The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  ‘I accept your apologies, Severa. I’ve always believed that well-born women should be protected from distasteful matters, so it was wrong of me to be so blunt with you.’

  Severa smiled. ‘So we’re both wrong. Perhaps we should begin again.’

  The legionnaires in Constantinus’s command were amused by the sight of their master, hands clasped firmly behind his back, as he escorted the young lady about the camp while talking genteelly of such topics as farming and blackberry picking. There was no spite or jealousy in the campfire banter that followed. These men knew that their commander was a very good officer whose roots were similar to their own, a leader who had been clever enough to rise to the highest echelons of the legion. With some pride, and no signs of resentment, the men gossiped about his son, Constans, and wondered who the boy’s mother might have been, how Constantinus had arrived in Britannia and whether he’d manage to bed this noble princess from the British tribes.

  Severa’s first night under canvas came with a rush. Flushed from her first rambling stroll with a man, she scarcely noticed the bland stew that lacked salt and herbs to give it flavour. Sleeping on a thin pallet under the wagon was an amazing adventure and she could delight in the river of stars that were sailing through the night sky as she lay under her warm covers.

  From across the camp, she could see that the centurion was staring out into the darkness as he stood beside the fire pit. No light spoke of farmsteads and even the folds in the earth were devoid of domestic animals. Somewhere out there, Constantinus knew that trouble was waiting to fall on his column at any time, especially if he became careless. Somewhere beyond this small fortress of order, a small group of six assassins, at the very least, was waiting to make an attempt to capture Severa. For Constantinus, his duty was clear: Severa would be taken to the safety of Cadal’s fortress at Tintagel, and the Roman was prepared to give his life to ensure that this mission was successfully completed.

  As for the girl herself, he was attracted to her, as any man with red blood in his veins would be. But, when all was said and done, his duty required him to consider her as just another pretty face. He recalled the words of the Wilde Man of the Woods and decided that he must take the sensible path of prudence unless circumstances indicated otherwise.

  Perhaps, somewhere beyond the reach of time, Lady Fortuna was laughing at him.

  CHAPTER VII

  Ambush

  The road up and the road down are one and the same.

  Heraclitus, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker

  Two long and dusty days followed as, hour after hour and day after day, the horses raised white clouds of fine, powdery grit that covered every surface. Each evening, in an unvarying ritual, Severa and the centurion would walk the perimeter of the camp before eating the same tasteless stew. Later, she stared out at the countless stars that seemed much brighter than those that filled the skies of Corinium.

  Her maid was always five steps behind her when she and Constantinus were alone, always silent and forever watchful. When Endellion had thrust one of her own women upon Severa, her foster-daughter had been irritated and complained angrily at the queen’s lack of trust, but Endellion had no hesitation in explaining that this maid was more of a chaperone than a servant and was travelling with the girl to protect her reputation.

  ‘The British kings will use the smallest excuse to blacken your name in days to come, my girl, so it’s time for you to develop some common sense and start to act responsibly.’

  Severa was therefore forced to accept a chaperone with very little grace, and responded by ignoring her newly appointed servant whenever possible.

  Aquae Sulis was situated inside a swathe of rolling plain-land that was rich and densely populated, with expensive villas perched atop every raised hill or suitable building site within sight of the city walls. Constantinus studied the town from one of the few vantage points and quickly recognised the Roman flavour of its architecture. But the pleasures such a town could offer would present too many temptations for his legionnaires if his charge was permitted to dally there, so he decided his column would make an overnight bivouac outside the town limits before resuming their journey in the morning.

  Severa was quick to express her dissatisfaction at his decision.

  ‘Every person I have known who has been given an opportunity to pass through Aquae Sulis has spoken of the wonders of the goods in their markets. The food! The shoes! I’ve dreamed for years that I, too, would get to see those markets . . . and now you’re telling me that it’s too dangerous to pause and satisfy my curiosity.’

  Constantinus was annoyed by the girl’s indignant manner.

  ‘I find it strange that you’d risk your own life and the safety of my legionnaires so you can indulge yourself with a little shopping in the markets, Severa.’

  Severa continued to pout throughout the evening, but Constantinus stood firm and refused to discuss the matter. Eventually, he left the girl at the fire pit and disappeared, which plunged her into even greater gloom.

  Inexperienced and vulnerable, Severa was falling in love with the handsome young centurion. Constantinus, however, was more discreet. During his career as a legionnaire, he had known many women on the Roman frontiers, but his heart had never been engaged in his sexual escapades. Even his first wife, a girl from his own village who chose to follow the legions to be close to him, had scarcely stirred any deep feelings or regard. Try as he might, Constantinus could no longer remember her face. She had vanished into the river of time.

  Could he have fallen in love with Severa in three brief days? The Roman searched for an answer as he attempted to understand the sick nausea in his belly that came over him at the thought of her marriage to another man. He realised that he was attracted to this woman, who was an important political pawn from the heartland of Britannia where Roman and British cultures met, and part of his cold inner self realised that there could be advantages to his career if he formed a liaison with her. Yet he was also attracted to Severa’s childlike womanliness, her ignorance of the arts of romantic love and the lustre of her physical features. But he was honest enough to admit that any attraction towards her would begin to vanish from the moment he finally possessed her.

  ‘However, if her very presence is sufficient to raise my heartbeat, then my attraction towards her might add up to love of a sort,’ he whispered doubtfully into the breeze. ‘Perhaps the emotion I feel for this girl might truly be love, rather than lust.’

  For all his external coolness and rigidity, the centurion was capable of sudden flashes of generosity and sweetness. And so, just on full dark, he found Severa as she stared into the dying fire as if it held the deepest secrets of her future.

  ‘Mistress Severa!’

  She half rose, spun to face him, and then seated herself once more. She drew her robe neatly over her knees.

  ‘I realised you were disappointed by my decision to avoid the markets in Aquae Sulis and the many beautiful objects that are always on sale there. It’s unfortunate, but it would have been foolish of me to allow anyone in this column to make an unnecessary visit to the town. However, as you are my guest and my charge, I thought I might atone for my misdeeds by presenting you with a special gift that I have purchased as a gesture of my good will.’

  Constantinus held out a wrapped parcel of cloth. Unused to gifts from strangers, Severa flushed as she removed the string that held the wrapping cloth in place to expose a beautiful comb designed to hold back her hair.

  Severa stroked the ivory bauble, heavily carved with depictions of flowers and fruit. At the very centre of this comb, a sea-pearl was set amid the glorious carving.

  ‘This object is far too beautiful and too expensive to be given as a gift,’ Severa protested. ‘The pearl alone must have been costly. Considering my sulks and rudeness, I should have been punished for my sins rather than rewarded with this exquisit
e gift.’

  ‘A person of worth should own such a fine object,’ Constantinus replied. ‘Why should it be someone other than you? When I purchased the bauble, I had a fancy to see this particular comb set into the amber locks of your hair which is extremely rare in the land of Britannia. The shop-keeper was happy to reduce the price to suit my purse, especially when he learned who the recipient of the gift would be. At any road, I have little to spend my pay on, so I’d like you to indulge my fancy to see you wearing it. Unworn, and beautiful as it is, it has little value for a man.’

  Severa blushed, but she raised her arms and used the comb to hold her curling tresses away from her forehead. The creamy ivory and the gentle glow of the pearl glimmered there, just as he had imagined it.

  ‘I love it, Constantinus. Does it look well?’ she asked, as excited as a young child with a new toy.

  He nodded, trying to hide his own pleasure and surprise. The embarrassment he felt was compounded when Severa suddenly threw her arms around his neck, careless of the hard edges of his armour. For one brief moment, he stood rigidly in her embrace. But then, his demeanour seemed to change and his arms lifted of their own accord to hold her tightly for an instant, so she could feel the long, lean lines of his body. He rested his chin on her shoulder for just a heartbeat and she could smell the combination of wood smoke, the oil he used on his weapons, the scent of pine cones and his masculine sweat. Then, abruptly, the centurion pulled away from her, cleared his throat, apologised for overstepping his authority and turned on his heel to march back to his own fire pit and the remnants of stew that he had almost missed by making a short visit to the traders of Aquae Sulis.

  Severa watched him stalk away with regret. Yet, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, her nerves twitched and her heart sang with triumph. He must harbour some feeling for her.

  As she settled herself down to sleep under the watchful eyes of her serving-woman, Severa sought out some of the familiar stars in the growing river of white light that crossed the broad expanse of sky.

  ‘Is it true!’ she breathed aloud. ‘Can wanting and possession be the same thing, if we are determined to pursue those things in life that matter to us?’

  Severa had come to a decision regarding the man she wanted to wed. Whether this choice was sensible or not, she considered that the price paid for a loving marriage would be as nothing when compared to a loveless future.

  She was still too young to understand that the power of love can make the most sensible of women blind to the realities and cruelties of life.

  The fourth day of the trek resulted in greater difficulties, especially for the wagons that were forced to struggle up a long line of hills crossing the line of Constantinus’s intended march. The Roman engineers who had originally built this road had done their best, but the gradients of the hills were such that the column’s progress was slowed to a crawl. Severa and her woman were forced to walk up the steepest of the inclines in an attempt to spare the horses, but this allowed Severa to pluck wildflowers from the verges and seek out berries that grew wild beside the road. Cael cautioned her to beware of clusters of the lovely blueberries, citing the rural wisdom that poisons are regularly found in many blue-tinged growths.

  The woods were quiet and deep here, while the mounted troops and infantry had disappeared behind a rocky outcropping. Strangely, the men in the rearguard had lagged some distance behind and were still out of sight. Severa was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger when a strange whistling sound came out of nowhere and her maidservant grunted oddly and fell from the seat of the wagon. She seemed to have a long wooden stick sprouting from the side of her neck.

  As the woman’s body began to crumple, Cael shouted, ‘Run, mistress! Run to the centurion!’

  Still rooted to the spot, Severa heard the whistling sound again and another shaft appeared like magic from out of Cael’s side as he called out his warning to her. With imploring eyes, he fell across his seat like a stone, awakening her from her trance-like state. Then she ran like a startled rabbit.

  The woods had seemed empty at first, but she finally saw some movement across from her as a figure thudded down the hill in an attempt to cut her off before she could reach the forward column that had turned the corner ahead of her. She shrieked out the centurion’s name, to warn him as she ran.

  ‘Attack! Constantinus! We’re under attack!’

  The figure who was trying to intercept her was a faceless shape in the shadows of the trees as he leaped over obstacles in his attempt to catch up with her on the roadway, so she screamed again in terror as she heard the distinctive sound of loosened arrows behind her.

  She could now hear the sound of shouted orders and galloping hooves that drifted towards her from the direction of the rearguard, but all her strength was focused on outpacing the thug who was determined to catch her before she could round the corner and reach the safety of the forward element of the column. The attacker launched himself into space from a rocky outcrop on to the cobbled surface of the roadway in an attempt to cut her off, but Severa had spent her whole childhood running with Endellion’s children, and her strength was greater than that of most girls of her age and circumstances. She put on one last, desperate spurt of effort so that her pursuer could only grasp at a handful of her cloak. With a desperate shrug of her shoulders, she twisted out of her cloak, tearing away the pin in the process, but she did manage to catch a brief glance at the distorted face of her enemy before she eluded him once more.

  He’s wearing a knitted mask, she thought, as she forced her thigh muscles to make a final leap into open sunshine and found herself directly in the path of four galloping horsemen. She barely had time to throw herself bodily towards the forest verge as Constantinus and three gladius-wielding cavalrymen surged past her to capture the dark figure who was now trying to escape into the woods that climbed upwards from the roadway.

  ‘Get after the bastard! Don’t let him escape! Where the fuck are you, Paulus? There must be others in the woods, so get after them. Where’s the lady? Find her, or I’ll have your heads.’

  Horsemen scattered in several directions into the woods, their shields employed as several arrows rained down on them from isolated hiding spots among the trees. The man on foot was just ahead of the three cavalrymen with Constantinus, but he was using the trees and his remarkable agility to evade them.

  Meanwhile, Constantinus had ridden after the man on an angle designed to outflank the assassin. This strategy was risky, because he was trying to anticipate the direction that the failed killer would take. Unfortunately, the intruder tripped over a tree root and fell ignominiously to his knees. Inevitably, he was quickly surrounded.

  ‘Surrender and you might yet live. Fight, and we’ll cut you down like a dog,’ Constantinus warned.

  ‘You speak lies, Roman! You won’t let us live, so don’t bother with the blather.’

  ‘You’ll die more easily if you cause me no trouble. We know why you’ve attacked us, so we don’t need to torture you,’ Constantinus retorted evenly, gambling that the assassin would assume that they knew more than they actually did.

  ‘We learned about Conanus and the plot to capture Maximus’s daughter. Only a fool would hope to persevere and succeed with such a daft plot,’ he added.

  The assassin bared his teeth and sank into the defensive position used by all soldiers to repel an onslaught by armed men. This man was an experienced soldier and a competent warrior.

  ‘Take him alive unless you have no other choice,’ the centurion ordered the three cavalrymen who took up positions that could be used to probe at the assassin’s defences.

  Then, just when the capture of the intruder appeared to be certain, the characteristic whine of loosed arrows caused all four Romans to flinch. Three arrows struck the intruder in the chest in a neat pattern in the approximate position of his heart and he died on the leaf mould i
n the forest without uttering another sound.

  Try as they might, the Roman cavalry found no one else during a systematic search of the woods. The surviving assassins had vanished like smoke on the breeze.

  Severa’s maidservant was dead and the girl regretted the casual manner with which she had treated the quiet, motherly woman. She had even failed to learn her name. As for Cael, the arrow had penetrated deeply into his armpit to wedge itself into the muscle of his upper chest.

  ‘The arrow will have to be removed or he’ll die,’ Constantinus told her. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about medicine or healing, do you?’

  Severa shook her head. Her eyes registered her misery, for Cael had quickly become a favourite companion and any thought that he might suffer a slow and painful death made her feel sick with guilt.

  ‘Are there any towns close by where we can find someone to help him?’

  ‘One of the men who is familiar with this part of Britannia tells me that there’s a religious community in a nearby valley that might be able to help,’ Constantinus said. ‘This sanctuary is at a place called Glastonbury. The priests might have the skills to save him, but I’m afraid we’re a good day’s journey from there.’ The centurion looked genuinely regretful. ‘One further complication is that the pathway might well be rough once we get off the formed road.’

  ‘He could be laid out in the wagon, even if we leave the arrowhead still in his shoulder. I can drive the wagon. Please? I’d like to save him if we can.’

  Despite his own misgivings over the success of the journey and the probability that the wound would become poisoned, Constantinus was unable to resist her appeal. At the very least, the proposed detour would throw any pursuers off the scent.

  ‘Very well, Severa. We’ll try, but you won’t be driving the wagon. You lack the muscle to control a team of horses if we have to move at speed. No, I’ll put one of my own men into the driver’s seat. He’ll also be a useful protection if the assassins try to mount another attack. Hopefully, they’ll be expecting us to follow the Roman road. Damn it! I wish I had the time to track those bastards down.’