by M. K. Hume
‘But Corinium is so close to Venta Belgarum. Anyone who wanted to harm your boys would surely find them quickly if you sent them to Queen Endellion. Any competent assassin would expect the boys to be sent to your foster-mother’s palace.’
Severa nodded. Good! Dilic’s peasant common sense was beginning to assert itself.
‘My foster-mother, Queen Endellion, has already made arrangements to spirit my boys to a place of safety in Gallia. If that grey day should dawn, I must ask you to accompany them to their final place of refuge. I’ll be entrusting you with the most precious of all my possessions, so you mustn’t let them forget me if the worst should happen.’
‘I’ll do anything you ask of me, mistress, but I’ll be hoping that none of these terrible things ever happen. Perhaps we might still remain comfortably in Venta Belgarum for the remainder of our days.’
‘Perhaps you’re right, Dilic. But I don’t believe in luck, so I’ll base my plans on the worst acts of treason that can beset us.’
Then Severa hugged her boys so hard that Uther began to wail indignantly. But Ambrosius remained silent, his eyes wide, so Dilic took him from Severa’s grasp and smothered his face with kisses.
But Ambrosius’s eyes never left his mother’s face.
Before the week was done, Constans and Vortigern were ready to leave with a hand-picked guard of freshly trained young men. Constans was beside himself with excitement, so he was unable to partake of the special repast provided by Severa on the morning of their departure.
‘Indeed, Constans, I am hurt! I had supposed that you were happy with us, after all of the time you have spent in our household,’ Severa teased. ‘You must be eager to leave me, if you’re prepared to forego food to escape from my presence.’
The young man’s face reddened and his stammered disclaimers caused Severa to kiss him soundly on the cheek.
‘I’ve been playing a May Game with you, Constans, and I’m just teasing you,’ she explained. Constans responded with a wide grin.
Vortigern also grinned but his smile was vulpine as his eyes examined every inch of Severa’s form, as if he was trying to memorise the lines of her body.
‘I’ll miss your presence too, Lord Vortigern,’ she assured the Demetae king. ‘My boys have enjoyed your company and they’ll be heart-broken when they realise you’ve gone.’
If Vortigern suspected that Severa was attempting to convince him that her sons were an asset, rather than a liability, he made no sign of his thoughts. But his smile was wider than usual.
‘You’re too kind, Queen Severa. I hope that you’d want to see both of us again. For myself, I expect to remain hale and hearty until the day I return!’
‘Of course, Lord Vortigern. We have come to know and understand each other very well during the year of your regency. I must admit that I shall miss your common sense and good judgement in the Hall, when I must once again dole out justice in the place of young Constans.’
How easily I have learned to lie since I married. Did I always prevaricate so readily when I was a girl?
Vortigern extended a forefinger and ran it down the length of Severa’s face. Somehow, she was able to control the overpowering desire to recoil from his importunate familiarity. With a great effort, she dredged up a natural smile. Vortigern must not suspect her discomfort nor, worse, recognise her utter contempt for him.
‘I shall return, Severa. That’s a promise, and the Demetae kings always honour their oaths.’
Then Constans gave his stepmother a huge hug, so Vortigern backed away and mounted his horse. His bright eyes never left Severa’s face as she went through the motions of making her farewells to her stepson in a vague state that seemed to turn her brain to fluff.
‘Don’t forget to give my scroll to your father,’ she reminded Constans, who showed her the slim scroll-case stuffed inside his tunic. ‘Take care, Constans! Trust no one and nothing, other than those things that you know to be true.’
Constans gently prised her hands away from his neck which she was gripping so hard that her knuckles showed white.
‘I promise, Mother Severa. You’ll see! I’ll be back before the year is out with a beautiful young wife for you to train in the intricacies of running a household. Kiss the boys for me.’
And then he was gone.
Their departure was so quick that the roadway seemed to swallow the small troop whole. Severa prayed that God would be kind to this fine young man and that she would see him again in this life. But, even to her ears, this wish sounded hollow.
CHAPTER XXII
A Mother’s Curse
Caesar had rather be first in a village than second in Rome.
Julius Caesar, taken from The Advancement of Learning, Francis Bacon
In Arelate, the bulk of Constantine’s force was ready to move when spring came tardily on a wave of flowers and bees. Scarlet poppies and swathes of yellow and white daffodils clustered beside the roadways and around the ploughed furrows that held the first green shoots of grain crops. Where trees grew, they sprouted new leaves and fragrant blossoms.
But Constantine took little pleasure in such beauty. His thoughts turned inward, for he was searching for some means of cementing his first year in Gallia, so that Honorius could no longer continue to ignore him.
His son, in company with Vortigern, had made the crossing to Gesoriacum with relative ease. They had ridden hard and fast to cross Gallia and reach Constantine’s side, arriving in Arelate long before they were expected. The High King nodded in satisfaction. His boy seemed to be inches taller and wider in the shoulders than Constantine remembered, so he felt a sense of proprietorial pride.
As for the scroll that young Constans had carried for Severa, Constantine was far from satisfied. Within its careful wording, the king realised that his wife was very unhappy.
From the hand of Severa, Wife of Constantine,
To her husband, High King of the Britons.
Greetings.
I hope you are well, Husband, and you have succeeded in your ambition to claim the throne of Rome. I remain well and your two younger sons continue to grow quickly. Ambrosius will soon be four years and is a little prince in all ways.
Since you have chosen to leave me ignorant of the victories you have won, I suffer terrors for your safety. I was pleased to learn of your successes from Constans, who is a dear boy and one who is likely to make an excellent king, but I yearn to receive a missive from your own hand.
Vortigern has laboured hard to rebuild the guard and train an army to protect our island, but sometimes his hand falls too heavily on your subjects and they grumble under his rule. I regret to say that they will be happy he has journeyed to Gallia with Constans.
I realise that affairs of state must preoccupy you, especially as you now hold all the lands of the Franks in your hands, but Britannia made you a king. I would caution you that if the Saxons should return, there will be no one to stop them. You may return to a land that is aflame from end to end and no throne left to claim.
I ask that you send word of your plans to me so I will no longer suffer in ignorance. Your sons hunger for your return, as do I.
Severa,
Written at Venta Belgarum.
‘Lying bitch!’ Constantine whispered as he threw down the scroll after the fourth reading. ‘You’ve always been a woman with strong opinions, so I know full well what’s passing through your mind. You think that I don’t intend to return to Britannia.’
Constantine had no intention of returning to Britannia, either now or in the future, so Severa’s fears had hit a raw nerve. But the accuracy of her words only served to make him even more resentful.
A month can change the world, Constantine thought morosely, as he replaced the scroll in its case and threw it into a chest in the corner of his tent where it would be hidden from
prying eyes.
Constans and his small party had arrived with full panoply. The eyes of the young prince had been full of stars and, before he had the time to consider his situation, he found himself married off to the daughter of one of the Frankish kinglets. When Constantine was impelled to undertake a task, the speed of his actions was dazzling and, within two weeks, Constans had been sent off to the court of the Frank king where he would take care of business for his father. He had left his new wife behind.
‘I hope the boy has enjoyed his beautiful young spouse during their short marriage because there don’t seem to be many enduring pleasures in the place where he’ll be living for the next few months,’ Constantine said aloud, and laughed.
The girl in question was a pale-faced child of thirteen, who looked like a doll in her stiff robes. She had looked terrified as the Bishop of Arelate had hand-fasted her to this strange young man with the kind eyes.
Constantine laughed again. The boy would discover quickly that females, regardless of age, tried to exert power over their menfolk. Let the boy beware!
In all respects, Constantine had little to complain about in the north, for one of his legions was guarding the frontier while, with the assistance of barbarian mercenaries in Germania, his allies conspired to keep the other tribes at bay. Honorius was preoccupied with attacks from a Vandal army that was rampaging, with little opposition, through the softer lands to the north of Italia. As these Vandal warriors carried out their opportunistic raids, General Sarus remained ensconced in the relative safety of his bivouac near Rome, while Stilicho, another talented Roman commander, was unable to help Honorius with his defence of the Roman lands.
‘What else can we do now, master, for the Western Empire is yours in all but name,’ Paulus had been fond of saying. ‘Honorius must weaken soon and he will beg for peace.’
‘I intend to make Honorius refer to me as the Augustus. And I want the senate to recognise me as the sole emperor of their precious city. I want to beat the shite out of them all, so that they will be forced to beg for mercy. And the bastards will realise that they’ve been beaten at the self-same moment that I cut Honorius’s throat.’
The world can change in a heartbeat when frightened and greedy men come together to discuss the accumulation of power.
Constantine summoned Nebiogastes and Justinianus, the two senior Roman officers who had defected to his cause, to discussions where they were ordered to mount a reconnaissance in strength into the north-east that would take their forces through the easily approached coastal strip leading into Italia. If the advance undertaken by these generals proved to be successful, the remainder of Constantine’s army could march on Rome with minimal opposition, a move that would culminate in a triumphant entry to the City of the Seven Hills.
After this success, Constantine would no longer be overlooked.
But strategies that are easily thrown together during long nights of planning can still go awry when rash tactical decisions are made by flawed commanders with limited strategic ability.
Like a precarious tower of flat, un-mortared stones, Constantine’s planning began to collapse before his eyes. His first presentiment of trouble came with the arrival of a desperate courier, sorely wounded and staggering, from the direction of Valentia.
The man was pale from fatigue and loss of blood, but he forced himself to stand proudly erect on his own two legs to complete his allotted task. Two of his three horses had died from exhaustion during his desperate ride.
‘I beg you to forgive the tongue that brings bad news to your ears,’ the courier began, an indication that Constantine would be angered by his report.
‘You will be treated like the superb soldier that you are,’ Constantine replied stiffly. He felt trouble itching its way along the back of his neck.
The young cavalryman lowered his head in remorse. ‘The generals, Sarus and Stilicho, have brought a Roman army to the fields outside Valentia, where the tributary joins with the Rhodanus River.’
‘Yes, I’m familiar with those lands. We came that way during our own journey into the south.’ Constantine’s hand wanted to inch its way towards the maps that were kept on his desk. He stilled his fingers with an effort and forced himself to concentrate on the courier’s message.
‘The Frank general led his men in a direct frontal attack against the main force of Sarus’s legionnaires,’ the courier began. ‘The general ordered his cavalry to charge at the very centre of the advancing Roman army where their foot soldiers were concentrated. I’ll not deny the Franks’ bravery, but they were riding directly into a trap that had been set for them.’
Constantine grunted in annoyance and snapped out a response that caused the cavalryman to whiten in fear. ‘It isn’t your place to criticise officers.’
‘But this was the strategy of a fool, master! Your soldiers observe your tactics and we all know that you have forced your enemies to fall into traps on many occasions. One hundred men, correctly led, can prevail against a much larger attacking force, and these Roman legionnaires were led by officers who knew exactly what they were doing.’
Constantine gritted his teeth, for he could imagine the sequence of events that was about to be described.
‘Nebiogastes was killed in the first wave, my lord. Justinianus took command of the survivors and he managed to prevent a total rout, but he was forced to retreat within the walls of Valentia where he is besieged. He sent six of us to bring news to you of the disaster that had befallen him. We escaped by walking through the sewers, stealing horses and then riding like hell to reach Arelate.’
‘You’re the only man to arrive, so Sarus must have captured the other couriers. We’re lucky that you’re such a determined young man, so you will be well rewarded for your efforts,’ Constantine replied flatly.
Strangely, he was beginning to feel more confident, now that he had an assailable enemy.
‘See to this young man’s hurts, Paulus, for he needs a healer! Then find Gerontius and Edobichus for me. They want to show me that they’re equal to the task of crushing Honorius, so they can start with this Sarus who, at the very least, has sufficient initiative to come out of hiding. For all that, Stilicho must also be nearby. He’ll be a dangerous opponent. I’ve heard of his military prowess – even if the bastard is a patrician,’ Constantine added with a sneer.
Then he assisted the wounded courier to rise to his feet. His solicitude was real, for it was the sympathy of one fighting man for another, and the young cavalryman almost wept with gratitude. His head drooped with his exhaustion as two guards hurried forward to lift him up and bear him away.
‘Well, Paulus! We finally have an enemy to fight.’ The indecision and frustration that had plagued Constantine for months was lifted from his shoulders and he seemed to be reinvigorated by the courier’s message.
‘Aye, sir,’ Paulus replied crisply, grateful that his master had found a living, breathing enemy to fight.
The older soldier had long suspected that his commander could sometimes be a rash leader when he was dealing with intangibles. All those years when he was forced to obey the orders of others, Paulus decided, were now acting against the initiative of the High King.
Gerontius and Edobichus, two generals from the defecting legions in Gallia, came to their commander’s tent as soon as Paulus’s message reached them.
Why any man who had risen so high as his master would choose to dwell in such draughty conditions as this tent defied Gerontius’s imagination. Perhaps the Roman shared his scorn with many of Constantine’s officers, but he was one of the few men who might dare to speak of this tent aloud, and to Constantine’s face. It said much of his personal courage, while demonstrating a flaw in his assessment of the High King.
Paulus held no trust in the seasoned Gerontius, because something in the man’s manner betrayed an ambitious nature that might flare up at so
me point. Besides, once a turncoat, always a turncoat.
‘Good! It’s pleasing that you haven’t kept me waiting, gentlemen,’ Constantine said as soon as they passed through the tent flap. ‘Has Paulus discussed the latest debacle with you?’
Edobichus saluted and then nodded, but Gerontius saw fit to elaborate on the topic of incompetence.
‘Aye, sir.’ His eyes roamed over the spartan camp stove and desk, and he raised his eye-brow at the neatly made camp bed in one corner. ‘I’ve heard that the Frank has thrown his life away in a pointless display of suicidal idiocy.’
Offended that Gerontius was so obviously scornful of someone he considered beneath him, Constantine slapped the presumptuous officer down swiftly.
‘For all the Frank’s faults, Nebiogastes was a brave man. I might add that he has delayed Sarus’s planned attack on our forces, an action that might have caught us napping, especially if he was to make an advance on our rearguard. We were given the boon of having more time to prepare our armies once Justinianus had the sense to retreat into Valentia, so you’ll now have an opportunity to show your mettle and provide him with relief of the siege. You, Gerontius, will take Sarus out of our path, along with his legions, and relieve our legionnaires who are trapped inside the town. Edobichus will command your cavalry! I’m placing a great deal of faith in both of you, so don’t let me down.’
Then, with a wave of his hand, Constantine dismissed the two men. Both were patricians by birth and, if Constantine enjoyed his small exercise of power over them, his tightly closed face revealed nothing.
In the months that followed, Severa still heard no word of her husband, apart from vague rumours that came to Britannia from traders in Gallia. Endellion made her promised visit and enjoyed a brief holiday with her son, Pridenow, who was excused from military training for the duration of her visit.
