That night, Arthyr listened to his family with tears in his eyes. It might seem strange that this powerful, young magician, who had all the advantages of being a Sí, should feel fear at the prospect of losing the company of his human kin. Yet Arthyr was in no way prepared for a departure from all that he knew. He loved everyone in the longhouse: his parents, his foster brother (Kai), his two aunts, three grandparents and four cousins. And they loved him and took pride in him.

Arthyr had come to the family as a result of a wish. That was the story his father told. Wanting a child, his mother and father had prayed together to Danu. The next day, his father had been hunting in the dangerous Trawfason forest, when he had heard the cries of a new-born infant. In the enclosure of a willow tree rested a Sí baby, wrapped in cotton in a basket woven of white poplar branches. Laurels crowned his head, a hazel wand, stripped of its bark, was in his right hand. In his left was a rattle made of yew. When, after many hours with no sign of the parents, the shadows began to gather and with the baby crying loudly from hunger and thirst, Arthyr’s father picked up the basket and brought the new-born home.

As a baby, Arthyr had charmed them all. As a toddler he had made them laugh. As a child he had earned their admiration for the swiftness with which he learned and as a youth he had won their gratitude for the abundance that came with his magic. Their land and their livestock had never been so fertile.

Having returned from his recent adventure in Uffen, Arthyr had been looking forward to telling the story to his family, with suitable embellishments, and showing them the silver nugget. Yet before he could do so, Arthy’s father had explained to him the day’s events in the village and how the astonishing and unwelcome arrival of two Romans had given focus to the village’s discontent with Arthyr. That it had been decided to send him away to serve the empress.

‘How dare the people side with the Romans.’ Arthyr was walking up and down the central isle of the longhouse, between the beds on which sat his family members, each sitting on their beds, looking at him with eyes that glistened darkly with unhappiness. He reached the wattle partition, beyond which was the household goat,[1] span on his heel, and strode back the twenty-or-so paces back to the other end of the house. ‘I have been betrayed.’

‘You have,’ answered his father just as grimly, mouth set in anger.

‘And how will they feel if it turns out I have been sent to my death? There are very different spirits across the water, whose allegiance may be to enemies of my Sí ancestors. My power will wane over there. I will be in danger. And I’ll be no one; there is no one across the water who knows me or cares for me at all.’ His hand, waving through the air as he made the point, hit a pot that was hanging from the roof and made his knuckles sore.

‘My love.’ His mother caught Arthyr as he passed her, pulled him to her and caressed his hair, bringing back memories of his childhood. ‘Wherever you travel, there will be people who care for you. Are you not the beauty of the world? The gods will listen to our prayers and bring you home safe.’

‘You could hide me.’

‘Not from Ithel,’ replied his father. ‘That old fox will sniff you out and every hand will be turned against you if you remain here against the decision of the assembly. Worse, against the promise King Ulwen made to the Romans.’

‘I could run away.’

‘I suggested this,’ said Kai, Arthyr’s foster-brother. Kai’s parents were free farmers from nearby Dolwyddelan, distant relatives of Arthyr’s mother, who, having a large family of their own, had fostered Kai in Betws-y-Coed. His bed was in the corner of the house, opposite Arthyr’s and he was sitting there now, long, thoughtful face shining pale in the torchlight. ‘But if we run, we’ll be unable to return.’

Arthyr noted the use of the term ‘we’ and felt a warmth in his chest. It was a powerful demonstration of loyalty that his foster-brother was willing to endure exile for the sake of his bond with Arthyr.

‘It would be too hard on us, never to hope to see you both again.’ His father stood up and came over. Arthyr found himself in the embrace of both of his parents. Speaking in a quiet voice, Arthyr’s father gripped Arthyr’s shoulders. ‘Go to Rome, or wherever you are needed. Perform whatever task the Romans require of you and perform it well: sufficient at least that they will send no complaint. Then come back to us.’

His father then turned his head and spoke more loudly. ‘Kai, you cannot go with Arthyr; not without the agreement of your family.’

‘Who will stop me?’

‘Me,’ answered Arthyr, sorrowfully.

‘Brother?’

‘I love you, brother. And you should know how much your offer means to me. But Father is right, it will create a feud with your family and mine if you leave on such a journey without permission. And I will travel much more lightly if I know that you are here and my parents are not alone.’

‘Stay safe. Come back.’ His mother’s words were a whisper. ‘Come back a hero. Half the folk in this town haven’t been as far as Deva. They’ll never say a word against you when you’re back from having seen Rome. They wouldn’t dare. Proud as they might think themselves now, they are nothing to you and will be even less to a man who has seen the towns of Italia.’

‘I’m afraid. The thought of Rome intimidates me.’

Arthyr could feel his father nod at this. ‘And I am no different to you, son. The thought of Rome intimidates me also. Take care there, do not be drawn into their conflicts. Do not take any side. The dynasties of Rome change faster than the seasons.’[2]

‘It’s not just Rome. I… I will not have the help of the land around me.’

His mother pulled away. ‘We were talking about this, Father and I. Perhaps your magic extends further than you know and you have inherited obligations that extend all the way to Rome.’

‘But perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll be helpless.’ Hearing a rising fear in his own voice, Arthyr steadied himself. His parents were not to blame for his having been sacrificed to Roman interest by the rest of the people of Betws-y-Coed. ‘My apologies. You are right. And I should face my fate. It is time to discover just who I am and the extent to which the spirits of Uffen are indebted to me. But in case I no longer have the ability to perform whatever magic the Romans want from me, I think Merilyn should come too.’

‘Merilyn? Not me,’ muttered Kai bitterly.

‘If Merilyn comes, it will not be for love of me but because she has learned all she can of magic from Ithel and still wants to learn more. I don’t think she would be afraid of Rome; she’d see it as an opportunity, an adventure.’

‘Merilyn.’ His father said quietly. ‘It will serve her family right if she agrees. They made no objection on your behalf.’

Taking a deep breath and riding himself of his tears, Arthyr moved their arms aside gently and stepped away from his parents. ‘It’s decided then.’

His father looked at him with concern. ‘You understand, it is not us sending you away?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you will come back to us?’

‘If I can. And perhaps it’s for the best that I leave.’

‘Before our ignorant neighbours make even bigger fools of themselves by starting a feud with us?’ His mother was still blazing with a sense of injustice.

‘That, but also perhaps I will learn something from my travels: about myself, about Rome.’

His father’s arms were around him and Arthyr inhaled the scent of him. A human. A good man. Someone who might never hold Arthyr again.

‘O my son, may Danu protect you and bring you home safe.’

A dozen fervent ‘ayes’ greeted this invocation.

Later, four friends were gathered at the oak tree. Looking at the town at night-time, Arthyr felt a deep pang of loss. Faint orange and yellow flickering lights from candles and fires visible through windows or under the lines of doors spoke of community and belonging.

‘Here, wear this.’ Merilyn offered a necklace to Arthyr. It was a simple woven cord, but with a complex pendant. Slender brown needles of wood were held in place by tightly twisted threads.

‘Pine?’

‘There are pine trees all the way to the very end of Italia. They will be your guide and help you if you get lost.’

‘You must have been at this all evening.’

‘Can I see?’ asked Gawain and Arthyr passed the necklace to his friend.

‘Lovely work, Merilyn.’

‘Thank you, Gawain; at least someone here has manners.’

‘Oh, didn’t I say thanks? Sorry. I’m preoccupied with the fact your families are throwing me to the Romans.’

‘I wish it were me,’ said Gawain.

‘Same here.’ Netanya was sitting with her arms around her knees.

Surprised, Arthyr gave a bitter laugh. ‘You want to leave everyone you know? To be brought to some battle or task that you have no stake in? Maybe to die there?’

‘I’d love to leave here. It’s so … restrictive.’ Gawain gestured towards the dark outlines of the longhouses. ‘And I hate farming.’

‘And I’d love to see Rome,’ sighed Netanya.

‘Aren’t you afraid of the city? Of all the people? Of the soldiers? The empress?’

It was Netanya who answered, without looking up from under her curtain of fair hair. ‘I want to meet new people. People who can talk about something other than breeding cattle.’

‘People who might rob you? Beat you? Leave you lost in their dirty streets?’

‘Is that what Romans are like?’ Netanya looked at Arthyr and smiled. ‘I always imagine them at the Colosseum, watching chariot races.’

‘Oh, or at the theatre, watching Aristophanes or Sophocles.’’ Gawain leaped up eagerly. With the blemishes of his face hidden by the shadows and with his brown eyes wide with enthusiasm, Arthyr could see the passionate adult in his younger friend. And for the first time, now that he was leaving, he felt that Gawain was worth attending to. That in the heart of Gawain was a hidden world of some depth – Arthyr had not spent even an hour with the Roman and Greek classics – that were he to stay, Arthur would learn from.

‘Or in a huge library.’ This was Merilyn and Arthyr saw his chance.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’

‘I’ve a lot to do here. My father.’

‘You’ll never get a chance like this again. And there’s always lots to do here. The life of a carrot farmer is very busy.’

Gawain and Netanya sniggered; Merilyn frowned.

‘I won’t get his permission.’

‘You’re sixteen, you don’t need it.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Well, don’t take too long. We leave in the morning.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Gawain was shocked and shared a look with Netanya.

‘Merilyn, you are travelling a path towards being a truly great magician. Do you really think that staying here will allow you to progress on that path? Think about what you might learn by talking to the spirits of the great rivers and mountains of Italia? Or from the books that you will read in Rome?’

‘Don’t push me Arthyr. I know all this.’

‘You should go,’ muttered Gawain cautiously, ‘to keep Arthyr safe.’

Feeling a surge of indignation, Arthyr wanted to object that it was not his safety that he was thinking of. Yet any argument that encouraged Merilyn to leave with him was to be welcomed, so he said nothing, only watched her closely.

When Merilyn was thinking, she had a habit of bowing her head forward, so that her short brown locks hid her face. She did this now. No one spoke and Arthyr understood that this was no easy decision for Merilyn. To change your whole life; to leave everyone you loved and who loved you. If the position were reversed, Arthyr would not depart from Betws-y-Coed and from the community who admired him so very much. In Rome, possibly without his magic, he would be nobody. And didn’t the Romans hate the Sí and consider those from Cymru to be barbarians?

At last his friend looked up. ‘Very well Arthyr. I shall meet you and the Romans at the bridge at Caer Llan; wait for me there if you arrive first.’

[1] Barbarian homes in this part of the world are particularly malodorous.

[2] There had indeed been a sacrilegious and unseemly scramble for the crown in the aftermath of the death of Julius Caesar and clearly news of this had reached even the most far-flung outposts of the empire. But at the time Arthyr’s father spoke these words, the empress had held power for over thirteen years and imposed a kind of stability and order. The order of a well-kept graveyard.