The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  ‘You insult me, Roman!’ Cadal snapped.

  ‘I might well ask what your conclusions say about my character,’ the centurion retorted. ‘You would rather that this girl should be dead, as long as she was chaperoned to the grave.’

  ‘We Britons understand the lusts that live in the hearts of males,’ the king replied hotly, as two spots of colour began to stain his high cheekbones.

  ‘Cledwyn was bound, hand and foot, whenever he was in Severa’s presence, so you can acquit him of taking advantage of her. Similarly, Drusus and I were always in each other’s company throughout the time we were making good our escape from Conanus’s minions. Finally, I hold no doubts that Severa’s chaperone would have preferred to live, rather than being a victim of rape and murder at the hands of Conanus’s warriors. Your social superstitions are nonsense, Highness, although I accept that you are entitled to hold concerns for the honour and reputation of Lady Severa.’

  Cadal was unsure if he should strike this infuriating Roman down for daring to respond with such arrogance, or whether he should be swayed by the good common sense of the centurion’s argument. Unfortunately, gossip had already swept through the south with Lady Severa the butt of this ugly, irresponsible chatter. Cadal was convinced that the girl’s reputation had been compromised, whether the Roman accepted the challenge or not.

  ‘The simple truth is that your attendance on Lady Severa is the source of any shame that will attach itself to her reputation. I know you didn’t take advantage of her vulnerable position, but rumour-mongers will always prefer to believe the worst about their peers and their betters.’

  Cadal paused and tried to recapture his earlier control of the conversation.

  ‘The long and the short of the situation, my friend, is that I’m now of the opinion that you must marry the girl. Such a course of action will provide the rulers of the British tribes with a workable solution to a number of problems that are already troubling Britannia. I’ve discussed this matter with Cadoc, my brother, and we have agreed that a suitable ceremony between yourself and the Lady Severa would deflect any criticism from the British kings and the citizens of our lands.’

  Constantinus had half expected such a practical solution would be proposed and, in all truth, he had been hoping for it.

  What his Roman superiors would say about an unsanctioned marriage was a matter of conjecture. Many of Cadal’s peers would consider a Roman centurion to be a fit husband, for their expectations of a ruler were more simplistic, or more honest, than the Roman hierarchical rules where social status was based on class and gens. Constantinus knew he would never be an acceptable husband to the Roman patrician class, but it had become evident in recent years that Britannia was losing its importance within the complex and constricting policies of Rome.

  But the Council of Kings was a different matter.

  A quick marriage to Constantinus would solve the political problems associated with Severa’s long-term future. The Roman was also the answer to Endellion’s plans for her girl, so he was less angry and antagonistic than he would normally have been if his honour had been questioned so openly. In fact, a secret part of his soul was dancing with glee, for he realised that the unsettling prophecy made by the Wilde Man of the Woods had finally come true. Still, personal probity demanded that he must make some kind of protest, even if only a token one.

  ‘What if I don’t want to be sacrificed on the altar of your British sensibilities? How could you possibly force me to wed this accursed girl, if I were to decide otherwise?’

  Cadal had anticipated such a response.

  ‘We can offer inducements that would encourage you to accept certain political realities if you agreed to wed her. Even a Roman cannot turn his nose up at the prospect of assuming the throne of the High King of the Britons if the opportunity should arise. Anyone who marries Severa will have his backside resting on the cushions of the throne of Britannia and that reward is no small thing. The palace at Venta Belgarum awaits such a man. I have no doubt that the British kings can be persuaded to accept your claim, especially as you are a Roman of exceptional talent who can be expected to protect our lands from foreign invaders.’

  Cadal paused to give himself an opportunity to compound his argument.

  ‘Beyond that, I can see no impediment to your success if you decided to carve out a kingdom of your own dimensions. After all, Conanus tried to steal the girl to achieve the same treasure that I’m presenting to you on a platter.’

  ‘And how will you persuade my masters in Rome? I know that my superiors in Britannia won’t cheerfully see a landless man of the legions given anything beyond his ordained station in life. Marcus Britannicus might have been a fool and a voluptuary, but his family was ancient and very wealthy, so marriage between him and Severa was more than acceptable to the Roman hierarchy.’

  Cadal bit nervously on his thumb, a habit also practised by Queen Endellion. It must be a family trait, the Roman thought irrelevantly. He knew that the Briton had caught a glimpse of his compromised heart and had seen the ambition clearly written in his eyes.

  ‘I’ve noticed that Roman rulers are pragmatic men and, at bottom, they don’t give a shite what we barbarians do. We are as nothing to them and they don’t really care if the Scotti, the Hibernians or the Saxons invade us, as long as nothing is taken that belongs to Rome or the Romans. They’ll see you as a useful adjunct to their power in the province, and a means of keeping the tribes under their collective thumb.’

  The centurion raised one black eyebrow. Cadal was nobody’s fool.

  ‘True enough, but my masters will say that Severa should be wed to one of their own, and they will insist on one who is better connected than I am. Her compromised reputation, as you put it, might earn her some scorn and bad treatment from some candidates, but I can assure you that someone who is more suitable to the northern commanders will insist on making an offer for her hand, regardless of whether the girl’s reputation is in tatters.’

  ‘The Romans can want what they like, but Severa is one of Britannia’s treasures. I have no intention of throwing her to the pigs! Queen Elen perished at the hands of her Roman husband, Magnus Maximus, and her blood still stains the Roman presence in Britannia. I’ll not add to that guilt, so it will be you who weds her. Besides, any fool can recognise that Severa cares for you above all other men.’

  To his credit, the centurion flushed hotly at the Briton’s blunt argument.

  For the next hour, Constantinus considered every conceivable problem that could confront this marriage, while Cadal knocked every obstacle down. The Roman had the sense to understand that he mustn’t capitulate too quickly in case Cadal became suspicious of his true motivations.

  Constantinus had often hated his tendency to blush hotly when he was embarrassed. On this occasion, his flushes of guilt were read by Cadal as affection for Severa of a lasting nature when, in truth, Constantinus had never known lasting love. He knew that he would survive and carry on with life if she were to be whisked away. At heart, he was a soldier; he knew that softness could be equated with weakness, and this flaw could easily be mastered.

  ‘Very well, Highness! I know that I would be very foolish to reject a throne if I had the chance to achieve such an honour, but I don’t want Severa to suffer a moment of shame because of my actions. I’ll marry her, and do it gladly. I insist that she must be agreeable, for she’s the one who has already been robbed of a suitable husband. If she agrees to the marriage, and if she is willing to be a mother to Constans, my young son, then you may draw up your articles of betrothal and I’ll agree to whatever terms you should ask of me.’

  He gave Cadal his hand to seal their bargain.

  ‘You’ll have to explain our decision to Queen Endellion, Highness. She’ll want to crush both of us when she learns what has been done to her darling.’

  Cadal allowed himself a brief
, ironic smile.

  ‘Leave my sister to me, my friend. You’ll need to court your betrothed with pretty words and all the courtesies you can remember. She’ll want all of the fine phrases and the oaths of eternal love that you can offer, because she knows her marriage will always be a matter of politics. Give her what her heart pines for, and I’ll not complain. I can hope she’ll forgive us both when she holds her first child in her arms.’

  She will, Constantinus thought. She’ll forgive me anything by then. For better or for worse, my fate has been decided.

  Be careful whom you wed! The words rang through his head in time with a loose shutter that was thudding against the stone wall in the grip of the howling wind. Even after Cadal locked it in place, the sound continued to echo inside the Roman’s head.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Beginnings

  There’s a snake hidden in the grass.

  Virgil, Eclogues, No 3

  Severa’s body arched in pain as the contractions rippled through the muscles of her abdomen like rolling thunder in a violent storm. She had been in labour for over ten hours and she was weary.

  Endellion fluttered around the birthing room with her usual grace, issuing orders to serving women and the midwife, while finding little luxuries to tempt Severa’s appetite or add to her comfort.

  ‘If you want to cry out, to curse your husband with the worst words you know, or rail against God for making you a woman, then be my guest and do it.’

  Severa swore in all the colourful expletives of the legion, a tirade that raised Endellion’s eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘You appear to have learned some very colourful phrases that are anatomically impossible, my dear,’ Endellion replied cheerfully, before repeating the curses in a studious voice so that she could use them at some time in the future when Aeron would undoubtedly upset her.

  ‘Anyway, my girl, you were the one who chose to marry and bear children. You could have entered a nunnery if you chose, and you would have spent the rest of your life on your knees as you prayed with the merciful sisters. It’s unlikely you would ever fall pregnant while you are doing God’s work.’

  Severa grinned wanly as the contractions began to ease.

  ‘Don’t tempt me, Mother. After this duty is done, a nunnery would seem like pure joy.’

  ‘You’ll change your mind once the birthing is over and the babe is safely in your arms,’ Endellion answered carelessly, as she fluffed a pillow to place under Severa’s head.

  ‘No, I won’t!’ Severa panted. But Endellion only smiled indulgently.

  Severa’s wedding had been small, but the Roman Church had joined these two together with all the pomp of a Christian celebration. Severa had been surprised to discover that Constantinus was a devout Christian, because he had never revealed his faith to her prior to the ceremony. Then again, how much did she really know about her husband? In her crown of flowers and red dress, carrying a sheaf of wheat for fecundity, Severa had looked well, she knew, for Constantinus had stared at her with the approval associated with ownership. But what did a day’s approval matter in a lifetime of dissatisfaction?

  Severa stared at the heavy golden ring that rested so snugly on her right thumb. In the hours of congratulation after the brief vows were made, Constantinus had stolen a moment to give her the plain, undecorated circlet that a Tintagel artisan had made from the plaited golden rings taken from Conanus’s minions. Severa smiled at the memory of her husband’s thoughtful gift as they accepted congratulations from the limited number of guests who had been assembled in Corinium at such short notice. Yes, she loved Constantinus then, but his closed face and secretive habits sometimes rendered him a mystery to her and made him a source of constant anxiety.

  Severa felt the beginnings of another contraction building in her body and groaned at the prospect of enduring further pain. Motherhood had better be remarkable if it was to compensate her for the indignities and suffering of labour, the new queen thought defiantly.

  ‘Where is my idle husband?’ Severa managed to ask.

  ‘He’ll be with the other men, who’ll be drinking and congratulating themselves as if they invented the gift of procreation. If you bear your husband a son, he’ll be transformed into the most manly and powerful of all the warriors in this land. At least in his eyes! But if your child is female, such an accident of birth will be your fault entirely.’

  Severa recognised the sardonic humour in Endellion’s face, coupled with a dry wit that understood the flaws in the natures of all males. Yes, her expression seemed to say, the men we love are foolish and boastful creatures, but they are our fools and we’ll always honour them, despite their ignorance.

  ‘How much longer before the child is born?’ Severa panted as her body began to spasm again.

  ‘You’ve barely started, girl,’ Endellion told her. ‘Be grateful that you’re healthy, because you still have a few more hours of contractions ahead of you.’

  After Endellion had given her a soothing back massage, Severa leaned back against her foster-mother’s body.

  ‘I pray my babe will be a girl, Mother. My father died in war and my uncle perished to win a crown with the point of a sword. Men beyond counting have picked up spears and bows and swords, and they have all perished because of the violence that was ingrained in their blood. Better my child should be voiceless in a society of men and powerless, as all women are, but still remain free from the contamination of male violence. How could any mother live if her son should go off to war, only to perish on foreign soil?’

  ‘Aye! It’s true, petal! No mother should live longer than her children. But we know that God isn’t always kind to us, so some children die before their parents go into the darkness. I’ve borne five living children, but two others died within the first week of life and my sweet Fionnuala died when she was barely three years old. And, yes, I’m aware that my boys might grow, merely to perish in a battle that will be of no importance to me. Such is the way of the world in which we live.’

  ‘Then the world is unfair!’ Severa protested.

  ‘Would you rather your boy was a eunuch – or a nothing – someone who fears to raise a weapon to save you and yours? Would you have him fearful of all enemies who try to steal your lands? I’m certain that you’ll learn to love and cherish whatever child God bestows on you.’

  Then, before Severa had a chance to add to the discussion, the next contractions began.

  Constantinus had chosen to take his bride to Venta Belgarum, where Magnus Maximus’s palace had remained, empty, wasting and cursed, for nearly two decades. But, before he departed from the pleasant surroundings of Corinium, he was forced to endure the disapproval of his superiors, who had appeared in a cavalcade after his nuptials had been concluded.

  At the head of the cavalcade, one of Rome’s aristocratic generals was riding in solitary splendour. The kinfolk of Tribune Maximo had served Roman interests as consuls and governors for many centuries. Having served with distinction, Maximo was offended that a nonentity from the ranks would outrank him when the pretender was accepted on the throne where Flavius Magnus Maximus had once enforced his rule.

  ‘This whole marriage is preposterous,’ the tribune stated without preamble, as soon as he was presented to Constantinus. ‘Surely you accept that you are wholly unfit to become the High King of these fractious lands?’

  ‘I had no intention of marrying Princess Severa, sir, until fairly recent times. I was ordered to accompany Marcus Britannicus as his adjutant, but Britannicus initiated this sorry mess of unhappy events when he chose to frequent a house of ill repute that was peopled by the lowliest and cheapest of whores. His actions precipitated a plot that caused his own death and those of the legionnaires who accompanied him. My sympathies lie wholly with those men who died to protect him. Britannicus placed the daughter of Flavius Magnus Maximus in danger and, as the situ
ation developed, I was left with no choice other than to follow the instructions of King Aeron of the Dobunni tribe. I had no way of obtaining further orders from you at short notice, so I was almost forced to dance to Conanus’s tune. Then, as now, I had to exercise my own initiative to make sure that Severa didn’t fall into the hands of the usurper. One of the first questions I must ask of you is why this man, Conanus, hadn’t come to the attention of the senior officers within the province’s high command? The usurper’s presence in Britannia without your knowledge, and without being recognised as a threat, is a blot on Roman security – and your leadership! If he had succeeded with his treachery, his lands would have been extended further into Gallia and he could have threatened Rome itself.’

  The general cleared his throat noisily to cover his acute embarrassment. Constantinus had heard a rumour that Marcus Britannicus hadn’t been a universal choice as Severa’s betrothed when the decision was made by the Roman command. The centurion had also been told that the tribune had received a number of complaints about Shit-head’s morals, arrogance and lack of manners. Further, the presence of Conanus in Britannia had caught Rome’s senior officers by surprise. Few of them had ever heard of the Ordovice prince, but those who were aware of him assessed Conanus as a British tribal leader who had settled in Gallia and gone to seed in that distant land. Few of the tribune’s advisers would have considered Conanus a danger to Rome’s governance of Britannia. Now, those same noble officers wanted the whole mess to go away before rumours were relayed to the emperor in Rome, especially as Magnus Maximus was still viewed as an evil influence whose reputation hadn’t diminished with the passing of the years.

  ‘You should have refused to wed the damned girl. You must have known how inappropriate this marriage is to the interests of Rome. You’re not of noble birth, so your experience as a fighting man can only be that of a minor commander. You’re incapable of carrying out the duties of a high king.’