The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  ‘At first, everything that Constantine touched was golden, as if the old gods had decided that he was worthy of holding the seat of power in Rome. Constans was sent to Hispania with Gerontius and their contingent returned with two of Honorius’s cousins, Didymus and Verinianus, whom they had captured. Unfortunately, two other members of Honorius’s family were able to escape from their clutches. Lagodius made his way to Rome, while Theodosiolus followed an even longer route that took him to the court of the Eastern Empire in Constantinople. Each man gave a detailed account of Constantine’s attempted coup, a base strategy that raised the ire and disgust of the Eastern Emperor. It would have been better if Constantine had left these four men be, for there was no evidence that they had been plotting against him. But your husband had grown fearful of unseen enemies, so he acted foolishly.’

  ‘What did my husband do with the two prisoners captured by Constans?’ Severa asked, her heart sinking at the possible outcomes of Constantine’s ill-considered fears.

  ‘I’m afraid he was enraged and ordered them to be executed out of hand. Neither man was any real threat to Constantine, but he was certain that they would foment a revolt if they were permitted to remain free and unfettered within the Hispanic lands. His fear of treachery was a great mistake on Constantine’s part, for his actions hardened the hearts of those rulers who opposed him. By all accounts, Constantine’s reaction had been swift and brutal, so it became obvious that Honorius would never forgive such an insult.’

  Severa lowered her head in despair. ‘My husband has always had a streak of rashness when he is crossed by others, but I’d been told by Constans that Constantine had already been accepted as the co-emperor in conjunction with Honorius.’

  ‘True!’ Aeron agreed, and then he shrugged. ‘Hard on the heels of Constans’s return, word came to Constantine that the patrician, Stilicho, had been executed at Ticinum in Italia. Units of the Roman’s army had rebelled and its legionnaires had declared themselves for Constantine, so your husband ignored any advice from Apollinaris or Gregorius, men who had been vocal in their reluctance to pursue Constantine’s strategies. Your husband believed himself to be invincible, so Apollinaris found himself replaced as prefect by Decimus Rusticus, a Praetorian, and God only knows what happened to the Watcher. It’s unfortunate, but your husband becomes dangerously wilful when he believes he is being manipulated by his advisers.’

  Severa nodded, painfully aware of Constantine’s flaws in this regard.

  ‘Then, at the time of our arrival at your husband’s bivouac, Constantine’s plans began to unravel. Armorica rebelled and their troops left your husband’s service. Their warriors simply melted away during the night. Constantinus decided to roll the dice and follow the example of Magnus Maximus. He marshalled his legions and marched on Italia, but several decisive battles were lost. Constantine was forced to retreat back into Gallia and Honorius was given an excellent example of Constantine’s greatest weakness. When pushed, your husband acts too quickly for rational thought and tends to fall back on the use of force rather than employ diplomacy and good negotiation skills.’

  Severa nodded in agreement. ‘My husband was always the centurion, Father Aeron. At bottom, he truly believes that the use of brute force will achieve most of his goals.’

  ‘Aye! But the troubles that were about to punish Constantine were still in their infancy. At this crucial time in Constantine’s campaign against the power of Rome, Gerontius decided to elevate his own son, coincidentally called Maximus, to usurp the political position adopted by Constantine. Gerontius and Maximus came out of Hispania to crush your husband through a treacherous attack on his rear.’

  Aeron paused as he considered his next words.

  ‘I regret to inform you that we received reports that Constans had been killed by Gerontius’s troops in Vienna. This information was followed by believable rumours that the young man’s wounds had been inflicted on the back of his body, so many among us believed that Vortigern was directly responsible for his death. I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of the Demetae king, then and now, but I have heard from my sources that every member of Constans’s Gallic family-by-marriage had been assassinated during the following weeks. His little wife was already pregnant, but she was killed anyway, despite being harmless in all ways.’

  ‘Poor Constans! He could never see the danger in following the stars of his father with such open trust. He was too loyal and too trusting of everyone he knew, including me.’

  Severa began to weep for a young man and his even-younger wife who would receive no other mourning from any other soul.

  Then Aeron’s final words slipped into her conscious thoughts and she realised that Vortigern’s actions had signed a death warrant for her own sons. She blanched with fear.

  ‘My God! My own children will also be at risk when that monster returns to Britannia. He has removed any family members that could be considered kin to Constans. My boys are the only impediment between him and the throne of the High King of the Britons.’

  She turned to Aeron with a pleading expression on her face.

  ‘As Constantine’s regent, the other tribal kings will consider Vortigern to be a potential saviour when the Saxon menace increases in the coming spring. You know that I’m right to be fearful, Aeron! The British kings will accept anyone who is prepared to fight for them and protect their fiefdoms. My sons can’t defend themselves, so he’ll kill them without hesitation – and then marry me! If he has any doubts about these actions, he will wed me first and then cause them to vanish. What can I do?’

  ‘I will take them with me to Corinium when I leave,’ Aeron stated in a determined voice. ‘If Vortigern should return to Venta Belgarum, I’ll send them away to my friends in Gallia, exactly as we have planned.’

  Aeron’s calm assertions soothed Severa, who was fast becoming hysterical.

  ‘All will be well, daughter, and I swear that no harm will come to them. It’s your own safety that is causing me the greatest concern.’

  Severa knew her position demanded that she keep a cool head on her shoulders. She called on the shades of Maximus and Caradoc, and willed her heart to slow its breakneck pace.

  ‘Is Constantine still alive, Aeron? Don’t try to spare my feelings, for there is much that has to be done if we are to save the people of Britannia from Vortigern’s assault on the throne. It’s unlikely that any of the legions will return to our lands, so we must look to our own resources.’

  ‘I agree with you, Severa. The legions have gone – and they’ll never return to our shores! In fact, I spied Tribune Maximo at Portus Adurni when he was taking ship for Italia, so the rats are leaving the sinking ship. But we’ll not go down without a fight. Britannia is still rich and trade will continue to flourish, so we’ll learn to depend on ourselves rather than some Roman overlord. We’ve been acquiescent for far too long. Our people will sink or swim, and the Saxon menace will remain unchecked until such time as we find ways to counter their incursions.’

  Aeron paced around the lavish apartments, his eyes blind to the fine silks and wools on floors or walls.

  Eventually, he gave the queen the last, and the worst, of his news.

  ‘Small bands of our warriors may return from Gallia, but I have little hope that they can survive. Constantine is encircled by enemies now and I barely escaped from Arelate before it was besieged by Constantius, one of Honorius’s better generals. Your husband had already despaired, for word reached him that Gerontius had been defeated by Rome before committing suicide. At this time, Decimus Rusticus, the Praetorian, had done what men of his ilk do best by abandoning Constantine to his fate. At the last minute, the remaining legion guarding the Rhenus River, a large force that Constantine had hoped to rally to his cause, followed Rusticus on to the side of Honorius. Constantine is finished!’

  ‘But did my husband survive the battles?’ Severa asked wit
h a dim ray of hope still visible in her eyes.

  ‘He’s worse than dead! I’ve been told that he relinquished his position as co-emperor by impersonating a priest, of all things. No doubt he hopes that this pretence will save him from the wrath of Honorius. I have no expectation that this ploy will work, for the emperor loved his cousins and he will exact his revenge for their murders. Constantine played a dangerous game with Fortuna, but she has prevailed by rolling her wheel and pulling him down to disaster.’

  ‘So there’s no hope,’ Severa replied. Aeron wished that he could tell a kindly lie, but Severa remained the High Queen. She must face facts, if the people of Britannia were to have any hope of survival.

  ‘In my opinion, Severa, Constantine was neither the man nor the soldier that Maximus was. Yet, he succumbed to the same hubris and he was doomed from the moment he left our shores. Sadly, the birds of prey will feed on the corpse of our lands.’

  Severa nodded dumbly.

  ‘Do you intend to come with your sons when I leave here, Severa? Endellion and I can also protect you at Tintagel.’

  Severa rose shakily and looked out at the quiet town of Venta Belgarum that was laid out below them. The sun glared on the Roman-tiled roofs and threw light back from whitewashed walls and marble columns. The whole town seemed peaceful and at rest, but she knew that this calm was only an illusion that preceded the arrival of the summer storms. Her duty was with her people, whatever her heart told her. She knew that any claimant to the throne of High King would pursue her, for she held the route to power in her slender body. Should she decide to flee from her fate, then she would endanger her sons.

  ‘If my sons are gone, Vortigern might ignore them for the greater prize: myself! No, Dilic will accompany the boys until such time as they are settled into their new homes in Gallia. She knows what is required of her.’

  Aeron rose to join her and placed a hand on her stiffening shoulder. Under his fingers, Severa’s body felt brittle, as if it could easily shatter under the slightest blow.

  Then she turned and faced her foster-father with a hint of her old courage.

  ‘You must leave in the morning, Father Aeron, in company with Dilic and the children. Their nurses will accompany the boys on their journey to Corinium before returning to Venta Belgarum. I will see to their packing. I ask that you provide suitable protection for the journey that will take them into Gallia. Meanwhile, I will continue to do what is expected of me as the High Queen. Any joy we wrench out of life must be paid for, and my sons have been my blessing as well as Constantine’s only gift to me that holds any worth. With luck, we will be left in peace in Venta Belgarum and my boys might eventually return to Britannia and their home. Pray for us all, Aeron.’

  The packing of clothing for two terrified children, their possessions and their servants took some little time but, finally, all was completed.

  On a grey day when the long-awaited summer rains finally came to lay the dust, Severa knelt in the mud to kiss her sons and make her farewells. Ambrosius’s eyes were wet, but he was trying manfully to be brave for his mother’s sake. Uther wailed with four-year-old gusto and beat at Dilic with his clenched fists as she tried to calm him. Mercifully, Aeron ordered the wagons to depart in a bid to end the children’s suffering.

  ‘All the portents have come to pass, Pridenow,’ Severa said sadly to the youth standing beside her. ‘Your two ravens are dead and only the living will remember their names in the years to come. And I? God only knows what will become of me.’

  ‘Heaven alone can be certain of the accuracy of the prediction that one of your descendants will save our world. Perhaps the seers who give us these prophecies are right, Highness, and all this suffering will be seen to have some tangible purpose.’

  Severa looked into Pridenow’s grey eyes and saw with surprise that, no longer cold, they glistened like sun-warmed glaciers. She began to take heart.

  ‘My sons are in Aeron’s safe hands now, so I have nothing to fear. Whatever comes will come! Nothing worse can plague me, so Vortigern can have whatever is left of me, if he should still want the dregs.’

  ‘And may the bastard take some joy from his success,’ Pridenow responded sardonically, causing Severa to laugh at the emptiness of men’s ambition.

  Severa and Pridenow stood in the rain at the gates for some time after the small cavalcade had disappeared from view and the falling droplets covered the landscape in a veil of tears.

  EPILOGUE

  The road to Ravenna was almost empty of traffic by the time that the general, Constantius, called a halt in mid-afternoon. Clad in a dusty black robe belted by a simple rope tied around the waist, and wearing sandals that were grey with dirt and stains, the general’s prisoner sank down in the chains that attached him to the rear of the leading wagon.

  Constantine had been forced to walk behind his conqueror’s wagons from Arelate, where he had been captured. During the long and dusty journey, his captors had refused to meet his eyes for fear that Fortuna’s bad luck might be transferred to them. As he drank from a pannikin of water offered by Constantius’s decurion, Constantine asked about the clerical position he could expect within Ravenna’s administration. He had been promised this employment before his surrender, and the offer had sustained him during the long, weary miles as he considered the prospect of a comfortable future. Something might yet be salvaged from the mess that had been made of his life.

  The decurion made a trifling reply, but refused to meet the gaze of the erstwhile emperor.

  What could any true fighting man say to a leader who had possessed the numbers and the opportunity to decisively crush the power of Rome, yet managed to squander all his advantages? What had this dishevelled man done to turn the face of God so adamantly away from him? If the High King’s shame was catching, then this decurion wanted no part of it.

  Behind their hands, other legionnaires smirked or grimaced at the foolishness of this black-robed man who had gambled his all on one last attempt to usurp the throne of the emperor. Priest or no priest, this idiot wouldn’t be rewarded for his treasons.

  General Constantius had already sent a confidential message to Emperor Honorius, in which he requested explicit instructions for handling this difficult prisoner. Without direct orders, the general would refuse to execute the fool who was lounging in the filthy garb of a priest on the soft grass along the verge of the road. Constantine had been promised sanctuary if he surrendered, but the general knew that such a promise would never be honoured.

  Constantius spat scornfully on to the roadway.

  The prisoner rolled onto his back to gaze at the blue sky. He stared up in wonder, like a man who has been asleep and dreaming for years, and then woken suddenly after his long slumber. His mind remained intentionally blank as he absorbed the blue sky above him with its drift of fuzzy white clouds. Constantine’s demeanour was calm and he seemed convinced that his new status as a priest could protect him from harm.

  Then, in the distance, a dust-cloud indicated a fast-moving horse, although it would be some time before the rider came into clear view. Constantius began to hope that the dust indicated the approach of a courier from Honorius’s court.

  Since the siege of Arelate, Constantius had been torn. He had been ordered to defeat the upstart, Constantine, by any means necessary. But he was also instructed not to lose his military assets. Belatedly, Honorius finally understood that all his legions were either dead or had defected to the usurper. As such, the Vandal army could destroy the Holy City of Rome without a sword being lifted in its defence. Even peaceful Ravenna might yet be destroyed and the emperor could be burned alive in his favourite city. Suddenly, the men that Honorius had scorned to pay had become important to Rome’s survival, so Constantius had been ordered to take whatever action was necessary to capture or kill Constantine, but with minimal casualties.

  Constantius kicked at a
loose stone with venom. The emperor had no idea what lies his general had been forced to tell to save his army from involvement in a protracted and costly siege. Constantius had promised Constantine everything that usurper asked for, in the full knowledge that he meant none of it.

  Constantius knew he was only a pawn, but he would be forced to carry out this man’s execution if Honorius signed the man’s death warrant. During every day of the long trek from Arelate, Constantius had been faced with his personal loss of honour whenever he looked at the prisoner; he knew that he was unable to bear the strain for much longer. He had reached the end of his tether, so he would refuse to enter Ravenna with Constantine in chains behind his wagon, because he shuddered to think what the other men would think if they saw the proof of his lies. Constantius had hoped that he could enter its walls without the High King of Britannia in his charge.

  Perhaps he could forget his empty promises if he was spared the sight of his captive. Bile and spite, aimed at his emperor, rose in Constantius’s throat and he spat in disgust. The globule of spittle raised a little puff of dust from the roadway.

  ‘Have you ever been to Ravenna, Constantius?’ the usurper asked.

  ‘Aye! I was at court with Stilicho. He was my friend and commander, and he was sent to deal with you while I was recovering from a bad bout of the coughing sickness. I recovered in time to learn that he had been executed by his own men who wanted to win your favour.’

  Constantine raised one narrow eyebrow and a shadow crossed his dark eyes. The general’s face gave no hint of his resentments.

  ‘I never asked for Stilicho’s death,’ Constantine replied in as natural a voice as he could muster in these circumstances. ‘I would have saved him, if I had known. Fighting men should never be treated as pawns, or dishonoured by their enemies.’

  ‘Indeed? You might be speaking the truth regarding Stilicho’s death, but you ordered the deaths of Didymus and Verinianus, two men who hadn’t shown any signs of aggression towards you. You killed them because they were kin to Honorius, the legitimate ruler of the Western Empire.’ Constantius’s voice was sharp with disapproval and Constantine bridled at his tone.