by C. M. Gray
'Renew the guards at the gate and then send a party of riders after the Duc and his people with a request that they return. We shall ask Sir Ector to lead them. I gave orders that none were to leave until our celebrations here were complete.' He stood up on shaky legs, dragged the fur back around his shoulders, and crossed to the fire where he slumped down on a stool. 'That man is infuriating, he muttered.' He turned to the warrior. 'Please ask the Druid Merlyn and Sir Ector to join me, we need to deal with this properly.'
'Yes, King Uther.' The warrior trotted off, and Uther returned to the fire, poking at it with a stick before throwing on a few bigger pieces picked from a pile close by. 'It would seem that you are forcing my hand, Duc Gerlois, you should have stayed. We would have talked… Merlyn would have made sure that we parted as friends and that I leave any desires for your wife well alone, and perhaps I would have… perhaps, but now I am feeling less inclined to do so.'
Morgana shifted on her stool, unable to contain herself anymore. 'My father aided you; he sent ships on your ridiculous quest and, in an effort to gain your favour he even stood and took the challenge of Uath the Stranger. Just because you took a fancy to my mother, you turned his people against him and murdered him. Of course, he took his people and left. Was it not you who forced him to this point, King Uther? Did he have any other choice? He fled because he knew that you had deliberately brought him to this point, belittled and cowed him in front of his people and all the other tribal leaders… just so that you could satisfy your lust?'
Uther stared up into the shadowed face of Morgana as she sat beside his cot. The light had all but faded from the room and the chill of evening was invading. He heard another noise in the room and glanced across to see that Maude was trying to coax a flame amongst a bundle of twigs in the small hearth.
'No, Morgana, that is not how it was. I began that quest seeking only to bring my people closer together, and that included your father. He was a difficult man. You do not need to take my word for that, ask any who knew him. I thought at first that he was a good man, poorly judged by others, but I was wrong.' Uther tried to sit up and Morgana took his shoulders and lifted him forward roughly, put a bolster behind him, and he sank back gratefully, once more depleted of energy. After a few moments, he opened his eyes again and saw that she was staring at him silently, waiting for him to continue. He tried to find the right words so that she might understand.
'I am sorry, Morgana. I know you must hate me and for so many reasons, but also know that I wanted to help your mother, regardless of my feelings for her. He was beating her cruelly, and not just on that one occasion. Her life was endangered. She pleaded with me to help her, to aid her in getting away from a man who showed her no affection, no compassion. More often than not he just showed her the back of his hand.'
'And so you crushed him, stole my mother away, and I was sent to the nunnery at Laherne.
'I had no part in where you were sent, that pact was completed before I took Igraine to be my Queen. I have done many dreadful things in my role as High King of the tribes. Indeed, for my own reasons, I was also a terrible father to Arthur, my son. But believe me, when I tell you that I took no part in sending you away.'
'We shall see. Sleep, King Uther. Tomorrow you will tell me of the death of my father and the abduction of my mother, for now, you can try to find sleep.'
As Morgana rose and left the cell, the warrior Maude edged closer to her King's side. For a moment she said nothing, she simply gazed down at him and then reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his brow, then leant down and whispered, her voice a soft breath against his ear.
'My King, I do not trust her. I fear for your safety here. You must try to gain a little strength for I think we must leave here soon. I will care for you properly.' She poured a cup of Morgana's brew into the clay cup, and held it close so that Uther could drink, and as the scent of it filled his senses his mind began to relax.
'Tell me something of you Maude? Where are you from? How is it that I am favoured with you as my guardian, my ever-present shadow in this my time of need?
'There is little to tell, Sire; you should sleep.'
He stared up at her and smiled as she held the cup to his lips again.
'Very well. But I am just a simple person; there is little to tell. I am the daughter of a warrior, my father; he talked about you and the victories you shared at Mount Badon and Aegelsthorpe, he was a very proud man and very loyal to you. He told me of the early days when you were gathering the tribes. The difficulties that you had. My mother died birthing me, so I was brought up in a large communal roundhouse with many other children for company, so I had lots of opportunities to learn how to fight.' She smiled and raised the cup to his lips once again. 'When my father would return from his service with you, he would train us. It was all I ever wanted, to grow up and be like him, to fight near you… and now I am privileged to protect you while you heal. It is my honour to be here and look after you, my Lord, a very great honour indeed, my father smiles at me from the Shadowland, I shall not leave your side.'
Uther reached out and took her hand. 'Thank you, Maude, it is I who am honoured, to have you as my guardian in this, my time of need.'
Maude smiled and drew her hand away. 'Did Sir Ector bring back the Duc and the Lady Igraine? What happened?
'Let me sleep now. Tomorrow I will tell you of Igraine's experience, just as she retold it to me many years later. Morgana will be most unhappy if she doesn't hear of her mother's account. Poor Igraine was cold, confused and in a lot of pain.'
Chapter 17
Flight
There were six children and two women in the open cart, huddled together around the Duc's baggage and belongings, trying their best to keep warm in the late morning, which was cold and wet. The constantly rumbling, bucking cart was most uncomfortable, and so despite the softness of the bags around which they lay, the occupants were sullen and miserable. The party had moved at a rapid pace and this, coupled with the uneven, frost-hardened track, was making the boards beneath the occupants' buttocks bounce and jump alarmingly, leaving them bruised and hurting.
A man with little hair and fewer manners sat on the front bench. Igraine didn't know him and certainly had no wish to become acquainted. He was rude, stank of stale old sweat, and horses, and it was obvious he thought nothing of his passengers' comfort. He was forever whipping the oxen, pushing them, again and again, to make them move faster, which made the cart bounce alarmingly. If that wasn't enough, he was being hurried further by the demands of the man who rode close to the cart astride a big white horse, Duc Gerlois. Igraine calculated that it must now be close to the middle of the day. They had been travelling like this for what seemed an age, and the pace of their flight had never ebbed, the poor animals must be exhausted.
It had been this hectic since they had first woken in the silent darkness of predawn. In the cold and dark they had been shaken awake and told abruptly, that they were leaving, no other explanation had been given. She had woken the children, who were naturally full of questions for which she had no answer, so they were left moving around in hushed whispers and confusion. All of it because her husband refused to explain, to stop, to rest, or even to slow down. It was obvious yet unthinkable that they were running away, fleeing from the fortress, from the King, without permission to leave.
Igraine ground her teeth, tried to endure, and wished she had found a chance to delay or refuse to leave her sleeping pallet altogether, but it had all been so fast and so early. They had been woken and sneaked away as if they were Samhain spirits returning through the veil between worlds, returning to the Shadowland. Except they weren't spirits, they were a frightened and confused group of people unsure of what was happening and why they were leaving.
Right now, in the back of the cart, Igraine felt numb as she peered out from beneath her course woollen cloak. It was wet and hung heavily over her, but at least it was still keeping most of the drizzling rain from drenching her further, but s
he would dearly love to stop and wring the water from it. Without any warning, one of the cart's wheels crashed into a pothole, delivering a jolting shock that made her flinch. Keeping her composure, she swallowed the pain, there was little else she could do, it wasn't the first time it had happened and no doubt it wouldn't be the last.
Gerlois was coming into view every time he came close to yell at the carter. She stared at him through her one good eye, the other still swollen shut from where he had hit her. What had happened? What had he done to make him like this? She hardly recognised him. He had never been the most pleasant of men, but a huge change had taken place while he had been away. He looked constantly worried and continually glanced back, obviously in fear that pursuers would catch up with them at any moment. She almost felt sorry for him, well almost. He kept yelling at the carter for not moving faster or the warriors on horses for not staying close; he appeared scared and that wasn't like him. She hugged Elaine, her second youngest daughter to her and smiled across to where Morgause her oldest, and Morgana her youngest, sat huddled close together. The other three children in the cart, two girls and a young boy with a wet, snotty nose who hadn't stopped crying since they departed, had parents within the circle of Gerlois' closest followers. She noted that Morgause still appeared tearful, yet Morgana was clearly untroubled by the rude awakening or the bumpy ride, in fact, she seemed quite happy.
The cart abruptly turned, bounced over some uneven ground and then rumbled through a grove of trees before slewing to a halt. Even though she couldn't see them properly over the sides of the cart, she was aware of the riders bunching up, clustering around. She could hear horses and men panting and horses' hooves stamping, muffled upon fallen leaves. Igraine and the children remained seated for a moment, expecting that the cart would start forward again as it had done on numerous other occasions this morning, but it didn't. They could hear more voices now, tired horses snorting and the jingle of harnesses as riders dismounted, and it became apparent that they had arrived at wherever they were heading. The warriors called and joked with one another, happy the ride was at an end, and she dared to believe that the ordeal might be over.
First one, and then a second loud bang made the cart jerk forward as both they and the oxen jumped, and then she watched as Morgana pulled herself up onto her knees and peered over the edge; that one was always first to jump up. Igraine waited for her daughter to report what was happening, but instead the child stood up and began cheerfully clambering over the side.
'Morgana, no… what are you doing?' Igraine pushed the sodden cloak to the side and tried to rise, but she was stiff and her body seemed to hurt all over. She cursed and rubbed her lower back and then her legs, which were threatening to cramp. The needs of the children were suddenly being voiced, their calls of hunger and the wish to know, what was happening? Why had they stopped? Where were they?
'Shhh, my loves. Let us be quiet. We will find some bread and some cold meats for you soon, hush. Let us wait and see if we are to stay here or if we are moving on.' She glanced around to get her bearings and saw they had drawn up in a clearing amongst trees on the bank of a wide river. Three boats were moored close to where her husband was standing, two vessels tied hard against the bank and a third moored further upstream. Gerlois was paying the carter and they were haggling animatedly – he always haggled, the smelly carter didn't look best pleased. Most lords would leave this minor duty to one of their men, but Gerlois loved to argue about money with anyone.
Behind the cart, one of the warriors began gathering the horses, tying them to a long rope, probably so they could be taken back overland. The horses belonged to the Cornovii, but there was clearly not enough room to take them all on the boats, if that was indeed Gerlois plan, to sail – he had told her nothing of his plans.
It seemed they would be stopping here for a while at least, so she started to organise everyone out of the cart. A man called something as he ran down the heavy plank spanning the gap between boat and land; one of the loud bangs she had heard must have been as the crew had dropped the plank down. The boats were also Cornovii, she recognised several seamen and certainly the gnarled features of the boat master who was now helping several warriors persuade Gerlois' great, white horse to walk up the bouncing plank and onto the deck. The man must surely be close to fifty years. His skin was tanned dark, like old leather and crusted with the salt of all his years at sea. He was bent with age, had short grey hair cropped close to a mottled scalp, and piercing blue eyes the colour of a storm-whipped sea. Igraine was sure she wouldn't like him, which troubled her. She tried to like and get on with most people around her, be they from the higher groups of the tribal Council's warriors or one of the servants. She was even considerate to serfs and slaves. It was just some of the men Gerlois employed that she found so distasteful, she wasn't sure why.
She continued to rub at her back as she hoisted herself up on unsteady legs and watched as Gerlois' horse whinnied and stamped its hooves, its hot breath a pluming white cloud in the chill wet air. They had placed a cloth over its eyes, but its ears were twitching and it was snorting and prancing in alarm as it realised where they were trying to guide it.
'Morgana, no!' called Igraine, and then she sighed. The child was running over to help with the horse, but then it was highly likely the girl would be able to calm the beast better than the warriors, that one had a way with animals. Clambering down, she stretched her back which felt good, and glanced up through the cover of yellow and brown leaves at patches of grey cloud floating past high above. It was still cold, and the rain falling above the trees was dripping through the canopy; it was a truly awful day to be travelling far that was for sure. Gerlois must have his reasons, but she worried what those reasons might be and where he might be leading them.
'Keep away woman,' the carter growled irritably, as he strode past them and pulled himself up to his seat. She drew the two girls back and cautioned the other children to stay clear as two warriors pushed past them to jump up while another held tight to the oxen's harnesses forcing the cart to stay where it was. The warriors quickly began unloading the bags and bundles, throwing them down onto the wet ground, even while the carter was cursing his low payment and lashing the oxen, trying to break them from the warrior's grasp. The bundles were picked up by others, quickly taken over to the boats and thrown up into waiting hands, all while the carter continued to grumble and complain.
'Get on board, Igraine, and hurry, we must be away,' called Gerlois as he walked towards her. He pushed her and the girls roughly towards the boat, causing Igraine to stumble. 'You try my patience, woman, hurry I said, we need to be as quick as possible. If you cause any delay then I will leave you all here, I mean it, so do not make to test me.'
Lifting her skirts so she would not trip again, Igraine did as she was bid and hurried the children over to the boat. Morgause was first to step onto the wooden plank and a warrior extended a hand to her before quickly pulling her up the three steps between bank and deck.
'Now you, Elaine, get on the boat so that your father and the men can finish the loading.'
'But I'm hungry mother. We still need to break our fast. It's been so long since we woke. Why are we…?' she stopped talking abruptly as the thumping sound of horses hooves echoed through the trees. Everyone in the clearing stopped what they were doing and turned towards the sound. After a brief moment's hesitation, the warriors quickly dropped whatever they were doing and gathered to form a wall, shield's held together, tightly overlapping with their spears pointing through towards the sounds of the approaching horses, a barrier of warriors ready to fight, a lesson in war learnt from the Romans.
'Quickly… up now.' Alarmed, she clapped her hands behind Elaine and cast about for her youngest daughter. 'Morgana, on the boat… please.' Thankfully, there were no protests and Morgana ran unaided up the wooden plank and onto the deck where she clambered up to find a better vantage point to hug the mast and peer over the warriors' heads as three rumbling chariots acco
mpanied by a large band of horsemen entered the clearing. Igraine gingerly walked up the plank, arms stretched out to either side for balance, then glanced around to see that her youngest daughter was grinning, delighted by the distraction, seemingly oblivious to the danger or of the drama and heightened tension that was unfolding around them.
The horsemen had pulled up as soon as they realised that they had caught up with their quarry. The chariots that were following close behind drew back on their reins, and for a moment there was confusion as horses and chariots tried to hold without being pushed onto the Cornovii shield wall. Order was quickly restored and the horses stood panting great clouds of breath, harnesses rattling as they shook their heads, shivering their great muscles as adrenaline continued to course through their veins; they had clearly been ridden hard. The newcomers were showing a mixture of tribal colours and swirling blue tattoos, and as they quietened their mounts, they eyed the line of men, spears and shields that faced them.
Igraine could see that they were from several tribes, possibly it was so no reason of offence might be offered to the Cornovii from a single tribe. One of the mounted warriors of the tribe, Atribates, which was evident from his dark green cloak, and with his hair gathered back and heavily limed so that it appeared white and solid, rode a little forward and called over the heads of the waiting Cornovii.
'Greetings, Duc Gerlois, warriors of the Cornovii. We bring you greetings from King Uther Pendragon, High King of all the tribes. The King has sent us in search of you so that we can request your return to Pendragon fortress. The King is in need of your counsel, Duc Gerlois.'
