The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  Nor did Endellion arrive with empty hands. On the second day of Endellion’s visit, the Dobunni queen approached her foster-daughter as they sat companionably in the ladies’ bower to watch her grandsons as they played among the climbing roses.

  ‘Watch out for their thorns, Uther. Those red roses will hurt you if you pull at their stems, so be gentle. That’s a good boy!’

  Severa exchanged a rueful smile with her foster-mother.

  ‘Uther is always grasping at things that take his fancy. He doesn’t seem to mind the pain.’

  ‘He’s a strong boy, Severa. I hold no doubts that his life will be long and he’ll carve out a place for himself, despite your fears.’ Severa wondered if her foster-mother was seeing his future through that queer internal vision of hers.

  ‘Ambrosius is much like his name – sweet and thoughtful. The boys are so different. It’s a wonder, isn’t it?’

  Endellion nodded, and then pressed a small piece of linen into Severa’s hands.

  ‘What is this, Mother Endellion?’

  The small packet was opened to reveal a golden amulet with the incised outline of a fish upon it. The gold was warm to the touch and the outline of the fish was only partially visible, but Severa was surprised that such a venerable object should be wrapped so carelessly. Then she realised that the stiff linen had been written on in some kind of black ink. The whole was addressed to Apollodorus, a vintner in Falencia in the province of Hispania.

  ‘I don’t understand, Endellion. What have this charm and this vintner to do with me?’

  ‘They would mean little to you at the moment, but they might become important to the safety of your sons in the future. My Aeron knew the son of Apollodorus, a young man who was killed while serving with the remnants of the British cavalry when Maximus was defeated in Italia. Although the vintner’s son, Andragathius, wasn’t a close friend, he was a part of the detachment that assisted Aeron to escape from Italia after Maximus’s defeat. Aeron swore to Andragathius that he’d take word of the man’s love to Apollodorus during the return journey to his homeland. Although this task extended an already long journey, my dear old man kept his word. Apollodorus feels beholden to Aeron and the amulet is proof of that debt.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand. What can this Apollodorus do for me and mine?’

  ‘If the time should come when your sons must flee from Venta Belgarum, they must be taken by ship to the Suevi lands in Hispania. Once there, they must be transported by a man called Daire, who owns a fishing vessel called Neptune’s Kiss. His boat can usually be found at a fishing village called Burdigala. Many of our people live in the Suevi lands, and Daire has agreed to transport them to Apollodorus for a fee in gold. Aeron has arranged all these details in advance. This Daire will not willingly sail during the season of the winter storms, but he will make suitable arrangements to keep your boys safe from those that would harm them. Aeron says that Daire is trustworthy and my husband is a good judge of character. Once they are safely on his boat, all that would be needed would be to send word to Apollodorus, who will come for them.’

  ‘Who is this Daire, and why should I trust my sons to him? I have no way of knowing what will happen to them,’ Severa asked anxiously.

  ‘He, too, served with Maximus and Aeron in Gallia, so he is prepared to do whatever is required to ensure the safety of the grandsons of Magnus Maximus,’ Endellion stated.

  ‘You’ve gone to much trouble to assuage a woman’s formless fears,’ Severa said, while clutching at Endellion’s loom-scarred fingers.

  ‘Pish, Severa! My father was your father’s closest friend and trusted companion, while you are almost blood-kin to me. Above all, you are the High Queen of the Britons. Any service to our rulers is minute, when calculated against the grand schemes of the world.

  ‘You must memorise everything I have told you and keep both the amulet and its wrapping close at hand in case there is an urgent need for them to make good their departure at short notice. Perhaps there will be no need for the precautions that we have discussed, but the boys will thank you if Fortuna were to cast her dice in the wrong direction. If danger should threaten, the boys must be able to make a successful escape.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that no danger exists, but shadows are massing in the east of Gallia. I am afraid.’

  ‘As are we all,’ Endellion replied and the two women hugged each other for comfort as the children played at their feet in a shower of rose petals.

  A messenger eventually arrived from Portus Adurni, carrying a scroll and a small waterproof pouch from Constans in Gallia. Disappointed that the missive wasn’t from Constantine, Severa opened the pouch to discover that it contained a pair of heavy golden earrings with large pins to hang them from her earlobes. Large red stones were set into the earrings, but she believed her earlobes would tear before they could safely bear such a weight.

  The missive, although it was short, was cheerful.

  To Severa, High Queen of the Britons,

  At Venta Belgarum.

  Greetings.

  What a time we have had, Mother Severa, and how exciting it has been. I am fortunate indeed to be the son of the co-emperor of Rome, and Emperor of the West, Constantine III, who is your husband.

  Yes! After all this time, Emperor Honorius has submitted to the obvious good, and has agreed to Father’s demands. I have enclosed a congratulatory gift from Father to you, jewels befitting an Empress of Gallia and Hispania that can be worn in your ears. I hope they reach you and that you like them.

  Severa looked up from the page as tears clouded her vision. Endellion had left Venta Belgarum a few weeks earlier, so the High Queen had no one but Dilic with whom she could share her disappointment. Constantine left it to his son to inform her of his great victory over the might of Rome.

  She bowed her head to the scroll once again.

  So much has happened that I scarcely know what to tell you first.

  Sarus, Honorius’s general, was soundly defeated by a composite force led by Gerontius and has been chased back into Italia with his tail between his legs. Father set to work with a will and undertook a series of efforts to consolidate his tactical and strategic position. He left Arelate to secure all the passes that lead into Gallia from Italia. Honorius cannot outflank us now, without our full knowledge of his intentions.

  We have made Arelate the capital, so Father has decided to give up living in his campaign tent, thank heavens. He has taken over the magistrate’s villa, where we are quite comfortable, except for the magistrate. Apollinaris has been compensated, however, for he has been appointed to the position of prefect. He is the grandson of Sidonius Apollinaris, so Father is very pleased.

  Severa looked up blankly. Who was this Sidonius Apollinaris? Was he a patrician? Or perhaps he was one of Rome’s great generals? Constans was so enthusiastic in his praise that he forgot to explain any of the details that would give sense to the narrative.

  ‘Mama! Mine!’ Uther had found one of her new earrings in her lap and was now playing with it in the light, so that the red stone glowed richly like a drop of freshly spilled blood. ‘Mine?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘No, darling! These earrings are a gift to your mother from Father.’ Distracted now, she dropped her eyes to the scroll and her stepson’s large, vigorous handwriting.

  Father has given me a special task to carry out, so I will be leaving in a week with Gerontius. I am fortunate indeed to have the advice of such a man who is devoted to my father.

  Emperor Honorius has family who are ensconced in Hispania where they are well placed to attack the rear of our forces, if we allow them to live unchecked. I have been ordered to capture them, bind them and then send them to my father for judgement. I am confident that I will succeed in this task, if God helps me. Pray for me, Mother Severa, and I know I will not fail in complying with Fat
her’s wishes.

  Lord Vortigern’s worth has been recognised. Father has appointed him to be his seneschal. Vortigern is pleased, although I sometimes find it difficult to tell exactly what my teacher is actually thinking.

  I will write again when I have completed the task that Father has given me. Meanwhile, I can assure you that he has won a great victory without having to wage a pitched battle.

  Farewell.

  From Constans, Son of Constantine III, Augustus.

  At the hand of the scribe, Laertes

  Severa’s heart was filled with loss for what might have been, for herself and her husband. But at least Constans had not forgotten her need for family connection. The duties of caring for those British people who lived under Constantine’s protection weighed heavily on her shoulders.

  But Severa was also able to judge her own worth through the service that she provided to the citizens of their kingdom. With the assistance of Cadal and Aeron, she had ensured that there was a military presence in and around Venta Belgarum that provided security to the inhabitants of the town and its environs. When her husband eventually returned, he would soon discover that the day to day administration of his kingdom had been carried out to his satisfaction.

  But would he care?

  Autumn arrived and, with it, the first of the bitter winds. Winter followed inexorably and, in the miserable pattern of the past few years, the cold weather in the south was unseasonal and excruciating. Venta Belgarum shivered within its walls and drew its skirts around itself in a vain attempt to obtain some precious warmth. Constantine had taken the stores of grain and essential supplies for his army, so wives, children and orphans were starving in cold crofts with few males capable of providing for the needy. The bishop of Venta Belgarum donated the entire grain store owned by the church, but the number of empty mouths mocked their remaining providence. Death came with the solstice, until Severa felt the forces of doom weighing heavily on her.

  Then, when spring finally released the earth from winter’s iron grip, dreadful news reached Constantine’s city.

  A merchant brought the first news of piratical barbarians, having barely escaped with his life from the port of Anderida.

  ‘Saxon pirates struck our town as soon as the sea-ways were open. They burned and killed at will, for the garrison was unmanned. I fled into the swamps with the other families who knew that we had no chance of fighting the bastards off, and we returned after the fires of Anderida had finally died down.’

  Severa sat on her hard chair in the King’s Hall and twisted her hands together in the folds of her robe. ‘And?’ she asked, her harsh voice betraying her concern.

  The merchant paused while he tried to respond with a definite answer.

  ‘Do the Saxons still hold Anderida?’ she asked again, while she tried to conjure up a strategy that might drive them out. Alternatively, she needed to know whether the barbarians intended to remain in Britannia for an indefinite period of time.

  ‘No, Highness! They left Anderida in their wicked boats as quickly as they arrived. They killed every living thing, even the dogs, and they took every usable item they could find. They left a young boy to greet us on our return, but his grip on life was only sufficient to give us a message from the leader of the Saxons. The boy’s eyes and hands had been removed, and they only spared his tongue so he could repeat their grisly warnings. The thane said that Constantine had refused to include the Saxons in his alliances in Gallia, so the destruction of Britannia would become their answer to his insults. I wish the High King had never sailed away, Highness, for he has left us naked and friendless to face the storm that will surely come to us during spring and summer.’

  ‘Do you know where the Saxons went after they left Anderida?’ Severa asked. ‘Did they threaten Portus Adurni?’

  ‘No, Highness! They sailed into the east, for they seemed eager to plunder Londinium and her sister cities before the summer is done. I don’t believe they’ll come to Venta Belgarum.’

  A stream of refugees began to flow into the western tribal areas, and the new arrivals carried what little they were able to salvage from the Saxon scourge. All told the same tale, of Saxon insult and a land that had been left naked by the High King’s absence.

  Severa was beside herself, and remained so until Pridenow suggested that he could be sent as a courier to Constantine in Gallia. Once there, he would beg for the men and arms needed to send the Saxons scurrying back to their own lands.

  ‘No, Pridenow. Your intentions are sound, but I’ll not betray my oath to your parents by allowing you to cross the Litus Saxonicum. I do have an alternative proposal. Although you’re not yet a warrior, I will permit you to lead a select group of six trainees and carry out a patrol of Anderida Silva, especially the higher terrain between the forests and the coast where Saxon activity can be expected. I need some good, reliable intelligence about any Saxon movements around the outskirts of Anderida. Meanwhile, I’ll send a missive to Cadal and beg for the loan of sufficient men from his reserve forces who could replace you in Venta Belgarum while you carry out this mission for me.’

  Although disappointed, Pridenow vowed to discover exactly what the Saxons were about.

  ‘But you mustn’t put yourself and your other lads at risk, for we are in dire need of every man and boy we have. I want you to swear that you’ll exercise restraint and be sensible with this important task you have been given.

  With some reluctance, Pridenow gave Severa his word.

  ‘Insofar as Constantine’s forces are concerned, I will not allow the doom contained in Caradoc’s prophecy to be inflicted on our people, not even at the risk of further Saxon attacks.’

  ‘But someone must alert the High King to the danger in which we have been placed,’ Pridenow continued to insist until, eventually, Severa acknowledged that he was correct.

  Fortunately there was no dearth of volunteers prepared to make the dangerous crossing from Britannia to Gallia. King Aeron, newly arrived on a visit from Corinium, agreed to lead a small contingent of his own men across the waters, for he had a detailed understanding and knowledge of the provinces of Gallia, Italia and Hispania. Severa accepted Aeron’s offer regretfully, for she knew that Endellion would have no peace until her man returned. And so Aeron and Pridenow departed on desperate missions. Aeron would carry a lengthy scroll to Constantine, while the good wishes of the citizenry of southern Britannia would be resting on his still-square shoulders.

  As for Pridenow, he and his friends rode away in good cheer, his eyes even more devil-may-care than usual.

  Then, as another autumn came, the court of Venta Belgarum waited.

  With a milder freeze and little snow, winter came late and finished early, yet no word came to Venta Belgarum of Aeron and his contingent. The weeks dragged by like years, until Severa could feel the weight of the crown bending her head and crushing her spirit.

  A further spring came, along with more Saxon pirates who, blessedly, contented themselves with sacking Camulodunum, Venta Icenorum and Branodunum in the north. Blood stained the coastal towns and Constantine’s officials were driven out of the city of Verulamium by its own people. This town had always been used as the bureaucratic heart of the Roman province by the British kings, so Severa began to think that there would be little of Constantine’s kingdom left to obey his dictums once he did return.

  Yet the people found no fault with Queen Severa and the kings of the west supported her reign. As best she could, she gave succour to refugees and citizens alike. Meanwhile, Pridenow matured under her guidance, and he rode far and fast in the saddle as he became her eyes and ears in the eastern parts of Britannia.

  Still, no word was heard from Aeron. Nor were there any rumours or discussions about the king in any of the ports that could be expected to hear word about him. In Corinium, Endellion was privately fearful that her husband had met h
is death.

  As the summer sun beat down with an unusual heat that baked the earth to the consistency of solid stone and the flow of water through the streams was reduced to a mere trickle, a small group of riders disembarked from a Frankish vessel at Portus Adurni and began the short ride to Venta Belgarum. Severa was informed of the imminent arrival of the contingent before they had covered half of the dusty miles that led to her gates. In an agony of dread, she waited at the ramparts. Pridenow understood her suspense, telling her he had dreamed last night of two ravens found dead in a midden, but nevertheless urged her to rest while she could.

  ‘When Aeron and his troop dismounted in the forecourt of the King’s Hall, she was the first to meet them and could scarcely wait for the courtesies to be completed.

  ‘What has happened, Father Aeron? Where is my husband? How is Constans?’ She was barely able to control her speech as she suffered an agony of impatience. Aeron’s hooded eyes refused to meet hers, so Severa knew that the information he carried was grave. Instead, he embraced his tall son, now man-sized after more than two years of living in Severa’s house and serving in the new frontier areas of Britannia.

  ‘Let me wash away the dregs of the road from my throat, Highness, and I’ll answer you as best I can,’ he replied formally as he relinquished his son’s arms. Then, once he had drunk a goblet of wine with the barest shadow of a smile, he asked to be taken to some private place where they could speak in comfort.

  Flustered and frightened, and with only Pridenow at her side, Severa led her foster-father and his son into her own private apartment. She ordered Dilic to arrange food and drink for Aeron’s guard and then to position herself outside the closed door so the privacy of those inside the room could be protected. Then, with her own hands, Severa poured another goblet of wine for Aeron, who gulped it down gratefully. Satisfied, she waited in an anxiety of stillness until her foster-father was ready to speak.

  The tale related by Aeron was worse than anything her fertile mind could have imagined.