Camulod Chronicles Book 8 - Clothar the Frank

by Whyte, Jack

  In due time, we rounded the point of Cornwall, gazing despairingly at the towering cliffs that offered us nothing in the way of moorage, and made our way forlornly back to the northeast, the wind now blowing directly towards us so that our passage became even slower and more difficult than it had been until then. Glastonbury was our destination now, Joachim told us, although if a safe harbor appeared between now and our arrival there, we would take advantage of it.

  We clawed our way slowly and with enormous effort up along the coastline, rowing into the teeth of the wind, with all four of us passengers contributing our efforts for the common good until we were barely able to keep ourselves from collapsing into unconsciousness. And as we went, having lost all awareness of day fading into night on several occasions, the storms continued to fall upon us in an apparently endless succession, each new one following closely after the passing of its predecessor. Eventually, however, we entered the estuary of a large river, and the waters quickly began to grow calmer. I had begun to regain control of my bodily functions two days before that and had been improving steadily if slowly, so that I noticed the lessening of the turmoil under our keel immediately and lost no time in asking Joachim for an explanation. He pointed with his thumb towards the distant shoreline that was barely discernible through the curtains of rain on our left.

  "We're heading directly eastward now, entering the river channel the local people call the Severn. That shoreline over there, that's Cambria. Never been there but I've heard much about it. Hostile to everyone, the people there, although nobody seems to know why they should be. They have nothing much to be jealous of. Country's mountainous and mostly impenetrable, once you strike inland from the sea. Romans never really made much of an attempt to conquer it, although they say the biggest goldmine in the Empire's in there somewhere . . . some place called Dolaucothi, or something like that."

  He pointed again, this time to the closer, low-lying land on our right. "That's your destination, over there. It's mainly flat inland, but boggy and treacherous close to the sea. Glastonbury lies farther down the coast. We passed by it early this morning. Didn't wake you because there was nothing to see and we didn't even approach it—no hope of landing there in weather like this. It's too flat. Too shallow and muddy. And the approaches—there's only a few navigable channels that let you get in there—have probably been destroyed by now, churned up and fouled by these storms. I wasn't prepared to sail into a bog to put that to the test.

  "I decided to keep moving up to the estuary here. There's an old river port about thirty miles upstream. Romans called it Glevum. It's deserted now. Or it was last time I came this way, about three years ago. But the wharves were still serviceable then, and if no one's been along to tear them down or burn them up, they should still be usable. Good enough for us to land you on, certainly.

  "From there you should be able to make your way easily. There's a main road goes close by there, and once you're on that, you can go anywhere. The road network connects all parts of Britain. At least, I've been told it does. Never was interested enough to go and find out for myself. Roads make me nervous. Too narrow and predictable and too many people use them. Nowhere to escape to, on a road. Give me the sea any day, even in weather like this. A man who knows what he's doing can escape from anyone, any time, at sea, providing he's got a fast ship and an able crew.

  "Anyway, if nothing else we're off the open sea and out of the storms, with calm water under our keel from now on. Pass on my felicitations to your friends on surviving the crossing."

  He grinned and left me standing watching him as he returned to the business of captaining his vessel, and within a matter of hours we were drifting slowly into the river port at Glevum, gazing at the spectacle of a ruined and uninhabited town as we glided slowly towards an abandoned wharf that was lined with warehouses and appeared to be in perfect condition. For the first time in days, not a breath of wind stirred from any direction, and beneath us the surface of the river would have been mirror calm had it not been for the slashing rain.

  The ship's side bumped against the wharf and two seamen leaped ashore with ropes that they quickly secured to massive, oaken bollards. Others rushed to lower the side of the ship, creating a gateway to the deck, while yet more of the crew manned the block-and-tackle cargo hoist and struggled to extract the gangway from its resting place along the center line of the ship and swing it outboard to the wharf. A sudden grunt and a scuffling noise was followed by a panicked curse, and then came a bump and a splash as one of the crew slipped on the rain-slick boards and fell overboard between the wharf and the ship.

  All movement stopped instantly as men watched and waited for the screams of the man being crushed between ship and wharf. For long moments nothing happened at all, and then the fallen man splashed to the surface on the other side of the vessel, having dived deep and swum beneath it. With a roar of relief, his shipmates hurried to pull him safely aboard again, and then they all returned to the work of preparing to unload.

  Tristan looked at his brother Perceval—I had already stopped thinking of him as Ursus—who stared quietly back at him, his mouth quirked up to one side, then turned to me. "Well," he said quietly, "he didn't die, so let's hope we can accept that as a good omen." He glanced back at Bors and Tristan, who stood watching. "Welcome to Britain, lads. It's wet, and it's dark, and it's none too pleasant, and there's nothing yet to like about it, that I've seen. But at least it looks as though it's solid underfoot. Who's to be first ashore?"

  I was, and as soon as my feet landed on the wharf I immediately threw out my arms and lurched forward ludicrously, fighting for balance and trying not to fall headlong as the ship's crew, who had been waiting for me to do just that, roared with laughter and jeers. The others followed me more cautiously, all three of them frowning intently with concentration as they moved, but they had no notion of why I had behaved the way I had and so were equally unprepared and fell about the same way I had, to be greeted with equally loud jeers from the crew.

  It took less than an hour for us to unload our animals and provisions, and we all set out for the town, in search of a roof to keep the rain away from us while we lit a fire and cooked the sole remaining joint of venison that we had brought with us from Gaul—a fine haunch that held enough meat to feed all twelve of us in the last meal we would share with our seafaring friends for some time. Sound roofs were few and far between in Glevum, we discovered, although the ruins of the fallen ones offered a wealth of dry firewood, but we found a whole roof eventually, at the extreme end of one of the warehouse blocks lining the wharf next to the one on which we had landed, and all of us moved in gratefully, happy to be out of the incessant rain and within sight of the leaping flames of a real fire.

  As we waited for the spitted haunch of salted venison to roast, we salivated over the savory smells of baking bannock and of garlic and onions bubbling in a pot with greens of some kind provided by the ship's cook.

  I handed Joachim a small package containing ten more gold coins than we had agreed upon. He looked at it askance.

  "What's this? You paid me already."

  I shrugged. "I know, but Bishop Germanus told me to spend the funds judiciously, according to my conscience and to what you, in particular, did for us. I believe you did far more than we asked of you and so I think of this, a token of our gratitude, as money well spent. Besides, you still have to win home. And now you and I need to make another tryst. In six months' time, I would like you to return to this same wharf, seeking us. If we are not here, it will be for good and sufficient reason, although I will try to send word to you of why we are not here, and possibly to arrange another meeting at another time. Will you agree to that?"

  Joachim tucked the small package into a decorated pouch at his belt. "In six months? Aye, I'll be here, providing I am still alive by then. And I will stay for ten days, should no one be waiting here to meet me. And look you here, come with me." He rose, and I followed him outside. He pointed to the ground where an old, f
lat, badly rusted piece of iron lay at an angle against the base of the wall. "I saw that as I entered. It's worth nothing and it looks as though it's been lying there for years. If I have to leave with no word from you after the ten days I spoke of, I'll leave you written word of when I will next return, and I'll stuff it under there. That way, if you can't meet me at the appointed time, you can at least leave word of what your plans are. Agreed?" He paused. "You can read and write, can't you?"

  I smiled. "Aye. I was surprised to find you can, too, that's all."

  He smiled back at me. "Aye, well, I had a clever teacher when I was a boy. A crazed man who thought it would be worthwhile for me to know how to read and write when none of my friends could. Afterwards, when I found myself living among people who could do neither, I thought he must have been insane, for nothing is more useless than being the only person able to read and write. But he was right, of course, and it has served me well." He reached out a hand and I shook it gladly. "Go with God, young Clothar of Benwick," he said, "and may He watch over you and those you love. We'll bid each other farewell again later, but this one is between you and me alone."

  2

  Four days later it was still raining heavily as we headed westward across the first cultivated fields we had seen since landing in Britain. We had been proceeding cautiously, taking all the time we needed and being careful to run no unnecessary risks in this alien land.

  We had headed due south from our landing place, following the road that stretched for miles on end with barely a bend or a curve in the length of it, but remembering what Joachim had had to say about there being no escape on a road, I kept us off the road surface and safely to one side, concealed among the trees. Only once in four days had we seen other travelers, and that had been in an area of gently rolling hills that concealed the people approaching us until they crested the brow of a rise in the road and passed us swiftly, riding north, a tight-knit, highly disciplined band of armed men, perhaps forty strong and moving with determination.

  I remembered then what Germanus had told me: that in all of Britain, only Merlyn Britannicus's Camulod had cavalry.

  Knowing the newcomers then to be friendly to our cause, I spurred my horse out onto the road, ignoring the dismayed cries of my friends and riding hard after the moving column, shouting at the top of my voice.

  The rearmost riders heard me and turned in their saddles to look back, then reacted predictably, shouting to their companions and turning their mounts rapidly to face me. I saw the tight ranks ahead of me eddy and break apart, then reform swiftly to present a solid line of men and horses, all awaiting my arrival. Behind me, I knew, Perceval, Tristan and Bors were spurring to catch up to me, and I raised my arm and waved them back and away as I slowed my horse to a walk and slowly approached the faceless men ahead of me. And faceless they were, because each of them wore a fully closed helmet, the side flaps pulled together and fastened over their faces, leaving only a black slash of a hole across their eyes.

  I pulled my mount to a stop less than thirty paces from their front rank and sat there motionless, waiting for someone to come forward to greet me or challenge me. None of them spoke at all, and I was conscious of their eyes taking in every detail of my appearance. My fine armour was securely wrapped and slung on Bors's packhorse, and I knew that I did not appear to be armoured at all, although I was wearing Germanus's supple tunic of ring mail beneath my heavy, sodden military cloak of waxed wool. On my head I wore only a knitted woolen cap, soaked through and through, with a long, brightly colored but bedraggled feather thrust into it. The ranks facing me stirred and parted, and a man who was evidently their commander came forward to confront me. He paused briefly, reining his horse in tightly, then kneed it forward again and approached to within a few paces of where I sat waiting, where he stopped and sat staring at me, saying nothing.

  I knew this was a test, designed to make me speak first out of fear and uncertainty, and so I sat still, determined not to be the first to break the silence, and finally the stranger spoke, his voice sounding hollow and reverberating as it emerged from the cavern of his helmet.

  "Who are you, whence come you, and what is your business here in Camulod?"

  So, I thought, we are within Camulod at last. I nodded and sat straighter, forcing myself to speak slowly and clearly. "My name is Clothar of Benwick in Gaul, and I come bearing messages and gifts for Merlyn Britannicus of Camulod from his friend Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, also in Gaul. Behind me are my traveling companions, Perceval and Tristan of Montenegra, and my attendant, Bors. To whom am I speaking?"

  'To one who has met Germanus and heard him promise to return here in person." The helmeted head with its high crest tilted slightly to one side. 'Tell me, if you will, why I should believe you have come here from Gaul. Did you swim here, horses and all?"

  "No, we came by sea, hoping to land at Glastonbury, but we were blown beyond it by the storms." My mind was racing, searching for information that I could present to this man that would assure him of our amity yet reveal nothing of our true business here. I knew he was not really suspicious of us. Our very openness in approaching him from behind must have made it clear to him we had no wish to conceal ourselves. But I knew, too, that I had to say something to justify our presence and to establish our bona fides.

  "You have met Germanus. Are you then familiar with the name of Enos?"

  "Aye, Enos of Verulamium. Another bishop."

  "But a Britannian bishop, is he not?"

  "Britannian? If by that you mean he is a Briton then aye, he is."

  "Well, I bear dispatches in the form of letters from Germanus in Auxerre to Enos in Verulamium, concerning matters which the two of them discussed last year in conjunction with Merlyn Britannicus when last they met—in Verulamium, just before Merlyn had to leave in haste because of the word that Horsa's Danes had sailed for Cornwall."

  The man facing me reached up slowly to his chin with one hand and pulled upwards on the end of a short cord that hung there, releasing a metal pin that held the flaps of his helmet together, and as they fell apart he reached higher and pulled the helmet from his head, revealing a strong, evenly featured face, dark haired and dark browed, with a long nose, a wide, square jaw and a mouth that suggested strength of will and good humor. It was the face of a veteran soldier, secure and confident of his own abilities. He flicked a drip of rainwater from the end of his nose with the tip of a forefinger and inclined his head slightly in a grave and courteous acknowledgment that he accepted what I had said.

  "Philip," he said. "Philip Rider, they call me, commander of the Fourth Wing of the cavalry forces of Camulod. Welcome to our lands. Where did you land, the river port?"

  "Aye, the place called Glevum. Can you tell me where I might find Merlyn Britannicus?"

  "No, Master Clothar, I cannot. I can tell you where you will not find him, however, and that is in Camulod. He was there for a few months, but he left some time ago and told no one where he was going. He told some of his closest friends that he will be away for some time—'for as long as it may take' was what he actually said, although no one knows what 'it' is—and he could, or he would, give them no idea of when he might return."

  He hesitated, then added, "As to where he went, he could have gone anywhere. Merlyn prefers his own company nowadays, would rather be alone, they say, since his misfortunes in Cambria last year."

  "What misfortunes are those?"

  The man called Philip frowned. "He almost died in Cambria, was thrown into a fire there and badly burned."

  "Thrown into a fire? By whom?"

  Philip almost smiled. "A mad whoreson called Carthac, big and ugly and evil and as strong as ten good men. They thought he was unkillable, invincible. He thought so, too, until Merlyn killed him. But before he died he threw Merlyn into a fire. Arthur arrived shortly after that, leading us, and we were able to save Merlyn's life. Took him home on a wagon and nursed him back to health. But as soon as he could move freely, he left again, and as I say,
no one knows where he went."

  "Are your wars over?"

  That earned me a quizzical look that told me Philip found it difficult to accept that anyone would have to ask such a thing. "For this year, you mean? Aye, they seem to be. There's peace in Cambria, to the north of here—Carthac was the festering thorn there, and with his death things soon died down. And in Cornwall to the south, the troublemaker was a man called Ironhair. But he seems to have fallen out with his henchman, Horsa, who hanged him for his troubles." A tiny smile flickered at the edges of his mouth. "So there's peace in these parts, at least. But then there is continuing war against the Saxons to the east, although some won't come out and call it that. The Saxons are a permanent curse and the confrontation out there is more of a chronic condition than a state of war. North and south, though, Camulod is at peace for the moment.

  "Our leader, Arthur, is on a grand sweep to the north and east, far beyond our lands, showing the banners and the cavalry of Camulod in other parts of the land in the hope of rallying people to stand up together and confront the Outlanders—Saxons and Jutes and Danes and all the other hordes swarming on the eastern side of Britain." He waved a hand to indicate the men behind him. "We are but the advance party of a full cavalry wing of a thousand mounted troopers, coming less than a mile behind us. A strong force, but our mission is peaceable. We ride merely to show our strength, patrolling our territories."

  I nodded, thinking rapidly. "I see. And Arthur Pendragon rides to the north and east, you say. Where is he now, exactly, do you know?"

  Philip made a wry mouth. "No one will be able to answer that question until Arthur himself returns with the word of it. He has been gone for two months and more. He could be anywhere by now."

  "And Merlyn would not be with him?"

  Now the man looked puzzled. "Why would Merlyn be with him? Arthur's no longer a student. He's a commander of cavalry in his own right, commander of the First Wing. He looks after his responsibilities and Merlyn looks after his own. Besides, Merlyn could not have known which way Arthur went, other than north, because Arthur left from Cambria, while Merlyn was still abed in Camulod, recovering from his wounds."