M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (15 page)

The Roycroft Dictionary, MCMXIV

Miles from Arden’s green heart, in a fold in the landscape between the fortresses of Ratae and Venonae, but out of sight of each, men were working to create a shelter that would not be obvious from the top of the hills that beetled over them. By their gait, their height and their weaponry, the interlopers were clearly Saxon or Angle.

Rather than the normal Saxon dwellings with their distinctive triangular appearance and steep roofs that almost reached the ground, the warriors were raising simple structures of soft wood made weather-tight by a simple rush covering laid over supporting branches. This rudimentary thatching, under the canopy of taller trees, made the impromptu village invisible from higher ground and minimised the chances of discovery by Celtic patrols.

Deep in the Celtic heartland, this tentative advance party would soon turn into a flood of infiltrators if their presence remained unnoticed. The Saxons had been ordered here by their thane, a wily old campaigner called Thorkeld Snakekiller, to prod at the Cornovii settlements in search of weaknesses. If they returned alive, then the way lay clear to the broad acres of the Cornovii and Ordovice tribes. If they were killed, then Thorkeld would be forced to search for another route. Grey of hair and eye, he was determined to find a way round the Celtic defences now that the fearsome Dragon King had finally made the journey into the shadows.

‘This is our time. This land will be ours, sooner or later,’ Thorkeld told the advance party. ‘Know that our harpists will celebrate your courage when we build our hall where the fortress of Ratae now stands. Your route to the gods will be as straight as a true sword if they require you to sacrifice your lives, and you will banquet with the heroes for eternity. Go now, with Woden in your hearts.’

So the half-naked Saxon warriors worked in the autumnal sun and their pale skins reddened as the huts rose swiftly. Once their shelters had been built, they lit small cookfires within their closed and stuffy quarters, trusting that the encroaching darkness would cover the evidence that they waited within sight of the Celtic defences. In every warrior’s heart, Thorkeld’s message was repeated like the sonorous beat of a drum.

This is
our
time. This land will be
ours
.

When he had a clear understanding of what was needed in a crisis, few men in all the isles of Britain, whether Celt or Saxon, were as efficient or as single minded as Bedwyr, the Master of Arden. Caught up in the domestic drama, Gawayne gave permission for four of his best warriors to scour the cities and hamlets around Arden Forest in search of a priest who would consent to visit Arden, and Ector volunteered to ride to Glevum to recruit a suitable arms master for Arthur. The new birth had already determined that the visitors would be spending a few weeks longer in Arden than they had originally intended. Anna would not budge until the babe and her mother were out of danger.

‘I don’t begrudge the time,’ Bran told her, and she could tell by his eyes that he was telling the truth. Amused, she understood his motives immediately.

‘Of course not, my son. You will have the opportunity to assess Arthur’s teachers and help to shape the direction of his education. What better way to ensure that he will remain loyal to your interests? Gawayne lingers here for similar reasons, although his lands are far away. Of us all, only Ector and Arthur are completely free of guile.’

Bran shook his head sardonically. ‘Arthur is too young to be sly, but he’s already asked me to tell him
all
my memories of King Artor, both the good
and
the bad. Such a balanced curiosity speaks well of the boy’s promise, but it’s also a warning that Arthur will be a very careful man. He will be difficult to fool as he ages.’

‘He has made the same request of Gawayne and me. I know that Ector has already described the battle of Camlann as he remembers it. Bedwyr will need to think quickly when his son starts asking some of the more difficult questions.’

Bran grimaced. ‘Do I reveal everything to him, Mother? Gallia, Livinia, and even Caius? Everything? He’ll form a very odd opinion of his family if I do.’

‘Honesty really is the best answer to questions from your uncle. And don’t look so disapprovingly at me – he
is
your uncle,’ she retorted crisply. ‘You might be forty, but the relationship is real even if it’s embarrassing to you. I’ll handle the details of the Villa Poppinidii. If you can explain to Arthur what Balyn and Balan were like as young men and tell him what you remember of the High King’s character, I think that would be all that’s needed from you at this stage. We can flesh out the finer details later in his education.’ She tapped her son on the nose with a confidence that Bran found intensely irritating. ‘Don’t allow your bad temper to show with the boy, Bran. It is one thing to be impatient with your mother, but Arthur is his father again, with something of Lady Elayne’s balance to leaven the streak of instability that we knew so well. Whatever faults the boy is going to develop will be interesting to watch . . . but that’s in the future, and I don’t wish to stay here for months to evaluate them. You should be happy that the boy knows who he is, and we have already persuaded him to bond tightly with his larger family.’

Something feral appeared in Bran’s face that was quite different from the calm, placid personality that was usually on show. ‘All the same, I’d still sleep easier if he didn’t exist.’

Anna was horrified. ‘Shut away such thoughts, Bran. I’m not jesting. I’m sickened that you could even consider such a thing.’

Her hands had risen to the cowled neck of her simple homespun robe. Any stranger would believe her to be a house servant at first glance, but her face held authority and her eyes were like chips of hazel ice, glittering and stark. Bran stepped towards her hesitantly, regretting his ill-judged, improper comment.

‘I didn’t say I want him dead, I just wish he’d never been born. You know what I mean, Mother. I’m insulted that you’d even imagine I’d ever harm a kinsman.’

‘I hope you’re speaking honestly.’ Anna’s hard stare would curdle milk. ‘Are you jealous of the boy, Bran? I could understand if you were. He’s very like his father in many ways, but his life has been much happier than Artor’s so far, and I have come to believe he will grow to be a productive, contented man.’

‘Why should I be jealous of a bastard of seven? Now you’re being ridiculous, Mother.’

‘Maybe so.’ She examined her son’s face closely, until he was forced to turn away from her shrewd, troubled scrutiny. ‘I love you, Bran, as the last of my strong sons, and as my king. I have always respected you as well, so I’d be devastated to discover that some of the taint of Uther Pendragon or Modred hid in your nature.’

Bran swore, but Anna cut him off by gripping his forearm tightly. ‘They were your kin, as you well know. They are a part of your bloodline, so don’t be so superior, boy, and don’t even
think
about Arthur’s death. The family would tear itself apart if anything were to happen to him. Ector would be heartbroken . . . and Bedwyr? Well, I’d rather not consider what the loss of Arden would mean to the remnants of the west. The Saxons would arrive on our doorstep in hordes without Arden protecting our flanks.’

‘All this . . . this nagging because of a slip of the tongue, Mother. I’d never harm the boy, but life would be far more straightforward if he weren’t here.’

‘Yes, life can be very messy, Bran, especially family connections tied to power and inheritance.’ Anna’s voice was dry and suggested a hint of sardonic humour. ‘We’ll leave the conversation as it stands, my son. I’ve said what needs to be laid out for you, and the rest I’ll leave to your own common sense. Ector is old enough to find a proficient arms master for Arthur’s training, so trust his cool-headed intelligence and I will trust to yours.’

Her smile was conciliatory, but Anna was concerned at Bran’s attitude to his newly found uncle. Unsettled by the conversation, she was unprepared for the sight of Gwyllan sitting disconsolately on a stool outside Bedwyr’s apartments. When the girl saw Anna approaching, she leapt to her feet and waited for the older woman to reach her, while her hands twisted and tore at the overlong sleeves of her finely woven woad-blue robe.

Anna sighed inwardly. More problems. ‘What can I do for you, Gwyllan? I can tell you’re waiting for me, but come with me and we’ll see Elayne and her new baby first. We’ll find somewhere quiet where we can talk after I’ve made sure that mother and child are comfortable. Is that acceptable?’

Gwyllan ducked her head so that her long plaits fell forward to conceal her face, but she nodded and swallowed convulsively.

‘This visit should be propitious, Gwyllan. As you’re like to be a mother yourself in the next year or so, this experience will be instructive for you. Elayne has excellent mothering skills, which will assist her babe to survive. Watch and learn from her, for it will help you when your own time comes.’ Anna smiled so sweetly and with such obvious pleasure at the thought of Gwyllan’s future children that the girl dropped her eyes to the points of her embroidered slippers.

Gulping audibly, she followed the older woman into the room, which had been tidied and scented with fresh flowers that seemed to bloom on every flat surface. In clay pots, tin pans and even a goblet of rare Roman glass, late wild flowers of all types and sprays of greenery added splashes of vivid colour to the room. Daisies sprouted everywhere, raising their cheerful faces and yellow centres in posies of other blooms, even small, shy orchids collected from the deepest parts of the forest where they flowered secretly, high in the forks of tree branches.

Elayne was propped up on a mound of woollen pillows and appeared to be considerably better after a day of complete rest. She had been bathed, and her hair had been brushed and combed until the red-gold tresses glowed and then replaited into a thick coronet around her head. Only the deep purple shadows round her eyes spoke mutely of her recent ordeal.

‘Arthur brought them. All of them! He is stripping every field and tree of flowers to brighten my day. I tell him there are only buckets left to put the flowers in, and the horses might object if they have no water, but . . . well, you can see what he does.’

‘You’re a lucky woman to be so well loved. Now, have you bled overmuch?’

Elayne and Gwyllan both blushed at the intimacy of the question, but Elayne shook her head. ‘I have been strapped so tightly that my blood couldn’t escape even if it needed to. I do thank you for assisting me during the birth, my lady, for only the good Lord will ever know if I’d have survived without your intervention. You have learned the skills of Myrddion Merlinus, and it is well known that he was the wisest healer in these isles. My little girl would have died without you. It was very good of you to help.’

‘Nonsense, Elayne. What use would it have been to us if you had died? What good would Bedwyr have been to my son if he’d been left a widower with four small children? I often help at births when I’m at home, and such work gives me pleasure. We who bear the responsibilities of rule over others are obliged to serve our people when we have an opportunity to do so.’

Elayne blushed, but moved on to other matters. ‘The little one fed three times during the morning. She can only suckle for five minutes or so, so I feed her often, especially since the wet nurse will arrive soon. She is still an ugly little thing, but her colour is much better already, don’t you think?’

Anna moved across the room to a woven rush basket that sat in an improvised sling hanging from the ceiling. The air was warm, so the infant was lightly covered and her thin limbs and ancient, wizened features were exposed. Her eyes were the blue of many babies and Anna knew they were likely to change in colour. The babe’s focus still wasn’t sharp, but she stared intently at the giant face leaning over her. Unlike those infants who were so frail that the slightest ailment might carry them off, this one seemed untroubled. No fretful crying, no whistling breath and no clamminess in the hands and feet. Against all the odds, this child might yet live.

‘See, Lady Anna? She’s stronger than she appears, isn’t she? I’ve chosen her baptismal name. Although it’s not the custom, Bedwyr permits me to name my daughters.’ Elayne’s face glowed with affection and triumph.

Anna looked at the small, old-woman’s face in the crib. ‘She’s certainly stronger, but a cold from a stray breeze could easily kill her. I’ll pray to the Mother for her, if you’ll not be offended. I’ll not be happy until she’s full sized and vigorous. What have you chosen as her birth name?’

‘I’ve been presumptuous, but if fate permits her to live, then she’s worthy of it. I’ve decided to call her Medb, which some men call Maeve. It’s pretty, but I was told many years ago that it means intoxicating and bewitching, and my girl might need a powerful name at some time in the future. I’ve a feeling that she will become an important young woman as she grows to adulthood. Please don’t laugh at my presumption, Lady Anna, but my aunt, who went to live with her husband across the Hibernian Sea, told me the tale of Medb, a great queen in Connaught. She was a war-like female and practised magic, but, most important, she wielded great power over men. We women need all the help that the Lord High God can give us, so although I’m now a Christian I’ve decided to name my new babe after a woman who ruled over her menfolk in a pagan world.’ The triumph and challenge in Elayne’s voice made Anna laugh and brought a frown of surprise to Gwyllan’s face.

‘The poor child will be saddled with the name of a notorious woman who broke the hearts, and other delicate parts, of any man who tried to press their claims on her,’ Anna said. ‘I hope little Maeve can live up to the expectations that such a name will place on her.’

‘She will if I have any say in the matter,’ Elayne replied. She was quietly determined under her giggles, and Anna reminded herself that this unassuming woman had been the confidante of the greatest of all the High Kings of Britain. There was far more to Elayne of Arden than mother and domestic chatelaine.