Ides of the May (Children of the May 2 - updates weekly)

Chapter Sixteen: Shooting Stars

But the best speed we could manage was not a quick one. None of us had appreciated how easy Garnish had made our outward journey. Without him, and without War-Strider’s bottomless saddlebags, we had to carry our own equipment and provision ourselves as we crawled up the country. Even before we headed back towards the Roman wall we were delayed. Martha insisted that we detour south to visit an inn, which turned out to be the very same establishment from which I had briefly escaped Sir Dinadan’s cage nearly two years before. The landlord was much used to visits from soldiers, and had over the years acquired a store of military equipment left behind through the carelessness of weary troopers. Martha exchanged a day’s work re-shoeing the inn’s horses for two mouldy tents the landlord kept in his barn. By the time she had completed her task it was late, so we decided to have one meal that we would not have to cook for ourselves, and spend the night in proper beds.

Petal was quiet during our meal, which was a lovely beef stew with thick brown gravy and huge soft wedges of turnips and carrots. When Martha came in, still streaked with soot from the landlord’s makeshift forge, she immediately noticed that the maid was unusually quiet.

‘Is all well, Petal, my pretty?’ asked the blacksmith.

‘Mmmm,’ hummed Petal in the affirmative. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Make sure you don’t wear yourself out,’ said Bellina. I couldn’t help but laugh with her, though the jest was not particularly funny.

Petal swept her long hair to one side; it had been in danger of falling into her gravy.

‘Here’s the thing,’ she said. ‘I’ve been wondering. How did you fill up the well so quickly, Drift? It’s just... when my masters take baths... I suppose I’m asking: just how big is your bladder?’

Bellina pushed her bowl and cup away in disgust. Martha laughed.

I was flustered for the first time in a while. ‘It’s not... That is...’ I could feel myself blushing. ‘It was pure, fresh water, I promise you.’

‘Still,’ said Petal, uncertain of my answer.

‘The lad’s piss saved your life every bit as much as my hammer,’ smiled Martha. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it, lass.’

Bellina stood up, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. ‘I cannot listen to this. I cannot.’ She stormed out of the room.

There was a moment of silence, but when the three of us met each other’s eyes we dissolved into fits of helpless laughter.

Although the inn was quiet that evening, there was a small group of musicians playing fiddles and whistles in the corner. As we found our breath, they invited the landlord and landlady to sing with them, and for want of other customers to serve they agreed. They were not in Elia’s class as singers, but the song they sang in duet was an aching, poignant one, about two lovers seeking each other across the seas, before settling together by a freshwater lake. The ballad was very representative of the homely character of people in that part of the world. As the landlord and landlady’s voices twined around each other I found myself lost in their song. It brought the image of Palomina to my mind, and with that image the fury and spite she had directed at me the last time we were together. I remembered the story of Dido and Aeneas, almost the last thing I had read on Avalon, and Palomina and the story became horribly mixed together. I imagined myself burning on the pyre, cursing her as she sailed away.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that it was a surprise when the song ended, and I found Petal hugging my arm, her head on my shoulder.

‘Is she asleep?’ I whispered to Martha.