Chapter 3 #2
Warmth flooded his veins to hear that she still wanted to see him as much as he wanted her company. “I will return every year and bring you more beads.”
“If anyone asks, I will say that I have bought this one and have ordered more from you, which you will deliver on your next journey here.”
He cupped her cheek and nodded.
“My lady, do you need help with the baby?” one of the serving women asked from the other side of the screen.
Garamaros dropped his hand from her face and stepped away. He bowed as though in supplication to Alina just as the motherly-looking woman who had approached him in the marketplace walked around the screen.
Alina turned. “Do you like my new jewel, Baerda?” she asked her.
The woman said all the right things about its unique beauty.
“And I have ordered more from Craftsman Garamaros, which he will bring on his next journey this way.”
“They will suit you well, my lady. I look forward to seeing you wearing more of them. Shall I take Sorcha from you now?”
“No, I will see to her. She grows hungry, I think.”
Garamaros departed the king’s roundhouse, his heart heavy in his chest at leaving Alina again. But this time, a spark of parental joy glowed within him too. He was a father… the father of Alina’s precious infant.
Despite his enforced separation from them, the future seemed brighter, more hopeful, than before. That evening, as he heated his meal over a fire, he stared into the flames and built improbable dreams of their future together.
The next day he resumed his journey around the scattered hill forts of the Durotriges.
The only brightness in that gloomy day was his hope that, if the gods were willing, he would return next summer to see Alina and his beautiful daughter.
And no amount of self-talk about the impracticality, the improbability, of his hopes could wipe the smile from his face.
* * *
In the years that followed, Garamaros repeated his journey to Mai Dun after hearing of the birth of every one of Alina’s babies.
Each time he gave her more of his unique yellow beads as symbols of his enduring love—two beads after the birth of her second baby, a fine bronze-haired boy; three after the third infant, another boy in his father mold; four after the fourth, and so on until the birth of her eleventh son.
Although that baby was her last, Garamaros continued his yearly visits.
In late spring of the year that their daughter reached her twentieth year, Garamaros heard word from Gaulish traders of an impending invasion of Albion by the army of Emperor Claudius.
As had happened so many times, before, the Romans wanted the wealth of a neighboring land, of Britannia, as they called this one.
Soon afterwards, Arthmael decreed that the Durotriges tribe, including the warriors of Dun Limen, would defend Albion against the Romans, as they had successful done generations ago against another Roman army.
Arthmael would lead his people against the invaders as soon as their landing place was known.
Anxious to travel to Mai Dun before the hostilities commenced, Garamaros dismantled his workshop at Dun Limen, packed his forge, all his wares, and everything else he owned onto his cart.
He needed to be close to Alina and Sorcha in case they needed his protection.
In case the Celtic world was turned upside down by the invaders.
As his father had long since rejoined the spirit world, he was leaving no one behind.
Garamaros, accompanied by his wolfhound, Lurcher the Third, set off for Mai Dun, leading the pony and cart.
The result of the coming battle would determine Garamaros’ future. If the defenders were victorious, he would dismantle his workshop at Mai Dun and return to Dun Limen. If the Romans won, he didn’t know what would become of any of them, but he would defend Alina and Sorcha with his life.
When he arrived at Mai Dun, he found Arthmael and his warriors preparing for battle. The whole settlement seethed with activity.
Alina worked at her loom, alone in the king’s roundhouse. She looked every bit a king’s wife, regal, serene and dressed in the finest fabrics available. She was still statuesque despite twelve children, but now her golden hair held glittering silver strands.
The planes of her face showed strength of character, but her eyes revealed a loving nature tinged by sadness. Around her neck shone the simple gold torc that Garamaros had given her, and from it hung tiers of golden yellow beads he had lovingly made for her over the long years of their separation.
She turned to him, and her eyes glowed with love for him.
She adored him still—him—a simple craftsman and beadmaker.
As he did her.
* * *
Alina stood before her loom, her mind a jumble of thoughts as she passed the bobbin through the warp. She would probably have to unpick it all later to make good the pattern.
The last few days had been full of bustle, preparing the warriors’ provisions before they departed for battle.
Her husband and their five eldest sons, accompanied by hundreds of other warriors, would depart tomorrow.
Her stomach had permanently hollowed out with fear—for her adult sons, her husband, the future of their people and the whole of Albion.
Curse the Catuvellauni king for defeating the Trinovantes people, who of course ran to the Romans, with whom they traded, for assistance reclaiming their lands. Alina didn’t know with whom she was angriest—the king of the Catuvellauni, the Trinovantes king, or the interfering and avaricious Romans.
Generations ago, the Romans had attacked Albion, but hadn’t remained. Now, to everyone’s dismay, they were returning. Would they lay claim to Albion this time?
“My lady, the beadmaker has returned to the Mai Dun marketplace,” one of her serving women said.
Alina dropped the bobbin she held. Her heart skipped a beat then pounded harshly against her ribs.
Why is Garamaros here so soon after his last visit?
She had not expected see him until autumn. Does he have news of the Romans?
“Bring him to me,” Alina ordered, her voice strained. She bent to retrieve her bobbin from beneath the loom.