Chapter 2 #2
It was time for the marriage to be consummated. If Garamaros had been in agony before, now quern stones ground his heart to dust at the thought of another man sharing the same intimate experiences he had shared with Alina.
Bile rose from his half-empty stomach as Arthmael escorted Alina towards a roundhouse decorated with wildflowers to form a lover’s bower, which was designated for their use tonight.
She looked pale and limp, her eyes downcast, like a dying swan, instead of thrilled with the idea of a handsome warrior king as her husband.
They disappeared inside.
All the blood squeezed from Garamaros’s heart.
He turned on his heel to find the cask of strong beer that had been set up for the villagers.
He had to leave this place, get away from any reminder of his doomed love.
He filled and drained his mug repeatedly before staggering through the fort’s gateway, past fields of ripened wheat, and into the forest beyond.
Lurcher followed Garamaros like a silent shadow. The wolfhound would keep him safe.
* * *
The next morning, Garamaros stood at the edge of the vast forest that grew to the north of Dun Limen.
He watched the king and all his entourage depart the hill fort in a cascade of pounding hooves, thudding wheels, and jingling harnesses, overlaid with the shouts of the charioteers and drivers of the luggage wagons.
He knew that somewhere among the phalanx of vehicles was Alina.
A lark called behind him. Garamaros looked over his shoulder, hoping to spot the elusive creature as it sounded so close. Instead, his gaze found the footpath into the woods that he and Alina had taken to their secret meeting places.
Not long after Garamaros had arrived at Dun Limen, he had started exploring the woodlands nearby, hoping to find materials and inspiration from nature for the jewelry and beads he crafted. Far into the woods, he had stumbled across a field of bluebells just coming into bloom.
Astonished, he had stood open-mouthed at the edge of the expanse of blue flowers interspersed among scattered tree trunks. The vivid color took his breath away. Their subtle sweet smell enhanced their splendor.
He vowed to include the beautiful flower in a new piece of jewelry.
He would examine the bell closely for this purpose. He reached out to touch a bloom, to pluck it from its tall stem.
“Don’t pick them!” A woman’s soft voice, sharpened with urgency, came from nearby.
He spun towards the sound. The young woman he had seen in the chieftain’s roundhouse stood not five paces from him, her arm outstretched as though to stop him. The air in his lungs evaporated.
By the gods she was beautiful.
He sucked in a breath and closed his open mouth as he scanned her from head to foot. She wore her golden hair in the same manner as before. But today, her forehead was crinkled in concern, her blue eyes large in her face. It made no difference, she was still stunning.
“They die back if the leaves are crushed. Only our healers harvest some for medicine.”
“Ah.” Is that all you can say, Garamaros?
She took a step closer. “You’re the goldsmith, are you not?”
“I am.” It seemed impossible to summon more than a word or two in her presence.
She stopped beside him and her gaze roamed his face. “I remember the day you and your father arrived at Dun Limen. Have you established your workshop?”
“Aye. And we expect to trade very well with Gaul from the settlement.”
“I’m glad.” She smiled then nodded towards the field of blossoms, that Garamaros had already forgotten. “They are a treat for one’s eyes, are they not?”
“They are. I plan to include the flower in my work.”
Alina looked at him with wonder in her eyes. “I look forward to seeing your design.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “Perhaps I could incorporate the flower in my weaving too?” She pointed to a flat boulder close by. “Shall we sit and admire the display?”
Garamaros followed her to the makeshift seat. They conversed about designs they had used in their jewelry and weaving until the sun dipped below the height of the treetops and the shadows grew long.
Alina looked skyward. The day had almost passed. “I must return home.”
“And so must I,” agreed Garamaros. He had spent most of the day in the forest, rather than working at his forge.
They hadn’t stopped talking since they had met.
There was so much more he wished to discuss with Alina.
The topics seemed endless and their enthusiasm comparable.
Garamaros was transfixed by the way her eyes widened when something piqued her interest.
He hoped to meet her again soon, if only to discover the reason for his attraction to her. Was it the intoxicating fragrance and beauty of the flowers that heightened his senses or was it this woman? He thought he knew the answer, but wanted confirmation.
From that day onwards they had met frequently in the forest, initially at the bluebell field, later deep amongst the oak trees.
There, they had first declared their love.
There, they had consummated it. And there also, Alina had tearfully revealed that before she had met him, she had agreed to marry the king of the Durotriges, should he wish to make her his queen.
That was several moons ago. Today, it seemed like many seasons since his time of innocence, when his hope that they could be together forever had seemed possible—if he achieved great wealth and acclaim.
He watched the last of the king’s vehicles trundle into the distance. Now there was nothing for him but a bleak future without Alina.
Garamaros hardened his heart against the persistent dagger thrusts of longing and despair. Calling Lurcher, he turned and walked up the rise to the fort and through the entrance passage into the settlement. He reached his workshop and looked around.
Why was he here?
Currently, his father was trading their goods in Gaul. Garamaros kicked out at the cold forge that was usually kept alight to heat the metals he and his father worked. Lurcher whined.
What would he do now?
How could he learn to forget?
Garamaros lifted a wooden bucket of water onto a bench and looked into its depths seeking an answer from his inner being, but he saw only his reflection. He plunged his head into its cold depth. His alcohol-hazed brain cleared. He shook the water from his hair and wiped his eyes dry.
He knew the answer.
He would plough on. He would work and create his way out of his melancholia, out of this living death. He would master his latest craft and eventually he would be recognized as the most renowned beadmaker in Albion.
But he was more than that.
He was also his mother’s son. And she had been a leading druid healer of the Belgae. She was skilled in herbal medicine and surgery, but also in powerful enchantments. From the time he was old enough to assist her, she had taught him as though he was her apprentice, not only his father’s.
It had all been done in secret, like so much of his family’s life, because his mother was a druid, a member of the Celtic elite, and his father just a craftsman—a worker—a lower rank in the Celtic world.
Theirs had been a clandestine love because they were forbidden from marrying.
If their relationship had become known, there would have been recriminations, punishments, possibly his father’s death.
And yet they were together, because both parents travelled widely through the lands of the Belgae pursuing their occupations. Their family life occurred as they travelled between settlements. Once they arrived at a new settlement they separated into different worlds.
If Garamaros couldn’t love and protect Alina in person, as he yearned to do, he would do so the only other way he knew. Using the skills his mother had taught him, he would create a powerful talisman for her—that would strengthen her, protect her, and surround her with love.
Garamaros reset kindling in the forge and struck a spark from his flint to the firewood.
A tiny flame began to lick at the fuel, lighting a fiery glow within him.
He nurtured the embers of the fire back to its usual state, assembled the ingredients of sand quartz, soda ash, limestone, and the secret additives he would use for pigment.
He created the first glass bead of a new and exciting color—a golden yellow that glistened in the sunlight, like Alina’s hair. And as he formed the globe, he imbued it with all the enchantments for protection he knew.
He worked during every hour of daylight, every day seeking perfection. And while he worked, the pain in his chest slowly dulled to a bearable ache. One that he knew he would bear for all time.