by M. K. Hume
‘I fell into a trance at the Red Wells two days ago, that totally incapacitated me. I remembered nothing until late in the night. Endellion was alone in her basket for the entire time I was in the trance. I have set her cradle above the ground in case wild animals should try to reach her during my absences, but I can’t delude myself any longer. Once she can walk, my situation will be even worse. Without my constant attendance, she could easily fall into the fire pit or wander away and drown in the stream. I dream every night that she has died in each of a thousand different ways.’
Saraid wiped her face once more to clear the tears from her face.
‘Oh, Caradoc, what else can I do but give her up to you? I love her as I had never thought to love anything in this world, but I cannot protect her from harm. I will never understand why the Mother gave her to me.’
‘Do you have other kinfolk who can assist you?’ Caradoc asked, his mind scrambling for a way out of this difficult problem.
‘No. Both of my parents died when I was still a girl and neither my mother nor my father had siblings. I am alone in this world, and so is Endellion. You are the only person who can protect her.’
The king rose and walked to the door, for he’d remembered that Huw was waiting stoically with their horses and pack animals.
‘Set up camp, Huw, and picket the horses down for the night,’ Caradoc instructed. ‘We’ll be staying at the Red Wells for a little longer than I expected. I believe our hostess can be prevailed upon to feed us tonight, but a few rabbit traps set during the dark hours might provide the mistress with some additional meat once we’ve gone on our way.’
Huw flashed a grin as he unsaddled the horses and piled their possessions onto a campsite close to the nearby streamlet.
His duty done, Caradoc returned to the cottage and the serious matter of his daughter’s fate. In his absence, Saraid hadn’t moved. Her face was sunk into her hands.
‘If there is no other choice, Saraid, I can take Endellion and raise her as you would wish. In fact, she’s so young that she won’t miss your presence after a short length of time. However, she will ask after you as she grows older. I’d not have her believe that you didn’t love her, so I’ll think on this particular problem until I discover a feasible answer.’
‘Why not tell my girl the truth? She’s likely to be clever enough to understand the situation I found I was in after her birth,’ Saraid suggested softly, her eyes filled with a new hope.
‘But she’ll resent you, Saraid, for she will know she has been deserted, even if I tell her that she was rejected out of love. Children rarely see the world through the same eyes as adults.’
‘Whatever is meant to happen will happen! The Mother will decide!’ Caradoc realised that she had already considered this dark possibility.
‘But what of you? I’ve seen women sicken when their children are taken from them, even if they have agreed to the separation.’
‘My whole life has been dedicated to the goddess and to the Red Wells from the time that I was nine years of age. Don’t feel sorry for me, my lord, for an indigent, orphaned girl-child is often dedicated to a god or goddess against their will. The Christian Church also takes such children who become nuns, brothers or priests when they reach adulthood. I wasn’t born for motherhood: and neither was I destined for the pleasures of family life. The goddess ensured that my babe would be a girl and, therefore, no threat to the sanctity of the Dumnonii succession. But your queen will be very unhappy, as you say. I have thought carefully about this; I asked the goddess for her advice on what should be done.’
Caradoc gave a sardonic smile. If the Old Ones existed, then they had been powerless to protect their own people from the Roman invasion, just as the Christian Church had been unable to save its nuns and priests from the Saxons who killed them so indiscriminately. Caradoc preferred to rely on his strong right arm and the courage of his warriors to ensure the safety of his realm. If he favoured any god, then it was the Jesus who embraced all people, regardless of their race or their power.
‘The goddess answered me at the Red Wells. She told me that you will raise Endellion with love, but she will be very difficult to marry to any man other than the one she eventually chooses, for few potential husbands will live up to the image of her father. If she finds love, do not quibble or reject her choice out of hand, for she may not find another.’
In the face of such faith, there was nothing Caradoc could say to change her mind.
‘She Who Must Not Be Named has promised me that Endellion will marry a man with great courage. She will bear sons aplenty, but a girl from her womb, child or grandchild, will become the most beautiful woman in the world and this child will return to bring glory to your house.’
Time seemed to fold and bend like a piece of parchment. Every moment in the small cottage seemed charged with power.
‘We’re only men and women, Saraid, and we’re flesh rather than metal. Promises are not enough to provide for a child’s welfare. Endellion will be hated by some influential people at court and she can only be protected as long as I’m alive. She might become alone and friendless in an alien world.’
Saraid shook her head and the firelight caught the chestnut tones in her hair so that she seemed to be wearing a crown. Caradoc blinked and the image vanished.
‘I don’t have the gift of prophecy, Saraid, so I can’t have your certainty about the future. I can only fumble my way through each day as it comes. But Endellion is innocent of the faults and sins that brought her into existence. Yes, I’ll take her into my care. But I demand a proviso in our agreement that she’ll be given the chance to come to you when she’s old enough to understand all that has happened in her life. Then, if she decides to return to your care, I’ll consider my duty has been done. You must welcome her then, for all your fears will be over and she’ll come to no harm.’
Saraid sighed with satisfaction, so Caradoc realised that she had feared he might reject his own daughter.
‘You’ve wronged me, Saraid. I could never deny Endellion. Never! But nor will I endorse your selfish desire to give her up. You have chosen to retain your freedom rather than abide by your responsibilities to your child. You like the adoration of pilgrims and you enjoy your reputation for healing and soothsaying. Yes, Saraid, you even do some good. But your desires are just as you described them: selfish reasons at best.’
‘You’re a harsh man, Caradoc,’ she countered. Her eyes were beginning to show signs of anger.
‘Perhaps! But I can only judge matters as I find them. You have chosen your road, Saraid, so it’s to be hoped that you’ve made the right choice. In the years to come, I hope you remember that that I half loved you, but my love was for yourself rather than for a seer. I have never cared for prophecies or power, for I’ve always known that hubris waits to trap us all. Be safe, Saraid.’
Caradoc stood and drained his forgotten cup of potent spirits in one long draught.
‘Can I impose on your hospitality further, and ask for some of your stew for myself and my man-servant? We will stay for one day, and then leave once the horses are fully recovered from their labours. You will have ample time to say your farewells to your daughter.’
‘Thank you, Caradoc. You have always been a fair and noble man. If you wish to share my bed, I wouldn’t try to dissuade you.’
‘I would rather avoid the risk of siring another unwanted child. The goddess might need a boy this time, to fulfil some long-held destiny.’
‘You wrong me, Caradoc. I’ve become honour-bound to relinquish little Endellion.’
‘You must stop fooling yourself, woman. You don’t love the child enough to keep her in your life, so perhaps she is better off at Tintagel. I’ll give you my thanks now and bid you a good evening.’
Before the king turned to leave, he paused beside the baby’s basket and peered at the sleeping gi
rl. In repose, the child’s face revealed traces of his own father’s features under her baby fat and Caradoc realised that she would become a beautiful and bewitching creature.
Poor little thing, he thought. You never asked to be born and all you need is love. I’ll give you love enough for two, little one, so that you’ll never regret leaving this place.
He stroked her cheek with one finger and Endellion raised one plump hand in her sleep and grabbed at his forefinger with a tight grip. Then she stirred restlessly and Caradoc was able to slide his forefinger away, after which he walked to the open door without a backward glance.
The air smelled cleaner and fresher once he was out of the cottage. What had seemed so enchanting was ragged and poorly lit now, for it was stripped of the glamour that had trapped his heart for a year. Free at last, he marched off to help Huw with the horses.
Of necessity, the journey back to Tintagel was very slow. Saraid had prepared several small flasks of breast milk and cold porridge which she promised would more than satisfy Endellion until such time as they found a friendly crofter who would replenish the flasks with cow’s milk. In her basket, and tied firmly into place, Endellion travelled in front of Caradoc. Quite quickly, she made her feelings known about this mode of transport. She wanted to watch the unscrolling road, the birds in the hedgerows and the animals in the fields. Prone in her basket, she had been unable to see the richness of the landscape around her.
Consequently, on the first night of their journey home, the king fashioned a sling to hang around his neck that would allow the infant girl to see what he saw, yet still feel the comfort of his strong torso at her back. Endellion quietened immediately and began to gurgle and wave her little arms at anything that took her fancy. She rarely cried now, unless her loincloths were wet; her nature was so sunny and curious that only the hardest-hearted person could resist her charm. Certainly, the farmers and their wives along the route were entranced by her and refused any payment for milk or food. But all idylls must come to an end, so the peninsula on which Tintagel rested eventually came into view.
Caradoc had rehearsed his excuses for foisting an infant onto his household but, eventually, decided that the truth would best. As soon as he arrived at the fortress, he sent for the mistress of the citadel’s kitchens and ordered her to find a suitable wet nurse and several maids to care for his daughter. He allocated three rooms in one of the towers next to his own quarters and consulted his steward to ensure that these rooms were prepared for Endellion’s comfort. Then he called for the master of the guard to join the steward and await his call.
‘Is this your daughter, master?’ his steward asked, his face incredulous as he watched the amazing sight of his king carrying a little girl in a sling around his neck.
‘Aye! Endellion is five months old and is the daughter of the Wise Woman of the Red Wells. She is under my care now and will remain so until such time as she is wed. In the meantime, I expect you and your fellow servants to treat her with the same respect and devotion that you have always given to me. Your task is to inform the other servants and guardsmen that they must obey my wishes in this matter at all times.’
‘We always abide by your instructions, my lord. Does the mistress know yet of the young lady’s presence?’ Even as he spoke, Morien realised that he’d made a serious error of judgement.
Caradoc frowned in anger that any servant would dare to demand information from their king.
‘Communications that take place between the queen and the king are none of your business,’ he snapped, so Morien hastily apologised.
‘You may leave now, Morien, and go about your duties. You have much to do if you are to ensure that the needs of Lady Endellion are carried out to my satisfaction.’
Morien ran to obey his master’s bidding.
When Rowen ap Aidan arrived, he halted inside the doorway, his face impassive.
‘Ah, Rowen! I want no gossip about the matter in hand, and certainly not from my servants or my guardsmen. I expect you to protect my daughter, even at the cost of your own life. Is that understood?’
‘Of course, my lord!’ Rowen’s face relaxed and he grinned at Endellion, making one eyebrow dance up and down. The babe was entranced and reached out towards the warrior.
Caradoc cleared his throat noisily and Rowen immediately became serious.
‘I’m sorry, my lord. Do you wish me to assign a warrior to guard her room at night?’
‘I don’t think a guard is necessary, Rowen. I doubt that Tintagel hides an assassin who intends to harm Endellion.’
Caradoc’s son and heir, Cadal, was the first to challenge his father’s decision.
The boy was an attractive youth of sixteen years. He had commenced his arms’ training when he was six and had since been educated under the care of several priests who acted as his tutors. Although he was Caradoc’s heir, the queen had done little to ensure that her son had a full appreciation of his father’s position in life.
In appearance, Cadal was a refined version of his father, although his legs were considerably longer. His hair was also black, but it curled a little, which gave his face a certain distinction. His mouth turned up at the corners so that even in repose, it seemed to be curled in a sincere smile.
Cadal entered his father’s apartment with the same force as a gathering storm, barging into the room without preamble and setting the babe to crying when he slammed the door closed.
‘What do you think you’re doing by foisting your little bastard onto my mother? You’ve shamed her by passing off your by-blow as quality. I’ll not have that creature in Tintagel.’
‘What did you say?’ Caradoc’s eyes were chips of black ice. ‘How dare you presume to lecture me, your king, over my behaviour. I am the master in this castell, and if I wish to fill Tintagel with bastards, as you chose to refer to your sister, then I will do so. Are you listening . . . boy?’
Cadal’s father had always been a distant figure and his mother had always implied that Caradoc was a weakling who was more interested in running away on pointless hunts or minor skirmishes than facing up to his duties at home. Cadal had become used to the idea that if his mother could upbraid the king with impunity, then so could he.
His mother had raged when word of the child reached her, so Cadal had borne the brunt of her fury. Full of righteous indignation when he entered the king’s chamber, he had been pulled up by the shocking realisation that perhaps his father was dangerous.
Suddenly, Cadal’s mouth was as dry as the dust of a desert. He drew himself up to his full height and tried to stare his father down.
‘What you do holds Mother up to ridicule and the vulgar gossip of our people. She will be humiliated by your actions.’
‘Aaagh! I can hear your mother speaking through your voice, Cadal. My queen is the only person I know who would be distraught over damage to her reputation by the arrival of an innocent babe. Only your mother would use such words as bastard and by-blow to describe a harmless child. If you ever plan to become king, you’ll need more than your mother’s spite or her skewed vision of the world to keep the Dumnonii tribe safe from the ring of enemies who surround our walls.’
Cadal blushed hotly, revealing his own doubts about his mother’s motives.
‘Whatever you say, Father. But it isn’t right to thrust your child upon Mother without warning her in advance.’
‘I also had no warning. I’ve been in Tintagel for an hour, boy, with no time to discuss anything with your mother, or with anyone else. But don’t allow yourself to be misled. Endellion is my child and I have decided that she will be raised as my daughter. I’d be less than a man if I allowed her to perish to save my family from a little embarrassment.’
Cadal was torn. He understood that his father was telling him that a true man stands up, admits his mistakes and then takes responsibility for them. Yet he experi
enced a pang of disloyalty when he acknowledged that his father’s actions might have had some justification. He had been his mother’s son for too many years to cast off her influence so swiftly.
Sensing a weakening in the boy’s resolve, Caradoc picked Endellion up from her basket and thrust her into the boy’s arms. The child’s eyes were huge and her face was wet with tears. Loud noises and raised voices were new experiences, and they frightened her.
Cadal held the child awkwardly at first, until she began to protest. When he lifted her so she could see Caradoc, she settled immediately and began to play with a large brooch on the young man’s shoulder that was shaped like a leaping hound. Seeing the sweetness of her slow smile, Cadal felt his animosity begin to melt.
‘She’s a beautiful little girl,’ he admitted.
‘I agree! Fortunately for Endellion, she doesn’t take after her father. But she has no means of threatening your succession in the family line. In time, she’ll be married to a suitable husband and will bring more land and wealth to our house. She’s harmless, Cadal, and she will be looking to you for protection.’
Cadal handed the child back to his father, but he flashed his sire a distinctly wicked grin.
‘Unfortunately, my new role doesn’t include having to change her loincloths. She’s just wet herself and . . .’ Cadal sniffed delicately at his sister. ‘I believe she might have soiled herself as well.’
‘Aye! I believe you’re right.’ Caradoc began to laugh as he placed the babe back into her basket.
Endellion watched the two most important men in her life with cool, green eyes; Cadal wondered what childish thoughts were making this infant so enchanting and so enigmatic.
Unfortunately, there was to be no charming of Tegan Eurfron, Queen of the Dumnonii and Golden Breast in the annals of Caradoc’s people. Her name suggested compassion and love, but these emotions had no place in her world.
