by N. M. Browne
‘See you later,’ she said shyly, and hurried from the room. He had no name for the multi-layered emotion she projected nor for his own bemused reaction.
Dan did not have much time to reflect on Ursula’s motives as he was summoned to the main hall to join his host for breakfast.
Larcius’s eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them swollen with sleep but they were sharp as ever, calculating, cold.
‘Your youth reminds me of a time most of us have all but forgotten.’ Larcius ripped a loaf of dark bread savagely and gave a generous portion to Dan. He spread it thickly with the strong sweetness of honeycomb. The powerful aroma and flavour stunned Dan into temporary silence. He had missed sweetness. Only after he had eaten did Larcius speak again.
‘You will find the High King little changed. He is older of course, but his monkish spirit has kept him from some of my excesses.’ He slapped his enormous belly derisively. ‘Life is for living – grab your pleasures while you can, I say. You have a sweet tooth, too, I see?’
Larcius’s own teeth were still remarkably well preserved in spite of his love of sweetness. His smile was nearer a snarl and to Dan he reeked of bitterness.
‘Where is the Lady Ursa?’
Dan had been wondering how to broach the subject for the duration of the meal. He had decided to tell the truth, or as much of the truth as he thought would be acceptable.
‘She wanted me to thank you for your hospitality,’ he began carefully. ‘But she has ridden out to try and find us a way home. You know we did not come from here and—’
Larcius’s eyes grew colder still. ‘She is a very foolish young woman. This is not, for all Arturus’s many boasts, a safe country. I must have her brought back here immediately.’
‘This is Ursa we’re talking about. She is well able to take care of herself. She is not your responsibility.’
‘On the contrary, the Lady Ursa is very much my responsibility. She must be found.’ Larcius directed his last remark at Bryn. His tone was so disrespectful that Dan flinched on Bryn’s behalf.
Bryn showed no sign of having noticed the contempt.
‘I came to tell you, My Lord, that Arturus has sent a rider ahead. The High King is to be expected at noon.’
Larcius grunted and poured a generous cup of ale from a stone flagon.
‘Inform the kitchens, and I want the Lady Ursa found before Arturus gets here.’
Bryn’s face was as impassive as Ursula’s own.
‘My Lord, I thank you for all the many kindnesses you have offered me. I believe I have served you honestly and as well as I knew how, but now I cannot serve you further. The man you call Gawain has a prior claim upon me. So I give you back your sword.’
With a certain melodramatic flourish, which suggested he had not been wholly inattentive to Taliesin’s lessons, Bryn drew his sword and handed it, hilt first, to Larcius.
Dan noted the edge of violence in the air and tried to resist the urge to rest his hand on his own sword hilt. It was a reflex – he had no intention of fighting, except for Ursula and Braveheart and, it seemed, for Bryn.
Chapter Thirty-two
Ursula was glad to be riding away from the stink of Caer-Baddon: its decaying food, overripe fruit and the fetid stench of sun-warmed animal dung. She was glad to be free of it, free from Larcius and even free from Dan. She did not know what had possessed her to kiss him – gratitude maybe that he understood, that he did not look at her as Larcius had done, that he was not old and fat. She could not say, and shied away from thinking about it. It was embarrassing.
Bryn had helped her, as she had known he would. He had suggested she borrow one of Larcius’s toughest ponies and told her that Taliesin was staying close to Brother Frontalis’s religious community, a few hours’ ride from Arturus’s fort at Cado. He had drawn her a map, which he scratched on a scrap of leather. It reminded Ursula too painfully of the message she had left on Braveheart’s collar. It clearly reminded Bryn of the same thing because he suddenly disappeared to return moments later with the well-oiled leather collar. It was strange to see the marks she had scratched on it so recently, now faded and aged. Braveheart stayed still long enough to permit the collar to be fastened back around his neck.
There was no Roman road between Caer-Baddon and Fort Cado, only farm tracks and open country. In her own time Ursula would not have dreamed of riding such a distance with the minimum of directions. It was a measure of her desperation that she was prepared to attempt it here. She had an instinct, maybe no more than a hope misconstrued, that she would find her way. She was not remotely surprised when just before midday as she rested and watered her horse and prepared to eat her lunch, she spotted the flecked, brown form of a merlin falcon on a branch nearby.
‘Taliesin?’
The bird tilted its head in a questioning way.
‘Taliesin, if it’s you, can you …?’ She struggled to think of a sign he could give her. ‘Oh, fly over to that big tree and back!’
The bird managed to express disdain even as it followed her instructions. Surely it could not be a coincidence? She drank some water from the stream to save her supplies, in case the day grew hotter later, and mounted up.
‘Taliesin, I really hope it is you because I’m going to follow you. Let’s go!’
*
Bryn’s change of status in Larcius’s house was the cause of considerable confusion. From what Dan could gather he seemed to have been in charge of almost everything concerning the running of Larcius’s life. No one seemed to be able to progress the preparations for Arturus’s arrival without consulting Bryn constantly. He was polite but steered all their questions towards Larcius himself, explaining that he himself now served Gawain, once the Bear Sark of the Combrogi. Whatever the title had once meant it was clear from the blank faces of Larcius’s retinue it meant nothing in these post-Baddon days.
Larcius was extremely angry and bellowed at anyone who came near him. In the confusion he forgot about finding anyone to follow Ursula until it was too late, and Arturus arrived with two hundred of his Sarmatian troops plus about one hundred light cavalry and rode with great pomp into Caer-Baddon. Time had been less cruel to Arturus than to Larcius Ambrosius. He had matured. His pale hair was paler now with many strands of grey among the gold. He was still slim and fit looking though he moved more stiffly than before. His rather bland face was improved by the lines of aging, they gave him an air of quiet authority that he had formerly lacked. He was clearly startled to see Dan again but quickly regained his composure.
‘Gawain, but I thought you long dead, or gone from us.’ ‘I understand many years have passed.’ Dan faltered as he searched for something more to say. ‘And there has been peace since the Battle of Baddon Hill.’
Arturus nodded. ‘We have fought,’ he said, ‘but only skirmishes. The Aenglisc have gained no more land.’
Dan could see that, along with the more tangible signs of aging, Arturus at least seemed more regal, more the king history had made him.
‘And we have tried to rebuild our Roman heritage. Many of our towns are beginning to thrive again and I am proud to say the rule of law has been restored. But, Dan, you are … as I last saw you. What miracle is this?’
‘We went through the Veil – you know?’
‘Taliesin spoke to me about it once.’
‘Then you know as much as I do.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘And how is Taliesin?’
‘Difficult, moody and unhelpful, as he has been since Baddon. I don’t think he approves of peace. Needless to say his spirits have improved lately, now that we are under threat again.’ Arturus gave a wry smile.
So there was war brewing. As Arturus spoke Dan knew that the certainty of it lay in all the emotions eddying as an undercurrent to the flow of conversation. In war, side-taking was inevitable – he chose his on instinct. He was with Arturus still, in spite of everything. He hoped that he was not wrong.
*
Ursula was becoming extremely irritated with the bird that seemed to take delight in leading her across streams, ditches and marshland. This perversity convinced her that the merlin truly was Taliesin as nothing else could. It was getting dark, and Ursula was hungry, exhausted and thoroughly bad tempered, when the bird finally came to rest in a clearing where a round, thatched hut, of the type favoured by Macsen’s Combrogi, vented fragrant wood smoke into the cooling air. The wind was blowing towards her and she coughed.
‘Lady Ursa?’ The voice was tremulous. A figure bent and hesitant appeared at the door, holding on to the wooden door frame for support.
‘Brother Frontalis!’
The old man reached out to her and, abandoning both her horse and Braveheart, Ursula dismounted and ran to him. He peered at her through eyes dimmed by cataracts and touched her arm with his still strong, large hands. She gave his arm an answering squeeze.
She followed him into the dark and smoky interior. The smell of stew flavoured by herbs and hops from the beer fermenting in the corner could not quite disguise the faint odour of old age. Taliesin lay like one dead on a bed of sheepskin close to the fire.
Frontalis sat down slowly on a low Roman couch, almost the only furniture in the room. It was covered in animal skins and so its incongruity had not been immediately obvious.
‘Would you get Taliesin some ale from that jug there?’ He indicated a pitcher with a nod of his head. ‘There are some cups just there. He will be thirsty when he wakes.’
Ursula did as she was asked. Taliesin opened his eyes and grunted something and she obligingly raised the horn cup to his lips as he struggled to sit up.
‘What took you so long?’ Taliesin sounded surly.
‘What do you mean?’ Ursula answered, confused.
‘I wait twenty-one years to see you and I’m not your first port of call!’
Ursula hung her head. ‘Please don’t tease me, Taliesin – I’ve followed you through some pretty hard country, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’ve lost my sense of humour, and I want to go home.’
‘I’m not teasing. I’m the only one who knows what’s going on round here. Arturus thinks he knows it all. Trouble is brewing and you can help.’
Something about his tone irritated Ursula and she found herself replying more aggressively than she’d intended. ‘Why, Taliesin? Why should I help? All I want to do is to go home!’
Then she had the somewhat dubious privilege of seeing Taliesin look, for the first time, utterly surprised.
Chapter Thirty-three
Arturus’s mood darkened as the day wore on. Gwynefa had gone somewhere with Larcius and returned late. When she finally arrived elaborately dressed and imperious, Dan was shocked at the change in her. He had heard from Bryn that her union with Arturus had been childless. She had miscarried some nine times and it was evident to Dan, if to no one else, that she carried the pain of every one of those lost potential children like a stone in her heart. Her whole being was rooted in grief and bitterness. Dan found it hard to look at her. She was bravely dressed in a Roman chiton of scarlet wool that clung to her voluptuous curves, and a long, floor-length cloak of deep blue interwoven with threads of gold. She was festooned with gold jewellery and wore her jet-black hair in a complicated style, pinned with glittering combs and clips that Dan’s sister would have loved. The dark skin of her face was still smooth and plump, and her startling, pale green eyes were accentuated by dark make-up so that they seemed to glitter maniacally. She must have been in her late thirties and had retained a far more youthful appearance than either Arturus or Larcius, yet to Dan she seemed old and world-weary. Her still charming smile did not reach her eyes.
It was obvious to Dan that Arturus still loved and desired her. It was also apparent in her every gesture towards him, that she accepted both emotions as her due – but shared neither. She seemed scarcely warmer towards Larcius, while the sentiments he exuded defied Dan’s limited powers of emotional description: not envy, not hate, not irritation, not respect, not quite love, but somehow all of them together. It was more than Dan could grasp.
It all became easier when Gwynefa left early from the dinner Larcius had arranged in Arturus’s honour. Arturus explained that she intended to ride out before dawn the next day to negotiate the purchase of some horses from a well-known horse breeder a day’s ride away and that she intended to meet him back at his fort at Cado. It seemed to Dan that Arturus was both pleased and irritated by her independence, while Larcius was both excited and disturbed by her plans. Dan was merely bemused. Something was going on but he did not know what. He tried to reduce his sensitivity to the emotional ambience, and following Bryn’s example, concentrated on his meal – it was hot and tasty and richly filling, a simple, satisfying pleasure.
Frontalis soothed Ursula with kindness, consideration, and dinner. Taliesin had the good sense to leave aside the tricky topic of Ursula’s allegiance until she had finished her supper, cared for the animals, bathed in the nearby river, divested herself of her riding boots and chain mail and was drinking some hot sweet herbal concoction of Frontalis’s as she dried her hair by the fire. However, once he did broach it Taliesin leapt straight to the point.
‘What did you mean, Ursula, about not helping? I thought you were Combrogi now.’
Ursula sipped her drink and watched the flames dance and destroy a large log of sweet apple wood. It was so good to drink something hot that was not wine or mead or even warm ale. Frontalis had a gift for hospitality. She felt warm and safe and clean and somehow loved. She did not much want to have to justify herself to the old druid.
‘Taliesin – why can’t you let me be and sing a song or do something soothing? I have only had one night’s rest since I fought at Baddon. I still ache from that and from the ride. You have no right to bully me.’
Unexpectedly, Taliesin did pick up his harp from where it was carefully stowed and began to play. He did not choose the melody he’d played at Baddon, as she thought he might, or even the saga of Boar Skull and the Bear Sark. He played instead the tune he’d played the night she’d given her warrior’s oath to King Macsen, the Combrogi leader. It was a clever choice. That night she had been accepted into a select and much-valued band, a girl who had not often been accepted. She found her eyes watering from more than the sweet smoke.
‘Taliesin, you are a manipulative old goat,’ she said when he had finished. ‘Arturus isn’t Macsen and you know it.’
‘He’s not as tall or as handsome.’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ Ursula snapped. ‘He is not a worthy leader. He tricked me into bearing his shield at Baddon, then he claimed that he’d led the battle charge and killed my friends who might have contradicted him. Why in God’s name should I lift a finger to help him?’
‘You are very well informed.’
‘I also heard that you pretended that Dan and I had never existed. Thanks, Taliesin. Haven’t you messed with our lives enough?’ Ursula felt ashamed to have lost her temper again in front of Frontalis. She sipped her drink and tried to calm down in the long silence before Taliesin spoke again.
‘After Baddon – it was confused. Arturus thought you were dead. Cynfach saw you ride out with Dan and we couldn’t find you. A small Aenglisc war band survived the charge down Baddon Hill – they were the Bretwalde’s men, Aelle’s hand-picked warriors, they set up an ambush. They picked up various Combrogi shields and helms that were lost in battle and scattered them round some Aenglisc bodies and when our men went to check that none of ours were fallen or injured, they killed them. We lost twenty men that way and somehow your helmet and faceplate got mixed up with them.’
‘I tied it to my horse’s bridle.’
‘Well, it must have come loose and fallen and in all the celebration it was some time before Cynfach noticed that you had not returned. When Arturus saw his own face-mask that he’d given you at the ambush site – we all assumed the worst. Then some of the Sarmatians seeing him with the face-mask assumed it was he that had le
d the charge along with you.’
‘And he did not deny it?’
‘He is High King of a contentious, territorial, ambitious, self-serving, envious, power-hungry group of men. Would you deny you were a hero if it would help you keep that lot united?’
‘What about Cynfach?’
‘I don’t believe Arturus killed him. I don’t think Arturus set out to lie either, but he did not discourage the lies and neither did I, Ursula. Arturus’s position was not completely secure – Cerdic, Larcius and Medraut all had claims on the title and so I too just stopped talking about you. You were only with us a short time. You were remembered, but many of those who fought at Baddon are dead now, it’s been twenty years.’
‘And this is good – this is a reason to help Arturus?’
‘He is “the Bear”, Ursula – I do believe it, though I don’t believe he would have come into his own without your help. I justify what I have done with that thought, Ursula. “The Bear” is on the hillside and you helped put him there.’ He touched her hand, demanding that she look at him, and she saw in the firelight that his face was damp with tears.
‘Ursula, my dear, brave friend, I have been to many worlds, seen many atrocities, the tribes are not perfect but they are my people, they are Macsen’s people, your people. Would you see all that they are, die for ever? Would you let all the songs die for ever?’
As he spoke he started to play again, a song of home. Ursula could not prevent the tears from running silently down her own cheeks, but it was not Macsen’s people that she cried for but her own: her mother and her classmates and the lost heart’s ease of her own home.
Chapter Thirty-four
There was no one in the hut when Ursula woke. Bright beams of sunlight bored through the gaps between the wooden slats of the shuttered window and she could see silver dust motes whirling in the air. Instinct said it was late morning, later than she had ever slept since leaving home. She got up quietly and slipped out of the hut to go and bathe in the stream. It was hot and insects buzzed around the outbuilding where her horse, Braveheart and Frontalis’s livestock had been housed for the night. She heard Taliesin and Frontalis arguing as they fed the chickens.
