Web of Deceit (54 page)

‘My master bade me tell you his decision. You have seen fit to defy his legitimate orders as the High King of the Britons and, as he no longer trusts you to obey his instructions, you will relinquish two hostages to ensure your future compliance with his wishes.’

Into the dumbstruck silence, Brangaine’s cry cut like a razor. ‘Master! This cur has tied Willa and Rhedyn and plans to take them to King Uther.’

Over my dead and bleeding body, Myrddion thought savagely.

‘How dare you break into my house, Ulfin? Had you knocked, you would have been admitted like any other civilised citizen. I am loyal to the throne and always have been. I do not deserve to be treated like a common felon.’

Ulfin shrugged carelessly. ‘My master gave me my orders and they take precedence over all other considerations.’

‘But Rhedyn is one of my trusted assistants, so she cannot be spared if we are going
to war. Would you tie my hands behind my back by robbing me of a trained healer? Your master didn’t ask for her by name, did he?’

Ulfin shrugged again and Myrddion knew that he had guessed correctly. Ulfin had been ordered to take women hostages because Myrddion would not permit the helpless to suffer. In a swift, ruthless show of force, Uther had ensured Myrddion’s co-operation.

‘Then you choose the hostages, healer. I don’t care who comes, as long as they’re female and relatively young. I’ll not be palmed off with old crones already close to death.’

‘Take me,’ Brangaine cried. ‘Take me for Willa! Please, master.’

‘No,’ Ulfin said with a nasty grin. ‘The girl’s no healer, so she’s coming. My master will take to her, so choose another. I don’t care who.’

‘I’ll go,’ the girl with the strawberry scar on her face volunteered. Berwyn was a fine worker, but, as a gardener and house servant, her skills were not essential. Mute and ill, Myrddion could only nod his thanks for her sacrifice.

Swiftly, Willa and Berwyn were lashed together by a rope attached to each girl’s neck, and their wrists were tightly bound. Willa’s eyes were very calm and she smiled at her foster-mother with a tremulous curve of her sweet young lips. With a pang, Myrddion recalled the fear she had expressed when they had first arrived in Dubris, and he felt deathly afraid for her.

‘No!’ Brangaine screamed. ‘I’ll not let you take her!’

With a careless wave of one hand, Ulfin signalled to an officer of the guard, who held Brangaine by both shoulders while another warrior trussed her up like a chicken and dumped her bodily on the ground. She dissolved into a flood of weeping.

‘Remember, healer, your girls remain safe as long as you obey the orders of the High King. I expect I’ll see you at Anderida.’

Then, without any apology for the booted feet that left the atrium in a shambles, Ulfin led
the guardsmen and their captives out of the house of the healers, leaving shocked silence in their wake.

‘Well, that’s torn it,’ Cadoc muttered, hurrying to cut Brangaine free with a knife he had secreted in his boot. ‘Do we go after the guard and try to rescue our people, master?’

The servants looked horrified at the suggestion, but hope bloomed in Brangaine’s wet eyes. Regretfully, Myrddion shook his head. ‘There’s no chance of succeeding against trained warriors. We’d only perish in the attempt and then Willa and Berwyn would be put to death. Their only hope of safety depends on my obedience. At first light, I’ll try to reason with Uther, but I suggest we pack for war.’

Then, because Myrddion understood his king so well, he ordered Praxiteles to remain behind when the other servants dispersed to carry out his instructions. The sound of Brangaine’s weeping and Cathan’s frightened questions were muffled as Ruadh closed the door behind them.

Myrddion turned to Praxiteles and smiled softly at his faithful servant. ‘Friend, do you plan to defy me if I order you to carry out a distasteful retreat that has little honour in it?’

Praxiteles was his usual pragmatic self, although he was a little pale under the warm olive of his skin. ‘I will obey as long as your instructions are reasonable, Myrddion. You have always been a thoughtful master and you can’t help the excesses of a wicked king.’

‘That’s as may be, Praxiteles,’ Myrddion murmured regretfully. ‘I have aided and abetted a tyrant for far too long, but I’m damned if I can see any other option that can help us with our predicament now. I’ll continue to serve him until Willa and Berwyn return, but I’ll not allow him an opportunity to enforce my obedience again.’

Praxiteles waited patiently while the healer stared at the crushed herbs and considered his options.

‘I am vulnerable to Uther’s threats because of my loyalty to the children and the
older servants who have nowhere else to go if I should be forced to flee,’ Myrddion glumly.

‘Aye, Master,’ Praxiteles answered with his usual calm.

‘While I have innocents around me who can be harmed, Uther has a means of forcing me to obey him, no matter how brutal and outrageous his demands. He has me trapped.’ Myrddion closed his fist over some broken fronds of mint and the air was suddenly cleansed with the scent of the crushed herb. ‘I must extricate myself. I’ll have to order you to wait until the army marches out of Venta Belgarum for Anderida. We healers will be forced to travel in the baggage train, and I expect us to be absent for months. Nothing good will come from this campaign, I know it.’

‘What task do you plan for me, Myrddion?’ Praxiteles moved so he could engage Myrddion’s eyes. ‘Do you have any special instructions for me?’

‘Yes, my friend, I do. I intend to send you to Segontium with the remainder of the household women and Cathan. You will also take any of the men who are willing to travel north with you, and pay off those servants who wish to remain here in Venta Belgarum. They can stay in the house, but I caution you to take everything of any value with you, save only for my jars and herbs. I want the women gone to a place where they will be safe from the clutches of Uther Pendragon. Uther will not ride so far into alien country for the sake of some runaway servants. He only travels into the north to fight and to kill.’

Praxiteles nodded his understanding. ‘And what should I do in Segontium, Myrddion? Wherever that might be.’

Despite the dangers inherent in his proposal, Myrddion laughed. ‘You’re going to hate the cold up north, Praxiteles, but you’ll love to be near the sea again. You’ll take my money chest and purchase a house in the town, where you’ll find Finn Truthteller and Bridie. As soon as practicable, I’ll send Cadoc, Brangaine, Rhedyn and Ruadh to join you, for I cannot
bear the thought that Uther might harm those I love. As soon as we are out of sight, my friend, make good your escape and run far and fast.’

Praxiteles extended one brown hand and raised Myrddion’s chin so he could survey the damage caused by Uther’s fists.

‘He lost his temper, Myrddion, and he’ll be enraged when you defy him. Remember his lack of self-control the next time you enter into a battle of wits with the High King. I’ll do what you ask because it’s the only sensible solution to your dilemma, but you must understand that you’ll be alone in a hostile court for some time, perhaps for years. Make friends if you must, but only with those men whom Uther cannot harm.’ Then he smiled kindly at his master. ‘It’s back to sleep with you now, and I will take care of Brangaine. The worst night must give way to a new morning, so with luck the light of day will bring better news.’

‘I hope so, but somehow I doubt that Uther will soften his views.’

In the morning, the poplace was astir like the frantic scrambling of insects exposed to the harsh light of day when a rotting tree trunk is turned over on the forest floor. Like the beatles and nameless crawling things that are suddenly prey to the sharp beaks of birds or the attacks of other predators, Venta Belgarum’s citizenry filled the streets as they nervously tried to grasp the implications of the new threat. Uther had ordered that all able-bodied men should follow him to Anderida, so the city boiled with preparations. To fortify himself for the confrontation to come, Myrddion paused to purchase a leg of roasted chicken and a mug of ale from an inn facing the forecourt of the hall. As he sat beside a roaring fire and the feeling began to return to his frozen hands and feet, he asked the innkeeper for any news of Gorlois and the tribal kings.

‘Why, master healer, there be great doings in the meeting of the kings. The Boar of the Dumnonii has been given permission to send his womenfolk back to
Tintagel, as long as he strips his land of men to swell the king’s army. Gorlois has sworn to obey this order, for Uther insists that the Dumnonii king should command the cavalry. I know that I’ll sleep better knowing that Cornwall marches to Anderida, I’ll swear to that. If anyone can rout the Saxons, it would be King Gorlois.’

‘Aye, but what of the other kings?’ Myrddion tried to appear casual in his questioning, but the sharp-eyed innkeeper wasn’t deceived.

‘Bless you, healer, of course they will obey our lord. The Dragon is like to hold a grudge against any that refused to comply with his wishes. Oh, yes, they fawned all over him, I’m told, and couriers have been sent to all the kingdoms to summon men to swell our ranks.’

‘It’s far too cold at the moment to lift a siege. Many men will die of exposure,’ Myrddion mumbled. Even now, cold winds tried to force their way through the shutters and a flurry of icy rain battered at the closed door with the pattering sound of sleet.

‘Soldiers die all the time. Our greatest fear at the moment is that the Saxons will surround us.’

Myrddion nodded in agreement. ‘We don’t want them here, but the weather is turning nasty and the road to Anderida Silva is long and harsh. It’s possible that we could lose so many men on the journey that our purpose will be blunted before we even start the campaign.’

He addressed himself to eating his chicken leg, despite the pain in his jaw from the effort of chewing. When he had finished – regretfully, for a roaring fire was blazing fiercely – he presented a copper coin with the head of Maximus stamped upon it in payment for his meal. The innkeeper grinned widely at this excess and offered fulsome thanks as Myrddion slipped through the door and out into a flurry of snow.

Botha intercepted him before he could reach the king’s apartment and dragged him forcibly into a small bedchamber across the corridor. ‘Are you mad, healer? Didn’t you learn anything yesterday when
the king took to you with his fists?’

‘He’s ordered Ulfin to take two of my women hostage to ensure my good behaviour. I must try to make him see sense.’ Myrddion tried to push past the captain, but Botha stood firm.

‘Do you want to die, or do you want your girls to be raped – or worse? For pity’s sake, man! If Uther sees your bruised face before you’ve healed, he’s likely to remember the fate you predicted for him before he knocked you senseless. If you keep your head down, everything will eventually return to normal.’

Botha’s voice and manner were unusually jumpy, a fact that simply heightened Myrddion’s anxiety and firmed his conviction to discuss the matter with Uther. But he had scarcely begun to protest before Botha dealt him a stinging slap.

‘That’s just pride talking, Myrddion Merlinus, and not common sense. You know our master, none better. And you must realise that you’ll waste your breath reasoning with him until he’s killed the Saxons at Anderida. After that, he’ll be in a better mood.’

Glumly, Myrddion slumped back against the rough wall of the small room. In his heart, he knew that Botha spoke good sense and that Uther was unpredictable because of rage at him, lust for an unattainable woman and anger at the Saxons. Frustrated on all levels, the High King would strike out until his blinding fury was assuaged.

‘Very well, I’ll listen to your advice, Botha, but you must promise to keep the captives as safe as possible. Those poor girls shouldn’t suffer because the king resents my existence. Promise me, and I’ll return to the house of the healers and pack for Anderida.’

Botha rubbed his jaw with his forefinger and Myrddion heard the harsh rasp of whiskers against the sword calluses on his hand. ‘Aye, I’ll do all I can to keep the lasses safe, although the girl called Willa sits mute and refuses to eat. If you send me any messages from her mother, I’ll make certain they reach her.’

So Myrddion returned home
to begin preparations for the journey to the east. He was familiar with the landscape from his travels in the service of both Ambrosius and Uther, so he understood the strategic importance of Anderida. The Roman fort, stonewalled and gated to the east and west, was protected by the sea to the south and was positioned to defend a long sweep of coastline where the Romans had expected invasion from the continent.

As he examined his map of the area, Myrddion marvelled at the wily engineers who had built their fort with a swamp at its back, a perfect defence for Roman legionaries who would have felt ill at ease so far from home on the chilly coast of southern Britain. Behind the swamp, the forests of Anderida Silva rose in densely covered hills that formed an effective barrier to all but cavalry.

No major roads led to the fortress, so a novice commander might decide that it lacked strategic importance. But such a conclusion would be an error, because Anderida, and the hills to its west, guarded the verdant fields of Vectis, Magnus Portus, Noviomagus and Portus Adurni that were the funnel through which the tribes traded with the Franks and the Visigoths across the Litus Saxonicum. More important, if the ports should be occupied by the Saxons Venta Belgarum would inevitably fall and a spearhead would be driven, hard and true, into the loins of the west. The tribal kings would never recover from such a disaster.

‘The fortress of Anderida must remain in Celtic hands for as long as possible,’ Myrddion explained to Cadoc, prodding the map penned on the hide scroll with an emphatic forefinger. ‘Look at what it protects. Beyond Anderida Silva is Calleva Atrebatum, and only the gods could help us if that city should fall, for it straddles the Roman roads in all four directions. We’d be trapped between Scylla and Charybdis.’

‘Scylla and what?’ Cadoc said blankly.