The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  Glanmore’s face flushed an ugly shade of beetroot.

  ‘After the initial elation, Maximus realised that he was very much the junior partner in this triumvirate of emperors, and was secondary to a boy of tender years. He’s not happy, but he has spent the best part of this year shoring up his borders, developing useful trade and military alliances with his near neighbours in Germania and creating a court of justice in Augusta Treverorum.’ The young man flashed a deprecating smile. ‘Yes, the town has been renamed, just as Maximus has adopted the new nomen of Flavius to reflect his newfound position.’

  ‘Is all well with the native troops? I often think of my Dumnonii volunteers and how they fared once they left their homeland.’

  ‘Aye! They do well, and they now possess lands of their own in Gaul. The native troops have been given the lands known as Armorica, which men now call Brittany in the local tongue, although that language might not last too much longer.’

  Glanmore noticed Caradoc’s raised eyebrows, so he hastened to explain.

  ‘Conanus has sent the young lords of Britannia to lands which have been equally divided between the tribesmen who served under Maximus. The men have been encouraged to wed local girls, but Conanus is a stern and embittered man who seeks to create a new Britannia in the old lands of Gaul. I can’t say I agree with his brutal methods, even if they are successful.’

  At this moment, Endellion entered the room with Severa running along in her wake. A servant followed, carrying a loaded tray that held beer, platters of cold meats and other delicacies, all designed to tempt Caradoc’s indifferent appetite. Endellion poured the beer and filled plates for each man while little Severa looked at them all, wide-eyed.

  ‘Please continue, Master Glanmore. I’m very sorry to have interrupted you.’

  ‘Conanus’s solution isn’t a fit topic for the ears of ladies,’ Glanmore began hesitantly.

  ‘Don’t pay any mind to my daughter. I’m happy to say that she’s as tough as my old riding boots,’ Caradoc urged. ‘How does Conanus hope to end the use of the local language?’

  ‘Why, he simply ordered that every woman who marries into the tribes will have her tongue removed. As women usually teach their children to speak, our language will quickly become the dominant language that is spoken in Brittany. Those servants who refuse to speak our language will also lose their tongues.’

  Even Caradoc was struck dumb by this brutal and simplistic solution to the problem, so he rapidly changed the subject. ‘What does Maximus require of me?’

  ‘He requires a detailed account of the disposition of the tribes of Britannia, their effectiveness and your plans for the future of these lands. He sent me in great haste so you would have a full report prepared by the time he arrives. The emperor wishes to return to Gaul as soon as possible, so he plans to crush the Hibernians and the Picts so profoundly that they will think twice before they attack again, even if he must pursue them into their homes.’

  Caradoc nodded slowly, while Endellion’s expression was thunderous. In Maximus’s place, Caradoc would require the same information, for more than two years had elapsed since he had last been in Britannia. ‘What changes has Maximus wrought in his new lands?’ Caradoc asked mildly. ‘I always believed that he would make an effective emperor.’

  ‘Aye, he is!’ Glanmore said enthusiastically, pleased to have avoided any further contentious subjects. ‘He has made a number of treaties with most of the northern tribes who had cherished ambitions of invading the Roman lands. As friends, these tribes have now been drawn into Maximus’s kingdom and have provided several centuries who serve in his armies. Trade links have also advanced the interests of the barbarian tribes and the minorities in Gaul, while Hispania and Britannia are expected to pay less onerous taxes for protection. Maximus has enforced order along the frontiers, and has reorganised the provinces as part of this imposition of order, rewarding the native troops who have shed their blood for the empire. In a short time he has become a popular ruler, even within the ranks of religious zealots, for he has taken pains to protect the church from charlatans.’

  ‘I’m amazed,’ Caradoc admitted. ‘Maximus never seemed very religious to me.’

  ‘Aye! But he takes his position as the titular head of the Church very seriously. He has executed one group of heretics who used so-called magic to strip the credulous of their coin. Maximus discovered that this trickery was based on ventriloquism. Some of the churchmen disapprove of his methods, but my master is the very first emperor to execute felons for heresy against the Church.’

  Glanmore was having difficulty keeping his eyes open now that he had eaten and drunk his fill. When he stifled a jaw-breaking yawn for the second time, Caradoc halted the conversation and insisted that Endellion arrange for the courier to be taken to a warm bed.

  Later, Endellion returned to her father’s room where she discovered he was alert and a healthier shade of colour had returned to his face.

  ‘Can you believe it, Endellion? I’m not surprised by Theodosius’s chicanery, although Maximus’s position must have been tenuous if he so readily accepted their offer of compromise. However, the successes he has gained have given me some hope. Maximus may yet save the west from the barbarian threats, if he can convince the British tribes of the north and the north-east to accept a role under the rule of a high king who would ensure their long-term welfare. He may still be our saviour.’

  ‘I hope you’re correct, Father, but I’m amazed that such a man could accept the poor bargain that leaves his ambitions in the hands of a boy. I hope you’re right.’

  ‘You’re speaking my secret thoughts aloud, Endellion. Could Maximus accept half of the Western Empire? And could he effectively rule his kingdom from Augusta Treverorum rather than the Palatine? I’ve never seen either place but Maximus’s dreams were always bigger than one man’s body could contain. I must be old and near to death, my dearest, because good news makes me afraid. I believe I’ll pray on this matter before I sleep on it.’

  Endellion stared at her father with alarm. Perhaps he could feel that death was approaching and his work was not yet completed.

  ‘Sleep now, Father, for tomorrow you must prepare your responses to our master’s request. I’ll send a scribe to you as soon as you have broken your fast in the morning.’

  You’ll soon see your friend, Father, so rest well, she thought to herself. Perhaps Glanmore is wrong and Aeron has come to Britannia with Maximus. I hope so. If he has come here, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that he stays with me for ever.

  Where he can come to no harm, she added. But she lacked the courage to speak aloud, for her father had enough worries without her weird and formless fears for the future.

  But I am afraid, her racing mind continued, once she was alone in her room. There’s a smell of blood in air, and I sometime wish my father had never met Magnus Maximus.

  Outside, a fresh sea wind came with more rain in its wake. As the first drops began to patter on the roof, Endellion heard the voice of the Mother speaking to her.

  ‘It’s too late,’ the voice cried. ‘Far too late!’

  She buried her face into the bedclothes and tried to sleep.

  Three days passed and the weather steadily worsened, despite a general understanding that spring was supposed to be a time of clear skies, new growth and rebirth. Under leaden skies and gripped by unseasonal cold, Deva shivered and sniffled, so its inhabitants avoided the streets.

  In the fine villa loaned to Caradoc by grateful citizens, the hypocaust ran night and day to warm the cold tiles and create a pleasant fug of steam in the baths. Caradoc’s lung infection improved markedly, but it left him with a nasty headache and a red nose. His swollen joints caused him considerable pain, although his daughter pressed small doses of poppy juice onto her patient to ease the crippling agony. The old man prayed for warmer days but, as ti
me drifted by in illness and inactivity, his temper was sorely tested.

  The galleys came at noontime, swooping along the river with a deadly grace. Five of them rounded the bend in the river and their oars drove them, straight and true, towards the docks and the amazed crowd that quickly gathered.

  ‘Maximus has returned,’ the whispers began and soon swelled into a roar of relief and excitement. ‘Maximus has returned and our troubles are over.’

  As the galleys approached the wharves, the oarsmen were ordered to reverse their strokes, a movement which acted as a brake and permitted the vessels to slide seamlessly into their berths. These graceful manoeuvres seemed to have been made without effort, but those seamen among the observers understood the discipline, training and expertise required. No sooner had heavy ropes tethered the leading galley to the mooring rings than an imposing figure in a familiar red cloak leaped onto the wharf with athletic grace.

  Those citizens who saw the emperor on that memorable day would later swear that he appeared taller, stronger and more impressive than mere mortals. His hair was grey now, but it only added to his dignity without any suggestion of aging. His easy movements were free and youthful and his muscle tone remained supple.

  As soon as the galleys began to disgorge men, supplies and the emperor’s horses, Maximus stepped forward to greet a welcoming committee of nervous councillors and Roman officials from the garrison, all of whom were resplendent in their togas and chains of office.

  ‘Welcome back to Deva, sire,’ the chief magistrate proclaimed in an anxious rush. ‘The citizens wish to offer their felicitations on your well-deserved elevation to the throne and to express their gratitude at your return. They also wish to express their hopes that you will drive the Pict usurpers from our lands. Thanks to Regent Caradoc, we have survived attacks from a large force of Hibernians who were eventually destroyed in a battle at Mamucium. King Caradoc has been our saviour and led our forces to a great victory, but he has been ill in recent weeks. In his absence, King Llew of the Dobunni tribe leads the combined forces of Britannia’s tribes against the Picts. Our northern enemies move further south with every passing day, but we hope that your arrival will see them sent back to their hovels in the north – never to return.’

  Maximus broke into the magistrate’s elaborately constructed speech with obvious impatience and demanded to be taken to Caradoc’s villa.

  Endellion, with Severa holding her hand, met the emperor at the forecourt of the villa. The little girl, now a happy four-year-old, was very shy and appeared to be younger than her years. Her small, triangular face was plump and a little vacuous in expression, a mask that the young girl could hide behind.

  As Maximus strode towards the waiting ladies, Endellion eased Severa into an awkward curtsy. ‘I bid you good day, Majesty. I am Endellion, daughter of King Caradoc. This young lady is your daughter, Severa, who has come to meet her papa.’

  Maximus was bemused for a moment, but then he bowed cursorily. ‘I have heard much of you, Lady Endellion, and I can now understand why your father has always guarded you so zealously. I would like to compliment you on taking such excellent care of my daughter.’

  ‘Such duties are hardly onerous, Your Majesty. Severa is an intelligent, pretty and good little girl.’ She turned to face the young child. ‘Welcome your father, Severa,’ Endellion ordered kindly, because she could feel the child’s terror through the vice-like grip of her hand.

  The child curtsied again. ‘Welcome, Father,’ she whispered. Maximus also bowed, obviously feeling on edge in the presence of this child who represented his complex plans to win the purple. As he looked into her frightened eyes, he remembered the expression on Elen’s terrified face when she had been beaten. Could the child in the womb identify the hands that gave out such pain to the mother that had carried her? The emperor felt a frisson of superstitious anxiety.

  He loathed feeling guilty, so his manner became increasingly forbidding. Sensing his mood, Endellion called Severa’s nurse to take the child away to the nursery while she conducted Maximus to Caradoc’s bedchamber. ‘My father is still very weak, Majesty, so I beg you to remember that he has spent his strength in your service. He won the field in your name at Mamucium with a heavily outnumbered force. He was forced to fight with an army of tyros and old men. Unfortunately, the rigours of conducting the campaign in terrible weather conditions left him with a weak chest and severe pains in his joints. He’s been prepared to serve you to the death, my lord, for he has always been your most loyal friend.’

  Other than a tightening of his short upper lip, Maximus was silent, so, thoroughly rebuffed and put in her place, Endellion led the emperor and his guard to Caradoc’s door.

  ‘I wish to see my friend alone. Wait outside,’ the emperor ordered his guard – and Endellion. Then he opened the door without knocking and closed it firmly behind him.

  Inside the airy room, Maximus put on his conciliatory face, smiled and advanced with his arms outstretched to show his affection. In response, Caradoc smiled with sincerity, although Maximus failed to recognise the reserve in Caradoc’s expression and body language. He inquired briefly about Caradoc’s health before giving praise to his regent for the decisive victory at Mamucium.

  ‘You always were a fox, Caradoc. The Hibernians must have been amazed when they saw the two siege machines on the ridge above them. I can’t recall those catapults having been employed in living memory. Anyway, who’d have thought to use such weapons against an aggressor? They’re meant to batter down walls and defences, not strike down massed groups of warriors.’

  ‘They did very well against human flesh,’ Caradoc answered and watched his friend’s face as he laughed at the regent’s black joke.

  ‘I’d like to have your assessment of the situation,’ Maximus ordered, having been in the room long enough for the niceties to have been covered.

  Caradoc complied succinctly, while presenting Maximus with a section of parchment at the end of his report to confirm the details he had provided. Because of the scarcity of parchment in Britannia, Caradoc had ordered one of the missives from Gaul to be scarified and scraped clean, which allowed his priest to use it as a totally new document. He resented having to use such a precious material for something that was essentially a memory guide for the emperor. But he knew his friend all too well; the discussions would have been interminable without a written record, because Maximus was pedantic and questioned and probed at every discussion point.

  ‘I’ve heard of your successes in Gaul, my lord,’ Caradoc said carefully. ‘It seems as though your gamble was successful, at least on the surface.’

  Maximus nodded. Some refreshments had been delivered to the room, so he did the honours, pouring wine into the glasses provided.

  ‘You’ve achieved your ambition, my lord, and few men can boast of such achievements.’ Caradoc’s grin belied his inner caution. Perhaps his friend would soon be forced to enter another world that was far removed from Britannia and the Britons.

  As Maximus considered his answer, Caradoc realised that their fleeting moments of honesty had been rare, but the emperor had never been capable of anything more intimate. The Dumnonii king was the only man who had ever breached Maximus’s preternatural reserve, even if only momentarily. For the first time, Caradoc felt genuine pity for this powerful and uncompromising man who never accepted his own inadequacies.

  ‘Theodosius trapped me,’ the Roman finally admitted, and Caradoc realised how hard these words were for a man like Maximus to admit.

  ‘Theodosius has trapped many brilliant men over a long period of time. He’s survived and prospered in Constantinople where he is surrounded by men who would assassinate him in an instant. I can still recall the execution of his father, a man who could truly boast of raw strength and ability. The son overcame that disaster to become Emperor of the Eastern Empire in his own right. There’s no shame in bei
ng outmanoeuvred by such a consummate survivor.’

  Caradoc tried to be gentle, but every word seemed to drive a nail into Maximus’s heart.

  ‘I could see his intention from the beginning, but my hands were tied. His own empire is vast and he has massive armies at his call. My forces will always be limited because of the nature of the frontiers and the need to be constantly on my guard against invaders. Young Valentinian was sneering at me, even as we stripped away half of his kingdom. I was nothing but a posturing fool to him – yet my birth outranks his and Theodosius’s. There’s no chance of a workable triumvirate developing on such a shaky foundation. I had hoped for more, but they have no respect for me. And I have none for them!’

  ‘So? Does it really matter what they think of you? They’ll change their tune when the Dacians or the Huns attack their borders. Sooner or later, Valentinian will have to eat dirt to get your help. You know what I’m saying is correct, so you have to let the petty insults float over you. You’ve handled far worse.’

  For the life of him, Caradoc couldn’t explain why he spoke so passionately to his friend. Maximus’s expression was dour and he remembered how often the Roman had complained of being overlooked for promotion. These old angers continued to fester; Caradoc could recognise the burning hurt and dissatisfaction that lay within him.