My realisation of how vile mankind, especially the high and mighty, can be, made me determined not to end up among the sufferers but not for an instant did I think of seeking refuge in religion. Posidonius had revealed to me the majesty of Homer and the subtlety of Odysseus seemed a better way of dealing with life than the Scriptures. But if I was enamoured of Hellas and longed to know more about her wisdom I also coveted the sweet life and for that gold not philosophy would be necessary. So, having grown pretty cunning by now I saw that the smoothest road to my future prosperity lay in knowledge of Clodius' business; I would master it and I would master him. No one should take it over from him but me, once he was dead - which I hoped would be very soon. Increasingly I accompanied him about and took part in his activities. If my mother felt I was drifting away from her, at least she could console herself with the fact that Clodius, as a result of my seeming closeness to him, had begun to treat her more gently. Despite that, I was oppressed by the feeling that I was betraying the nobility of Arthur, which meant everything to me and that in doing so I was betraying myself. Before long the thought of my own death began to obsess me, a death that would occur simultaneously with that of Arthur in distant Britain; and at that moment of death I would be reborn to what I should be. The culmination of my melancholy came in Lugdunum, shortly after Clodius had told me I was to go to Alexandria to study. At first the news had excited me, then I remembered my mother. However, when I told her I could not leave her she shook her head and said, "No Cadfan. You must go. I want you to go - to have the fine life I missed. Come now. Pull yourself together. Off to Lugdunum with old Clodius." She hesitated. "Become rich. Become powerful Cadfan. Then you can be as you want." She looked into my eyes sorrowfully; being like Clodius was not one of the things in her mind.
On that particular visit to Lugdunum, Clodius had some business with Gundobad, the Burgundian king, who had come to the city. With time to waste I wandered off, carrying my basket of bread, sausages and cheese, to a roofless temple in an uninhabited part of the city. It had become the haunt of boys who would make for it to fight or play - to me the two were much the same - and be free of adults. But I did not expect to find anyone about then for the sun was high and the river would be more popular. Just where a column threw a finger of shade I ate my food sitting on a plinth beside two marble feet broken off above the ankles. Scratched here and there were Christian signs, intended to exorcise any remaining pagan evil. Such sights are common enough in all the cities where the Christians have done their good work and in Lugdunum, a city renowed for its martyrs - they never tire of talking there of Photinus, the heroic Blandina and the rest - you can be sure they had done their work in every pagan shrine most thoroughly. Then, as I was looking at a serene head that lay half hidden under an oleaster that had thrust its way up between two broken flagstones, I experienced a sadness of a kind that was new to me. Was it about my departure, leaving my mother, or was it because I longed to know my father? No. It did not seem to be directly related to either. It was a general sadness that welled up from deep within me, spreading throughout my body, invading the hiddenmost part of my mind and giving itself substance in the rivulets of tears that flowed down my cheeks. It was a sadness about everything in the world - even those things which were usually no cause for sorrow. I tried to blot it out by looking at the beauty around me - the honey coloured marble, the wild flowers that were now the temple's only devotees, a bold thrush that hopped ever closer to me, cocking its head sidewards in hope of a bit of bread. My misery only deepened. I let out a long sigh and said aloud, "Who am I? What am I doing here?" There no longer seemed any point either in leaving home or in staying. And the thought came to me that had I lived two hundred years ago, I would not have wanted to come to this shrine for it would have been used, believed in, and therefore as secretly objectionable as the beliefs and customs imposed on me now. Wandering among the bushes that in one corner of the building had grown quite thick, my foot struck something hard; there among the leathery leaves was a decapitated torso - of arms and legs there was not a sign - and the smooth yellow marble of the body between the thighs and the neck was flawless. I half closed my eyes; her breasts, I was sure, were rising and falling gently. A faint breeze stirred the bushes and amidst the rustle a woman's voice whispered, "I am alive, alive." I threw off my tunic and lay naked on the marble longing to make love to this fallen stone. Then I knew the Goddess was alive and I had pleased her - the old gods are not demanding; they only ask to be acknowledged. But what I had been taught about the Christian sort of love and forgiving one's enemies now struck me as a lie; if it was true there would have been no need to throw her down; if it was true I should have been able to love and forgive Clodius; if it was true I would not have been so oppressed by the sight of the ruin around me.
Over the next few weeks, before leaving home and the countryside which was the only place I knew, I was in a frenzy; not in my behaviour - outwardly I was very calm, so calm my mother grew upset at what she imagined to be my indifference over leaving her. But inside my head, my thoughts were raging about like a pack of wild dogs on a moonlit night. Again and again I asked myself, why could not my mother come with me? Impossible; in no time Clodius would have had her followed and brought back. Then how to prevail on Clodius to let her come with me? He would never do so. Should I run away by myself to the north, instead of going south, far from Clodius, to my real father who would surely receive me, love me? Even my youthful enthusiasm could not blind me to the fact that the notion was impracticable; without help no one could find his way through the north of Gaul, for two years ago the Franks had destroyed the remnant of Roman power there, together with Syagrius. Britain was a ship marooned in outer darkness. In any case, there was no point in arguing with Clodius. His reason for sending me off was clear: he had developed a profitable business with the East. From our local Burgundian rulers he bought slaves, hides, wool and whatever else they had to offer and these he exported, importing spices and rare goods no longer made in the barbaric West. But though he had an excellent partner in Egypt, a man of stupendous girth called Ezra, who had come to visit us, this worthy Jew was reluctant to market slaves. Clodius saw in me a more complaisant representative of his interests - once I had mastered the details of his business activities.
At last the day of departure came and, before all the great household, I said goodbye to my mother. She was unwell yet the sweetness of her face was hardly changed; indeed to me at least she seemed more lovely than ever. How very strange that when, many years later, I asked Arthur what he had thought of Elissa, he could not even remember her name. I said goodbye to Posidonius. He hid his sadness when we embraced. With my departure he would be of little use to Clodius. Some dull clerking job was the best that lay in store for him. I listened, without hearing (for I now considered his judgement completely flawed) to a tedious homily by Clodius, hugged my weeping mother once more and then climbed onto the wagon beside Ezra who was to accompany me to Alexandria. I did my best to look sad. Indeed, a part of me was sad, no, deeply ashamed, that I could desert my mother so blithely. The truth was that I felt like bursting into song.
At Massilia, the sight of the small ship that was to take us to Ostia, amazed me as much as the unfamiliar sea. It was a mere tub and I could not believe Ezra when he told me it carried a crew of twelve as well as some thirty passengers, along with the merchandise. "Big ships aren't good business," he said. "There isn't so much Vandal piracy nowadays but the sea still isn't safe. Better to spread the risk over a number of small boats." This remark worried me and as we left the harbour I was as apprehensive as a shade being ferried across to Hades.
Fortunately, the sea was calm and a gentle wind bore us slowly along the coast. The journey would take several weeks; each night we put ashore at some small place and in Genova stopped a whole day to wait for some new passengers. By that time I had got over my initial fear and was beginning to enjoy the motion of the boat over the amazing blue sea. How good it was to laze in the sun and watch the sailors toil as when they had to heave the ropes that controlled the sail.
Among the new passengers were two wealthy women, pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. Everyone marvelled at their courage in travelling without attendants but they maintained, if anyone said as much to them, that the only thing they feared was the thought of their own sins for which they were seeking full forgiveness. It was difficult to believe that two such engaging creatures could ever have sinned at all. Anyway it did not matter a fig whether they had or not, though no one could deny that their faith was remarkable. Whenever the awning that separated us from the women passengers flapped in the breeze we men craned our necks to catch a glimpse of them. I never saw my favourites at their orisons however; they always seemed to be completely engrossed in talking to one another quietly as if they shared some wonderful secret.
Another new passenger was a tall man of majestic appearance. His hair was long, as was his drooping moustache, and straight and of a blackness that glistened in the sun like polished jet. Unlike most of us, excluding Ezra, he did not wear a short tunic but one that reached down to his sandals. It was of the darkest blue and gathered round the waist with a cord. Despite the warm sun he seldom took off his fine woollen cloak which was entirely black and like an extension of his hair. The only relief to his sombre clothing was the large round brooch of silver and red enamel pinning his cloak and which he constantly fingered as though drawing strength from it. His possessions were in a long bag, like a fat sausage, which made an excellent pillow. The other passengers kept clear of him so that he was left with more than his entitlement of deck space. He stared at them contemptuously when first he sat down with eyes that were broad set and brooding. On the first morning he just gazed out to sea, his face as mysterious as the waters before him. I watched him furtively; only once did he glance around. I lowered my eyes quickly, sure he had seen me looking at him.
Late that afternoon when I awoke from a nap, the mysterious passenger was already on my mind and I tried to banish him by looking up at the brails on the square sail and wondering why their parallel lines seemed to converge the higher they went. I was just thinking of sitting up to take a peek at the women when a dark cloud seemed to pass between me and the sun. Yet up in the sky not a dark cloud was to be seen; only fleecy white ones racing much more quickly than the surface wind which was beginning to whip up crests of white spray on the waves and pitch the ship forward more roughly than before. Again the shadow touched me. I looked towards the bow. The man in the black cloak was gazing at me, or rather, into me. He gave me a broad smile; what a fine set of even white teeth. My jaw dropped. Behind him two sailors had started to unfurl the spritsail. He turned to watch them intently.
Very quietly I asked Ezra, "Who's that man - in the bow?"
He answered just as softly and without taking his eyes off the book he was reading, "He's a Briton. The people are frightened of him. They say he's a magician. He's neither Christian nor Jew. He believes in the old gods, the old British gods - whatever they may be. Don't look at him. If there's a storm he'll be lucky if he isn't thrown overboard."
The Briton did not seem the sort of man to be thrown overboard so easily. What was more the word 'Briton' stirred me as it always did. Magician or not I must find some way of speaking to him. Just then there was a chorus of complaint from down aft, behind the awning. Angry female voices were shouting, "Should have told us in Genova," or "I don't like having to shit over the side." The harassed Captain was being apologetic but at length he said, "You'll have to put up with it," and pushed through the awning to talk to us men. It was a matter of no great importance. He had been told that the coast hereabouts was too dangerous for us to stop. Brigands kept watch on the hills and swooped down on any ships that put in for the night. In any case, he wanted to make up for lost time. Some of the men said it was typical of women to kick up such a fuss over nothing and others that the women were angry to miss out on the brigands because they were fed up with being separated from the men. The Captain restored our spirits by giving everyone a free ration of bread, meat and wine from the ship's store. I got a bit drunk and enjoyed singing songs with the rest under the starry sky while the ship, no longer a tub but many oared Argo, ploughed furrows through the choppy sea.
In the early hours of the morning I awoke with an uneasy feeling. When I dared to open my eyes I saw the Briton crouched beside me looking into my face. He put one finger to his lips and then lowered it slowly to touch my head. His hand moved lightly over my features, telling him what it saw before moving on to rest over my heart. In British, though with an accent different from the one we used at home, he said softly, "And when you are in Rome will we speak? And when I am in Rome?"
I stared back at him and said just as quietly, "And when we are in Rome?" I blinked for it seemed like a dream. And in that instant he was gone.
That was my first encounter with Myrddin, whose name I got from the ship's officer in charge of the passenger list when we stopped in Pisae. However, we neither spoke nor exchanged the slightest glance for the rest of the voyage; and to cap it all, at Ostia, having only that single piece of luggage, he was the first ashore and vanished into the crowd.
Since Rome had twice, within the last hundred years, been taken and sacked by barbarians, my first sight of the City gave me a shock. For until one began to look at it closely, there it still stood in all its magnificence, with its vast palaces, its forests of statues and its baths and basilicas. This impression was strengthened by the fact that Ezra had been invited to stay with a rich Goth called Vavila in a mansion, once the home of a patrician family, on the Esquiline. Here was no sign of decay. It was like straying into a past age, especially as Vavila was anxious to prove he could live as elegantly as any Roman senator. However, I was not invited to dine with the important ones on the night of our arrival and settled down on my own in the room allotted to Ezra and myself. Compared with my airy rooftop room near to Clodius' and Elissa's chamber, the private rooms here were poky. Ezra, who did not drink with Gentiles, retired early and found me disconsolate. We lay in silence listening to the revelry of the triclinium, the tambours, the flutes and the clacking castanets of women dancers. The braying laughter was now accompanied by thunderous roars of Germanic approval. I wished I was out there to join in.
"A generation. Just one generation," I heard Ezra say - to himself it seemed.
"What Ezra?"
"One generation, I said. These barbarians; if Rome can educate their children, in one generation they'll become Romans and the conquerors will have been conquered. That's how it must be done. But the older generation must be willing to let Rome do the educating. Men like Vavila are already willing. He's half conquered." He turned to the wall after blowing out the lamp. From outside came excited female squeals. Something other than dancing had started.
"Don't children generally follow their parents' ways?" I asked.
"They may have something of their looks, their emotions, their feelings, but that's only half the story. The other half's what we learn. Put a philosopher's baby among the Huns and he'll turn out a Hun. That's the problem of today. Who's going to teach who? Now go to sleep. I've got business tomorrow." In the silence before I fell asleep the dismal thought came to me that, given my upbringing, this son of Arthur could turn out to have more than a little about him of Clodius.
The next day I set off for the Lateran to follow the Bishop of Rome and all his court on a procession they were to make through the city and over the river to Saint Peter's. It was some important feast day and everyone said it would be a fine sight for the Bishop went about in great state. Walking along a grass grown road in an area of silent villas and through the parkland into which their gardens were reverting, it struck me that the Lateran was far from the centre of things. Maybe the Bishop and his officials liked the peace of the fields and the bleating of sheep more than the hurly burly of the quarters near the river. I took to walking more quickly; the place was eerie. It had not fallen into ruins like the cities of Gaul; many of the houses had caretakers and some were lived in by religious people. Yet they seemed strangely sad, as if asking, ' Why have we been abandoned? Are the crowds never coming back? Are we to be left to decay and die?' Adding to the gloom the sun had risen only to be veiled by grey clouds; the cypresses gestured upwards morosely and the world was drained of colour. Occasionally a chill wind shook the leaves; the dry sound set my teeth on edge. I only wanted to get down to the Lateran where there must be food stalls and crowds.
I turned a corner and there he was, seated on a fallen pillar and dressed as on the voyage in his blue and black garb. Only his brooch was different, bronze today and set with amber that shone from within despite the gloomy sky. He made a gesture, a spreading of hands that suggested welcome. I searched his eyes. "Myrddin. And we have come to Rome."
He sprang up taking me so aback with his speed that I retreated a couple of steps though he did not notice how he had alarmed me. "Yes, and a wonderful city it is. Row after row of columns leading you nowhere. Choirs of statues with never a sound coming out of their mouths - now that in itself is very different from the stone heads of Britain - and never a wink in their eyes. Arches trying to leap up to the stars - and never getting anywhere near them, and fountains and baths that must have tapped so much water under the earth that before long we can expect mankind to die of thirst. And the people my Lord Cadfan, people from every land come to gawk like fools at the glory of it all and glorious it is to hear the Romans talk about it; so who are we to say that there's anywhere else in the world like it?"
He must have discovered some new method of breathing, through his ears maybe, for his voice flowed on like a brook. It was a voice you could take pleasure in listening to; sometimes it was melodious and sometimes as husky as a bag of nuts. Like many Britons, Myrddin could invest almost any rubbish he was talking with charm. I surveyed him coolly, replied, "If you say so," and resumed walking. He went slightly ahead of me half turning to look into my face, which I found disconcerting. I hoped he would bump into a tree or something harder, but he did not. We had just passed the shelter of a long wall when a gust of cold wind blew my cloak up over my head. I wrapped it more tightly about me. Myrddin came beside me and flung half of his huge cloak around my shoulders; we walked on together like a four legged monster.
Abruptly I said, "You didn't find me by magic so don't expect me to think so. Lots of people could tell you where Ezra's staying. You only had to ask."
"As you asked the ship's officer for my name, Lord Cadfan."
I changed from British to Latin as though warning him to keep his distance - a bit pointless considering how we were muffled up together. "Very well then. I am interested in you - for my own reasons. Now, what do you want of me?"
Myrddin replied in Latin and a very correct Latin it was too - to my surprise. "Shall I say it's something about your face - your handsome face. Your golden hair. Your lips -"
My derisive laugh contained all the cynicism of a sixteen year old who has seen too much. "The same old story. Of course, when an older man chases a young man - I should have known."
"Do I detect a little conceit on your part Lord Cadfan?"
"Why did you touch my face like that on the boat?"
"Is it wrong to touch someone's face?"
"So you won't say. A true Briton. You prefer riddles."
"Only when I can guess the answer. I touched your face to know you."
"Then who am I?"
"You must tell me."
"Oh, your fingers have no power?"
"To say what you are, yes. Your name is of no consequence. Cadfan, Catumandus, or could you be a little bear?"
I disengaged myself and confronted him. "Why a bear? Why a vicious beast? I'm not vicious."
"No. A bear is brave and resourceful, and very tenacious. You resemble a bear I know."
My heart was pounding but I kept up the charade. "Flattered Lord Myrddin. Truly, you flatter me."
But Myrddin was half addressing himself. "Impossible that it could not be. The same nose, mouth, eyes; the head itself, the seat of all a man is. Even your gestures are the same? Yet you've never seen him. How is such an imprint passed on? What secret in nature does these things?"
"Semen I suppose. As I never saw him, that was the only thing I had of him."
Myrddin stared at me in silence. Surely strange notions about Arthur's spirit being transmitted to me were floating through his mind. At length he said, "A childish notion. So you know of your father? You know you're the son of mighty Arthur?" A smug look came over his face. "I was sure the gods hadn't lied to me."
"The gods didn't even speak to you Myrddin. It's all coincidence, all chance. Arthur went to Gaul with the Riotamus and when there, he slept with my mother. You're from Britain and you chanced to meet me. Such things can happen, without gods getting involved."
"So in mystery you see nothing but coincidence. How sad. Yet what you say may have some truth in it; anything can be true on the level at which it's perceived. Though how can you be so sure that events come about by chance? Perhaps chance is ordered in some way."
"Then it wouldn't be chance would it?"
"Unless those that do the ordering act by chance themselves - a different sort of chance. Chance governed by rules - like a board game, eh?"
We were descending to a road crowded with an endless stream of people drawn by a power that, whether divine or man made, was there. I said, "I can believe that the sort of gods you worship might work by chance Myrddin, yet here's a god who seems to know what he's aiming at." I gestured towards the great bulk of the Lateran that lay ahead. "Why have you come to Rome then? Are you going to desert the old British gods and be baptised?"
"We'll watch what you've come to see. One day I may answer your question - by chance that is."
We could not get anywhere near the Basilica, because of the throng. Instead, we climbed onto some stones fallen from the aqueduct that borders the broad space in front of it to get a good view. After a time, several piercing blasts were blown on a long thin trumpet, a most unpleasant sound, and Bishop Felix, who belonged to the powerful Anicii family, emerged from the Basilica to be helped by priestly hands up to a throne mounted high on a carriage. This gorgeous vehicle, drawn by two huge but docile white horses, was ornamented with panels bearing the likenesses of former Bishops of Rome as far back as Peter himself, so people said, and around it clustered attendants carrying great banners, parasols and fans so that it was as if some weird plant propelled by a magical power was slowly slithering like the Christian faith itself among the people; the very sight of it oppressed me. So dense was the crowd by now that at times the carriage came to a halt, as did the long train of dignitaries who followed behind on foot. Some bore standards hung with sacred pictures which evoked those unctuous sighs or groans with which we are only too familiar on like occasions here in Alexandria. Now and then a hymn would be started amidst the din by a choir of boys at the head of the procession and the crowd would take it up, always trailing behind so that, from where we were watching, it sounded as if the singers were a herd of maudlin drunks. Bishop Felix, a morose faced man, looked none too happy elevated so high on a chair that shook uncertainly as it advanced. But he did his best, gesturing at the crowds and blessing them without letting that laudable act interfere with giving a few curt directions about pushing back the throng so he could get a move on.
Changing position on our perch I noticed that Myrddin was hardly bothering to glance at the procession, being too busy signalling with his eyebrows and the odd wink at someone below. I followed his gaze and spotted the two lady pilgrims from off our ship. They had seen him too, were whispering to each other and throwing winsome glances back. "Do you know them?" I asked.
"Know them? Yes. And adorable creatures they are. Two holy women of God. They serve Him well, but they serve me better."
That was my first intimation of Myrddin's unquenchable lust for women. Almost as a matter of course, once the crowd began to surge after the procession on its way to the Forum, we found ourselves escorting the two ladies whose names were Alexia and Tiburina. Myrddin bought some generous pieces of spiced pork from a stall and we ambled along munching and spitting out while Myrddin bossed us all, telling us where to walk and what to look at as though he were our master. It took us a good part of the morning to reach the Forum and once there Myrddin said we must all have a meal in a tavern and go on to Saint Peter's later; I had a feeling we would never get there at all. But I was relieved to escape from so much fevered religiosity. The tavern turned out to be the lodging house where Myrddin was putting up. We did not eat much, though we did drink several jugs of the best wine in its courtyard.
By now, it was pretty clear that our ladies' pilgrimage was far from being undertaken out of spiritual zeal; they had not got the slightest desire to atone for anything. Their ambition was to enjoy themselves in the anonymity of strange places. Myrddin surprised only me when he announced that we were all going to take a rest in his room. I cannot remember a thing Alexia and Tiburina said; however, I do remember, and that most distinctly, that the moment we were in the room with the door bolted, Myrddin and the women collapsed onto the bed hardly able to get their clothes off quickly enough. Shrieks of delight burst forth as Myrddin fondled, tickled, slapped and nuzzled the luscious mounds of flesh before him and the bed shivered fit to break. When Alexia squatted athwart his drooling lips Tiburina held a skin bottle between her thighs and squeezed it with such skill that a jet of wine like red piss squirted over his chest and belly and finally found an easy target on his prick which had grown from a mushroom headed stump into a wrist thick one eyed monster with a life of its own. Watching their salacious wrestling match made me horny fit to burst but I was quite out of it until Myrddin roared, "Pull him down. Let's see if the cub takes after the bear."
I was willingly stripped by the playful hands of full bosomed Alexia, impatiently pulled down on her and ordered, "Fuck me silly, pretty boy," whilst Myrddin larruped it into Tiburina whose current was no less in spate. Later we changed steeds and, later still, watched the lewd trollops voraciously tongueing each other though that quickly stiffened our resolve to be licked and nibbled and sucked ourselves. It was my first orgy and on and on it went until, exhausted by our fun, we fell asleep. When I awoke the others were gone and the sun had set. It would take some time to learn about Arthur from my new teacher.