Clotinus greeted him gladly and welcomed him, and although Gaius knew it was mostly that Clotinus wished to keep on the best of terms with the powerful Romans, he enjoyed it anyway. Gwenna had gone away to be married, so there was no one to trouble him.
The household of Clotinus, he realized, was not at all a bad place to spend a vacation. The food was good, and even Clotinus’s remaining daughter, only twelve or so, was good company, and sympathetic enough when he told her that his father had tried to arrange a marriage for him with an unknown. She might well have been offering to console him on some subtle level but Gaius remembered – not before time, he thought – what his father had said about entangling himself with native women. If the girl was sending him any wordless signals, he pretended not to notice them.
But except for prayers dimly directed at Venus, he could think of no way to approach Eilan. In sleep he ground himself against his blankets, moaning, and waking, knew that it was of Eilan that he had dreamed.
I love her, he thought in self-pity, when the hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him. It isn’t as if I meant to seduce and abandon the girl. I’d be happy to marry her if I could get the permission of all the people who seem to have made it their business to control our lives. After all, he was twenty-three, and an officer — though a very minor one – in his Legion. If that did not make him old enough to marry at his own will, how old would he have to be?
One day when he was riding out under the excuse of hunting, he found himself traveling past the burned-out walls that once had been the house of Bendeigid, and he realized he must be somewhere in the vicinity of the Forest House. His leg ached a bit as he remembered the boar pit — it seemed to him very long ago – and the first time he had ever laid eyes on Eilan.
I cannot stay here . . . he thought suddenly. Every tree and stone will bring back painful memories. He had thought he could bear it. Certainly seeing old Ardanos from time to time in Deva had not troubled his peace. Perhaps he should ride south to visit his mother’s people. It would not please Macellius, but he did not much care to please his father just now.
That night before the fire he spoke of it to Clotinus, who urged him to remain another day or two.
“There will be too many folk on the road till the festival,” Clotinus pointed out. “You should stay until that is past at least and then you can travel in comfort.”
“People won’t bother me, but perhaps I should not travel in full uniform,” said Gaius. “I will make better time and attract less attention if I wear the common dress of a Briton.”
“That’s true,” Clotinus grinned sourly. “You are, in a sense, one of us. I daresay I can come up with something that will serve.”
The next morning his steward produced clothing which fitted Gaius well enough: tan breeches and a tunic dyed green, in new cloth, clean and decent but not particularly luxurious, and with them a voluminous dark brown cloak of heavy wool. “The nights are still chilly, lad,” Clotinus said. “You will need this when darkness falls.”
When Gaius put it on his Roman identity seemed to fall away.
“You are no longer Gaius Macellius Severus in this garb.” The old man eyed him oddly. Gaius grinned. “As I think I told you, my mother called me Gawen while she lived; now I look nothing else and I should use only that name.”
Clotinus was quick to exclaim how well the clothing became him, yet somehow Gaius knew the man regretted the disappearance of his important-looking Roman guest.
“If I attend the festival, I will be just another Briton,” Gaius went on. “Maybe I should have you send a message to Macellius that I am traveling in disguise!” He suspected his father would not be pleased, and the excuse of gathering information might justify this escapade.