Belis Before 3
Belis Before
She is fourteen years old and radiant with excitement.
Her father has brought her with him to meet with the new governor in Londinium.
She flicks her heels against her pony’s sides and the beast trots forward, almost as eager as its mistress to take in the new sights and smells of the city.
She has never been so far from her father’s hall at Icenorum.
Her father laughs as she surges past him and calls out.
“Not too far, Belis. Gods know I don’t have the energy to chase you after two weeks in the saddle!”
She reins in her horse and looks out over the valley. Londinium nestles against the riverbanks, squatting in the low ground between several small hills. The skies are grey and the wind carries the briny smell of the saltwater of the lower Thames. Her father stops beside her.
“This is a very important city,” he says. “Sacred and ancient for many years before the Romans came. It will last long after they have gone. It is larger than our home and you must not wander off.”
Belis nods seriously and her father grins.
“But there will be time for some fun as well. Stay close and we will explore once our business is concluded. Hurry now, it looks like rain.”
As they ride nearer she begins to make out the old ditches and the new walls budding up above them.
The Romans have been busy. The freshly placed bricks are an orange colour, so bright that the city seems to glow in the morning sunlight.
There is a constant stream of people entering and leaving the city: Britons, Gauls, slaves, Romans.
The king barks an order and the warriors and scribes accompanying the Iceni keep the crowds at arm’s length.
They pass under an arched gate wide enough for a team of carthorses to walk through. She stares at the flash of a red cloak, her first city Roman, a legionary, leaning on his spear and yawning. He hardly blinks as the Iceni ride past.
The king stables the horses near the gate, swapping a bronze coin for a parchment chit that attests to their ownership.
Belis pats her pony before they lead her away, taking comfort in the familiar equine smell.
Londinium is so loud, so smelly, so much.
She half wants to call the stable boy back, jump on the horse and ride all the way back home.
But she is a princess, her blood is royal and so she straightens her spine and prepares to turn away and step into the street.
Londinium is squalling with life. Small factories hum with the sound of brickmaking and the heat of glass furnaces.
Slaves hurry in and out, carrying neatly packed crates of glossy red pottery and smoky glass goblets.
When they turn to the right, to head towards the temple district, she sees a slave trip and drop his burden.
Hundreds of tiny glass tiles, intended for the mosaic in some rich man’s house, spill out into the muddy street.
A second slave, taller and with an overseer’s paunch, smacks the unlucky man into the dirt, yelling at him to pick them up, quick smart.
She bends to snatch a handful of tiles from the dirt, holding them up to her face as they stroll away. They are as bright and colourful as butterfly wings and she pockets them to show Cati when she gets home.
Her father walks comfortably ahead, barely looking at the strange sights.
Belis hurries after him, gazing up at the houses on either side of the street.
High walls separate them from the muck of the public areas and bored-looking guards slump in narrow porticos.
They give way to a cart loaded with cages full of miserably damp chickens and Belis tugs at her father’s arm.
“Is it far from here?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods and keeps walking. Belis glances at the others, none of whom seem to share her nerves. She pushes them down and follows.
They pass a cluster of temples, old and new, the cart of chickens stopping to deliver the creatures intended for sacrifice, then turn through the food markets, where animal carcasses swing gently in the sun.
She pauses to look at a stall selling caged songbirds, unsure if they are for food or entertainment.
When she turns around her father is gone: no sign of any of the Iceni.
She spins on her heel, looking around for a glimpse of them.
She is tall for her age, already almost six foot, but in the close market with the stalls blocking her gaze she cannot see.
She darts back and forth and realises she cannot even see the way she came into this market, let alone find the exit.
She begins to panic, her heart thrumming in her chest.
Someone touches her arm and Belis yelps, bringing up her fists in defence. A young woman stands beside her, a baby balanced on her hip. She looks Roman, with her hair pinned up in what Belis vaguely recognises as the Latin style.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says. “You just looked upset, and I wanted to see if you needed help.”
Belis puts her hands down and tries to calm her heart.
“My apologies. I seem to have become separated from my companions. They were headed to meet Governor Gallus. Do you know where they might have gone?”
The woman nods and Belis realises she is older than she had first thought, late twenties at least. Her skin is olive-toned and her hair is an inky black. She’s pretty and Belis flushes a little at her smile, feeling gawky and awkward and fourteen all at once.
“Of course I do. My husband is a centurion in the Twentieth, he is accompanying the governor with a few cohorts as he attends to business in the city. I can take you to him now if you like.”
Relief floods through Belis and she smiles shakily. “Yes, please.”
The woman shifts the babe to the other hip and holds out a hand in greeting. “My name is Echo. This is my youngest, Claudia. Named for the old emperor.”
Belis takes her hand and introduces herself. The woman picks up her basket of purchases and sets off through the market, moving through the crowds as if they weren’t there. She chatters as she goes and when she pauses for breath Belis has a chance to address her.
“You speak excellent Brittonic. How long have you been here?”
“Oh, four years or so? I came over from southern Gaul where Croser, that’s my husband, had left me. I was born in Rome, but I’ve been all over.” Echo tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Belis feels very young and na?ve.
“I’ve never been further than Camulodunum before,” she confesses. “It must be wonderful to have travelled so much.”
Echo smiles at her. “Oh, well, home’s the best place of all. When Croser retires we’ll be heading back to Rome, get a little wine shop and watch the grandchildren grow.”
They have left the market and are walking up to a huge house, built from carved blocks of limestone. A pair of legionaries guard the door but at a nod from Echo they step aside and let the women pass.
Belis steps into a wide atrium, supported by smooth, narrow pillars.
In the centre is a square pond, an impluvium, with a slightly blurred image of a dog set into the floor.
Cushions are scattered on couches that line the richly painted walls.
Her father is there, talking to a tall man in a soldier’s uniform, his horsehair helmet tucked under one arm.
The other man glances up and sees Echo. For a moment his face softens, and Belis can tell instantly that this is her centurion husband.
Then his eyes flick to her and he nods towards her father.
The king turns and his whole body sags with relief.
“Beliscena,” he cries, hurrying forward. “I told you not to wander off.” He turns to Echo and inclines his head.
“You have my gratitude, lady, for helping my daughter.”
Echo flushes to the roots and the centurion comes over and winks at Belis. He is craggily handsome and there is kindness in his face when he looks at Echo and Claudia.
“This is my wife, sir. I am sure we are very happy to be of service.” The king kisses Echo’s hand and gently pinches the baby’s cheek.
“Ah, well, that explains it. I see you too have a beautiful daughter. I hope that one day I may return the favour.”
He smiles at them both and then the centurion whisks him away to speak with the governor. Echo waves goodbye, collects her basket and is gone. Belis sits on the edge of one of the couches and watches as rain begins to fall on the impluvium.