by C. M. Gray
'Little amuses me, Sir Ector. I was merely noticing that while they have long left our shores, the Romans' legacy still lives on in our Britain, even though it has been years since their legions marched here.' He pointed back at the milestone. 'To know where you are upon the road is valuable information, we must be sure these markers do not fade into insignificance. We would do well to continue the job that our old Roman masters started and keep the stones clear of weeds. The stone tells me that we are but a short stroll to the camp at Gloucester, and I think we shall be breaking our night fast upon meat and eggs.' The two men smiled at the thought then nudged their mounts into a trot, to pass the warriors in front of them.
Some time later, the sprawling camp covering the hills and fields about the fortress came into view. The smoke of hundreds of cooking fires drifted languidly up towards the clouds, filling the air with the smell of food being prepared. Uther looked out from the hill fort across the warrior's camp towards the southern forested hills. He could see the thin line of the road crossing the fields and disappearing into the dark treeline. He knew that beyond the forest, where it emerged and within just a few days march, lay the lands of the Dumnonii and Cornovii tribes.
As the boat left the more turbulent open sea behind and slipped into the calmer waters of the river, Igraine felt an impatient need to feel solid earth beneath her feet.
She had feared they would spend a third night at sea, something she felt would test the boundaries of her sanity beyond the point of breaking, but just as the light was beginning to fade from the sky the little boat had turned towards the coast and she had felt her spirits lift.
Everyone sprawled around her had sat up, several children jumping to their feet and all had begun to chatter excitedly as the abrupt course change had been made, and it became apparent their journey would soon be at an end. They had only resumed their places and quietened down when Gerlois had growled at them to stop clucking like excited chickens and keep out of the crew's way.
And now trees, drab looking water reeds and the deadheads of last summer's bulrushes were slipping past closer and closer to the side of the boat. It was steady for the first time in days. They were no longer rising and falling as they had when on the open sea. Now as they were passing achingly close to firm land, they could smell the earth and slightly pungent aromas of rotting reeds. Sliding cleanly through the river water with a hiss, thanks to the heaving efforts of the oarsmen, they drew closer to the distant mooring posts, the oars rattling against the side of the boat after every measured stroke.
Raising her head a little, Igraine tried hard to curb the excitement she felt, but still had to exchange furtive grins with others in her group as they whispered their questions and exclamations. They were all craning their heads to see better, like so many chicks in a nesting box she thought, but she was doing it too. Horsemen were waiting for them, a small band, their leader standing alone on the bank while the others remained mounted some way behind him. She hoped that they would be welcomed into an established encampment with food cooking and comfortable sleeping arrangements already waiting. She was as exhausted as she could ever remember being and felt she could sleep for days. She smiled down at her daughters and hugged them close.
'Oh, girls, soon this will be over, and we will get off this boat. We will be able to look after each other, comb our hair out and clean ourselves, and surely eat a proper hot meal.'
'I want hot pottage, oatcakes and roasted meat,' said Elaine, her eyes wide at the thought. She held a hand to her belly then grinned.
'I want to ride the horses,' said Morgana excitedly. She pointed to the waiting horsemen. 'Do you think they brought us all horses to ride? Do you think they brought Blackberry for me?'
'Don't be silly, Morgana,' chided Morgause, 'why would they bring your pony with them? We shall travel by cart…'
'Or chariot! I wouldn't mind driving a chariot.'
'Hush, both of you.' Igraine pulled Morgana down and hugged the girls to her again. She glanced across to Gerlois, but he hadn't heard Morgana, he was talking to the boat master, helping guide them through the narrowing river.
'Raise oars,' called the boat master, and eight dripping oars were raised overhead and then brought into the boat and stored. As the vessel came close to the bank, one of the crew jumped ashore and heaved back on a rope slowing the craft as it neared the bank where the mounted warriors waited. Another line was thrown, and the boat drawn to a final rest bumping against the bank. Igraine looked to Gerlois, waiting anxiously for permission to leave the boat, but he ignored her and instead jumped down himself. He walked to the front of the vessel and held his arms out; Morgana jumped down happily, and they walked together to the waiting warrior. As the white horse was led ashore, Igraine glanced around. There were no slaves or servants waiting. She could see no pavilions erected with dry cots, nor smoke from fires cooking, preparing hot meals. She stood, confused, there seemed to be no preparation for them at all.
'Gerlois?' she hadn't meant to call him by name, he would be angry, but she didn't understand. He glanced back at them on the boat as several other warriors joined him on the bank, and then as she saw horses brought for them she noticed the boat was drifting back out into the river.
'Gerlois… please… what is happening? Morgana… why are you taking Morgana? Gerlois, can we not come ashore and make camp? Can we not rest and cook a meal… for the children?'
Gerlois swung up onto the back of his horse, pulled Morgana up to sit behind him and called, 'You are being taken to Tintagel, Igraine. You and the girls will be safe there while I go to meet the King at Isca, we have some business to discuss that I think will be better done without you there. Morgana will accompany me.' The boat was moving quickly now, caught on a current being drawn back out to sea.
'No… Gerlois, please. Why keep Morgana with you? Let us rest here for the night, I beg of you, Gerlois… Gerlois?' She shouted this last as he wheeled his horse and the group of mounted warriors disappeared from sight amid a chorus of yells and shouts. Igraine watched as Morgana turned in the saddle, to look at her while clinging onto her father as they rode away. Then Igraine collapsed back down into the arms of her remaining two daughters and they sobbed together, the whole group of women and children crying as they slipped back out towards the sea.
'Why did he take Morgana, Mother?' asked Elaine. 'Why does she get to go with Father?'
'Hush Elaine, I'm sure your father has good reason to take Morgana with him.' She said this but knew that Gerlois had taken her daughter as another way of keeping her, his wife, docile and obedient. It was a harsh lesson, but surely he would care well for his own daughter… wouldn't he? 'Please,' Igraine found her voice as she noticed pity on the face of the boat master. 'Please allow us to put ashore and rest for the night. We can sail again at first light; we would not lose much time… we need to rest, can we?'
The old man shook his head sadly. 'Duc's orders, Lady. We are to take you to Tintagel making all haste and see you enter the fortress before dusk tomorrow. To do that we must sail through the night.' He glanced up at the cloudy sky and shook his head. 'It may rain, but there will be no storm. I have no reason to cross the Duc; I'm sorry to say. I see you have a powerful need to rest, but for now, this is the way of it, we sail.'
And so once more they put to sea. The women and children on board, gathering together to endure another winter's night, exposed and wet on an open deck, it would mark their fourth night at sea.
It did rain, soaking them all, chilling them even further if that was at all possible, as they clung to each other in a tight little group so that Igraine felt they might all die of exposure, but it didn't storm and by dawn the next day the rain had ceased.
'While you lot were still sleeping, at first light, we passed the Dumnonii trading settlement of Appledore, a pleasant place with a pleasant name, passing it already means that we're being carried by good winds and is proof that the Gods smile upon us.' The boat master appeared pleased as he said this, h
e passed around dry oatcakes taken from a greasy looking sack.
'If yer have a mind to, keep an eye down the coast and yer may shortly see the fortress of Tintagel coming into view.' Everyone turned to look, but there was little to see but grey water, a grey coast and an even greyer sky.
'For those of you who haven't seen Tintagel from this vantage, tis set upon an islet that juts out from the coast. Up upon its own little headland, so it is. The watchtowers are what you'll see first.' He turned away and went back to his business, minding the steering oar, gazing up at the big sail as he teased as much speed out of his vessel as he could. Without Gerlois on board, he was more relaxed with his charges, and the little group of women and children were able to stretch their legs and stand at the windward side of the boat to watch the coastline slip past, each eager to catch the first glimpse of the fortress.
'I'll be the one to see it first,' called Morgause running to the side of the boat. She crammed oatcakes into her mouth and pushed past her sister.
Igraine allowed herself to be drawn to the side of the boat by Elaine to see a distant sail. It was probably one of the vessels carrying tin for trade goods, its sail a dull brown smudge in an otherwise grey day. Igraine shivered and cast her eyes down the coast, but Tintagel was still nowhere to be seen.
It was past midday when Morgause gave a shout, saying she could see the towers of Tintagel in the misty distance. Everybody strained to see, but none save Morgause could make out anything, all but Igraine voiced their doubts. If Morgause had said she saw the towers, then Igraine knew she had seen them. The voyage would soon be over and rest not far away. She gripped the side of the boat, her nails digging into the wood, and stared along the coast until finally, she too saw the protruding headland, waves foaming white upon the rocks at the base of the cliffs, and knew they were almost there. Her thoughts turned for a moment to Morgana and hoped she wouldn't irritate her father too much. It scared her more than she cared to admit that her daughter was out of her sight and in the company of such a man as Gerlois, even if he was her father.
Maude crept silently along the reed-strewn passageway, moving from memory through the darker parts, ignoring the rustling and squeaking of the rats that she couldn't see, but was all too aware of their presence. She refrained from taking a candle of her own; wanting to be as silent and unseen as possible and moving about with her own light would have announced her presence to any of the nuns who might be up and moving about on their own nocturnal business. They kept strange times these nuns, even now in the darkest hours of the night they would all wake to attend prayers.
Reaching the part of the Abbey where she had hidden the growing pile of provisions, she pulled the bench carefully to the side to reveal the hidden stash and added a leather satchel. She scanned the darkness about her, listening intently until certain she was alone. The satchel contained a few coins from the bags the King had arrived with, his rings that she had managed to hide, and some documents she had found beside the cot. She hadn't quite known what to take, or what the King would need, but she was intent upon taking him away and knew she had little time to prepare. Warm clothes, some blankets… what else, where would she go?
Maude retraced her steps until she was close to the room where the nuns prepared their food and decided to see what she could find to bring the King. A low fire was burning in the hearth, the glow of a few bright embers enough to allow her to search the tables and boxes that she could see. There were plenty of vegetables and herbs hanging in bunches. She found a hunk of hard bread wrapped in a cloth and then when she took the lid from a pot she smiled as the aroma of barley pottage filled the air. She scooped some up with her fingers; it was still warm. Taking another mouthful, she replaced the lid and began to search for a bowl; tonight, the King would eat, and soon he would become strong again, and they would be leaving.
Chapter 20
Dead Echoes of Winter
As Duc Gerlois and his party were approaching the main gates, the first snowflakes of winter began to fall upon the Dumnonii settlement of Isca. Above the high walls of the fortress, constructed from huge tree trunks fitted tightly together with their bases buried deep in the earth, the dense grey clouds had begun to let go their burden as if they had swollen and held their load for as long as they possibly could, but the time had come when they must softly, and silently burst, to slowly release their burden.
Isca was one of the largest trading settlements within Britain. Within the walls were hundreds of roundhouses, huts and halls of many sizes and it teemed with merchant representatives from the many tribes of Britain and also from tribes across the sea who wished to trade with both Britons and the Saxon invaders. The main strength of Dumnonii and Cornovii warriors were camped here to offer protection for the trading settlement, its inhabitants and also for the travellers and merchants who journeyed upon the surrounding paths and roads. At its centre, a large market square dominated the settlement, as a place where goods and livestock that were brought from all over the Kingdom and from across the seas could be traded and sold to its multitude of visitors.
As the small band of horsemen clattered up the hill, a few solitary flakes floated down from the oppressive grey sky. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerlois noticed Morgana's little hand reaching out to catch them.
'Hold still girl, or you will fall just before we reach the town and embarrass me.' The hand was snatched back and he felt Morgana hold him tighter.
Other flakes were following the first few and the snow was increasing quickly, holding a promise that winter had arrived and that it would worsen severely before it was over and done.
During the night the temperature had dropped quickly. When just after first light the Duc and his men had awoken, they had emerged into a world without a breath of wind. It was deathly cold, painted white with frost, puddles covered in ice, bare trees hard and still as if frozen in place. Gerlois had smiled, his breath misting in the chill air. Winter was finally making itself known and this would only hamper the efforts of Uther, if and when he arrived with a mighty force of warriors. Gerlois knew that if the King could be held at arm's length between Isca and the fortress at Dimilioc until Beltane, then the Saxons would begin their raiding once more and his Dumnonii and Cornovii would be left in peace to fortify their borders and continue their trading while Uther returned to the conflict with the Saxons, if that is, he and his army hadn't starved or frozen to death in the meantime. Either a new peace with Uther Pendragon would be made this winter season, or the King would be forced to recognise these lands as a separate Kingdom.
Now at Isca, the snows of winter had begun and those first few snowflakes were quickly and silently filling the sky, settling in his horse's mane and on his beard so that it tickled his chin as it melted. It was already dusting the open, levelled land all around the settlement, turning pig runs and turnip fields into soft white, bringing beauty to what had been a stark muddy world moments before. This was no weather to make war, he kicked his horse into a trot and grinned at the thought of Uther Pendragon shivering, camped beneath a tree while he was warming himself by his fires eating goose, yes… that was it… he had an appetite for goose this cold winter's day.
'Make way for the Duc,' called his man, Peder, as they approached. Peder, an older man past his fortieth year, was in charge of fortifications and defences of all of the Duc's fortresses including the largest of Isca, Dimilioc, and of course Tintagel, he had been a faithful servant of the Duc for many years. With his hair and beard showing more grey than the glossy black he had been so proud of for years, he was fastidious in his dress sense seeking out the finest furs and fabrics that the traders brought from Gaul. It was often a point that his men found amusing but never mentioned within his hearing. He was a big man who carried his years well and was feared amongst his warriors as having a quick temper and excellent fighting skills. He had also been the warrior who had travelled to meet the Duc as his boat docked.
'I see the land has been cleared, prepared in case we
are attacked,' called Gerlois to Peder. 'Did you have to remove many of the surrounding halls and dwellings?'
'A few, in fact, several, but now all the land around the settlement has been emptied for two hundred paces, my Lord Duc,' replied Peder. 'The area directly around the main gate was already clear of course, except for a few bushes and small trees between the fields that have now been removed, however, we were forced to do away with a number of huts and roundhouses close to the southern gate. Because of this, there were a number of unhappy merchants who lost property there, but they were assigned land within the walls and therefore gained by the action, so all ends well.'
As the two massive fortress gates swung inwards, twenty warriors ran out to line the road in honour of their returning Duc. As Gerlois and his retinue rode past he raised a hand in salute and then they were entering the settlement, the clattering of the horse's hooves echoing in the still air. Warriors came forward and held the horse's reins, as first Morgana dropped down, and then the Duc and his men dismounted. The horses were led away to be tied up, watered and fed, and as the gates were closed behind them, Gerlois smiled in satisfaction and sighed, finally feeling that the need to run had left him, he was safe… or at least safe enough until he decided to make his final move to Dimilioc and by then, time would have run out for Uther Pendragon. He turned to Peder.
'See to it that the sentries keep a good watch. There will be scouts coming soon, sent forward from Pendragon's warriors. I want to know when they are seen… and send out our own riders to get information on just where our King and his men have already reached on their march. They will be tired and cold and should have very little appetite for war.
'Yes, my Lord,' muttered Peder, 'we will soon know.'
