The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  Severa realised that five pairs of male eyes were riveted on her face with varying degrees of disapproval, so she flushed under their scrutiny. ‘Queen Endellion had her own opinions on the importance of pomp and ceremony,’ she added hastily. ‘But she could have been wrong.’

  Constantinus winced at her capitulation to the opinions of these men. He knew in his heart that his wife’s opinions were worth as much to him as those of his advisers but, to his personal chagrin, he failed to defend her because she was a woman who was speaking out of turn. Instead, he concentrated on smoothing over the awkwardness.

  ‘No, Severa! Queen Endellion wasn’t precisely wrong, but I agree with your opinion for the most part. Maximus chose this throne as a symbolic object and it shouts out to any person who looks at it that the man who sits upon its cushions is the ruler of all he surveys. However, the symbolism here is aimed at British tribesmen, rather than outsiders like his Roman allies. He knew such imagery would cut no ice with the pragmatic rulers who were experienced in the ways of the City of the Seven Hills, for we Romans are not easily impressed.’

  The Romans schooled their faces to look complacently at nothing in particular, while Severa seethed at her husband’s suggestion that Britons were superstitious and easily fooled. Perhaps, in the privacy of her rooms, she might be able to speak her mind.

  Constantinus decided to carry out an inspection of the remainder of the palace. The baths, cold and unused for many years, promised sybaritic delights for those with Roman standards of cleanliness, while the apartments proved to be snug and warm with well-fitted shutters to keep out the weather. Even the quarters allotted to the guards and servants seemed to be larger and more congenial than usual.

  He soon found he was looking forward to life in Venta Belgarum so, once he had viewed the royal apartments, he immediately made plans to levy the kings for the warriors who would form the nucleus of a future army. As he calculated his future requirement for men and supplies, he gloried in the fact that he would be living better than Tribune Maximo in the cold north of Britannia. For her part, Severa was captivated by the courtyards where the sun warmed the stone-clad floors and large pots of flowers, herbs and vegetables rendered the air sweet and clean. The haphazardly built structure seemed to incorporate Roman practicality with British love of luxury.

  I can bear my child here in perfect safety, she thought immediately, as her hand strayed to her belly, which was still empty of anything but promise.

  The rooms had been quickly furnished and decorated, while the courtyards were soon heavy with the smell of full-blown roses. Now, Severa was lying on her couch of pain and waited for the birthing stool to be needed.

  The months had flown by as her husband learned the basic requirements of kingship. Constantinus and Severa had been crowned in the city’s church and Severa had been surprised at the weight of the crown that had been set upon her head. River pearls and carnelian added colour and lustre to the diadem of gold that encircled her forehead and she still wore it on those days that celebrated the festivals of Britannia and Rome.

  As the offspring of a tribal ruler, she wore her crown with pride, for she understood that only the circumstances of her birth entitled her to any symbols of rank, and a wife was usually without importance in the world of men. But this young woman, Elen’s daughter and Maximus’s girl-child, was of value. As her foster-mother had trained her, she sallied into the town with simples for the sick, bread for the poor and help for the needy until the time came when her growing belly confined her to her courtyards. Her days had been full in ways that she had never imagined during her immature youth and, although a small voice told her that Constantinus had less love for her than her own depth of passion for him, she still blessed the day that she had first seen him.

  Then, when her labour pains were fierce and endless and the child came from her body in a welter of blood and water, she had suddenly become fearful. Darkness had come and the sun had fled, so she prayed to the Virgin that her child should belong to the light.

  ‘You’ve carried a boy, mistress,’ Dilic cried joyfully. ‘He’s a fair beauty, with the strength and size of his father.’

  Endellion held the child up and Severa felt her fears begin to fade. The child was full-term and his features were golden, from his cap of thin hair to the rosy tinge of his skin. She looked deeply into his infant face and saw that his eyes were a hazel-green shade that was quite different to her own.

  ‘My babe will be his own self,’ Severa murmured. ‘He’s a true child of the light.’

  ‘I agree! You’ve done very well, my girl,’ Queen Endellion added joyfully. ‘Your father would have been pleased. Another fine young lad! And you’ll be well and healthy too, so take the small babe in your arms. My, but he’s nuzzling for your breast already.’

  As the child attempted to suck at the proffered sustenance, her indifference was swept away in a great tide of love.

  With a sudden pang, she realised she would probably die for this mindless, blind creature who would now hold her in thrall until one of them perished.

  CHAPTER XV

  A Saxon Summer

  To what do you not drive human hearts, cursed craving for gold.

  Virgil, Aeneid, Book 3

  During the first two years of Constantinus’s marriage, sweeping changes were introduced to the household of the High King, but not all those new manifestations of love, family life and rule were good ones.

  The late-summer wind tore at the leaves from the queen’s favourite hazel tree and sent them swirling through the warm courtyard in scarlet spirals. Severa lazed in her sun-drenched garden and dreamed of happier times as one babe nuzzled at her breast and the other child played with dandelions on the cushion that lay at her feet. God had blessed her, because both of her close pregnancies had resulted in healthy sons. Meanwhile, at her wooden workbench, the enterprising Dilic worked on her distaff while the other servants hovered nearby to offer sweetened juices and tiny delicacies.

  Dilic enjoyed the queen’s confidence and friendship, so she was always well treated and deferred to within the royal household. Quick-witted as always, the girl from Tintagel had made herself indispensable through her ready tongue, her cheeky and irreverent viewpoints and her absolute loyalty to Severa and the queen’s brood. Had Constantinus been at home, he would not have been pleased to see that Dilic was playing the part of a woman of substance, rather than the kitchenmaid she had been until recent years. But Constantinus was mounting a campaign along Britannia’s east coast where infiltrating Saxons and other barbarians were casting avaricious eyes on the affluence of the local population.

  More than a year had passed since the birth of Ambrosius, Severa’s first son. The little boy was pale-skinned and beautiful, and possessed a focused concentration that was quite unexpected in such a young child. In the tranquillity of the garden, the little boy stared fixedly at the puff-ball of a dandelion, while occasionally twisting its stem so that the tiny, whiskery seeds floated away on gentle currents of air.

  By contrast, the baby at the queen’s breast was far from contemplative.

  Severa’s arms were fully occupied with the squirming infant who suckled so fiercely on his mother’s breasts that he often drew blood. His red gums had been broken by four milk-teeth at birth, and to make matters worse, the babe’s size was such that his birth had drained Severa’s dwindling store of strength, so that she was struggling to regain her good health.

  Yet without her husband’s presence in Venta Belgarum at the birthing, the bond between mother and son became stronger than she would have expected. The new-born child, Uther, was her babe rather than the offspring of Constantinus, because the king had yet to acknowledge the child. Not that there was any doubt of his parentage. But Severa used little Uther to ease the emptiness in her heart caused by her husband’s absence.

  She looked across at Ambrosius, the
golden child, who was the source of Constantinus’s pride. While her first-born was a lovely boy, the wild and ever-hungry Uther was the son who needed her most. Constantinus had his Constans and, to a lesser extent, Ambrosius, but Uther was hers.

  As Severa recovered from her ordeal during the weeks and months that followed the birthing, she took every opportunity to doze in the sunshine and gaze at the little demon, as she called him. But such reflections were moot, for her husband had left her and her sons behind, along with Constans, his own offspring.

  To compound Severa’s misery, Constantinus had departed eagerly, as if he was running full-tilt towards an unknown lover. Some months earlier Constantinus had been called away to douse the flames of a relatively minor incursion into British lands by an itinerant band of Saxons, for such was the wording of the request for assistance made by the kings of the Regni and Cantii tribes. Strangely, she had given no thought to the possibility that her husband might be killed at the hands of this band of heathens who had travelled in their ceols to threaten Londinium itself. She still had no inkling when her husband would return from this campaign that had taken far longer than could have been anticipated.

  Severa’s pregnancy had been well advanced by the time that rumours filtered throughout Britannia that a force of barbarians had sailed up the Tamesis River and were erecting an encampment near the fringes of Londinium. These raiders had met no resistance, because the Roman garrison had been deserted for many years. This omission ensured the vast naval port, its dusty workshops and the stone fortress remained unmanned and silent. But, like all great cities, Londinium and her multi-racial citizens had continued to trade as they had done during the centuries of Roman occupation, for the great water cisterns remained undamaged, the public hypocausts still gave an illusion of Roman civilisation, and British trade with the continent continued to thrive. The legions had departed, but Rome was still in power.

  Uncontested, this band of Saxon raiders spent the next few weeks plundering whatever valuables and supplies they could pillage from the small communities that had flourished around Londinium.

  Now, in the wake of the slow Roman withdrawal from the remote areas of the province, the High King of the Britons was all that stood against the barbarian hordes who threatened Britannia during the spring. The barbarian raiders from the north had laid waste to the British coastline since the days of Maximus but, in recent years, they had demonstrated an ability to mount attacks from the north, south, east and west. Striking with lightning speed, they gathered their spoils, manacled their captives as slaves and then retreated to their temporary palisades.

  But Londinium had always seemed so well defended by Roman-trained troops that this important trading hub was considered to be safe from seasonal raiders.

  These bands of Saxons came because they could smell the rich pickings that could be culled from vigorous trade. The raiders became overconfident when there were no attempts to root them out of their encampment, so they elected to stay longer and extend their raids into the rich Cantii lands to the south of Londinium. Later, with winter storms making the sea crossings hazardous, they decided to rendezvous with their ceols in the safe anchorages to the south of the island.

  Uncontested, the Saxons spent the next few weeks filling their ceols with plunder so that the vessels could return to their homelands with the spoils of their violence. The earth of the Cantii lands ran red with British blood.

  The Regni king had been the first to bleat that his lands were under threat and his profits were imperilled by this nest of barbarians who were so assured of their military superiority that they had built timber fortifications along the Tamesis River.

  Once he was aware of the problem and chafing after two years of inactivity, Constantinus was eager to smash some Saxon heads. But first, he must convince his wife that he would be obliged to remove himself from her presence for the duration of a military campaign. Perhaps, if he could defeat these barbarians, he might even be able to cast off his dependence on his wife and her sage advice. It might be easier said than done, for, while Severa was only a woman, she had been the device by which he gained Britannia’s throne. Besides, he still hungered for her body.

  To reign unfettered! To watch the Britons bow to their master out of legitimate respect, and not because he had married so very well! These thoughts chased through the tunnels of Constantinus’s brain.

  Like all sensible husbands, he waited until his wife was happy and comfortable. He held his tongue until they had completed a pleasant evening meal and the babe, Ambrosius, had been taken to his sleeping pallet by Dilic.

  ‘Word has come to the court that Londinium is under attack from a force of northern barbarians. I’m obliged to take a column of my warriors and root out these fools before they can cause more ructions in Britannia by disturbing the sleep of my Cantii and Regni friends. They’ve beached their ceols at Tanatus Island and I’m told they are already sailing to and from Friesia and Saxony with the wealth they’ve stolen from the British people.’ Constantinus’s words sounded casual as he nibbled on a concoction of sweet honey and pastry, but he kept his eyes lowered so his wife was unable to read his thoughts. The bluntness of his statement was a stupid error, he realised, as soon as she began to digest his words.

  Severa sat up a little straighter, a difficult proposition given the size of her belly. Constantinus could see that her eyes were shining with either tears or anger, but he was unable to judge which.

  ‘Is this situation so grave that you must leave me when I’m so close to my time?’ she asked evenly. Any sensible man should have been warned by her flat, unemotional voice.

  ‘Londinium is a ripe peach that is ready for plucking, Severa. These Saxons are being overbold if they are prepared to hold my greatest city to ransom while I’m only a few days’ ride away. They’ve obviously compared me to the Cantii king and found me negligible, a man who is unable to protect what is mine.’

  ‘Yours?’

  That single word fell into the silence like a stone cast into a pool of water, spreading ripples of possibility.

  Constantinus felt a traitorous blush rise up his neck. Damn! His eyes hardened, although he tried belatedly to adopt an expression of surprised hurt.

  Severa was unapologetic. ‘I believe you mean our city, husband.’ Her biting sarcasm showed her weariness and impatience with the world of men. ‘I doubt that these raiders think of you at all. All they really care about are the rich pickings to be had from the villages outside the city itself and the wealth of those travellers who are making their way into Londinium. I suppose they must care for their families across the sea, but I doubt they consider the welfare of the citizens of Britannia for a moment.’

  Constantinus swallowed a biting retort. He knew she was weary after two years of almost-continual pregnancy and his own lack of intimacy with her, as they struggled to learn the new roles that had come with the throne. But Severa was a woman, for fuck’s sake! She had no business doubting or undermining her husband and king.

  ‘You insult me, Severa, but I’ll put your slurs down to weariness and the weight of your child. Though I’d prefer to be with you at the next birth, I have a duty to my fellow kings. I have sworn to defend Britannia, so I must travel to Londinium and remove these barbarians from our lands. I’ve already issued instructions to Paulus and my officers that they must be prepared to depart by first light tomorrow morning. Venta Belgarum will remain peaceful during our absence, but I’ve issued orders that a detachment of warriors will remain here to ensure your safety and the security of our town. I intend to return before our child is born, but I can’t promise that my mission will be completed before the birthing.’

  Constantinus threw off all pretence of consulting his queen before he left Venta Belgarum on this campaign. He was finding her to be increasingly bothersome and argumentative.

  Severa knew that Constantinus was eager to esca
pe from her presence for a short period of time. She told herself that he would return to her with renewed love and gratitude, if she withdrew her objections to his departure. Her foster-mother would have told her that she was being a gullible and sentimental fool.

  As Constantinus rode away towards Londinium, he was accompanied by his Roman advisers, a mixed force of fifty personally trained cataphractii, Maximus’s beloved heavy cavalry, eighty light cavalry provided by Cadal and Aeron, plus sixty foot soldiers trained by Paulus. Vortigern was the sole representative of the British tribal kings. When couriers had been sent to the kings of the various tribes in south-eastern Britannia, as well as representatives from several settlements close to Londinium, the only positive responses had come from the Regni, Cantii and Durotriges rulers who agreed to provide some light cavalry and supplies to assist Constantinus’s campaign when he passed through their lands. And so, with a small force of some two hundred and fifty men, Constantinus was forced to be content, for this number would be swelled by an unknown number of native levies.

  The hour was still early and the sun had only begun to stain the sky with the approach of first light, although the horizon was clear of cloud and the last of the night stars were still visible. Torches flared and illuminated the mounted cavalry and foot soldiers, all eager to be gone before full sunrise.

  Severa had kissed her husband in front of his troops to demonstrate her love for him, but Constantinus’s tightly closed lips had been as cold as the grave. Somewhere, a thought had come unbidden to Severa that, sooner or later, Constantinus would ride away and she would never see her maddening, beautiful and fate-chosen man again.

  Severa watched the lines of troops pass through the gates with a painful sense of loss.

  Above the gates, she recognised the contemplative form of Constans, who was watching the departing warriors from a high vantage point on the parapet used by soldiers to guard the King’s Hall. Constans had come to his father’s town after the birth of Ambrosius and Severa had been nervous about meeting this immature boy.