knows a boy needs guidance or else he’ll likely develop some silly ideas.’
Artorex blushed hotly and wondered what Delia had let slip to her friends.
‘Don’t colour up, boy.’ The warrior smiled at his protégé. ‘I’m reliably told you’ve no cause to be ashamed of your performance.’
Artorex wished fervently that the earth would swallow him whole.
‘It’s a pity that Mistress Livinia didn’t see to the education of young Caius so sensibly. He spends too much time with whores and catamites.’
‘Gossip, Targo?’ Artorex goaded, grateful that Targo had veered off the subject of his sexual education. ‘I thought you disapproved of idle sniping at your betters and their habits.’
Targo responded with a quick clip to Artorex’s ear.
‘Don’t be impertinent, Master Artorex. I see what I see, and a wise man stores away useful information in case he needs it later. Mistress Livinia should have entrusted her son to someone worthy, like Delia - or me for that matter. I’d have been a better guide to the beds of willing maidens than that Severinii brood.’
Wisely, and before Targo became really cross, Artorex changed the subject.
When Artorex turned sixteen and the colt was a yearling, they made a unique pair. Artorex stood at well over six feet and was still growing, and his wild hair was now plaited to tame its curls. He was shapely and strong, yet not so fair as Caius in face and form. But, alongside Artorex, Caius seemed insubstantial and a man of straw, although he was five years older - and had recently brought a wife to the villa.
Coal was still outsized in head and length of leg, but his coat shone from constant brushing and he trotted after Artorex like a dog. Even as a yearling, nimble and unafraid of the most treacherous terrain, he was faster than any other horse at the villa, save for the Gallic gelding owned by Caius. In the Old Forest, his coat made him almost invisible among the shadows of the trees, while he was sure-footed even where the forest was almost impenetrable.
When Artorex reached his seventeenth birthday, and the full duties of manhood, Ector set his foster-son to work. Cletus, the villa’s steward, had succumbed to a lung disease that often kept him to his bed, so the master realized that the time had come to train Artorex as his replacement. On his good days, Cletus taught Artorex the role of steward while the young man served as the steward’s ears and eyes outside the walls of the villa. Artorex rode around the estate checking provisions, supervising the rotation of crops and serving his master with diligence and speed.
Artorex began to understand the responsibility of leadership and the command of men.
Ector blessed the day when Lucius of Glastonbury had sent the boy to him.
Mindful of the promises he had made to Myrddion Merlinus, Luka and Llanwith pen Bryn, Artorex still practised the art of weaponry and horsemanship with Targo on a daily basis, and conducted all farm business from the back of a horse.
The young man’s days were full and he was now permitted, on rare occasions, to eat with the family. These marks of favour occurred at those times of the year when he was required to report on the success of the harvest and the well-being of all those souls who lived at the Villa Poppinidii. Unlike Cletus, who was a slave, Artorex still existed in an odd no-man’s land, neither fish nor fowl, neither slave nor master. As Cletus weakened, Artorex learned how to manipulate the many cogs that made up the machine that was the estate. He also learned to lead men with firmness, fairness and efficiency. He worked with them, when need be, and they appreciated the care he took to protect their interests.
At first, the field hands had resented a young man who issued instructions on irrigation, planting, crop rotation and provisioning. But Artorex brooked no insolence and was only forced to break the jaw of one malcontent before the men accepted his superior
Artorex blushed hotly and wondered what Delia had let slip to her friends.
‘Don’t colour up, boy.’ The warrior smiled at his protégé. ‘I’m reliably told you’ve no cause to be ashamed of your performance.’
Artorex wished fervently that the earth would swallow him whole.
‘It’s a pity that Mistress Livinia didn’t see to the education of young Caius so sensibly. He spends too much time with whores and catamites.’
‘Gossip, Targo?’ Artorex goaded, grateful that Targo had veered off the subject of his sexual education. ‘I thought you disapproved of idle sniping at your betters and their habits.’
Targo responded with a quick clip to Artorex’s ear.
‘Don’t be impertinent, Master Artorex. I see what I see, and a wise man stores away useful information in case he needs it later. Mistress Livinia should have entrusted her son to someone worthy, like Delia - or me for that matter. I’d have been a better guide to the beds of willing maidens than that Severinii brood.’
Wisely, and before Targo became really cross, Artorex changed the subject.
When Artorex turned sixteen and the colt was a yearling, they made a unique pair. Artorex stood at well over six feet and was still growing, and his wild hair was now plaited to tame its curls. He was shapely and strong, yet not so fair as Caius in face and form. But, alongside Artorex, Caius seemed insubstantial and a man of straw, although he was five years older - and had recently brought a wife to the villa.
Coal was still outsized in head and length of leg, but his coat shone from constant brushing and he trotted after Artorex like a dog. Even as a yearling, nimble and unafraid of the most treacherous terrain, he was faster than any other horse at the villa, save for the Gallic gelding owned by Caius. In the Old Forest, his coat made him almost invisible among the shadows of the trees, while he was sure-footed even where the forest was almost impenetrable.
When Artorex reached his seventeenth birthday, and the full duties of manhood, Ector set his foster-son to work. Cletus, the villa’s steward, had succumbed to a lung disease that often kept him to his bed, so the master realized that the time had come to train Artorex as his replacement. On his good days, Cletus taught Artorex the role of steward while the young man served as the steward’s ears and eyes outside the walls of the villa. Artorex rode around the estate checking provisions, supervising the rotation of crops and serving his master with diligence and speed.
Artorex began to understand the responsibility of leadership and the command of men.
Ector blessed the day when Lucius of Glastonbury had sent the boy to him.
Mindful of the promises he had made to Myrddion Merlinus, Luka and Llanwith pen Bryn, Artorex still practised the art of weaponry and horsemanship with Targo on a daily basis, and conducted all farm business from the back of a horse.
The young man’s days were full and he was now permitted, on rare occasions, to eat with the family. These marks of favour occurred at those times of the year when he was required to report on the success of the harvest and the well-being of all those souls who lived at the Villa Poppinidii. Unlike Cletus, who was a slave, Artorex still existed in an odd no-man’s land, neither fish nor fowl, neither slave nor master. As Cletus weakened, Artorex learned how to manipulate the many cogs that made up the machine that was the estate. He also learned to lead men with firmness, fairness and efficiency. He worked with them, when need be, and they appreciated the care he took to protect their interests.
At first, the field hands had resented a young man who issued instructions on irrigation, planting, crop rotation and provisioning. But Artorex brooked no insolence and was only forced to break the jaw of one malcontent before the men accepted his superior
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