The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  The queen was tall and broad-shouldered, with jet-black hair and strongly arched brows that gave her face a permanently quizzical appearance. Her skin had a golden hue although she avoided any direct exposure to sunshine; her black eyes snapped with sudden rages and reinforced a whispered rumour that Queen Tegan had Pict ancestry. She should have been a beautiful creature, but the rigidity of her small mouth warned those men who knew her well that she was a woman of passionate emotions and inflexible will.

  Caradoc approached Tegan’s rooms with mixed emotions. When the king entered her apartments, she was sitting on a stool beside an open window. Surrounded by her women, she was weaving at her large loom. The pleasant sound of the shuttle was almost soporific and the women seemed to be drowsing over their mending, embroidery and muted conversation. In the rear of the small room, a young woman played a mournful melody on a stringed musical instrument.

  ‘May we speak, my dear Tegan?’ Caradoc was surprised to discover that his voice was conciliatory, given his reasons for venturing into her world. He immediately felt a moment of shame that a mere woman could so easily strip away his defences.

  ‘Anything you need to say to me can be shared with my attendants.’ The queen refused to look at him as she concentrated on threading a new coloured skein through the loom. Her voice was as stiff as the set of her shoulders.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that, madam.’ He turned slightly to face the servant women.

  ‘Ladies, you shall leave this room immediately, and you’ll stay outside until such time as I give you permission to return.’

  The ladies responded like frightened birds as they stirred, swept their skirts out of his way, fluttered their hands and rose to their feet. Several of them looked back with concerned expressions, although the queen showed no fear. She merely nodded, dismissing them. Once they had vanished through the doorway, Caradoc closed the door firmly and seated himself opposite his wife.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to Cadal, so I know you’re aware of the commitments I have made towards the welfare of little Endellion. I want us to have no misunderstandings about my decision, Tegan, so you now have your chance to make your objections. Out with them!’

  ‘Very well, husband, if such is your desire!’

  Caradoc sighed. Tegan appeared to be sucking on something bitter, and its taste had aged her otherwise smooth face.

  ‘How dare you insult me by bringing your by-blow into my house?’

  ‘As ruler, I do believe Tintagel to be my house, Tegan.’

  ‘Very well! Your house! You may use whatever terms you select, but the insult to me remains the same,’ she snapped.

  ‘I am the king, Tegan, so I have every right. If I want to fill this castell with my bastards, I can. As I’ve already explained to my son and heir, I will do exactly as I choose. Endellion can be no risk to our sons, so her presence in Tintagel will have little impact on you. In fact, you only need to see her on those occasions when you wish to do so.’

  ‘And what do you think the nobility will say? I will be the butt of their scorn and their laughter, and I’d sooner die than tolerate such disrespect.’ Tegan was glaring resentfully at him now.

  ‘The aristocracy will neither laugh nor gossip, unless you give them a good reason to discuss your affairs. They’ll soon forget that little Endellion hasn’t been here forever if you are prepared to act like a true queen and ignore her presence.’

  Caradoc thought for a moment. ‘Look at me, Tegan. I’ll speak the truth. I never planned to foist my child on you. In fact, I wasn’t aware of her existence until her mother told me. Nor did I truly betray you. A moment’s foolishness brought this infant into the world, but any further liaison with her mother would be unacceptable. The White Witch of the Red Wells belongs to no one but the goddess, which is why I have been forced to accept Endellion. What else could I do? Would you expect me to leave this child to starve?’

  To this last plea, Tegan turned a bland, unforgiving face and Caradoc was revolted by her gloating. He was amazed that he had shared a bed with this creature.

  ‘So the child is flawed as well! I suppose we can expect her to fall into fits and tell the fortunes of all and sundry. How vulgar will life become?’ She shuddered artistically, while her husband clenched his fists and imagined how her delicate nose would split, bleed and swell if he was to strike her down.

  ‘Don’t be so crass, woman. Endellion is a pretty and precocious little baby who will soon have no memory of her mother. Were you a more caring and understanding woman, she would attach herself to you without hesitation . . . but I can see from your manner that I’ve expected too much of you. However, even if you should hate her, I am insisting that you will treat her decently. This includes a requirement that you will refrain from referring to her as a freak or a bastard. When she is old enough, I intend to marry her off to a suitable husband and we will all profit from the process. Men will be glad to marry into the House of Caradoc and become a part of the Dumnonii tribe. All you are required to do is to tolerate her.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’ Tegan snapped.

  Caradoc rose slowly and, with ponderous calm, he approached the seated queen and pushed the loom away from her. It skidded across the floor.

  ‘Then you will face the full force of my displeasure. The boys are old enough to survive without you, so perhaps your sensibilities would mend if you entered a nunnery. The nuns would pray for Christian mercy and love to grow in your shrivelled heart but, best of all, I wouldn’t have to gaze at your sanctimonious face or listen to endless, unedifying complaints.’

  For once, Caradoc had found a threat that silenced the queen. As it happened, an isolated nunnery flourished within a day’s ride of Tintagel, and Tegan was aware that this particular punishment had been used by other rulers to remove embarrassing women whom they weren’t able to execute. For the very first time, the queen was fearful of her husband’s power.

  The prospect of violence hung heavily around the king and the queen like a chill dark fog. The king gripped her pointed chin firmly with his fingers.

  ‘Do you understand your position, Lady Tegan?’

  ‘You have made my lack of choice very clear, my lord,’ she replied. Her eyes were still defiant, but he could sense the anxiety swimming in their depths.

  ‘And my hand will fall heavily on your sons if you use them to punish this girl-child. I hope you understand my meaning, woman, because I’ll not repeat myself.’

  Tegan knew she had been defeated. Her bile and anger boiled behind her pupils so he could see his wife in all her inner ugliness. Perhaps men and women were fated to be forever at war with each other.

  ‘I understand your meaning and I will obey your commands, husband. The least said about this shameful incident, the better. May I return now to my weaving?’

  ‘Of course! That wasn’t so difficult, was it? I knew I could trust to your common sense.’

  Angry that she had forced him into making such unmanly threats, Caradoc strode from the queen’s apartments, pausing only to send her women back to her rooms. Behind him, the queen sat like a painted doll, with all emotion leached out of her eyes and face. The light from the open window was absorbed in her midnight hair and dark, invincible eyes.

  ‘God help any man who trusts to the loving natures of women,’ Caradoc murmured aloud, as he stalked quickly down the corridor. He was anxious to leave her icy presence behind him.

  But he couldn’t escape the freezing chill which seemed to have settled into his bones.

  CHAPTER XII

  A SAXON SUMMER

  It is never right to do wrong or to requite wrong with wrong, or when we suffer evil to defend ourselves by doing evil in return.

  Socrates, Plato Crito

  The years passed, as did the troubles and joys that afflict all human beings, while Caradoc held his kingdom together
in his firm hands. His hair became liberally sprinkled with grey and Cadal took on more of the duties of ruling. The king’s younger son, Cadoc, married one of Gwaun ap Mairtin’s younger daughters, Guenor, who came to Tintagel to brighten the life of Caradoc. Cadoc’s mother had opposed the wedding, for Tegan Eurfron could never look with love on a girl who might one day become mistress of Tintagel. Consumed with vanity, the queen was determined not to relinquish her youth, so the thought of grandchildren filled her heart with horror.

  Guenor was russet-haired, brown-eyed and tiny. Cadoc loved her passionately and pressed his brother to join him in wedlock, but Cadal watched as Guenor suffered under Tegan Eurfron’s constant demands that continued until the poor girl was little more than a slave.

  As the household settled into new and unfamiliar patterns, Caradoc watched the child’s suffering and knew instinctively that any partisanship on his part would rain even more hell down on her head. Tegan Eurfron had not forgotten her defeat at her husband’s hands, so any affection that the king showered on the young girl must be lavished on her when the queen was absent. The king’s household tiptoed nervously under the queen’s unreasonable desire to remain forever young and beautiful.

  ‘Something must be done to solve this family dilemma, my boy,’ Caradoc decided. ‘I, for one, am tired of constant ructions in this household. It’s time you were sacrificed, Cadal, so perhaps it’s time to marry you off. You’ve been footloose and fancy-free for far too long. I think we’ll present your mother with a fait accompli.’

  ‘What?’ Cadal yelped. Whenever his father made a decision like this, someone in the family would be required to experience a measure of inconvenience to fit in with Caradoc’s carefully formulated plans. Was he to be the latest hapless victim?

  ‘I don’t want to marry, Father, so I won’t have some poor cow foisted on me. You claim you aren’t happy. I know that Cadoc isn’t happy, and neither is Guenor. Everyone in Tintagel suffers except Mother. Why should I be miserable too?’

  Cadal’s pugnacious chin, so like Caradoc’s own, was thrust forward in defiance of his king.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cadal. I wouldn’t force a girl on you that you couldn’t come to like. I hope to find someone suitable while we’re on our next little jaunt, if the fates are kind to you.’

  ‘Little jaunt? God help me!’ Cadal mumbled plaintively.

  Once Caradoc had made up his mind on a course of action, stopping him was like trying to hold back the sea. Eventually, Cadal agreed to travel through the towns of their northern neighbours in search of a suitable wife, a prospect that filled the young prince with horror. Had he realised how torn his father really was, he might have faced the journey with more patience.

  Caradoc had vowed to spare his children from arranged marriages, and was determined that Tegan Eurfron would not be allowed to dig her claws into the throat of Cadal’s future wife. With this in mind, the true reason for father and son to journey into the north must be kept secret.

  With Cadal in tow, the small party set off with the complaints of his queen ringing in their ears and a promise from Cadoc that his father’s throne would remain secure during his absence. Caradoc had no doubts, for Cadoc was a stolid young man who ignored his mother’s tantrums; he often wished his eldest son had been imbued with the same calm and steadfast nature.

  Despite his wife’s disapproval, Caradoc decided to take Endellion with him, thereby adding considerably to the size his cavalcade and slowing the progress of the journey. Endellion was young for such a long trek, but she was more mature than most girls of her age and had an endearing nature that was certain to charm Caradoc’s neighbours when she was presented to them. As usual, Caradoc was playing a deep game.

  ‘Are you mad, Caradoc?’ his wife sniped. ‘You’d rather risk the child than be without her company for a few weeks? She’s far too young!’

  ‘Do be quiet, Tegan! It’s time Endellion saw something of the world around her.’

  Endellion was only six years old but, other than one notable instance, she had rarely been ill. The journey was a wonder for her, although her nurse and the maids slowed the speed of their journey with their constant demands for rest. Cadal risked his father’s ire by querying his purpose.

  ‘Think, Cadal,’ Caradoc explained patiently. ‘I don’t want to enter my neighbour’s lands with just you and my personal guard in tow. Endellion’s presence suggests that our visit is peaceful.’

  Still, regardless of the plethora of suitable young ladies who were paraded before his mulish son like prize livestock, none had caught Cadal’s interest or fancy. Girl after girl was introduced to him: all vied for the coup of capturing the heart of the Dumnonii heir. Cadal passed through the feasts, the hunts and the private visits with a vague smile plastered on his face, as he ignored the eager young butterflies who fluttered about him. Careless of their feelings, he remained disengaged and distant.

  By the time the party reached the town of Venta Silurum, Caradoc had begun to believe that Cadal was deliberately being obstinate. Father and son were almost at outs by the time they entered the ancient, misty land of Cymru with its soaring mountains, deep forests and swift rivers. In such a romantic landscape, Venta Silurum nestled like a small, clean jewel.

  Once the travellers arrived in the Silures capital, Caradoc realised that this idyllic town was ruled by a friendly, jovial king and a generous queen. But he had given up hope of gaining a betrothal, so he decided to treat this sojourn as a last holiday before returning to Tintagel.

  Caradoc was surprised anew at the strange laws of physical attraction. To his surprise, his stubborn son gave his heart to the eldest daughter of the House of the Silures without any encouragement or hesitation. In Caradoc’s opinion, the cheerful, red-haired Ardunn had no special beauty or exceptional talent to win the heart of the prince. But Cadal was lost, as was Ardunn, in a sweet idyll. With a surge of hope, Caradoc realised that Ardunn was a grand girl, more than capable of deflecting with Tegan Eurfron’s mercurial temper. And then Cadal surprised his father once again by insisting that their betrothal should be speedily drawn up so he could wed his lady before they returned to Tintagel as man and wife.

  Aelheran ap Einion and his queen, Aoifi, would normally have been required by custom to travel down the coast to Tintagel, where their daughter would be delivered into the hands of her future husband and family. With rare understanding and tactful diplomacy, Cadal suggested holding the wedding in Venta Silurum so that the bride’s parents and friends could host her wedding feast.

  In retrospect, Caradoc decided that the happy young couple had acted with wisdom. After only a week or two in her company, Caradoc knew that Tegan Eurfron would dislike this spirited girl. But his difficult wife would be forced to accept the marriage with as much good grace as she could muster.

  After a month of celebration, the party returned to Tintagel, with Cadal and Ardunn married and bedded, to face the fury of Tegan Eurfron. Rage she did, but Ardunn merely smiled infuriatingly and took no notice. Under her tutelage, the timid Guenor also learned to refuse the queen’s more excessive demands, although she shivered like a frightened rabbit whenever she defied her mother-in-law’s selfish edicts.

  Through it all, Caradoc congratulated himself on his brilliant scheme and began to enjoy the fruits of a happy family, at long last.

  Years passed, until Caradoc had almost forgotten that Maximus had ever come to Tintagel’s halls. While age spotted Caradoc’s hands and weakened his sword arm, he retained the strength and longevity of his ancestors. He fully expected to see his four grandsons grown and married off before the shades came to sweep him into the darkness.

  As for little Endellion, she grew like a weed, as beautiful as any girl who ever graced the tribe. Caradoc doted upon her and dreaded the day when custom would demand that she be married. Her love kept him youthful, and he held it close to his aging bones like a warm
blanket.

  Like a slender, brightly coloured bird, Endellion sang and danced through the seasons and brought love to places where there had only been indifference. The guardsmen and the servants at Tintagel were enamoured of the child, so she could easily have been spoiled. But the outpourings of affection and interest showered on her were balanced by the queen’s unending criticism and her father’s common sense, so Endellion remained free from any character flaws.

  Only one major incident marred this period of joy in Caradoc’s life. One night, the child had awoken, screaming, after experiencing a night horror. She was scrubbing her hands wildly, and seemed hysterical, so her terrified maids scattered until Caradoc arrived to manage the disturbance. What the king heard and saw caused him some concern as several old fears returned to haunt him.

  As he straightened her bed and gathered her into his arms. Endellion gradually quietened and he asked the seven-year-old what had so thoroughly frightened her.

  ‘Father? Are dreams true?’ she asked desperately, as her eyes flooded again with tears.

  ‘No, sweetheart. The gods have been known to send messages to a rare few, but dreams are usually stories that come to us when we are sleeping. These stories often involve matters that have been worrying us when we are awake. Dreams aren’t real! They’re just shadows of life.’

  ‘But I’m sure that my dream was very real. I could hear and smell everything as if I was there,’ Endellion wailed.

  ‘Were you a part of the dream, poppet?’ Caradoc asked kindly, stroking her hair.

  ‘No, Father. I was watching, but I don’t think I was there. No one seemed to see me.’

  ‘Oh?’ Caradoc’s stomach tightened, because Saraid had described her visions as if she was an invisible watcher who hovered above the crowd. He hoped his instincts were wrong, for the curse of foreknowledge could prove to be fatal.

  ‘I saw an old man, Father. He was dressed in a red cloak and he had many big pins on his chest. I think he was a soldier like the ones we saw at Venta Silurum when we went to find Ardunn. You know, Da,’ she said softly, the endearment used by the citadel’s servant children falling naturally off her tongue.