Part III - Chapter XXVI - 'The River and the Bridge'

by Michael Wyndham Thomas

Marcus's vineyards prosper and, as Vectis would put it, his business diversifies. As the years pass, there are many different occasions for celebration and joy--and, alas, for Vectis's promotional verses. But the story ends where it began.

I

One dawn, a week before Marcus's wedding commenced, the night guards at the vineyard were awaiting Prunec and the first shift of labourers. Prunec arrived in some agitation. For some days now, all of the others had been helping Marcus to prepare for his celebrations. This meant that, for the first time, Prunec was in sole charge of the vineyards. Even now, however, Marcus had a habit of dropping by to inspect progress, and there was a strong rumour that he might appear that morning. In fact, the manner of Prunec's arrival suggested that Marcus was hard at his heels. The gardener was almost beside himself. Everything had to be just right--and stay that way. What if something untoward happened on his watch? Why couldn't at least one of the others be there--Currerus or Solatius, preferably, since they were his fellow professionals at the vineyards?

Clearly eager to start his rounds, Prunec exchanged breathless greetings with the night guards: 'No trouble?' he asked mechanically. There had been no raids for a while and, assuming that the answer would be 'no,' he was about to move off when one of the guards took his arm: 'Far alley, Prunec,' he said. 'Nearest the river. We can't tell how many--we only spotted them just before you came. Hidden deep, they are--no movement at all.'

All Prunec's fears sprang as one into his mind. Wonderful! No, no--truly it was: Marcus's wedding preparations in full swing; the bridegroom himself possibly descending any minute; his own abilities suddenly at stake. Damned Silurian raiders! Or could it be--? For a moment he pictured Diplomus as an evil grin between parted vine-leaves: 'Ah, my dear Prunec,' he was saying. 'After all these years. Now--I trust you have enjoyed your liberty.' Then a maniacal cackle rang out in his head.

This fancy saved the day. Ordinarily, Prunec would have dropped in a dead faint at such imaginings. But something new stirred in his heart--indignation--anger! How dare Diplomus or the Silures or any creature, real or fantasical, test him thus! Did they think him unequal to his charge? Did they assume in their demonic way that he would let Marcus down? To the astonishment of the guards and labourers, he instantly armed himself with axe and stave, exhorting them to do likewise: 'Come on!' he cried and set off towards the far alley. 'I thought we'd sorted all this nonsense out once and for all!' Unbeknownst to all of them, Marcus was just riding up.

The party passed entrance after entrance along the alleys, until one of the guards whispered, 'In here, Prunec' and motioned to the last alley before the river meadows.

'Right, you rabble!' yelled Prunec into the thickets of leaves. In his dreams, he'd long been rehearsing a speech of excoriation for just such an incident, while assuring himself that he would never have to use it. He had withering oaths arranged in order, as well as a paean to the virtues of good, honest toil. As he launched into his monologue, a figure emerged several yards up the alley and stood foursquare, arms akimbo. Prunec's troop gestured menacingly with their weapons. For himself, the gardener was a little peeved. He was just hitting his stride and only one Silurian oik had shown himself. Now he'd have to stop and demand that the rest appear.

'So--let's be having you all, then!' he cried, and suddenly found himself being lifted clean into the dawn air: 'Ambush!!' he screamed, mortified at the sudden peals of laughter around him. 'Diplomus and his creatures are among us!!' he tried then. 'The earth's opening up!!'

'Indeed it is, good Prunec,' said Marcus, setting him down on his feet and releasing him. 'And I cannot believe what it has yielded.'

When Prunec regained his balance, he saw that the guards and labourers had gathered behind Marcus, whispering incredulously, gasping in amazement. As for the felon in the alley, he was now walking forward, clearly ready for an embrace.

'Apologies for my tardiness,' said the stranger. 'Gaul had to shelter me for longer than I wished.'

Marcus was now speechless, as though the impetuous trick on Prunec had drained all of his energy. The long embrace over, he stepped back for a full view of the gardener's felon. 'You've grown,' he finally managed.

'It's called entering manhood, brother.'

The word 'manhood' reminded Marcus of how many years had flown by since their last conversation in Cremona. Once more his heart was too full to speak. Though charged with happiness, the silence among the vines became hard to bear. At last, Prunec gestured round the alley and chanced his new, forthright manner again:

'You've . . . you've put your name to a rare wine, sir' he said to Alacer. Now it was Alacer's turn to fight rising tears. Prunec cursed his mouth, telling himself that he should stick to his dreams of routing Silurian ne'er-do-wells. But his words galvanised Marcus, who turned to him:

'Prunec, my deep apologies for that little prank just then. Call it an excess of joy. You, sir, have bravery in your gift, whatever you may think--as well as the power to find the right words of welcome.' Then, he again fell upon Alacer's neck, embracing him fiercely, giving dawn-shattering thanks.

Alacer told his tale that very day. It surprised Marcus--and, indeed, everyone--that he had somehow realised his childhood ambition and become a lawyer. For his was a tale of wandering, of seeking out shadows, of finding shelter in the dead of night and taking the next strange road before cockcrow. Gravis had arranged that, at the first sign of Imperial menace against his family, a close friend should take the boy into Antiochia. The man was a merchant, and his intinerant business, Gravis reasoned, would keep the boy on the move and reduce all dangers. It soon became clear, however, that Alacer's very existence imperilled the man's fortunes on the road and his loved ones at home. Thus did the boy learn, early on, that one human being can unwittingly blight the destiny of another. For two months he remained at the merchant's side; when they parted, the man provided him with as much money as his situation would allow. There followed for Alacer a journey whose mapping would have taxed the brains of a dozen Curreruses put together. Aegyptus, Galilee, Byzantium, Corcyra--the streets and walls of all these and more were darkened by his fleeting shadow. Now he was a camel-driver; now, a bellows-man at a forge; now, even a minstrel and juggler. Slowly, painfully, he worked his circuitous way towards Gaul. As he went, he managed to weave a web of contacts, men and women who could be trusted with whispered confidences. These kept him informed of his older brother's life and progress--and of the dangers that lay in any untimely attempt to join him. As Marcus listened, he remembered Salvius's words from the day that they took their walk at Glevum: it seemed that Alacer had indeed found many welcoming brakes and thickets in Gaul, guarded by those who still revered the Spatula name.

'Two such send their salutations,' said Alacer. 'Spesis and Balatrus.'

At this, a cheer went up, followed by whistles and murmurs of amazement.

'What news of them?' asked Currerus.

'Very little that I can tell. Like me, they were fugitives from Empire. No doubt this will sound strange to you, but we had an agreement not to share too much personal history--only what was needful. I did sense, though, that their road was a hundred times more winding than mine.' He smiled. 'But they promised that, if humanly possible, they would descend on you one day and tell all themselves.'

Alacer's own road had led, two months before, to a night crossing and landfall at a bay near Noviomagus. He had made his way through the south and then swung towards Cambria.

Currerus pondered his route: 'It sounds as though you might have passed through Diplomus country.'

'Diplomus?' asked Alacer.

'No talk of him,' interrupted Marcus, shivering inwardly at the possibility that his dear Alacer might have unwittingly spoken with that treacherous noble--or even his monkey of a factotum. 'Alacer is here. The pattern is complete. Though I own that, for me, it will be many, many a long day before his tale sinks in. Or his presence.'

After everyone else had retired to bed, the brothers talked on.

'I had hoped,' said Alacer, 'that Vinitor would step out of the vines with me this morning.'

Marcus started at the name of their father's loyal vineyardist, then looked enquiringly at his brother. Alacer shook his head:

'The poor, bewildered fellow survived as far as Aegyptus,' he said. 'Then his old ghost gave up. I assure you, Marcus, that his burial was as fitting as I could manage.'

Click here to go to Part 2 of Chapter XXVI

Latin Terms used in Chapter XXVI


Antiochia: Antioch, ancient commercial centre and capital of Syria (300-64 BC).

Noviomagus: the Roman name for Chichester.

Aegyptus: Egypt. Byzantium: Constantinople; renamed Istanbul in 1930.

Corcyra: Corfu

Publius Vergilius Maro: the Roman poet Vergil (70-19BC), best known for his epic work, The Aeneid.

Mensis Iunius: the month of June.

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