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close heed to his surroundings. Notified in advance, Marcus had had a feast prepared for his soldier son. The food was local, fish and meat and dried garden truck, but seasoned with such things as pepper and cloves, scarce these days, while the wines were from Burdigala and Narbonensis, not a mediocre Britannic vineyard. If the tableware was of poor quality and the attendant an untrained yokel, talk between the two men made up amply for that. When it turned to Gaius’s older brother it grew evasive – Lucius was ‘studying in Aquae Sulis; you know what a bookish sort he’s always been, not like you, you rascal’ – but then the news quickly came that his youngest sister Camilla had married an able farmer, Antonia and Faustina continued happy in their own homes, and another grandchild was on the way. And his old nurse Docca had earlier hugged him in arms crippled by rheumatism, and he learned that three or four more of those who had been dear to him in boyhood were still above ground.
    Soon after supper weariness overwhelmed him and he went to bed. It had not been any route march to get here, only a few miles from Isca to the Sabrina, a ferry ride across the broad rivermouth, and a little way inland beyond that. He had, though, been at work since dawn preparing, as he had been for days previously. It won him an early enough start that he could justify spending two nights at home before he began his journey in earnest.
    Thus he awoke ahead of sun and household. When he got up, the air nipped and the floor was cold. He recalled that the place had been chilly yesterday too, nothing but a couple of charcoal braziers for heat; he had avoided asking why. Fumbling his way through murk, he drew aside a curtain that, as spring approached, had supplanted shutters. On the leaded window, bits of leather were glued over three empty panes. The glass must have been broken in some accident or juvenile mischief. Why had his father, who always took pride in keeping things shipshape, not had it replaced?
    Sufficient moonlight seeped through for Gratillonius to use flint, steel, and tinder. When he had ignited a tallow candle, he dropped the curtain back to conserve warmth and took care of his necessities. Clad in tunic and sandals, candlestick in hand, he padded forth in search of all he remembered.
    The house reached shadowy around him. It had grown, piece by piece, for almost two hundred years as the family prospered; but his grandfather had been the last to make any additions. Doors were closed on this upper storey, though only he and Marcus occupied bedrooms. (Once the hall was a clamour of footfalls and laughter.) Well, no sense in leaving chambers open when servants were too few to keep them dusted.
    Gratillonius went downstairs. The atrium was still elegant, peacock mosaic on the floor and Theseus overcoming the Minotaur on a wall. Colours glimmered where the candlelight picked them out of darkness. However, most of the heirloom furniture was gone. Replacements were conscientiously built, but by carpenters, not artists.
    An ebony table was among the few ancestral pieces remaining. Upon it lay several books. They were copied on scrolls, not bound into modern codices, because they too had been in the family for generations. Gratillonius’sleft hand partly unrolled one. A smile passed faint over his lips. He recognized
The Aeneid.
That he had enjoyed reading, along with other hero stories, as he did hearing the songs and sagas of the Britons from those backwoods folk who knew them yet – and did emphatically not enjoy Fronto and other bores he was supposed to study so he could become a proper Roman. Learning Greek turned out to be impossible for a boy who could be rambling the woods, riding, swimming, boating, fishing, playing ball or war with his friends, alone in the workshop making something – later, hanging around neighbour Ewein’s daughter Una – Finally his tutor gave up.
    Lucius was different, of course. Their mother had