Prophecy: Web of Deceit (Prophecy 3)

by M. K. Hume

  ‘Show me the babe, Ruadh,’ he ordered, and Ruadh picked up the well-wrapped infant, deftly unfurled the blanket that covered it and presented the child for the healer’s examination.

  ‘The son of Uther Pendragon’s loins,’ Myrddion whispered. ‘Ave, little one, for so much rests on your tiny shoulders.’

  The boy was very large, but not chubby like most newborns. Berwyn had washed away the blood and mucus that stained his vigorous, squirming limbs and cleaned out the questing mouth that already contained the swelling buds of several teeth that threatened to break through the gums. The boy was abnormally long and had no hair, except for a fine down of reddish-blond fuzz that was so like Uther’s hair colour that Myrddion caught his breath. Then the child opened his eyes and Myrddion would have crossed himself had he followed the Christian faith.

  The boy could not yet focus his vision, but his eyes were struggling already to pierce the fogs of birth and feed the brain that lay beneath the large skull. But the wonder of the baby was the colour of those eyes – clear, transparent and grey, like winter skies before a storm.

  Lucius examined the child with disquiet from over Myrddion’s arm. ‘He has raptor’s eyes, like the wolf or the sea shark. Will the Lord High God have mercy on us if we save the life of a danger more potent than Uther Pendragon?’

  But the babe tried to smile, or grimace, and the sweetness of that unconscious expression softened the hearts of both men at a glance.

  ‘His mother smiles thus, so perhaps she is born anew in the heart of this child,’ Bishop Lucius whispered softly. ‘I will pray that it proves to be so.’

  The two men whispered together while Myrddion nursed the squirming child. Ruadh could tell from the set of her master’s shoulders that he was tense and expectant by turn, and her heart sank.

  As Myrddion rewrapped the babe’s long body, the little creature gripped his hand tightly. The small fingers wrapped around his thumb with amazing strength and determination for one so newly born, and Myrddion wondered if the child held his heart in the same way. This strange little creature would never set him free until death took him.

  ‘I must spirit him away to a safe place, Ruadh,’ Myrddion hissed so that Willa and Berwyn couldn’t hear him. ‘Please tell Uther Pendragon that his son has been stillborn and that Myrddion Merlinus remembers the Temple of Mithras. The High King will understand.’

  ‘You can’t kill this child, master. He’s too important – I know he is. If I must, I’ll try to stop you, I swear it, although your strength is far greater than mine.’ Ruadh was so desperate that her eyes were filled with tears and she clutched at her master’s cloak with balled fists.

  Gently, Bishop Lucius prised her fingers away from Myrddion’s cloak and set him free of her grasp. With the babe in the crook of his arm, the healer moved swiftly across the room and out into the dark corridor.

  ‘Be quiet, daughter, for Myrddion is saving the life of the boy with the fiction of exposure. I will take the babe from him at the crossroads on the Roman road, so do as the healer demands and then keep your mouth firmly shut. These little girls,’ he indicated Willa and Berwyn with one hand, ‘are not strong enough to carry such knowledge.’

  As Ruadh hiccuped with distress, and the first tears in many years began to pour down her cheeks, Bishop Lucius raised her chin and kissed her forehead. ‘Be brave, daughter, and tell the High King nothing but what your master told you to say. I have trusted you overmuch with the life of this child, but Myrddion’s plan depends on your ability to lie to Uther Pendragon. Wait for a little and allow him time to depart safely, in case Uther tries to betray him. Can you withstand questioning by the High King?’

  ‘Watch me, master! If it will save the babe, I’ll convince Uther Pendragon that the sky is falling. And I’ll wait. You’ll also need time to leave the city, and I can use the queen’s condition as an excuse. The poor thing! She is at peace now, but she’ll soon begin to weep.’

  ‘You must keep the girls safe by explaining that the child is sickly, and that Myrddion is trying to revive it. The fiction that it dies will then be believed, for many infants succumb to death during the first day. Willa and Berwyn will only remain alive if they know nothing of what is really happening. I must go now, or Myrddion will be waiting overlong.’

  ‘God bless you, Bishop Lucius – and the Mother – for this child belongs to her more than to Uther or Ygerne. The little thing has a destiny, I know it.’

  After Lucius had hurried away from the birthing room, Ruadh explained the fiction of the child’s weakness to Willa and Berwyn, and all three waited patiently with the sleeping queen until the morning sun began to sink into afternoon. Then, with real repugnance and anxiety, Ruadh made her way to Uther’s rooms. Botha admitted her to the king’s bedchamber grudgingly, but reasoned that her message concerned the birth of Uther’s heir.

  The High King was drunk and belligerent, his whole length sprawled on his bed while he propped himself up on one elbow to stare owlishly at Ruadh. At first, he didn’t recognise her, but then memory overcame the fumes of wine in his brain.

  ‘You’re the Pict bitch, right? Ambrosius’s whore from beyond the wall? Yes, that’s right, and now you serve the queen and bed my excellent healer, my hair-shirt of an adviser. I’ll wager he didn’t know I spied on him. Even spymasters can be spied upon if they begin to think they are too clever. Well, what do you want, or does Myrddion send you to my bed to replace my sick wife? Always sick! Damn all women! Crying and moaning and whining. They never give a man any peace.’

  Ignoring his ramblings, Ruadh curtseyed as formally as she knew how and prayed that her message would sink into the High King’s wine-sodden stupor.

  ‘Your highness, I bring you tidings from Ygerne, Mother and Queen of the Britons, and from Master Myrddion, your healer.’

  Uther fumbled with his pillows and hoisted himself into a seated position. ‘Are you there, Botha?’ he called. ‘I want you to hear this.’ He shook his tousled head like a huge, shaggy bear and a crafty expression crossed his drink-blurred features. ‘There’s someone else I need. I remember . . . yes, I want Ulfin. He’s a disobedient dog, but even dumb curs can be useful. Fetch Ulfin before the bitch gives us her message. Hurry up, man. I don’t have all day to wait for you to move your sorry arse.’

  If Botha was offended by his master’s insults, he didn’t permit his anger to show. He slid out of the room and closed the heavy door behind him while Ruadh stood quietly and tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

  ‘He thinks you might assassinate me in his absence,’ Uther giggled, and Ruadh’s blood ran cold. ‘But we both know there’s no chance of that, woman. I don’t know what my brother saw in you, or that whining healer, for that matter, but perhaps I’ll need to discover your appeal when I have time to spare.’

  Ruadh swallowed convulsively. Uther’s treatment of bed servants was well known in the Great Hall and sensible serving girls avoided his notice.

  The High King mentally undressed her without any attempt to hide the lewdness of his thoughts, and it took all her courage to remain composed under that insulting, inhuman stare. She was relieved when Botha and Ulfin entered the room, for Uther’s eyes turned away from her immediately and he set his basilisk stare on Ulfin, who grovelled at his master’s feet.

  ‘Now, woman, what is your message from the queen?’ Uther suddenly seemed sober, and Ruadh felt a twinge of concern for her own safety.

  ‘Queen Ygerne has given birth to a boy whose fuzz of hair is the same shade and texture as yours, my lord. He is your son.’

  ‘So Gorlois didn’t get the bitch pregnant! Damn!’

  His listeners winced at the High King’s crude disappointment, even Ulfin.

  Then, before she could lose her nerve, Ruadh delivered the second part of the message. ‘My master bade me to tell you that he remembers the Temple of Mithras. He informed me that your son was stillborn.’

  ‘How sad,’ Uther grunted. A moment, presumably of mourning, wa
s permitted to stretch out, and then Uther was finished with the subject of his son. ‘You’ve done your duty, woman, so get out. I’ll deal with you later, after I’ve spoken to the queen. Is she aware that her son is dead?’

  Ruadh shook her head. ‘The labour was long and hard, and we feared that the queen might die. She sleeps, so we have permitted her to rebuild her strength.’

  ‘Then return to your mistress and I’ll speak to her myself when I decide to see her. Don’t delay, woman. Get out of my sight before I change my mind.’

  The king’s hoarse voice warned Ruadh to retreat as quickly as possible, for the sheen of something unpleasant gleamed in those pale blue eyes.

  Perhaps that was the reason she latched the door firmly and walked away loudly, then tiptoed back and placed her ear against the narrow gap in the timber of the door frame. She realised that she would die a swift and painful death if she was discovered, but the presence of Ulfin, Uther’s dog, raised a host of questions and suspicions that Ruadh wanted answered. What she heard chilled her blood.

  ‘Ulfin, follow Myrddion Merlinus and make sure he kills the brat. The healer is too obedient for my liking. If he’s trying to hide the babe, kill him. He’s ahead of you so you’ll need to hurry!

  ‘There’s no need for you to look so disapproving, Botha, because I’m not asking you to get your precious hands dirty.’

  Without waiting to hear more, Ruadh fled down the corridor, pausing only to snatch up a guard’s cloak that had been left discarded on a bench. In her haste to escape, she missed the rest of the king’s instructions.

  ‘We obviously can’t have witnesses talking about my business, Ulfin, so while you’re obeying my orders, Botha will send a trustworthy servant to bring the Pict bitch and her two girls to my chambers. So far they’ve been useful as hostages, but they are unnecessary witnesses now since Myrddion is tied to me by the manacles of his own conscience. I want to clean up this mess.’

  ‘But, master, they’ve done nothing,’ Botha protested weakly. He wanted to shout aloud that Uther wasn’t cleaning up anything. He expected his servants to get their hands dirty.

  ‘So? Just carry out your instructions. What you think doesn’t matter – just do what you’re told until such time as they are in my hands. You can go and pray, or do whatever you wish. I don’t care how you salve your conscience. Now get moving, both of you. And, Ulfin, this is your last chance with me, so don’t fuck it up.’

  Fear gave wings to Ruadh’s feet as she hurried across the wide courtyard outside Uther’s hall, down the broad avenues and up the crooked streets that led to the house of the healers. Barely stopping for breath, she asked a house servant for Myrddion’s whereabouts, and learned that he was some hours ahead of her. So, avoiding questions as if she were deaf, she took her master’s second best horse, mounted lithely and gave the beast its head. Muffled in her stolen cloak and cowl, she escaped detection as she passed through the city gates, which were still open to allow passage to and from the busy market place.

  ‘Please let me be in time,’ she prayed, forcing the grey-dappled horse into a reluctant gallop. She was familiar with the location of the crossroads, complete with a stone carved with Celtic interlace, nearly one hour’s travel to the north of Venta Belgarum. From there, Myrddion could disappear with ease, but Ulfin wouldn’t permit himself to be shaken off. He had been chafing at his demotion, and she knew that he would do anything to restore himself in the High King’s favour.

  Her horse was foundering, for she had driven it hard and had been careless of the hills that blew the animal’s wind or the icy surfaces that made a headlong rush so dangerous. Although she fumed at the delay, she was forced to stop and rest briefly, or else the beast would have dropped dead from exhaustion. Finally, as the sun started to set and the light began to darken on the stone in the middle of the crossroads, Ruadh saw a vague shape, possibly the bishop, as he rode away on a donkey in a northerly direction. Then she spied her master sitting at his ease in the dry grasses beside the road. His horse cropped the dry stalks desultorily and stared at the passing traffic with long-lashed, incurious brown eyes.

  ‘I’m in time. Thanks be to the Mother of all good things.’

  She whipped her horse hard with the dangling reins and the beast summoned up one last spurt of effort as she dodged past a caravan of pilgrims who were heading afoot to Venta Belgarum.

  Cursing in Pictish, she avoided the small cavalcade with difficulty and arrived at the crossroads, sweating and shaking with exertion.

  ‘Where’s the babe?’ she gasped, as Myrddion’s eyes widened with surprise. He realised that Ruadh would not have followed him so precipitously unless some imminent danger threatened, so he answered her immediately.

  ‘The bishop has him. I’m just stalling for time to ensure he has some distance between himself and any possible pursuit. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Ulfin has been dispatched to check that you’ve not had a change of heart and contrived to spare the child. I came as quickly as I could, but he must be close at my heels. He’d have asked the gatekeepers what route you took when you left the city.’

  ‘Shite!’ Myrddion looked at Ruadh’s horse. The grey’s legs were shaking with distress and its chest and flanks were spotted with foam, underlining its exhaustion. His own mount had been rested, but any fool could tell that Ruadh needed a change of horse. ‘You’re far lighter than me, Ruadh, so take my mount and ride like the wind after Lucius. A donkey will never outpace Ulfin and the child must be saved at any cost. Perhaps it might be best if the bishop allows you to take the babe to its destination.’

  Ruadh swiftly climbed into the saddle and Myrddion laid one hand comfortingly on her thigh. ‘Take care of yourself, Andrewina Ruadh, and I will pray that we meet again when these afflictions have passed us by.’ He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, wishing he had more to offer this great-hearted woman than respect.

  ‘It’s best that you return to Venta Belgarum while I chase after Bishop Lucius on your horse. But you must check on the whereabouts of Willa and Berwyn when you return,’ Ruadh warned him from over her shoulder. ‘I don’t trust Uther, because he never leaves anyone alive to spread rumours or to undermine his position. That man is the very devil.’

  Then, before she gave the horse its head and turned it away from the healer, her soft voice floated down to him. ‘I love you, Myrddion Merlinus of Segontium.’

  Then she kicked the horse’s ribs and the animal moved smoothly into an easy canter. Some streak of common sense caused her to slow her breakneck pace through the skeletal landscape, for she would be of no use to the bishop if she killed her mount in the finding of him.

  Meanwhile, back at the crossroads, Myrddion seated himself on a grassy bank and watched a desiccated corpse swing gently on a gibbet in the afternoon breeze. Felons were hanged at crossroads, and the long-dead man opened his bony jaws in a soundless scream of old agony as he searched for his earth-entrapped soul.

  ‘Appropriate, my friend, that death presides over what we do. I hope we have won a little breathing space, but what will come, will come.’

  In the western sky, the sun sank through the clouds and edged them with a smudge of blood red. Another weary day had ended with the promise of the first bitter frosts of winter.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE LONG ROAD TO NOWHERE

  To see what is right and not to do it is want of courage.

  Confucius, Analects

  Bishop Lucius and his donkey had made surprisingly good speed by the time Ruadh overtook him on the long roadway leading to Sorviodunum. In the cool of the late afternoon, Lucius could feel the pleasant warmth of the child as it lay asleep beneath his cloak, and he began to worry that it would soon waken and be hungry, which would warn the woman that he had the infant in his keeping.

  ‘What is amiss, my child, that you should desert your mistress and half kill your horse?’ he asked, even before Ruadh had caught her breath. Her plaits had fallen and come undone so her r
ed hair flamed in the setting sun like a beacon of hope.

  In a minimum of words, the servant explained her mad dash and the role of Ulfin as Uther’s hunting dog, including her belief that he was close behind her on the road leading out of Venta Belgarum.

  In the pride of youth and as the scion of a noble house, Lucius had served on battlefields across the Roman world until his soul was eventually poisoned by the slaughter he witnessed. He had ordered men into battle as he learned the hard lessons of command, so he had become inured to making speedy decisions involving life and death.

  His part in the child’s salvation was done now that Uther was in hot pursuit, so Ruadh must become the protector of the babe and spirit him to a safe place where he could grow to manhood. With a soldier’s practicality, Lucius understood that he lacked the speed and the youth required to evade a seasoned warrior, yet he was reluctant to send a woman on such a dangerous quest.

  His decision made, he flipped back his cloak to expose the warmly wrapped infant, carried in a sling across his breast so he had the full use of both hands. He began to undo the length of cloth and the infant awoke and began to cry lustily. Carefully leading his donkey off the roadway, Lucius produced from his saddlebag a small leather bottle to which was attached a primitive cloth nipple which he thrust into the babe’s mouth. As the child suckled noisily, Lucius ordered Ruadh to dismount and began to transfer the sling and the feeding child to her breast with a sigh of regret.

  ‘Where can I take him that will ensure his safety?’ Ruadh protested. ‘I’m a stranger in the south, so I’ll be travelling blind.’

  ‘A woman with an infant in tow isn’t as memorable as a priest and a babe. You have a far better chance of escaping notice than I do, so Ulfin would find me quickly. There is a ford at the bottom of this hill, and when you enter the shallows, ride upstream for about a mile before heading across country towards the northwest. Keep the sun on your right side during the mornings and on your left in the afternoons. That way, you will always be travelling in a northerly direction. Do you understand what you must do, Ruadh?’