“Leave all this,” Arthur bellowed as the man came closer. “We ride to Caer Gloui.”
Cei chewed his lip, staring bleakly at the surrounding heaps of bodies. He sighed. So much death, so much more to come. “Vortimer wishes to speak with you.”
Arthur repeated an oath, ordered his men to get the horses ready.
“Has Vortigern been found?” he asked as he walked with Cei.
“Vortimer has him, I do not give much for his chances of survival should anyone lay hands on him. The British are shouting for his head – and other parts.”
“A shame they did not do so before now. Ah, Vortimer!” Arthur stepped through charred timbers into what remained of the great Council Hall. The bodies of those murdered had been removed, but the bloodstains pooling the tessellated floor remained. One relief was that many Elders and nobles had deliberately stayed away from Vortigern’s call to this Gathering of Council as a protest. Those who sided with the King or sought favour were the unfortunates. Some, Arthur privately mused, they were well rid of.
The King’s eldest son, Vortimer, looked up, haggard, from a parchment he was reading. Behind him his brother Catigern stared warily at Arthur. It was no secret that one day the Pendragon would make a bid for the kingship. The brothers, it seemed, were pooling their strength against him. Today the door to power stood wide open, but together they barred entrance with spears crossed. It would not be this day the Pendragon took command.
Arthur perched himself on the edge of a charred bench. “This was bound to happen eventually. No soldier, Saex or British, will fight unpaid without strong cause. There must be a reward at the end. Our men fight for their homeland, women and children. What is there for the Saex? They fight in Vortigern’s army for no quarrel of their own. If they are not given what they ask it must be expected that one day they will take it.” He halted. Neither of the old king’s sons answered.
Arthur went on, “They were hired as mercenaries to swell the army so Vortigern could hold sway over counter claimants to the throne – against men like my father. They are no different from countless other such troops employed by Rome in this country and others.” Silence from Vortimer and Catigern. Arthur finished with a slight shrug of one shoulder. “They were not paid. Were given nothing, save empty promises. The Saex were never to be content with only the occasional tossed bone.”
He thumped the bench, then lurched to his feet. “Do not look at me as if it were I who caused all this. As I hear things, Council voted against Vortigern, refused to cede the land as payment. Hengest intended to take what he wanted with or without permission.” He gestured at the mess. Shouting almost, he concluded, “If I were in Hengest’s boots, like as not I would do the same.”
Catigern stepped forward at that. “A pretty speech, Pendragon. It sounds to my ears almost as though you back Hengest. Are you in league with him, then – you and your bitch wife?”
Arthur refused to take the bait, not wishing to become involved in argument. He needed to be gone. “Na, man, grant me more sense than that. I am pointing out Hengest’s view. A leader’s view.”
About to make some hot reply, Catigern was silenced by his elder brother who asked, “You deny all knowledge that Hengest was intending to rebel?”
“Beyond personal speculation, aye.” Arthur was becoming suspicious. “What is all this?”
“You deny plotting to murder our father; that your wife was to help you?”
“Of course I bloody deny it! Blood of Mithras! I have been in the cells facing death myself for the Bull knows how many days.”
Catigern sneered, “A place of convenient safety.”
Never having liked Catigern much Arthur ignored him, talked instead direct to Vortimer. “What has my wife to do with this? Ex-wife. I have applied for legal divorce.”
Vortimer tapped the parchment he had been reading on his palm. “That is not what she says, not in this letter.”
“What letter?” Arthur held out his hand for it.
Vortimer hesitated, then passed it over, saying, “I found it among my father’s papers.”
Arthur scanned the words quickly, tossed the thing back to Vortimer. “I have not seen it before. What she says is rubbish. I will take the kingdom if I get a chance – you know that – but not with her, not on her plotting. I say again, I am to divorce her and marry with Gwenhwyfar.” He brought his head forward, his eyes narrowing, said menacingly, “May I remind you both whose idea it was I marry Winifred in the first place? I did not want her then. I do not want her now.”
Catigern growled, “Yet you were at my father’s throat the other day.”
Arthur sneered at him. “When am I not? I usually have good cause. Come to that, when are you not?”
Vortimer released a long sigh. “We had to be certain, Arthur – you do see?”
He did not, but again, he let the matter pass.
Vortimer tore the parchment in half and half again, let the pieces fall to the floor. “Council, for right or wrong, condemned the giving of land as payment for service. Vortigern gambled and lost and the Saex responded with murder. It is in my mind Hengest knew full well he would not get what he wanted so easily and used the occasion as his chance to strike. As you rightly say, Arthur, now he will try to take whatever else he wants. While we are in disarray, he will step in with Rowena and the boy.”
“So what do you intend to do? I assume you have taken command?”
Disliking the tone of Arthur’s question, Catigern pushed himself further forward to defend his brother. “He intends to regroup the army – our army, British men. We will make a stand against Hengest. A wise decision, do you not think, Pendragon? Or is this a chance for you to seize command?”
Arthur laughed, amused at the hostility. “Aye, it is.” Turning his back on Catigern he stood beside Vortimer.
“I have already said, I know nothing of this plot between my wife or Rowena and their Saex kin. I am not sorry to see Vortigern fall – we share the same sentiment there.” He winced at the stiffness in his limbs. “If I were foolish enough to dispute leadership with you at this moment, Vortimer, what few fighting men we possess would be obliged to take up arms against each other. Many would rally to my Dragon, but as many would go to your Red Boar. Would that not be playing into Hengest’s hands?”
He turned his head, his stare piercing Catigern. “Hengest knows Vortigern’s fall will re-open the dispute of leadership.” He directed his attention back to Vortimer, held out his hand in friendship. His knuckles and fingers were bloodied, bruised and swollen where Melwas had repeatedly stamped into the flesh.
“For all your brother’s taunts, Vortimer, I can wait a short while longer.”
Vortimer visibly relaxed, accepted Arthur’s hand. “I am relieved to hear it. I would not wish to give the order to, er, detain you, should your plans not be, shall we say, beneficial?”
Arthur smiled lazily. “Yet I noticed neither you nor friend Catigern here attempted to secure my release from your father and cousin’s pleasures? It would have suited you to be rid of me at the expense of someone else’s conscience.”
Vortimer began to protest, but Arthur lifted a hand to silence him. “In your position I would have done the same.”
Although, he thought, with more efficiency; no wasting time with sadistic pleasures. I would have had them instantly hanged.
“While you show sense, Vortimer,” Arthur grimaced as he stretched the ache from his shoulders, “I will buckle myself to your orders.” He paused, regarding Britain’s new king. “For a price.”
“Which is?”
“My father’s West Country lands. Dumnonia and the Summer Land must return to my overlordship; and custody of Rowena, her son Vitolinus, and Winifred.”
Vortimer frowned. “Melwas is lord of the Summer Land, and Meirchion governor of Dumnonia. Were I to say take them, I would have two men up in arms against me.”
“Melwas is dead.”
Vortimer raised an eyebrow. “You are certa
in?”
Arthur seated himself again, regretted it as fire shot across his buttocks, up his back and through his shoulders. Riding was going to be an agony.
“I can show you his body.”
A smile formed on Vortimer’s lips. “One less problem to deal with then.”
Arthur said, “And Meirchion is a worm who slithers from rock to rock. He allied with Vortigern against my father. It is only a matter of time before I kill him also, for all he is cousin to my father.”
“I would rather you delayed in the slaughter of too many men you hold in dislike, Arthur. Enough died here last night. If you add to the tally, I will be hard pressed to form a Council!”
Saying nothing, Arthur simply regarded Vortimer, his silence making his intention all the clearer. He would have the west returned. Legally given, or in his own way.
“I freely grant you the Summer Land. But Dumnonia with it? That would make you a powerful man, Pendragon.”
“With or without the land, Vortimer, I am close to being that. If I wanted, I could hold most of the army. With men at my back I can take all I want, without waiting for you to give it.”
This was true. Vortimer puffed out his cheeks. “May I suggest a compromise? Meirchion has no male heir and is growing old. Persuade him you are to be that heir.”
“I have your word you will recognise such an agreement when the man dies?”
“If I in turn have your sworn fealty to me, then sa, it shall be so.” Vortimer regarded Arthur sternly. He knew the position. The Pendragon was not yet strong enough to make his claim, but give him a few more men to command, more campaigns and experience under his belt and the situation would change. To hold the entire West Country, as his father once had, would give him command over those needed men and bring in the wealth to attract and finance others. This cavalry idea of his, for instance, would be a viable concern were Arthur to have the finances those territories would bring, and would provide the grazing land for the breeding, rearing and keeping of horses.
“I have already agreed to fight alongside you,” Arthur said, heaving himself upright, stifling a groan. “In as much as fighting the Saex anyway. More, I cannot guarantee.”
Vortimer walked a few paces, considering.
Catigern had been silent, but now he went to his brother, spoke in a low tone. Arthur caught a few, not over-complimentary words.
Vortimer replied sharply, ushered Catigern aside. Arthur was no fool and he was a good soldier – too good. There was every possibility the bulk of the straggling British army would decide to follow the Pendragon today, would not wait for the morrow.
Arthur said, with a good humour that emphasised his intent, “I will have the land, Vortimer. It was my father’s and his father’s before him. It is mine by right. Vortigern stole it. I am taking it back.”
“By agreeing I give away a substantial portion of revenue.”
“Which is why Vortigern took it in the first place to parcel out to his lapdogs. Your father had control over all but Gwynedd and the wild lands to the north.” Arthur shrugged, made as if to leave. “Keep your legacy whole then, Vortimer. If you can.”
“Hold!” the new king called, raising his hands. “I do not have the ambitions of Vortigern. I am a soldier, not a king or emperor. As long as we can achieve the same aim – to hold these barbarians from our shores – then I am content. Have your land.”
“But brother…” Catigern blurted disagreement. He had hoped for the same package Arthur was claiming. Vortimer was giving Arthur the position of second-in-command.
“Na, Catigern!” Vortimer rounded on his brother. “I have no hope of holding this kingdom together. Vortigern tried and failed. Let Arthur have what is his, and good luck to him.”
He clasped Arthur’s hand, “Understand it is yours to see to, though. Do not come bleating to me when you find Meirchion is not willing to submit to you.”
“Oh, he will submit,” Arthur said confidently.
Vortimer had no reason to doubt him, fully expected to receive word the Governor of Dumnonia had met with some ‘accidental’ death ere many moons waned. So be it – the matter was not his problem.
“The women and the boy?” Arthur asked.
“The boy is too young. I will not have him harmed.”
Catigern, already angry with his brother’s decision, burst out, “You cannot let him remain free! God’s truth, why not hang your sword up now?”
“Hold your tongue!” Vortimer roared. “I am King. I say what is to be. I have no intention of letting the half-Saex boy loose, but nor will I have him harmed. I command you, Pendragon, to see him placed in close custody somewhere safe.”
Arthur nodded. He could accept that, for now. “And Rowena?”
“Rowena is to be executed on a charge of treason.”
Arthur considered briefly before answering. It would give him great pleasure to comply, but, “Is that wise? Will it not antagonise Hengest?”
“I care not what Hengest thinks of my decisions. She is evil and I would have an end to her.”
“What of Vortigern?” Arthur queried, letting the subject rest a moment. “Someone said he was not killed?”
Vortimer’s answer was hard as stone. “They left him alive. Hengest, apparently, would not order the death of his daughter’s husband.” He added sarcastically, “Kin, you see.”
Catigern spat. “Vortigern ought to hang alongside Rowena!”
His brother indicated a bundle huddled in a far corner. “I agree, but there is nothing left worth hanging.”
Puzzled, Arthur crossed the hall, tore away a layer of what he had taken to be piled rags. He drew in his breath sharply as he gazed on a crumpled, pathetic old man, slavering at the mouth, whimpering and mumbling feebly.
Vortigern. The translucent skin drawn tight over his bones gave his face the look of a skeleton’s mask. He fumbled for the protective covering Arthur had pulled aside and withdrew into its shielding darkness, eyes staring, seeing the red blood gushing, hearing men and women shrieking. His world had collapsed and his mind had fled.
Vortimer stood at Arthur’s shoulder, regarding the sorry shell of his father. “He will not trouble us again. He ought to die, but it would be as pointless as murdering a child.”
Arthur did not agree, but held his council.
Vortimer asked, “Can I trust you to see to Rowena’s end?”
Arthur looked wearily at the man, his king. “I cannot say. I was going to exchange her for Gwenhwyfar, should she be held captive.”
“Is that likely?” Vortimer placed a sympathetic hand on Arthur’s arm, aware of her disappearance. “When we have defeated these barbarians, when they are on the run, they will not be in any position to bargain. I promise you, Arthur, when Hengest capitulates before me you can demand from him what you will. For now, I must have Rowena dead, if only for my own satisfaction. She defiled the memory of my mother and she must pay for it. I would that I could personally string her up, but I have an army to bring together. I ask again, Arthur – can I trust you?”
Arthur thought on it. Were he to go seeking Rowena he would be conveniently absent from the army. With no Pendragon to rally to, those men who had small liking for Vortigern’s progeny would follow Vortimer through lack of choice. He ran a hand through his hair. It had been a rash idea, this one of exchange, clutching at frayed rope. Leave it.
Vortimer added, seeing Arthur’s doubt, “You must face the facts, man. If they do have Gwenhwyfar, then what is left of her will not be worth taking back. For you, she is dead, Arthur. Dead.”
“She is alive, of that I am certain.” He had to be; anything else was unthinkable. Arthur held his hand out to seal their agreement. “Very well, you have my word Rowena will hang for treason. So too, shall Winifred.”
Vortimer shrugged, uncaring. “Do what you will with her, she is your wife. You know where to find them?”
“Aye, Melwas insisted on informing me. At Vortigern’s summer villa outside Caer Gloui.”
Vortimer was standing close to where his bundled father lay. He nudged the heap of rags with his toe and the thing shifted, crabbing across the floor.
“If you think you could hold higher command than the Pendragon, then it is you who are the fool, Catigern.”
May 455
XXXI
It had rained, on and off, for most of that spring. The rivers were running swollen, crops lay rotten and blackened, and mud oozed thick, clinging and stinking. The low ground between the Hafren and Caer Gloui was continuously soggy underfoot, squelching beneath boots, seeping into dwelling places and old people’s bones. The river would burst its banks soon if the rain did not cease. There was little anyone could do, save wait, watch and pray.
Arthur rode into the Caer two days after the beginning of the month. He hated this town – and more, hated its inhabitants.
“They are like those eastern birds Aegidius of Gaul has strutting around his palace grounds,” he said to Cei, riding at his side. “Peacocks, birds stuffed fat with their own importance.”
“This is a rich area,” Cei answered neutrally.
“What has wealth to do with it?” Arthur snorted his contempt. “Not all rich men are crinkle-nosed asses!”
Cei laughed. “Most are. Even you!”
Arthur blustered indignation and Cei laughed the louder. “You are so sure of your own convictions you will never tolerate other people’s views.”
“That is not true.”
“Na?”
“Na. I listen to some people.”
Cei roared delight. “Only those who agree with you. Take these townsfolk. You know but a handful of them, yet you judge all by those few. There may be one or two pleasant families living hereabouts.”
Straight-faced, Arthur nodded towards a man who was approaching, hitching one trailing end of a worn toga from the mired road. “Think you this may be one of the two, Cei?”
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