“Every one of Arthur’s lords who sits at table tonight can call thousands of men to his banner. And all of them warriors — real soldiers with long experience and good training. Not peasants pressed into service. Not slaves who would rather be anywhere else in the world. But…” Lucan shrugged. “No doubt you have heard this same thing from many others in recent years.”
“Perhaps not with the same conviction,” Maximion said.
“I apologise if I was impolite.”
“No… far from it. In fact, with the exception of the heated exchanges in the Council hall today, which were perfectly understandable, everyone we have met in this land has been most courteous. Your reputation for gallantry is well earned. But let us discuss neutral things. Are you a family man, Earl Lucan?”
“My wife, Trelawna, is here with me…”
Lucan glanced over his shoulder. Trelawna was several seats away, or she was supposed to be — for her place was now vacant. The Roman ambassador, Consul Publius, had been seated alongside her, Arthur’s intent being that the countess should charm him with her beauty and wit. Now Publius sat glumly, gnawing on left-over chicken-bones.
Lucan was puzzled. “No doubt she’ll return shortly. Are you a family man, tribune?”
Maximion nodded. “I have three sons. All serve in the army. My wife, alas, is now departed. The sweating sickness took her five winters ago.”
“My condolences.”
“Gratefully received.”
“I wonder,” Lucan said, “does this bereavement mean that you feel you have nothing to go home to?”
“Oh no, Earl Lucan.” Maximion gave a thin smile. “I’ve lived long enough to understand that I still have much to go home to. Would that I could impart this wisdom to others, but ears are sometimes closed at the most inopportune moments.”
Lucan frowned. “Some things must be striven for harder than others, my lord. If I were you, I should keep trying.”
Trelawna met Rufio, as their proxies had agreed, in a rose garden, on a balconied terrace accessible only by the West Gallery and a steep stairway.
It had been chosen by Gerta because it was the least likely place where any guests might stray to during the course of the feast, and because it had bowers and trellised screens between which a visitor might walk unseen. Despite this, it was well-lit by oil-lamps, and though only a few casements overlooked it, it could still be seen if a servant chanced past. Hence, the lovers had planned to meet innocently, and offer idle pleasantries as they strolled.
Of course, having seen each other for the first time in so many years whilst entering the feast-hall that evening, and then having to sit for the meal and feign concentration on their food, had been a torturous test, and now that they were alone together at last, their inhibitions broke. They came in sight of each other from either end of a rose-bordered walk, Rufio in his white hose and fitted, blue-and-gold satin cote-hardie,16 Trelawna in her figure-hugging, flame-red kirtle, her lustrous hair coiled in plaits. It was too much. They flew down the walk into each other’s arms. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, their lips bright.
Rufio shook his head; his deep brown eyes had moistened with emotion. Trelawna felt shudders of girlish joy passing through her; she could barely speak.
“All these… years,” he finally stammered. “All these years I’ve been denied sight of you. I had to rely on memory and imagination — I perfected you in my mind’s eye until you were an angel on earth. And now I see that my assessment wasn’t even close.”
“And you!” she whispered. “You’re so much a man now.” She touched his cheek. “You even have care-lines.”
“We’ve been at war…”
“They add to you.” She luxuriated in the strength of the arms enclosing her. “The fighting has kept you fit.”
“There wasn’t a battle when the image of your face didn’t carry me through, where I didn’t picture you waiting for me somewhere… though I confess I didn’t know where.”
“Here, my love… here.”
They kissed again. It seemed incredible that the one night of passion they had shared had been six years ago, when they had first met during an identical conference to this one, here in Camelot. Both had been wandering, bored, while the baronage of both nations filled the palace with drunken revelry. True, they had not encountered each other in this very garden, but they might as well have done. Now, in each other’s arms, it was impossible to imagine that six years had passed, and not a couple of minutes.
“Good Lord, I’ve dreamed about this,” Rufio said. “Come away with me.”
Trelawna was startled. “What?”
“Come away with me, tonight.”
“Tonight?”
He nodded vigorously. “There can be no future for us if we separate again.”
“But tonight?” She felt a surge of alarm. “I… I cannot.”
He clutched her by the hands. “My love… I fear we have no other choice.”
“To leave now, on the spur of the moment…?”
“Would it pain you so much?”
Trelawna was torn with indecision, but also mounting excitement. “I think… I think it would pain me more to stay,” she breathed.
“So the matter is resolved.”
“No.” She pulled away from him. “I have…”
“You have nothing… not here. Few friends, no family.”
“I have a husband, Felix.”
“In name only.”
“That doesn’t matter. Wherever you took me… I’d be held a sinner, a fallen woman.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “I will take you to Rome itself, my love. A word from His Holiness and your marriage is done. We would be free to marry, you and I.”
She gazed at him in disbelief. Was it possible? Could it be true?
Again she was beset by whirlwinds of doubt. Surely nothing so wonderful could happen to her? At most this evening she’d expected no more than to steal a few kisses from him, but deep inside her a wellspring of joy was rising. She knew there was nothing that could matter to her as much as a life of love and happiness with Felix Rufio.
“Don’t go back to that wilderness in the north, my lady,” he pleaded. “Ultimately you will wither there, and die before your time.”
“But this is hardly the time,” Trelawna said. “With negotiations between our rulers balanced on a knife-edge.”
“Bah!” Rufio replied. “We are but cogs in a greater machine. Whatever our private disputes, they have no bearing on these affairs. But even if they did, it would make no difference.” Suddenly he became serious; his face was almost grave. “There’s something you should know, my love. The Roman embassy is leaving in the early hours.”
Trelawna was shocked. “Leaving?”
“When Arthur and his counsellors are asleep, we will be on the road. Not to Dover but to Southampton, a much nearer port, where a ship even faster than the one that brought us rides at anchor.”
“But the negotiations…?”
“They are finished.” He kissed her hands. “Don’t you understand? My uncle, Bishop Malconi, is a master of this game, and he already has what he came for.”
Trelawna’s lips puckered. Her brow creased with worry.
“You still have fears?” he asked.
She had few. But some hidden sense told her that, besotted though she was with this man, and though her world would seem empty indeed if he left her now, the course he proposed was wrong.
“My love, there will be no second chances,” he urged her.
“You exact a high price, Felix. I’m not British by origin, but this land has become my home. Will I never see it again?”
Rufio smiled sadly. “Britain will shortly be annihilated.”
She backed away from him, horrified.
“It is not my doing,” he added hastily.
“You must explain, Felix.”
He nodded. “Understand that in telling you all this, I am breaching an immense confidence — an Imperial confidence.”
“I do.”
“King Arthur will not surrender to Emperor Lucius. That has been made plain to us, though in truth we already knew it. Therefore he and his minions must be removed. I’m sorry if that seems harsh, but it’s the way of New Rome, and you, I promise, will live long enough to see the better world that will result. Of course, both you and I know that Arthur and his nobility will not go quietly. There must be a war — a great and terrible war.”