their many friends. ‘But what gladdens me most is the return of our boy. A toast, friends, to the son who was lost and has been restored to us!’ Grabbing Max’s hand Severus raised it above his head. ‘Maximus Vellaunus!’

Max could feel his father strain to hold his arm upright. He looked out at the crowd, roaring their approval. Dear, familiar faces of family and friends. Some of the tension drained out of his body. He was back where he belonged.

Max grinned across the room at his loyal companions, Salvius and Decentius. Friends since childhood, the three had chafed at these long months of separation.

Near them stood his brother Dye, looking the very image of a dutiful husband, despite his tryst with the slave girl moments before. Had he taken Calista only to win his father’s favour? Max raised his arm awkwardly in salutation. Was that real joy on Dye’s face as he made his way through the crowd towards him? And where was his mother? Searching the crowd for her a stranger caught Max’s eye. The Catuvellauni had not had such an exotic bird in their midst for some time. Small but strongly built, the man wore his head shaved but for a braided lock worn to one side. For a few seconds they had eye contact, the strange man bowing acknowledgement to him. ‘Who’s that strange looking fellow, Felix?’ Max whispered to the atriensis, hovering to do his young master’s bidding.

‘A friend of your father’s, dominus. Name of Heru. He’s been staying with the family for a few weeks. An Egyptian, I believe.’ That perhaps explained his peculiar appearance then, though most of his people wore more Romanised styles now. The little Egyptian still wore make up too, lead ore mixed to a paste, thick black lines extending past his eyes onto his face. Felix caught his look. ‘Outlandish, master, I agree, but the man swears his face paint has magical powers.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘The Lady Calista is keen to learn his secrets.’

Max grunted as he waved a hearty greeting to his Dobunnic grandfather, Owen. Poor man, still
uneasy visiting his daughter amongst his Catuvellauni foes. Standing next to him was a dark-haired girl. Hair combed back, gathered in a simple knot at her elegant neck, she stood half turned from him, tall and shapely in her simple robe. The geometric embroidery of her dress diamond shapes and little circles and shapes like wheels marked her out as Dubonnic. A relative of his mother’s then. Max’s eyes followed her as she moved through the crowd, watching the movements of her slender body beneath the green wool with studied casualness.

It was time he married. He needed a wife now his younger brother had wed before him. She was definitely the best-looking girl in the room, and by her position and attitude, of eligible birth. But who was she? Was she deliberately keeping her back turned to him? Irritation seized him. Max found himself willing her to turn around, suspecting that the rear view would be more flattering than the vision from the front. Somehow he found himself praying that the wait would be worth it. As she finally turned to face him he felt his own sharp intake of breath. It couldn’t be, could it? But it was. Alert blue eyes met his and held his gaze.
Sabrina? That sharp-tongued tomboy had transformed into this delicate beauty? The last time he’d seen her she’d been climbing a tree to spy on them. Surprised and enchanted, he inclined his head, an honest acknowledgment of the transformation in her. He hadn’t meant it to be condescending, but the sharp turn of her shoulders told Max his compliment had been misconstrued.

Dobunnic women! Rearing them to think they were men’s equals brought nothing but trouble.

His brother had finally made his way through the crowd. As Dye approached, Max searched his face warily. Their bond had always been thorny. Thanks to Paulinus he could understand that better now. Two sons, each vying to become their tribe’s chief, each of them fighting for the attention of a father who could name only one of them heir.

Dye had been the first to suggest he be sent away. Would he welcome him back now? His smile was broad, but there was something else in those eyes Max knew so well. Something guarded Max had never seen before. What was he hiding?

Dye pulled Max to him in a bear hug. As the embrace deepened Max was assailed by the unguent Dye used on his hair, intent on keeping what he had left.

‘Good to see you, brother,’ Max said warmly, stepping back to take a look at him.
Same prominent cheekbones, same slender face, same vivid scar. Even after all these years, it was the first thing he looked at, and every time he felt the same wash of shame. He tore his eyes away from it. Dye’s ornate tunic was too small for his frame. A year ago Max would have teased him about it and asked why, when most men wore one ring, he was wearing three. Dye had always been a slave to his vanity. The gold-seeking Calista seemed to have worsened that tendency. ‘You look well, brother. The past year has been kind to you.’

Dye’s blue eyes shone in his tanned face. ‘Kind enough, brother, though Christ knows it’s been hell contending with the old bastard’s temper since his stroke. I begged mother to send me to Paulinus too, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’ He’d been drinking, Max realised. Before the night was out Dye would be staggering. Some deep sadness drove his brother, some pain he couldn’t articulate. It was this pain that separated them. Severus had driven a wedge between them by favouring Max. Well, Max knew something of that pain now too. Knew what it was like to lose his father’s favour. Perhaps they could find a better way to each other through it?
If Calista didn’t stand in their way.

But there was daring in Dye’s expression now. ‘Father and I have become closer. Someone had to take over your responsibilities, after all.’

There it was; this challenge to his position. It had been Max’s deepest fear while he was away, a fear so deep he had refused to fully acknowledge it. He met it now, knowing he had been right to fear it. The two brothers looked into each other’s eyes and Max knew without doubt that Dye intended to challenge him for leadership.

He felt his hands tightening into fists. Remembering Paulinus’ warning he forced his fingers to unclench. He was careful to keep his tone measured. ‘Mother probably wanted you home with your new wife. Now I’m back I’ll be able to pass on all I’ve learned to you. Father isn’t as strong as he once was. I’ll need your help.’

If Dye had noticed the veiled warning in his own words he showed no sign of it. Instead he raised his goblet in silent toast. His words sounded true, if drunk and overloud. ‘Welcome home, brother. I hope you can finally put all of those vicious rumours behind you.’

Max had a sudden vision of another Dobunnic girl, of her lifeless face, strands of wet hair lying across the grey features. He shook his head to clear it, unwilling to allow Morwen’s memory to poison his return as it had poisoned the past year. Must her terrible death poison his future too?

Dye seemed not to notice his distress. ‘We Catuvellauni must stand together.’ Putting his hand on Max’s shoulder he continued in more hushed tones. ‘Hard times offer opportunities for men with courage. Rome grows feebler by the day. We Catuvellauni must rise again!’ Dye laughed a harsh, discordant tone. ‘To a new Catuvellaunian empire! That might make Father happy. Nothing else seems to.’

This tribal pride was new.
Calista’s influence, no doubt. Before Max could question him Dye threw back his head and laughed. ‘Enough politics. Come, give Calista your birthday greetings.’

‘There’s another who would greet him first.’ Beside him his friend Salvius laughed that carefree laugh Max loved so much. For all Salvius’s deep faith, rivers of joy flowed through him. He was grinning now, wiggling his dark eyebrows. Max felt himself engulfed in a joyful embrace, which he returned. The handsome, dark skinned youth was his most loyal ally. ‘I’ll send your brother along to your wife shortly, Dye. Let me talk to the Prodigal for a while.’ Together they watched Dye weave his drunken way back to his wife. ‘Your brother Dionysius is well named for the god of wine, Max. He drinks like a Frankish pirate. He seems happy enough to see you back though.’

Max contented himself with an equivocal grunt.

Reaching Calista, Dye turned. Saluting Max drunkenly, his outstretched arm knocked the elbow of a slave pouring from an amphora into Calista’s waiting goblet. Wine rushed to the
floor. Instantly Dye’s face became a dark scowl and the young slave fell to his knees, raising his arm to protect himself as blows began to rain down on him. Max heard the slave’s pathetic pleading. ‘Have pity, dominus!’ Still the furious strikes hammered down, beating the lad mercilessly. Dye seemed possessed.

Finally the slave’s own anger emerged and he uttered a word which brought a hush on the assembly.
‘Ambrustus’. Scalded One.

Dye stiffened, the flickering torchlight catching the very scar the slave had mocked. It covered the whole left side of his face, the skin puckered from brow to his mouth. Instantly Max’s thoughts flashed back to that night in their childhood, to Dye’s screams as the scorching fire consumed his flesh. He would never forgive himself. He should have saved him.

Seeing Max’s reaction Salvius lowered his voice. ‘How much longer will you punish yourself for Dye’s accident, Max?’ Amongst his many talents Salvius was also a mind reader. ‘You tried to reach him that night, to stop him falling, yet you still think your guilt as obvious as the scar on Dye’s face. Show yourself some mercy. Dye has been let away with murder ever since the accident happened.’ Max acknowledged the truth. Everywhere he went Dye’s scars brought him sympathy. His character was marked by that as much as by the wound itself.

Dye had begun beating the slave anew. ‘Felix, bring me a whip!’

Calmly Calista put out a restraining arm. ‘Dionysius! Cease this instant! Harm the brute and we won’t get our money back. I’ll have the trader horsewhipped instead. He should have told us of the beast’s temper.’ Turning to Felix she gave a swift order. ‘Have the boy placed in the furcifer. Let him carry its oak weight for three days so that the other slaves take warning.’ Turning to the boy she hissed, ‘Be glad I’m not adding a lashing to your punishment. You’ll be sold on by the end of the week.’

Felix rushed forward, together with his young son Aurelianus. Briefly Max’s eyes met with theirs. The furcifer was a terrible punishment. But there was no appeal in Felix’s eyes. He knew Max was powerless. To override Calista now would be to shame her before their guests. The boy would have to survive the ordeal somehow.

Satisfied justice had been done, Dye allowed himself to be pulled back. Calista turtled with him a moment, placating him with more wine. Dye drained the cup in one draught and the crowd began talking again. Max turned to Salvius with a rueful smile. ‘Let’s share an amphora of wine later, together with Decentius. I must greet my sister-in-law.’

Salvius’ eyebrow twitched as he cocked his head in her direction. ‘Dear Calista. Look at her, sitting there in the shadows, whispering her little machinations to your poor brother. I wonder what she’s up to this time.’ As Max moved off, Salvius gently grasped his arm. ‘Be careful of her, Max. She’s never forgiven you for rejecting her. And her ambition hasn’t lessened any since you left. She’s gathered quite a crowd of supporters around herself, spouting her talk of racial purity. People are uncertain of what the future holds. Sometimes I think that she would make your brother a straw man and control this tribe through him.’

Max felt his stomach tighten. So Salvius felt it too. Calista was dangerous. Max looked over to her. She gave a small, regal wave.

‘Look at her!
More royal than the royals themselves.’ The deep voice in his ear made Max turn. Decentius!

Max
grinned his delight and found himself caught up in another bear hug. ‘You’ve grown no fonder of Calista then?’

Burly, loyal Decentius had been the first to advise him against the match. He shook his blonde head now in disgust. ‘She’s more rapacious than ever. These months of illness have been hard for Severus; Calista has used flattery to gain influence with him. Salvius is right. She’s not to be underestimated, Maximus. That cat won’t be satisfied till she has power,’ Decentius grunted. ‘For now she makes do with jewellery. Rumour has it your brother is a pauper thanks to that new collar around her beautiful neck.’