M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (64 page)

Arthur thanked his old teacher, but Lorcan was far from finished.

‘I worry about you sometimes, Arthur, because you are a good and trusting young man. Don’t bridle, lad, because it’s no insult to call you good. Before you protest, I know you were hurt by the disillusion of Calleva and your nephew’s use of you on the line, but that’s not the same as losing everything you have. You haven’t lost your innocence, and while that is your good fortune it could also cause you to become prey to wicked or amoral men.’

‘By the gods, Lorcan,’ Arthur swore. ‘You make me sound like a babe at the breast. I’m well past the age of the nursery, and I don’t need other people to look out for me.’

‘But you still take men at their word until they prove false, Arthur. It’s not a fault, I assure you, but in the world you inhabit, and especially considering the delicacy of the task you are currently undertaking, such a trusting nature might get you into trouble. Be careful of other people, Arthur, regardless of the faces they present to the world. In particular, you should remember your experiences with Mareddyd. I heard news of him recently, and I immediately remembered that you can’t trust a fair face or sweet words. By our actions we are known.’

‘I understand, Lorcan. But surely you’re worrying unnecessarily.’

Lorcan examined his hands carefully, as if the key to heaven lay within the long fingers with their sprinkling of fine black hair. Several had been missed when he washed his hands, so crescents of black loam were clearly visible under his nails. He used a small knife to clean out the detritus while Arthur waited patiently.

‘I’ve never spoken of my experiences in Rome because I was ashamed, but I was redeemed at Calleva, and through the terrible suffering of both our people and the Saxons I’ve come to realise that my own poor trials of faith helped to make me the man I am, for good or ill. God’s purpose is not always easy to understand, but there is reasoning behind his structure of the universe.’

‘I suppose so,’ Arthur murmured. He was more confused than ever.

‘I told you that I was taken to Rome because I had a gift with languages, especially Latin and transcription. The cardinal who mentored me was called Septimus, and I thought he was a cleric of great culture and piety.’

Arthur kept silent, because Lorcan’s reminiscences were obviously painful to him.

‘At first, Septimus seemed to be the perfect master. I was set to work copying ancient religious texts, using all the skill and beauty I could muster. His praise was lavish, and he made me believe that I was serving God when I worked for him. His home in Rome was palatial, a true palace in the Roman style, but I was hard at work with other young prelates and never saw the very unpriestly behaviour that took place in darkness. Nor did I give any credence to the other lads who spoke of Septimus with fear and loathing. Like you, I still trusted in the essential goodness of the people around me.’

Arthur sensed a deliberate direction in Lorcan’s reminiscences and he began to protest, but Lorcan placed one twisted finger over the younger man’s lips.

‘You’ll find it hard to believe, but I was a beautiful boy when I was a youngster, until life put creases in my face and blurred my understanding of right and wrong. By speaking now I’m placing my life in your hands, so, against my own advice, I’m placing my trust in another person.’

Arthur winced, for he was beginning to divine the ending to Lorcan’s ugly story. But he also saw a certain cathartic relief in Lorcan’s face, as if voicing his pain lessened the power it held over him. Arthur held his tongue.

‘Cardinal Septimus was a voluptuous sybarite. Both girls and boys were unsafe if they were placed under his control, for he didn’t really care about the sex or the age of the young people he assaulted. His depravity had no bounds, for he lived like a dissolute Roman emperor while he continued to espouse poverty and obedience. He raped me after one of his feasts, and I couldn’t believe what had been done . . . or why. I chose to believe that I was the one who was at fault.’

‘What happened?’ Arthur croaked. ‘Did you report his attack to the authorities?’

‘Would they have believed me? Probably. But would they have censured him or saved me? Never! I tried to protect myself and remain beyond his reach, but I knew no one in Rome and I had no means of gaining money. I endured seven months of rape and torture before I eventually suffered a bout of madness.’ He grimaced with distaste. ‘I remember the night very well. Septimus’s personal bodyguard had come for me – he actually had to drag me – and, to my shame, I was weeping. I was thrust into an antechamber and the door was locked behind me. There was a little girl there already, dressed in a flimsy, transparent robe. I could see the buds of her breasts and she had yet to grow pubic hair, so she couldn’t have been any older than eleven. Someone had painted her face with cosmetics. She was struggling not to cry, for that would ruin the black lines painted around her eyes.’

‘I don’t understand how such things can be done in God’s name,’ Arthur whispered. ‘If that makes me an innocent, I’d prefer to remain so than live in a world where such sins are accepted as commonplace.’

‘Yes, perhaps so. I’d grown taller by then and hair had begun to sprout under my arms and in my groin, so although I didn’t know it at the time I was less attractive to my master. He took the little girl first and I was forced to listen to her shrieking through the inner door. I was incensed, but what could I do? He sent for me shortly afterwards and told me that he found my hairy body repugnant and intended to have me shaved from head to foot. The little girl was curled up in a corner of the cardinal’s bed, weeping quietly and bleeding. Her cosmetics had run and I felt disgust burn through me. Septimus then ordered me to take the girl for his pleasure. He sat naked in a chair beside the bed and his little paunch and flaccid penis disgusted me. But my disgust was exacerbated by the look of lust, greed and triumph that burned in his eyes. His look of anticipation still haunts me. When I reached for the child, she cried and cringed away from me and something snapped in my mind.’

‘What did you do?’ Arthur whispered.

‘I strangled the cardinal with my own two hands. He never expected me to attack him, so I had his throat under my thumbs before he understood the murderous intention in my eyes. I had been a blacksmith’s son in my youth and had spent years copying and painting manuscripts since then. My hands were very strong and I squeezed the life out of him slowly, even as he struggled. His face became congested, then blue and bloated; his tongue lolled out at the end and his eyes popped and became red as the blood vessels burst just under the sclera. He had thought himself to be a handsome man, but Septimus had lost his beauty by the time I was through with him.’ Lorcan grimaced. ‘I wasn’t quite suicidal, but I didn’t much care if I lived or died. I decided to run. I tried to take the little girl with me, but she screamed and hid from me in Septimus’s bed. Coward that I was, I left her behind, and told the guards that my master didn’t want to be disturbed. No one doubted me or believed me capable of violence, so I had several hours before the cardinal’s body was found. I robbed his rooms too, so I was now in possession of some of his gold. I was out of Rome within days and heading north. The rest of my life you know.’

‘I’m sorry for what happened to you, but I’d hope I will never be placed in a situation like that,’ Arthur murmured, for he was revolted by Lorcan’s tale.

‘So you say, lad, and I hope you’re right. Just take care when you’re with strangers, even if you consider they deserve a modicum of your trust. That’s all I ask. I’ll pray for you while you are leading your party to the north, a place where men cannot be trusted a single inch.’

When Germanus arrived, the three friends joined Eamonn and Gareth to boast, to share experiences and to give and take advice on the best routes to Onnum, their ultimate destination. The decision was made to head to Venonae and Ratae along the Fosse Way, but then to leave the main road and head overland towards Vernemetum. From there, they must skirt Mercia and Eburacum by cutting through Sherwood Forest, passing under the old fortress of Temple and thence through the marshlands of Calcaria. Arthur was familiar with this area from the battle he had been involved in during his fourteenth year when he had won acclaim for his protection of the healers’ enclave. All they must do here was remain close to the badlands, using the ancient paths of the hill people until they reached Danum. Then, at speed, they would bypass Isurium, Lavatrae and Vinovia, for the road then led them straight to Onnum.

‘Easy,’ Arthur murmured sardonically, and his companions laughed. Eamonn was dumbfounded by Arthur’s use of a rudimentary map on which he made notations, until Lorcan explained about Myrddion Merlinus’s passion for maps, and the examples he had made from his own travels. Because the boy was interested in his father’s cartography, Taliesin had given Arthur copies of his father’s charts of Britain many years earlier, and the citizens of Arden took great pride in using such valuable tools when they travelled outside the boundaries of their forest homes.

Arthur had already decided that the party must leave in two days’ time. The journey before them would be long, arduous and fraught with danger, but men who possessed woodcraft skills could cope with the tribulations that lay before them, for most of the Saxon activity was currently centred in the south of Britain. Few of the invaders looked towards Arden with avaricious eyes.

Once the plan was decided, Arthur had time to relax and enjoy the peace of Arden, or so he hoped. From the palisades, as he looked towards his favourite tree, he saw Maeve and Blaise walking through the fallow fields picking wild flowers. The girls had made daisy chains for their hair, so white coronets glowed on their twin heads, one black as jet and the other as red as flame. Their joy in each other’s company was clearly evident, for their arms were full of flowers and they were laughing uninhibitedly, making Arthur wonder at the wisdom of turning little girls into wives at such young ages.

Then he shrugged. After all, such a decision was none of his business. Eamonn was eager to leave, but Blaise set the hall alive with her laughter. Even Bedwyr took an unexpected liking to Blaise, calling her a
pretty little dove
to her face so that she blushed prettily whenever he addressed her. His avuncular manner was accentuated around her and Arthur wondered if his father wouldn’t be a better commander of the party as it headed into the north. Then Bedwyr rose to his feet and groaned with the pain in his hips. Arthur castigated himself for even considering transferring his responsibilities to his father, an elderly man who was tired and sore from swollen, painful joints, a man whose face reflected his constant aches and pains.

Bedwyr is an old man, Arthur thought sadly. How could I consider passing on to him a task that I find onerous? I’m being selfish.

So he patted his father on the back, noting the bony protuberances on the old man’s spine with alarm. They spoke of the days ahead and Arthur proposed his mother’s plan bluntly, finding to his surprise that his father agreed with the proposal.

‘I’ll be back to help you before the end of winter, Father. I’m confident I can reach our destination and return by that time. Only death or capture will stop me.’

‘Don’t say such things, boy. My heart would break if anything were to happen to you. When I watched you fighting two-handed in the line at Calleva with such ferocity that even the largest Jutes couldn’t reach you, I knew that your father had returned, just as Nimue promised.’

Arthur smiled tremulously. ‘I’m not the Dragon King, Father. I’m just Arthur, and you deserve the credit for any honours that have come my way.’

‘You’re kind to say so, boy. Yes, I agree that I’ve watered your roots and kept down the tangling weeds that would have stunted your growth, but you’ve become what Artor should have been if he had been nurtured better as a boy. I can see your mother’s influence on you as well, both in your calm logic and in your pleasant nature. I hope you never become bitter, my son. I did, and I wasted many years in a fruitless search for revenge against the Saxons who had used me. Any wrong that’s been done to us can’t be changed, so why should we spend our lives trying to find some kind of balance? Bad people won’t change either, because they believe their actions can be justified.’

‘Please don’t speak as if we’ll never meet again, Father,’ Arthur murmured, patting his father’s shoulder as he would an infant’s. ‘You sound as though this is the last time I’ll be in Arden. I’ll return, I swear it.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll be like Odysseus! If I get sidetracked along the way, I’ll turn up when you least expect it.’

‘You talk about things I don’t understand, Arthur, but I don’t care. I’m a plain man who knows he’s incapable of kingship. Unlike you, my boy! What a king you’d have made!’

Before Arthur could protest that there was nothing he wanted less, Maeve and Blaise came tripping into the hall and brought the scent of flowers and sunshine with them. Maeve’s face was transfigured with joy. Her usual pallor was stained with rosy colouring and her green eyes were emerald bright with excitement. Like a cat, she had a small triangular face and a certain lanky grace under a head of thick, bright red hair. Unlike most red-haired tribeswomen, her face was free of freckles, but a faint dusting of gold reflected the time she had spent in the sun during the last few days. Her manner today was also out of character, the self-contained reserve replaced by an elfin animation.

‘May we talk to you for a moment, Father?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling. She glanced at Blaise for support and confirmation, and the Dumnonii princess hurried into an obviously prepared speech. Arthur quickly understood why the girls had been together, head to head, all day.

‘Master Bedwyr,’ Blaise began. ‘As you know, I am to be wed to the heir of the Otadini tribe. I will be a queen in time,’ she added with unconscious pride. ‘My father sends me to the north because it is safe from Saxon or Jute attacks. Maeve and I have become friends.’

Both girls held up their thumbs, which bore identical cuts across the ball. ‘We mingled our blood, Father, so we could become sisters,’ Maeve explained. ‘It hurt, but I didn’t care, and I didn’t cry, did I, Blaise?’