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    And then, suddenly, Luka lowered his sword.
    ‘You speak truthfully, Artorex,’ he panted. ‘You have strength and speed enough.’
    Luka turned his back on Artorex and ambled over to Targo. Artorex, still in the fighter’s crouch, was left feeling confused and foolish.
    Luka clapped the veteran on the shoulder.
    ‘Damn me, but he’ll be good. You are to be congratulated.’
    ‘I’ll grant you he’s a good enough student,’ Targo replied complacently.
    Artorex shook his head to clear his concentration, then sheathed his sword with an angry thud.
    ‘His eyes say nothing, Targo, not a blessed thing,’ Luka muttered. ‘I think he had my measure - and I’m not really ashamed to admit it.’
    Targo nodded ruminatively. ‘You’re right, master. I believe he’d have held off your attack for some time.’
    ‘Good. Good. And now I think we old soldiers deserve some wine.’
    After the men ambled off companionably, Artorex was left alone on the field of combat.
    ‘That’s it?’ he asked the descending sun. ‘Nearly three years of work - and that’s it?’
    But the trial by combat was not quite it.
    The feast passed much as all such occasions did at the Villa Poppinidii. A supply of fresh fish had been delivered to the villa and the mistress had ordered that the finest sea bass should be stuffed with spicy fungi and a concoction of herbs, bread and chestnuts for the banquet. Against all his finer thoughts, Artorex’s mouth watered at the smell of succulent roast piglets and honey-glazed venison covered in sauces so exotic that the villa cook had screamed curses at anyone brave enough to interrupt his ministrations.
    Serving women struggled under full platters and Artorex followed in their wake, checking the oil burners and wall sconces automatically. As usual, he prepared and served the wine, and exercised considerably more deftness than on the first occasion when he had met Myrddion Merlinus and Luka. The lad tried to remain invisible, as was his custom, but he was forced to hear himself being discussed openly as if he was mere smoke and shadows.
    ‘You have our congratulations, and our thanks, friend Ector, for your foster-son has grown in stature as a fighting man.’ Luka smiled across at his host.
    ‘We are quite aware that the training the boy has received has been expensive, Ector.’ Luka crossed himself sardonically for, like many sensible Celts, he paid lip service to many gods. ‘The good Lucius has sent a purse to recompense you for the effort you have expended on his behalf. ’
    Myrddion turned to face Livinia. ‘Our friend, Llanwith pen Bryn, is acutely aware of his rudeness and failures in gallantry towards you, my lady,’ he said. ‘He sends a gift as a peace offering between you.’
    Both Livinia and Ector received their gifts with some perplexity.
    When the mistress of the villa opened the oiled wrappings, a pair of pearl earrings caught the light with their extraordinary exotic lustre. Screws of gold were designed to fit through holes in Livinia’s ears and Artorex winced when he saw the thickness of these plugs of precious metal.
    Women are very strange creatures to endure such pain for physical adornment, he thought as he watched Mistress Livinia’s face blossom delightedly at the gift. Then she rewrapped the oilskins and hid the irregular, refulgent pearls from sight with a sigh of regret.
    ‘I cannot accept such a gift, Myrddion Merlinus. I’ve done my duty by my husband and my family; courtesy towards my guests does not warrant such a reward.’
    Myrddion waved an elegant hand in her direction as if to dismiss her qualms.
    ‘Pen Bryn thought you might refuse his gift on such grounds. So he asked me to thank you, in advance, for your part in polishing the social skills of this young man. Our plans for him are such that he’ll become much more than a fighting machine and should learn the skills of courtesy, nobility and patience. My friend asks that you accept these