The Lantern Bearers (book III) Read Online Free PDF Page B

frowning, ‘Is that you, Aquila?’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    ‘I thought that the last of the Eagles had flown from Britain.’
    There was a little silence. Then Aquila said, ‘I have deserted the Eagles.’
    He pushed off from the doorpost, and came in, closing the door behind him against the rain that was dark on the shoulders of his leather tunic. Old Margarita was rubbing her head against his thigh, and he put down a hand to fondle her, without being aware that he did so. He was standing before his silent father now. Demetrius would not judge him, he knew: Demetrius judged no man but himself; and Flavia would care for nothing but that he had come home. But with his father it would be another matter. ‘I belong to Britain,’ he heard himself saying; not trying to defend himself, simply telling his father what had happened. ‘More and more, all those three days, I found that I belonged to Britain. And in the end—I let the galleys sail without me.’
    For a long moment his father still sat silent, with the chess-piece he had been holding when Aquila entered still in his hand. His face, turned full on Aquila, was stern and uncompromising. ‘Not an easy choice,’ he said at last.
    ‘Not an easy choice,’ Aquila agreed, and his voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.
    His father set down the chess-piece with careful precision.
    ‘Nothing, nothing , Aquila, excuses deserting the Eagles. But since it seems to me very probable that in your place I should have done the same as you have done, I can scarcely pass judgement on you.’
    ‘No, sir,’ Aquila said, staring straight before him. ‘Thank you, sir.’
    Old Demetrius smiled a little under his long upper lip, and shifted his own piece on the board.
    And Flavia, who had sat ever since he appeared in the doorway, as though caught in some witch’s spell of stillness, flung aside the naked sword and sprang up, and came running to set her hands on his shoulders. ‘Oh, Aquila, I’m so glad, glad, glad that you did let them sail without you! I thought I should have died when your letter came … Does Gwyna know you are here?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Aquila said.
    ‘I’ll go and tell her, and we’ll bring you some food—much, much food. You look so hungry. You look—’ She broke off, her eyes searching his face. ‘Oh, my dear, you said that I had grown up in a year, but you have grown up in twelve days.’
    She put her arms round his neck, and held him fiercely close, her cheek pressed against his; then ran from the room calling, ‘Gwyna! Gwyna! Aquila’s home again! He has come back to us after all, and we must feed him!’
    Behind her, Aquila crossed to the fire that burned British fashion on a raised hearth, at the end of the room, and held his hands to it, for he was cold with the rain. Standing there, he said to his father, only half in question, ‘No word out of Gaul?’
    ‘I imagine the withdrawal of our last troops is all the word out of Gaul that we shall ever receive,’ his father said. He turned in his chair to follow the direction of Aquila’s voice. ‘Rome has cut her losses, where the province of Britain is concerned, and what the future holds for the province, or for any of us, God knows. Whatever it is, I am glad that you will be sharing it with us, Aquila.’
     
    Two evenings after Aquila’s homecoming, they had a fire again, not so much for warmth as to fight the cheerlessness of the summer gale beating against the walls; and with dinner over and the candles lit—you couldn’t get oil for the lamps any more—the atrium had taken on its winter aspect, the sense of safety and shelter within firelit walls, and the storm shut out, that belongs to winter time. Aquila had drawn a stool to the side of the hearth, and Flavia had settled herself on the rug beside him, leaning against his knee while she combed and combed her hair. The chessboard had not been brought out tonight, and instead Demetrius, with a scroll spread before him on the table, where