‘Nay, Vortipor,’ Conan cried out in desperation. ‘If thou hast the slightest shred of mercy thou shalt kill me now.’
But the Protector had decided that only if Cara survived the birth of this child would he be merciful and kill Conan. If his wife died as Taliesin had predicted, then her murderer would be left to ponder the error of his ways and slowly decay in this godforsaken hole in the ground until natural causes took his life. ‘If thy misery be so great, then put an end to it thyself,’ the Protector suggested.
As his religious beliefs prevented him from taking such action, and Vortipor well knew it, Conan was infuriated. ‘Thou shalt rot in hell for this, Vortipor!’
‘Fortunately I do not believe in the existence of such a place,’ the Protector commented cheerfully. ‘Eternal torment be reserved for fearful, diseased minds the like of thine, which can conceive of a realm of such utter darkness and torture. Still, I suppose it doth give thee something to look forward to, beyond thy current abode.’
‘I can survive this place,’ Conan threatened. ‘Leave me alive and I shall come back to haunt thee.’
‘Only time will tell if thou art half the man thou dost claim to be,’ Vortipor decreed. ‘I am thy only friend now, Conan, and I shall talk to thee next spring. If thou art lucky, I shall kill thee then.’
The Protector left the fallen King of Gwent cussing and cursing, feeling no remorse or sympathy for him. It was up to the Goddess to decree his fate now.
The High Merlin, Sir Leoline and the Lord Bishop of Glamorgan in Gwent were led to Vortipor’s Room of Court at Castle Dwyran, where the Lady Cara was awaiting to grant them an audience.
Taliesin had the debatable honour of making the introductions, for Cara and the Lord Bishop regarded each other with suspicion.
‘I remember thee, priest,’ Cara stated, sourly. ‘Thee would not believe thy Prince’s abuse of me … well, now it hast manifested!’ She held her swollen belly. ‘Or dost thou believe this to be just a happy coincidence?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Taliesin spoke up for the young Bishop, who was fearful of losing his head if he spoke his mind, ‘he doth have his doubts.’
Cara’s eyes narrowed as she seethed. ‘What have I to gain by such a lie? Why would I drag my loved ones through this trauma and thwart my husband’s desire for a male heir to his kingdom?’
‘Because this way the alliance be rid of a Christian King in Gwent and can replace him with one moulded in the native faith,’ the Bishop said boldly.
As Cara’s anger was robbing her of speech, Taliesin intervened. ‘If that were our intent, Lord Bishop, then why inform thee of the event?’
‘A crafty trick, I suspect,’ Samson told Taliesin plainly.
‘Or the simple truth.’ The Merlin shrugged.
Sir Leoline cleared his throat, and stepped forward to say his piece. ‘I have known Conan all his life and I am familiar with all the players in this sad affair. In my experience, the only person involved that I have ever known to lie be Conan. My Lord Bishop, High Merlin and Lady Cara, thou art all good and honest people. In that knowledge I must concede that the Lady Cara doth carry the grandchild of my late and beloved ruler. It shall be my duty and privilege to raise and honour the child as the rightful King of Gwent Is Coed.’ Sir Leoline turned to Samson. ‘The High Merlin and myself can do this without thee, and the king shall grow to be ignorant to the ways of the Christians in his kingdom as thou dost fear. Or thee can partake in the young king’s getting of wisdom, so that a division of faith will never again threaten to plunge our fair kingdom into a civil war.’
Cara was moved to tears by the knight’s faith and conviction. ‘Urien will be lucky to have such a mentor as thee, Sir Leoline.’ She gave her blessing to the knight’s role as a guardian of her unborn child. ‘I shall not lie to thee, priest.’ The Lady Cara looked back to Samson. ‘I did not want any of thy faith influencing my son, but I see the wisdom of the High Merlin and Sir Leoline’s forecast … Urien must know and respect the beliefs of all those he means to rule, and unlike his father, he must be taught love and respect of his homeland. I have had thee investigated, Lord Bishop, and by all accounts, thou dost have a sound, questioning mind and a good heart. Therefore, I put it to thee … vow allegiance to my child’s cause or risk being driven from thy homeland by him.’
Samson didn’t trust the High Merlin, but he suspected that his wariness was due more to ignorance and superstition than instinct. The Lady Cara was renowned as being chaste and charitable, which knowledge cast a shadow of doubt on his suspicion that her claim was fraudulent. Sir Leoline’s word the Lord Bishop had come to trust implicitly. Deep down Samson knew that his hesitation to commit to this cause didn’t stem from not believing their tale. He didn’t want to concede that the teachings of his faith had bred such a contemptuous, treasonous and morally corrupt individual as Conan, when all in Gwent had held such high hopes for him.
Samson looked to Taliesin and then to Leoline, wondering what he was letting himself in for. ‘I do vow allegiance to thy child, Lady.’ He went down on one knee before her. ‘I deplore the circumstances of his conception and deeply regret that thy first encounter with one of my faith hast led us into disrepute in thine eyes. I vow that I shall do all within my power to ensure that the unborn king grows to be all that his father failed to be.’
Cara suddenly saw the High King in this man. He had Maelgwn’s same talent for diplomacy and reason. ‘So be it, then.’ Cara looked to each of the three men. ‘Remember my pains in delivery, gentlemen, and raise me a good, brave and wise son.’ As her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, Cara took her leave.
As the day of birthing was nigh, Tory went to stay with Cara at Castle Dwyran, and brought Old Hetty with her. Hetty was the most experienced midwife in Gwynedd, and the whole of Briton most likely. She had run a brothel for many years, hence her talent with birthing babies was a by-product of that enterprise.
Vortipor was alone with Cara when she went into labour. The contraction horrified the lady for, once again, she knew that death had come calling for her.
‘Do not weep, my love.’ Vortipor held her and rocked her gently. ‘I feel sure that the Goddess will spare thee —’
Cara placed her hand over her husband’s mouth and shook her head. She knew in her soul that her time was up. ‘I decided at the time Urien wast made known to me what I would do this day. The Goddess will have her heir, but I refuse to be tortured to my death.’ Vortipor nodded, not really understanding her intent. ‘So, my love …’ Cara held his face in both her hands to beseech him. ‘I must ask of thee a great favour.’
Make haste, the Lady Cara’s life be in great peril.
Tory awoke to Taliesin’s voice resounding through her brain. She responded quickly, throwing on her clothes as she raced to her friend’s aid.
‘What hast happened?’ Tory inquired of Vortipor, whom she encountered first.
‘Cara’s wrists have been cut.’ Taliesin approached to tell her.
Tory was deeply shocked by the news. ‘She took her own life?’
Taliesin looked at Vortipor, suspecting otherwise. ‘It would appear so,’ he advised. ‘The Lady died just a moment ago.’
Although Tory was deeply saddened by the news of Cara’s passing, her first concern was for the wellbeing of the child. ‘The babe will suffocate unless we cut him from her, and quick!’
‘Hetty prepares to do just that,’ Taliesin informed.
As the High Queen moved to join the commotion around the bed, Taliesin placed a hand on the Protector’s shoulder. ‘This be but a short separation, Vortipor. Ye have the whole of eternity to be together.’
The Protector looked to the High Merlin, his eyes dry, but swollen red from crying. ‘The second that child be born I want it gone from my kingdom.’
Taliesin nodded. He understood the man’s loss and torment and so said nothing more.
The Protector left the chaos of his chamber and was halfway down the stairwell when the c
ries of the newborn reached his ears and shattered his heart. That could have been the cry of his son; this could have been one of the happiest moments of his life! If not for Conan. This conclusion chilled the Protector to the bone.
As Vortipor came to stand on the iron grille atop the pit in his lower dungeon, his anger had a grip on every fibre of his being; he even found it difficult to speak. ‘Now thou art completely friendless, Conan.’
‘Vortipor?’ A voice croaked in the darkness, a voice far less self-righteous than that belonging to the prisoner he’d left there many months before. ‘I feared thou had forgotten me. Please say thou hast come to end this torment.’
‘Thy torment be just beginning, Conan,’ Vortipor advised, his voice gruff with restraint. ‘And with that made plain to thee, now I shall forget thee.’
‘Nay!’ Conan screamed. ‘Mercy, Vortipor … for pity’s sake, mercy.’
The pleas of the condemned man had trailed off into hopeless weeping when Vortipor reached the warden on duty, who awaited him by the stairs. ‘No one speaks with this prisoner lest his tongue be cut from his head. No one sees him and lives to tell of it. He receives food and water only.’
‘Aye, Lord.’ The warden bowed.
‘Thou shalt have twice thy pay for as long as thee can keep him alive and unbeknownst to any living soul.’
‘I understand, my Lord Protector.’ The warden bowed again. ‘Thou art most generous.’
As he departed from the foul recesses of his stronghold, Vortipor could only hope that Conan would survive to suffer as long as he would himself.
When the High Merlin of the Druids came knocking at the monastery gate in Glamorgan in the middle of the night, the monastic community there were concerned, to say the least.
‘Return to thy beds,’ Samson instructed his clergy. ‘I shall see to our caller.’
Once their audience had departed, Samson opened the gate and stepped outside to speak with his new acquaintance. ‘What be the meaning of this, High Merlin?’ The Bishop was about to launch into a spiel about appearances and rightful conduct when the Merlin suddenly produced a bundle from the folds of his cloak.
‘May I present Urien, King of Gwent Is Coed.’ He handed the tiny babe over to the mystified priest. ‘I wast just on my way to deliver him to Sir Leoline, who has nursemaids waiting to suckle the young king to good health, but I thought thee might like to baptise him first.’
Samson’s attention shifted abruptly from the newborn in his arms to the druid at his side, for such consideration overwhelmed him. ‘It will be my honour,’ he replied. ‘Do come in.’
The Bishop led the High Merlin in through the monastery gates, and side by side they admired the new King as they crossed the open ground to the chapel.
The PME orb I held in my hand shut off, catapulting me back through time to my room at the Purcell Institute of Chailida on Kila.
Given a moment to get my bearings and consider the episode that I had just relived, I became increasingly frustrated — Tory’s insight into the matter hadn’t satisfied my curiosity. It had only raised more questions. I was still no closer to discovering what had driven Selwyn to madness and isolation, nor had it been made clear to me what Maelgwn Gwynedd did to earn the title of High King. Why had Gwyn ap Nudd abducted Tory? What had Selwyn done to make the Lord of the Night seek revenge … and then how on earth had the young Druid appeased the God to save the day?
In addition, there was another point of interest that I had noted whilst viewing this orb. Among the additional accounts that Tory had collected to compile her reconstruction of the period, I had espied memory inserts from Brian, Cadwallon, Cadwell, Nerida and Maelgwn. But two players in this tale whom I did not recognise, Samson and Conan, had also made small contributions.
Fortunately, our good Governess had left an open window in her schedule that evening, fully expecting another visit from me.
We sat in the lounge of the Governor’s private abode. Tory was sitting down, quietly sipping a cool drink as I fired my questions at her.
‘Conan and Samson’s souls are among the Chosen now.’ Tory was able to answer one of my many queries, although the rest she was unable to help me with. ‘I warned you, Noah,’ she said. ‘I have made known to you everything that I can recall. Maelgwn remembers even less. You could seek out Gwyn ap Nudd, but I have a funny feeling you would not be very well received. So, that leaves only one option.’
I took a deep breath to overcome the butterflies that were fluttering around in my gut. It escaped my reasoning as to how I could so dread a recollection that I couldn’t recollect. ‘I’d like to think that I am as brave as the next member of the Chosen.’ I tried to express this mysterious reluctance to confront my questions on my own. ‘But I have to tell you, this business makes me very uneasy.’
Only a small part of thy psyche is ill at ease … the part of you that is Selwyn.
Both Tory and I were startled by Taliesin’s voice as his spirit form manifested in a blaze of etheric light.
Selwyn was not emotionally mature enough to handle the events of the time you seek to remember. You, as his Chosen incarnation, are emotionally equipped to cope with the memory now. If you are prepared to face the fear, then Selwyn’s trauma can finally be confronted and released, then you will both rest much easier.
As my eyes adjusted to the bright illumination Taliesin was exuding, I could make out the vague features of the once High Merlin’s form. ‘This is an honour.’ I avoided the issue at hand to express my heartfelt awe of the ascended Master’s presence.
‘Isn’t it just.’ Tory was obviously irked that after waiting so long to make contact, Taliesin hadn’t come to see her.
There is a keyword to unlocking the memories you seek. Taliesin’s attention didn’t waver.
I blocked my ears, not yet ready to commit either way. ‘Hold on a minute!’ I rose to pace out my indecision.
At your leave, Taliesin assured, granting me a moment to collect myself.
As Tory watched my frustrated movements, she calmly rose and brought me to a stop. ‘It is the past, Noah. The only way it can hurt you now is by holding it in. It is time to set all our minds at rest about what truly happened in the mists that night … let it be known, and let it go.’
Her plea boosted my courage, and thus I gave a determined nod. ‘Alright,’ I agreed, moving to fetch a thought-recorder from my bag.
I settled back down into my seat, and having activated the orb to record, I gave Taliesin the all-clear. ‘I am ready.’
Taliesin didn’t come out with the password until he had verbally guided me into a deep meditative state. When I was breathing easy, and relaxed, Taliesin instructed:
The memory Selwyn locked away,
bring forth to his Chosen this day.
Recall the night on which ye fell,
under the enchantment of ‘Amabel’.
‘Amabel,’ I felt disturbed upon uttering the name. My eyes remained firmly closed as if I were sedated. My head rocked from side to side on the headrest of the chair, although it was not by my will that it did so. ‘Amabel, Amabel …’ I mumbled over and over, as the past came rushing at me like a tidal wave, to sweep me up in its momentum and carry me back to the Dark Age.
7
The Siren Song
Work progressed slowly at Conan’s construction site at Craig-y-Ddinas. The tradesmen and soldiers went about their duties warily, hindered by the heavy mist.
All at the site were greatly relieved by the presence of a druid — someone experienced in otherworldly affairs the like of which they were experiencing. Selwyn felt rather overwhelmed by their confidence in him, for although he was a student of the greater mysteries, he had done far more theory than practical application where communication with other entities was concerned. When he had ventured into otherworldly realms in the past it had always been under Taliesin’s watchful eye; this time, however, he would go it alone. Not that Selwyn was too sure how he was going to seek out the Tylw
yth Teg.
The white shroud hadn’t lifted from the work site, or even stirred since the first stake of the construction had been driven into the ground. At that fateful moment the mist had manifested out of nowhere and had been taunting all within it ever since.
‘By “torment” you mean the disappearance of thy colleagues?’ Selwyn questioned the stonemason who was filling him in on the situation.
‘Some of us have vanished,’ the man conceded, chipping away at his stone block. ‘But that hast not been our greatest worry. The mist knows our thoughts, and hast reacted to different men in different ways. It seems to mirror the spirit of the soul it confronts, and threatens or seduces it accordingly. I have never been so thankful to be a man of few desires and good character.’ The middle-aged mason gave half a chuckle. ‘Some men have been forced to flee their livelihood here for fear of themselves!’
‘The mist tests thee?’ Selwyn clarified.
‘Toys with thee, more like,’ the stonemason grunted in agreement with himself. ‘Every man here could tell thee a tale of a ghost, a fear or a desire he hast confronted in the past few months.’
‘Thou hast had such an experience, then?’ Selwyn wanted to find out as much as he could about the situation before he sought out the source.
‘Aye, many. I am becoming more used to life in the Otherworld than life in the real world,’ he joked, and then shrugged. ‘The key to lifting the spell cast by the mist seems to be in recognising the fantasy and willing it away.’
What the stonemason said was true enough. Will was the greatest form of expression in the etheric world. Selwyn also agreed with the mason’s point that Craig-y-Ddinas felt more as if it was a spirit realm than a physical one at present.
‘Then my will could be more effective here than under normal circumstances?’ Selwyn posed. It was just a theory, but anything was worth a try.
Chronicle of Ages Page 11
