The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  ‘The Western Roman Empire is in trouble,’ Llew replied. ‘Whispers arriving in vessels from the Middle Sea suggest that Gratian has only a loose hold on the reins of power and he has surrounded himself with Alans, Scythians and Ossetians, who are all hated by the population of Rome. Although many of these new men are stern Christians, they run roughshod over Roman citizens and are intolerant, ambitious and grasping. Romans are very touchy about their status as men born in the City of the Seven Hills. Rome has become a woodpile of inflammable emotions, so even we barbarians on the far frontiers are being dragged into a mess created by Gratian.’

  ‘Do you think this feeling of dissatisfaction stems from him?’ Caradoc asked, his amazement clear.

  ‘So we’re being told,’ Llew retorted, but he slowly winked one eye. ‘The walls have ears in Venta Belgarum, and some of our masters seem to discover everything we say.’

  Caradoc airily waved away any fear of spies with a casual flick of one hand. ‘I don’t believe fear is the motivation for this . . . this edgy feeling, as if we’re all standing on the lip of a precipice and someone behind us is pushing us closer and closer to a long and fatal fall.’

  ‘Sir,’ Aeron interrupted quietly. ‘I believe that our High King is readying himself for something far larger than another Saxon Summer. I’ve been called to Venta Belgarum by personal invitation on the strength of my skills with scrolls. I believe he intends me to record certain events, whatever they might be.’

  ‘Maximus is making sure that his role in history will be recorded so that his status in the world can be glorified for ever. My old friend has always seen himself as Fortuna’s darling, a man who was born for a great purpose.

  ‘I fear he may drag us into some form of disaster just to realise his own grandiose vision of how he sees himself in the flesh. He is a man for whom power is a poison. Given time, it will kill him.’

  ‘I pray to God that you’re wrong,’ Llew responded thoughtfully.

  ‘Aye! On a happier note, have you met the queen on this visit?’

  Both men expressed their eagerness to offer their congratulations to the newly impregnated young woman, but Caradoc explained that she had been suffering from morning sickness.

  ‘It keeps her close to her apartments.’

  ‘At least the High King seems to cherish her,’ Aeron said carefully with a face that he kept deliberately blank.

  ‘So it appears,’ Caradoc replied, but his acquaintances noticed that he was biting his thumb in that tell-tale gesture that they recognised.

  ‘His crown is established in her body,’ Llew observed.

  ‘But Maximus has yet to order the making of that crown. Does he consider the role of High King as his penultimate goal? Or does he reach higher?’

  ‘How high can his ambitions reach?’ Aeron asked with a dawning horror.

  ‘You are beginning to see the fears that have racked me for some time, but his ambitions will come to nothing without us. Beware, my friends! The two dice of Julius Caesar have not yet been thrown by Maximus, so fate will surely surprise us in the months to come. In matters such as these, wise men do best when they speak little, but watch everything.’

  After several such conversations, Caradoc settled down to a prolonged period of waiting. Maximus moved at his own speed, so mere mortals would be forced to wait on his decisions.

  So, summer came and had almost fled while a continuing state of inactivity, impatience and growing doubt prevailed over the king’s halls.

  Still Maximus did not return.

  Caradoc was surprised when a servant girl approached him as he rested in his small garden outside the hall to consider the beauty of the cherry trees, watching the drifts of early-falling leaves while sitting on a mossy stone seat in his quiet corner.

  ‘Master, the queen has requested that you visit her this afternoon. She has need of your wisdom.’

  Caradoc wondered what that foolish, outspoken and vain young lady wanted of him. He had shown no preference for her company and very little respect during their few meetings over the last two years. Nor had he made any secret of his belief that such a mismatched marriage had little chance of happiness.

  With Huw’s assistance, Caradoc took pains to look more presentable than usual before he arrived at the doors leading into the queen’s apartments. An Ordovice warrior stood at attention in the corridor to ensure the queen’s safety, although why Elen would need protection within the palace was beyond Caradoc. Nevertheless, he submitted to a very thorough body search before he was ushered into the perfumed bower where Elen spent every day cowering in fits of fear, illness and despair.

  The woman who greeted Caradoc was old, weathered and obviously very martial in her desire to keep her mistress safe and happy. Except for this elderly woman, her old nurse, and a single servant girl, Elen was alone in the well-appointed four-roomed apartment. Bowls of dried rose petals sweetened the air and all the shutters were thrown open to capture the cooling breezes from the sea.

  Elen entered and as Caradoc sank to his knees in front of her, he winced at the changes that less than two years had wrought on this abrasive beauty.

  Elen was very thin, except for the obvious hard ball of her pregnant belly. Her collarbones were prominent and sharp, as were her cheekbones. Elen was still lovely, but her beauty was worn down and almost ethereal, as if the infant inside her was sucking the life out of its host. Caradoc’s face became grave and he found himself bowing a little lower than normal, out of sympathy for the young woman.

  With a graceful wave of her hand, Elen indicated that he should sit and then sank onto a couch. For a few moments, the silence stretched out between them, creating an awkward space that the king would have liked Elen to fill. Over the years, he had discovered that impatient conversationalists always tried to fill the void, so he had learned a useful store of information by the simple device of waiting for them to speak.

  ‘I suppose you’ve wondered why I’ve asked to see you,’ Elen began tentatively.

  ‘Yes, my Queen. Although I admit that an old man is very gratified to look upon your youth and beauty. I’m flattered to receive your request for a visit.’

  She smiled wanly and her pale lips seemed to flush a little.

  ‘You’re far too generous with your praise, King Caradoc.’ The silence dragged out again and Elen cleared her throat. Caradoc waited.

  ‘I’ve been trying to find some polite way to make a personal request of an extremely sensitive nature. You’ll probably think I’m mad, but I’m concerned about my babe. I truly don’t know what to do, King Caradoc, or I wouldn’t have come to you for advice. You’re my husband’s oldest friend in Britannia, so I can’t hope for you to take my part. Still, everyone says you’re a fair and honest man. I’m forced to trust you because my life depends on your silence.’

  Damn! Caradoc thought. She’s having trouble with Maximus and she wants to drag me into it.

  ‘The people who sing my praises are very kind, but not very accurate. I’m a simple man, Your Highness, but I believe I’m trustworthy. If I give my word, I do my utmost to keep it.’

  ‘So? Can I trust you, my lord? I will die if you should speak out about this meeting.’

  Caradoc was biting back an urge to make a dismissive comment when he suddenly realised that tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks. But the queen made no sound. Wordlessly, she wiped her streaming face on her sleeve and rang a little bell on the table beside her couch.

  Within moments, one of the older servants entered the room, so Caradoc was certain she had been waiting with her ear pressed against the door.

  ‘Yes, Highness?’ the servant asked, and then noticed the tears. Clucking her tongue like an indignant hen, she stared at Caradoc accusingly before taking Elen into her arms.

  ‘There, my lovey, there’s no need for those tears. If t
he king has distressed you, old Bregeen will send him away so you can be comfortable again.’

  ‘Oh, Bregeen, King Caradoc hasn’t done anything to upset me. I’m just tired. But I really need to speak with the king, so could you arrange some of those little fish cakes that I like? And I’d also like a hot tisane to settle my stomach.’

  ‘You’ll be having some warm milk for the infant, some sliced apple for you and some fish cakes for your guest. You must do as you’re told, or I’ll send King Caradoc away.’

  Caradoc nodded amicably. Elen understood her nurse’s nature as well, so she consented.

  ‘You’ll be having some beer, Master Caradoc?’ Bregeen asked. He thanked the old servant, and he and Elen sat in companionable silence as they waited for the refreshments to arrive.

  Once the food and drink were spread before them, Elen regained her composure and returned to the sensitive conversation.

  ‘I know that what I am about to say could easily bring about my ruin, but I’ve decided that I must place my trust in you. I have to put my faith in someone and my father always insisted that you were an honourable man.’

  ‘I thank you for your kind words, Highness,’ Caradoc answered carefully.

  ‘My husband is an ambitious man, as I’m sure you’re aware. No one could know Maximus well without recognising the forces that drive him onward,’ Elen began.

  Caradoc nodded, because this piece of information was hardly contentious.

  ‘He has decided to go to war with Rome. Oh, he hasn’t said as much, but I’ve heard his orders to his troops and I’ve been forced to listen to his fury over Gratian’s demands. He is sure that he’ll be recalled and sent to a far outpost of the empire where he’ll be beyond the reach of those troops who are loyal to him.’

  ‘I’ve heard of the troubles that exist between the emperor and his troops in Britannia. But there is nothing I can do to influence Maximus once he makes up his mind on a course of action. Your husband has a forceful nature.’ Caradoc smiled gently.

  ‘I’ve become afraid for my child, Caradoc. If I’ve gone, my babe will become a tool in the hands of powerful men, ambitious men who’ll try to steal the throne of the High King the moment that my husband leaves these shores. My father is too old and too far away to provide any protection that might become necessary. My brother will leave with Maximus, of a certainty. As Maximus’s oldest friend, I am begging you to protect my child, regardless of what arrangements my husband might want to make with you.’

  Caradoc was stunned. He had expected any number of requests, but acting as regent for her unborn child wasn’t one of them. In effect, that was the demand she was making of him. His mouth gaped open and he was forced to think quickly.

  ‘I’m far too old to be of any real service to you, Highness.’

  ‘Is there another among you who holds the trust of the tribal kings?’

  ‘Llew of the Dobunni is a man of impeccable honour.’

  ‘But he has no children. He and his wife lack the experience to raise a child, least of all one who is destined to become important in these lands. While Llew is a trustworthy and honourable man, he lacks your reputation for calm, common sense and your dedication to the future of a united Britannia where all the tribes are equal.’

  ‘There must be someone else,’ Caradoc complained, after he had been silent for a few moments while he reviewed all the tribal kings and their suitability to provide the service requested,

  ‘What I’m asking of you might never happen,’ Elen added. ‘I could be wrong in my assessment of what Maximus plans to do in the days and months ahead.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘But I don’t think so! Maximus is a cruel man, one who doesn’t care for this babe except as cement that will solidify his path to the throne that he craves. I’ll only see him rarely once he leaves our shores, and I fear that my lifespan will be short, even if I should survive the birth of my child.’

  ‘Such fears are always a part of pregnancy, Highness. I believe that Maximus will prove to be a loving husband and father after your babe is born, for he will have pushed back the Saxons and stabilised his throne. Let’s wait and see. I believe that all will be well.’

  Elen shook her head. ‘No, Caradoc. I know better now, even if Maximus should make a pretence of love. I’ve only lived for eighteen summers, but I’ve come to learn my husband’s true nature. He’s your friend, but I wouldn’t expect you to know him as I do. Your experience of me tells you that I’m just a foolish girl, and you are justified in having this opinion, but I’ve learned the hard way that I must be a compliant wife. I’m not complaining. I chose my fate, but my child is innocent of any crimes.’

  ‘Come, my dear! Maximus is a complex man, but he’s not deliberately cruel,’ Caradoc said soothingly.

  Instead of replying, Elen rose and permitted her robe to sag at the back, while clutching the heavy folds of fabric to her breasts for modesty’s sake. She turned so her back was bared to Caradoc’s gaze.

  Caradoc recoiled in shock. Her beautiful, alabaster skin was cut with scarred flesh wounds which had barely healed. Repeated blows with some type of whip had left her back as a symphony to pain.

  Gently, he lifted her robe back into place and patted the girl’s shoulder, stunned. The marks on the queen’s back were evidence of beatings that must have been inflicted over several months. Elen cradled her belly protectively and Caradoc realised the queen was only a few months from her travail. These beatings must have taken place during her pregnancy.

  With a sickened heart, the old man fell down on one knee. Of all things, he had never expected this of Magnus Maximus.

  ‘I have no sword to swear upon, so you must take me at my word. If Maximus departs for Gaul, and if he leaves you behind, I will protect your child with all the strength of my tribe. Whether you live or die, I will hold to my word. So I swear!’

  ‘Thank you, King Caradoc. I understand what I am asking of you, so I am very grateful.’

  They spoke for a few more moments. Then, saddened and sickened, Caradoc carried away her secrets and a determination to redouble his efforts to discover the plans that were formulating within Maximus’s devious mind.

  The weeks passed slowly, while life continued within the gilded halls of Venta Belgarum.

  Maximus returned to Venta Belgarum at speed, his cavalry strung out in formation behind him.

  Even before he spoke to the kings who had assembled in Venta Belgarum, couriers were sent out to those tribes who were without representation at Maximus’s command centre giving notice of the High King’s intentions. Finally, late into the twilight at the end of an inauspicious day, the visiting kings were called to a meeting in the great hall.

  Refitted, repainted and freshly gilded, the hall was bright with the pennons of the various tribes. Lamps shone over fine clothing, the armour of the Roman guards and the gems of the tribal kings who had donned the regalia of their office. Once they had assembled, the only sound came from the fire pit where logs were crackling and exploding.

  ‘Greetings, Lords of Britannia. I realise that some of your peers have been unable to make the long journey into the south to attend this meeting, but I have sent messages to all the tribes of Britannia, including yours, to call for a levy of all single men of courage to come with me on a quest that will teach the Emperor of the West that we will no longer tolerate his greedy taxes or the sycophants who have been appointed by our masters in Rome to lord it over those of us who are not Roman by birth or breeding. Britannia will cast off the yoke that holds us down, and we will cease to be slaves to Rome’s caprices and win us the purple and our security for as long as I am your High King.’

  The kings murmured thinly like the leaves in a wood when wind starts to blow.

  ‘We will be gone before the spring comes again! Winter will soon be here, so we have only six months at the most to
set our plans in stone, since time and fortune will not wait for us. Our hearts, our strong right hands and our well-honed swords can make us safe from the upheavals that will soon come out of Rome and its corrupt bureaucracy. I expect that you will follow my leadership by sending those of your warriors who volunteer to join us, plus an agreed levy of supplies. In return, you will gain your freedom from the Roman yoke. Think on that! No more obscene taxes to be spent by a bloated bureaucracy in other parts of the Roman world. Who are the patriots in this room? Who are those men who love their lands and their tribes above their personal ambitions? Now is the time when all must stand and be counted.’

  The kings looked at each other, and then gazed surreptitiously at their High King. How could they refuse? Under the spell of those cold eyes, their manhoods shrank in fear. Waving one hand at Aeron, Maximus called on the kings to make their marks on a long Latin document which Caradoc scanned when he had the opportunity. The pact between Maximus and the vassal kings was clear: they would provide all possible support to the High King, in both men and supplies, to facilitate his attack on the Roman emperor, Gratian, and the Western Empire itself.

  Caradoc signed. He cursed himself inwardly for his cowardice, but he swore that none of his kin would go to Gaul with his friend. If Saraid’s old prophecy was correct, anyone who went with Maximus would never return. Remembering her warning, Caradoc felt a flood of gratitude for her ancient gift. Her message was so clear and complete that he couldn’t deny its meaning, even if his common sense told him that such prescience was not possible.

  The kings either signed their names or made their marks under Aeron’s guidance. No matter how long it took, Aeron read out the agreement in detail and showed each man his name, including the space where he had to give an indication of his consent. As Caradoc expected, none of the tribal kings had the courage to deny the High King his victory. Caradoc was relieved, because he realised that his friend would probably bring some form of retribution to the tribes of any recalcitrant ruler.