The Bear King, page 13
part #3 of Dark Age Series
Not this place of barbarians, of grunts and oaths, where greasy meat was torn from the bone and the men fornicated like rutting beasts.
Despite the sun on her face, she tugged her cloak around her and scowled. The fortress towered over the road that led to the mountain pass, atop a wooded, rocky hill, both guarding the route and allowing her to tax the merchants who travelled between north and south in Cambria. The grey stone had been heaped up on the foundations of a much older fort. The inhabitants had long since vanished. Ramparts marched up the hillside.
She was safe there. Arthur was safe there. Enemies lurked everywhere.
Gaia winced as she heard the familiar click-click-click of the Hanged Man’s staff as Severus guided his insect-like frame over the flagstones. He would be wearing his black robes, which only made him seem more saturnine. How she wished he would die. But then who would teach Arthur in the ways of being a king?
She turned and felt a burst of surprise when she saw that twisted frame was not alone. A tall, broad-shouldered man with fiery red hair and beard strode beside him. He looked strong, powerful, and his grin showed the confidence that she admired so much. She smiled back, opening her eyes wider, lifting her head and pushing her breasts out.
‘This is Niall of the Nine Hostages. He is a …’ Severus paused to choose his words, ‘a king, from Hibernia.’
‘And I am the queen here,’ Gaia pronounced, throwing her arms wide. ‘Welcome to Dinas Ffaraon Dandde.’
Niall bowed. Respect; she liked that. But she knew he lusted after her too, as all men did. Perhaps she would take him to her bed. It had been too long since she’d enjoyed careful attention.
‘We have a band of the king’s men captive, here in the fortress,’ the Hanged Man droned. ‘Our army took them when they were raiding one of the ports to the west.’
‘I would not have sent them to attack this land if I’d known it was ruled over by such a wise and beautiful queen.’ Niall leaned forward and kissed her hand.
She shivered.
‘He would like his men returned to him,’ Severus said.
‘Very—’
‘I have told the king you would consent to his request,’ her adviser continued. ‘However, a queen would of course require something in return. In this case we have agreed on a payment of information. Nothing too onerous. Is this what you wish?’
Gaia felt her smile tighten. She hated the way Severus emphasized the words to draw from her the response he required. ‘And what information do you have, Niall of the Nine Hostages?’
‘I have sailed from the south-west corner of Britannia where, I believe, you have enemies—’
‘I have no enemies. No rivals. I rule justly and I am loved by all.’ She heard the sing-song lilt in her voice and hoped the flint in her eyes didn’t mute it.
‘Of course. However, they would consider themselves enemies and they are prepared to threaten your … just rule.’ Niall glanced at Severus, his eyes twinkling. The Hanged Man nodded in response. ‘You would have some interest in their comings and goings?’
‘Perhaps. Walk with me, and I will hear what you have to say.’
She led the way down the stone steps to the courtyard. Her nostrils flared at the apple-reek of horse dung and the sour smoke wafting from the smith’s shop. The throom of hammer on anvil would drown out all words, so she tilted back her head further still, half closing her eyes, and walked in silence, pretending the stinking men who lumbered around were not there.
Inside the steamy warmth of her quarters, she relaxed her shoulders and said, ‘Now, speak.’
‘The Queen in the West fears your power,’ Niall said. ‘Her army is crumbling and the local tribe turn away from her.’
‘This we know.’
‘The queen has a fire in her—’
‘My daughter is a cold witch,’ Gaia snapped.
Niall gaped for a moment. The relationship was news to him. ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘Our paths crossed only briefly and you will know her better than I do. What is of import here is that she will not let this decline continue. She believes she can draw new swords to her army, and win the hearts of the local folk, by securing a great treasure, a magical cauldron, or cup of some kind.’
Gaia looked to the Hanged Man, who shook his head slowly. ‘The followers of the Christ have some tale of a cup which caught the blood of their saviour when he died upon the cross,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it is that.’
‘If my venomous offspring succeeds in finding this cup, will she achieve what she desires?’
Severus shrugged. ‘Simple folk are easily swayed by talk of magic and gods.’
‘Then we must make sure she does not succeed. See to it.’ She heard the granite in her voice and flashed a smile at Niall. ‘Come. I will show you my wonderful palace.’
As Severus scurried away to make the arrangements, Arthur emerged from the throne room, his pale face like the moon in the half-light. She felt a twist of irritation. She had hoped to be alone with this potent visitor.
‘This is Arthur,’ she said.
The lad walked forward and bowed his head slightly.
‘I’ve heard of you,’ Niall said. ‘The … ah … the True King, yes?’
‘I am the True King.’
Gaia watched the Hibernian scrutinizing her son. No doubt he saw in Arthur all the courage and wit and hope that moved her to tears every day.
After a moment, Niall nodded. ‘Aye … well …’
‘Come,’ Gaia said, a little too hastily, ‘let me show you the rest of my home. You will see why it was chosen as a fit place to house the bloodline of the King Who Will Not Die.’ She walked away before he could resist.
‘The simple folk who live around here tell stories of the wonders … of the magic … of Dinas Ffaraon Dandde,’ she went on as she led the way through the fortress. ‘Of blue flames flickering among the trees … the light of the gods. Though I must say, none have been seen since we arrived. Voices booming from deep within the hill. Long-dead family members encountered on the road to the mountains. Frogs raining from a clear sky. Gold rings in the streams.’ Gaia chuckled. ‘And it is true that when the masons were building the towers they would rise at dawn to find the previous day’s work torn down, the stones scattered far and wide. The superstitious said we were building on sacred ground. More likely the locals were sneaking in to cause trouble for the strangers. When my guards kept watch, with sharpened swords at the ready, the disruption quickly stopped.’
‘In my experience, I wouldn’t laugh too much at simple folk,’ Niall muttered. ‘There is usually good reason for such tales being attached to a place.’
‘We all like a good story. I have another one. You will judge for yourself whether it is true or not.’
Gaia swung open a door and they stepped into deep gloom before she led him down stone steps. ‘Arthur,’ she prompted at the foot.
Her son plucked a torch from the wall and stepped ahead of her. The flames twisted in a blast of dank air.
‘Cold as hell in here,’ Niall muttered.
Gaia kept the smile on her lips, but she always felt uneasy in this place, and it troubled her how even a strong torch failed to push the shadows back far. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, and after a moment Arthur stepped on to a wide stone platform. The orange glow of the torch gleamed off a deep black pool.
Coming to a halt, Niall stroked his beard as he peered into the depths. Gaia edged closer to him, so close she was almost brushing his arm.
‘Water?’ the Hibernian rumbled.
‘Keep your voice low,’ she breathed. ‘You wouldn’t want to disturb what is sleeping in down there.’
She sensed Niall glancing at her to see if she was joking.
‘This pool is why the fortress is here. Why we are here. Of all the tales told of this place by the local folk, this is the only one that fills their voices with awe. Perhaps with dread. Some of them say the pool goes down for ever, others that it is a gateway to the world where their gods live. Any who dare dive in are never seen again. Be that as it may, the belief is that whosoever has ownership of this pool will become the rightful king … or queen … of all Britannia.’
Niall leaned forward, watching the amber glints dancing across the oily surface. ‘And what sleeps in the depths?’
‘Dragons.’ Gaia let the echoes disappear before continuing. ‘Two of them. One red, one white.’
‘You’ve seen them?’
Gaia shuddered, recalling the first time she came down here alone, not long after the fortress was built. ‘I’ve heard their screams, and seen their dark shapes rolling beneath the surface. When they are awake, they fight, but so far there has not been a victor.’
She closed her eyes. This Hibernian barbarian could never know what this pool meant to her, to her son. This was more than the home of fabulous beasts. The dragon was the symbol of everything they fought for: the never-ending bloodline, the eternal cycle of the fall and the saviour rising to lead the world into a new golden age. The Ouroboros, the dragon eating its own tail, was branded into her shoulder, as it had been into the shoulder of her son, Corvus, and as it soon would be made real in the flesh of her other son, Arthur.
‘Dinas Ffaraon Dandde is a very old name,’ she breathed. ‘In the local tongue, I am told, it means the Fortress of the Fiery Pharaoh. These dragons have existed here for a long time.’
Niall grunted. ‘I would like a pair of pet dragons myself. Their fiery breath could warm us all up during a cold night at sea.’
Gaia winced at the disrespect in his voice. Did he think this was some kind of joke? ‘Come,’ she said, marching back in the direction of the door. ‘Let us reunite you with your men and send you on your way. I have important business to attend to.’
‘If he comes within an arrow-shot of the fortress again, make sure he is cut down and hung out for the ravens,’ Gaia told the captain of the guard as she watched Niall of the Nine Hostages march away from the gates with his band of cut-throats and thieves. They were clapping each other on the shoulder and laughing like drunks making their way home from the tavern. Gaia simmered. Niall did not even glance back once.
Before the captain could respond, hoofbeats thundered and she saw a band of her men riding hard for the fortress. They swept past the ragged group of pirates, paying them no attention. What could be the reason for such haste, she wondered? Though she was keen to return to the heat of her throne room, her curiosity got the better of her and she walked down the stone steps to the reeking courtyard.
The gates swung open and the riders rumbled in. Severus emerged from whatever hole he inhabited and hurried across the dusty square to greet them. For a moment, excited words rang back and forth and then he turned to her with a look of excitement.
Intrigued, Catia stepped closer. What she had taken to be a bale thrown over a horse at the rear began to squirm and she realized her men had taken a captive, perhaps some assassin sent by the false king and her vile daughter to kill her, or Arthur. She felt her blood grow cold. She’d order him gutted and spiked on a pole outside the gates so he could ruminate on his failings while the birds feasted on his entrails.
One of the men wrenched the captive off the horse and hurled him to the ground at her feet. He was filthy, his ragged clothes sodden from the rain. His hands were bound behind his back and he had a rotting sack pulled over his head.
The Hanged Man lurched forward so fast in his eagerness, his rolling gait almost upended him. ‘A prize,’ he exclaimed. ‘The greatest prize!’
Gaia looked down at the squalid captive and turned up her nose. ‘This?’
Severus leaned down and ripped the sack off the man’s head.
‘Oh.’ She took a step back in surprise.
The captive flicked his braided hair aside and looked up at her, his eyes burning. She saw the unmistakable tattoo of the druids curling down the left side of his face to his jaw.
‘This is Myrrdin, one of the last of the wood-priests,’ the Hanged Man said. ‘The false king no longer has his guide. He is lost in the wilderness. And we now have all the secrets we could ever want to know.’
In the seething heat of the throne room, Gaia threw her hands to the heavens. There were times when she was certain the gods were punishing her, though for what she had no idea. But this … this was a gift beyond value.
If the wood-priest could be broken and brought to their side, any lingering doubts about Arthur’s claim to the royal bloodline would be crushed. As would any opposition from her hated daughter, when all of Britannia flocked to her own banner. Wait. Had she said that out loud?
She spun round. But Severus was still waiting patiently, his hands clasped in front of him. Myrrdin hunched on the flagstones where the guards had thrown him. She forced a pleasant smile. ‘Here you will have any comfort you ever wanted,’ she said in her sing-song voice.
Myrrdin eyed her. ‘I live in the woods in winter and sleep in ditches and eat the lights of game birds raw. You think I am someone who cares about comfort?’
Gaia winced. Anyone else would have been slaughtered in the blink of an eye for such disrespect. But she needed him, and she felt sick when she looked in his face and saw that he knew it too.
‘Capturing this wood-priest was not a simple matter,’ Severus began in his dull drone. ‘My men hid in the forest for long days, waiting for the right moment to take him. And even though he was surprised in his cave by the sea, where the pounding of the waves hid the sound of the approach, he still succeeded in killing one of ours. My men had to beat him unconscious with his own staff to bring him out.’
Myrrdin looked round at the Hanged Man. Sizing him up, Gaia thought. The two men locked eyes, neither giving an inch. Gaia smiled. She liked it when men competed for her attention.
The wood-priest seemed to be weighing his predicament. After a moment, he nodded, almost to himself. Acceptance. When he glanced up at her, she saw an odd light in his eyes, and a hint of a smile, one she couldn’t quite read. ‘How beautiful you are, if you will forgive me for saying so.’
Severus grunted behind him, no doubt jealous and irritated that this wood-priest was filled with such admiration. Gaia glared at the Hanged Man to silence him. He sniffed and bowed his head, chastened.
‘More beautiful than your daughter by far,’ Myrrdin continued. ‘And wiser too.’
‘That is true,’ Gaia said. She decided she quite liked this wood-priest.
‘And your son,’ he went on, once again almost to himself. ‘The royal bloodline coursing through his veins.’
‘The one true king,’ she replied.
Myrrdin bowed his head, humbled, she was sure. He seemed to be reflecting deeply on what lay ahead for him, for all of them. That was a good thing.
Gaia looked down at the druid. ‘I was there when Lucanus Pendragon slaughtered your fellow wood-priests. Cut down the wisest of the wise. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, the knowledge of aeons. Your kind have shepherded mankind since the first days. And now that light has been all but extinguished, by a man you have stood by ever since. And his son who lays claim to the royal bloodline. How do you justify that to yourself? Does the guilt and the shame not crush you by degrees? Do you not feel like a traitor to your own kind?’
Myrrdin looked up at her. She expected to see defiance in his eyes, perhaps loathing for the way she had challenged him. But there seemed only more acceptance.
‘We will grow again. A few of us have survived. Many are hiding among the followers of the Christ, and they mark their presence by the sign of Cernunnos in the churches.’
Gaia let her voice fall to barely a whisper. ‘That is not what I asked.’
Myrrdin hung his head, his braided hair falling across his face.
‘There is a way to make amends,’ she breathed.
Only the wind in the eaves echoed, and she realized the silence was his way of prompting her to continue.
‘Join me. Recognize my son Arthur as the one true bearer of the royal bloodline. The voice of one of the last druids will give such weight to our claim that all who oppose it will be crushed.’ Gaia felt her hands trembling and she pushed them behind her back. ‘Tutor Arthur. Give him the benefit of all your wisdom so that when he is grown he can be that great leader, the King Who Will Not Die, and guide Britannia into the new golden age. What say you?’
For a long moment, the wood-priest kept his head down. So still was he that he seemed to be asleep. Gaia felt her heart hammer.
And then Myrrdin looked up and his eyes were all afire. ‘I say aye.’
Part Two
* * *
THE QUEST
Life is one long struggle in the dark.
Lucretius
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tempest-Tossed
THE WIND HOWLED THROUGH THE BRANCHES AND THE RAIN drummed. With a shiver, Catia hunched over the neck of her white stallion. She felt beaten down by the deluge. An entire day of ceaseless storm, with no hint that it would break, and now an endless dark swam ahead of her among the trees. However much she squinted, she couldn’t pierce it. All she could do was trust her horse to find its way.
With the Lord of the Greenwood keeping pace at her side, they’d chased the dawn east as swiftly as they could. But as they moved across the wind-blasted rocky spine of that land, the furious storm had swept in, and they’d headed down into the wooded valleys in search of shelter. Away from the eastern track, their pace slowed. With Myrrdin lost, they had little knowledge of their destination, only vague rumours Aelius had heard among the forest folk. Hope was all she had that the path to the cauldron could be located. Desperation drove her on.
With his helmet on, her brother seemed like a different person. His conversation became short and intermittent, and he stalked through the undergrowth like a beast, almost as if he’d been possessed by the spirit of Cernunnos’ acolyte upon the earth. Or perhaps this was simply how he survived when he was on the road. He’d lived in the Wilds away from all human contact, surrounded by constant danger. That would change any man. Never would she have thought the boy she grew up with in Vercovicium could have this skill, this strength, but he’d surprised them all.
Despite the sun on her face, she tugged her cloak around her and scowled. The fortress towered over the road that led to the mountain pass, atop a wooded, rocky hill, both guarding the route and allowing her to tax the merchants who travelled between north and south in Cambria. The grey stone had been heaped up on the foundations of a much older fort. The inhabitants had long since vanished. Ramparts marched up the hillside.
She was safe there. Arthur was safe there. Enemies lurked everywhere.
Gaia winced as she heard the familiar click-click-click of the Hanged Man’s staff as Severus guided his insect-like frame over the flagstones. He would be wearing his black robes, which only made him seem more saturnine. How she wished he would die. But then who would teach Arthur in the ways of being a king?
She turned and felt a burst of surprise when she saw that twisted frame was not alone. A tall, broad-shouldered man with fiery red hair and beard strode beside him. He looked strong, powerful, and his grin showed the confidence that she admired so much. She smiled back, opening her eyes wider, lifting her head and pushing her breasts out.
‘This is Niall of the Nine Hostages. He is a …’ Severus paused to choose his words, ‘a king, from Hibernia.’
‘And I am the queen here,’ Gaia pronounced, throwing her arms wide. ‘Welcome to Dinas Ffaraon Dandde.’
Niall bowed. Respect; she liked that. But she knew he lusted after her too, as all men did. Perhaps she would take him to her bed. It had been too long since she’d enjoyed careful attention.
‘We have a band of the king’s men captive, here in the fortress,’ the Hanged Man droned. ‘Our army took them when they were raiding one of the ports to the west.’
‘I would not have sent them to attack this land if I’d known it was ruled over by such a wise and beautiful queen.’ Niall leaned forward and kissed her hand.
She shivered.
‘He would like his men returned to him,’ Severus said.
‘Very—’
‘I have told the king you would consent to his request,’ her adviser continued. ‘However, a queen would of course require something in return. In this case we have agreed on a payment of information. Nothing too onerous. Is this what you wish?’
Gaia felt her smile tighten. She hated the way Severus emphasized the words to draw from her the response he required. ‘And what information do you have, Niall of the Nine Hostages?’
‘I have sailed from the south-west corner of Britannia where, I believe, you have enemies—’
‘I have no enemies. No rivals. I rule justly and I am loved by all.’ She heard the sing-song lilt in her voice and hoped the flint in her eyes didn’t mute it.
‘Of course. However, they would consider themselves enemies and they are prepared to threaten your … just rule.’ Niall glanced at Severus, his eyes twinkling. The Hanged Man nodded in response. ‘You would have some interest in their comings and goings?’
‘Perhaps. Walk with me, and I will hear what you have to say.’
She led the way down the stone steps to the courtyard. Her nostrils flared at the apple-reek of horse dung and the sour smoke wafting from the smith’s shop. The throom of hammer on anvil would drown out all words, so she tilted back her head further still, half closing her eyes, and walked in silence, pretending the stinking men who lumbered around were not there.
Inside the steamy warmth of her quarters, she relaxed her shoulders and said, ‘Now, speak.’
‘The Queen in the West fears your power,’ Niall said. ‘Her army is crumbling and the local tribe turn away from her.’
‘This we know.’
‘The queen has a fire in her—’
‘My daughter is a cold witch,’ Gaia snapped.
Niall gaped for a moment. The relationship was news to him. ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘Our paths crossed only briefly and you will know her better than I do. What is of import here is that she will not let this decline continue. She believes she can draw new swords to her army, and win the hearts of the local folk, by securing a great treasure, a magical cauldron, or cup of some kind.’
Gaia looked to the Hanged Man, who shook his head slowly. ‘The followers of the Christ have some tale of a cup which caught the blood of their saviour when he died upon the cross,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it is that.’
‘If my venomous offspring succeeds in finding this cup, will she achieve what she desires?’
Severus shrugged. ‘Simple folk are easily swayed by talk of magic and gods.’
‘Then we must make sure she does not succeed. See to it.’ She heard the granite in her voice and flashed a smile at Niall. ‘Come. I will show you my wonderful palace.’
As Severus scurried away to make the arrangements, Arthur emerged from the throne room, his pale face like the moon in the half-light. She felt a twist of irritation. She had hoped to be alone with this potent visitor.
‘This is Arthur,’ she said.
The lad walked forward and bowed his head slightly.
‘I’ve heard of you,’ Niall said. ‘The … ah … the True King, yes?’
‘I am the True King.’
Gaia watched the Hibernian scrutinizing her son. No doubt he saw in Arthur all the courage and wit and hope that moved her to tears every day.
After a moment, Niall nodded. ‘Aye … well …’
‘Come,’ Gaia said, a little too hastily, ‘let me show you the rest of my home. You will see why it was chosen as a fit place to house the bloodline of the King Who Will Not Die.’ She walked away before he could resist.
‘The simple folk who live around here tell stories of the wonders … of the magic … of Dinas Ffaraon Dandde,’ she went on as she led the way through the fortress. ‘Of blue flames flickering among the trees … the light of the gods. Though I must say, none have been seen since we arrived. Voices booming from deep within the hill. Long-dead family members encountered on the road to the mountains. Frogs raining from a clear sky. Gold rings in the streams.’ Gaia chuckled. ‘And it is true that when the masons were building the towers they would rise at dawn to find the previous day’s work torn down, the stones scattered far and wide. The superstitious said we were building on sacred ground. More likely the locals were sneaking in to cause trouble for the strangers. When my guards kept watch, with sharpened swords at the ready, the disruption quickly stopped.’
‘In my experience, I wouldn’t laugh too much at simple folk,’ Niall muttered. ‘There is usually good reason for such tales being attached to a place.’
‘We all like a good story. I have another one. You will judge for yourself whether it is true or not.’
Gaia swung open a door and they stepped into deep gloom before she led him down stone steps. ‘Arthur,’ she prompted at the foot.
Her son plucked a torch from the wall and stepped ahead of her. The flames twisted in a blast of dank air.
‘Cold as hell in here,’ Niall muttered.
Gaia kept the smile on her lips, but she always felt uneasy in this place, and it troubled her how even a strong torch failed to push the shadows back far. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, and after a moment Arthur stepped on to a wide stone platform. The orange glow of the torch gleamed off a deep black pool.
Coming to a halt, Niall stroked his beard as he peered into the depths. Gaia edged closer to him, so close she was almost brushing his arm.
‘Water?’ the Hibernian rumbled.
‘Keep your voice low,’ she breathed. ‘You wouldn’t want to disturb what is sleeping in down there.’
She sensed Niall glancing at her to see if she was joking.
‘This pool is why the fortress is here. Why we are here. Of all the tales told of this place by the local folk, this is the only one that fills their voices with awe. Perhaps with dread. Some of them say the pool goes down for ever, others that it is a gateway to the world where their gods live. Any who dare dive in are never seen again. Be that as it may, the belief is that whosoever has ownership of this pool will become the rightful king … or queen … of all Britannia.’
Niall leaned forward, watching the amber glints dancing across the oily surface. ‘And what sleeps in the depths?’
‘Dragons.’ Gaia let the echoes disappear before continuing. ‘Two of them. One red, one white.’
‘You’ve seen them?’
Gaia shuddered, recalling the first time she came down here alone, not long after the fortress was built. ‘I’ve heard their screams, and seen their dark shapes rolling beneath the surface. When they are awake, they fight, but so far there has not been a victor.’
She closed her eyes. This Hibernian barbarian could never know what this pool meant to her, to her son. This was more than the home of fabulous beasts. The dragon was the symbol of everything they fought for: the never-ending bloodline, the eternal cycle of the fall and the saviour rising to lead the world into a new golden age. The Ouroboros, the dragon eating its own tail, was branded into her shoulder, as it had been into the shoulder of her son, Corvus, and as it soon would be made real in the flesh of her other son, Arthur.
‘Dinas Ffaraon Dandde is a very old name,’ she breathed. ‘In the local tongue, I am told, it means the Fortress of the Fiery Pharaoh. These dragons have existed here for a long time.’
Niall grunted. ‘I would like a pair of pet dragons myself. Their fiery breath could warm us all up during a cold night at sea.’
Gaia winced at the disrespect in his voice. Did he think this was some kind of joke? ‘Come,’ she said, marching back in the direction of the door. ‘Let us reunite you with your men and send you on your way. I have important business to attend to.’
‘If he comes within an arrow-shot of the fortress again, make sure he is cut down and hung out for the ravens,’ Gaia told the captain of the guard as she watched Niall of the Nine Hostages march away from the gates with his band of cut-throats and thieves. They were clapping each other on the shoulder and laughing like drunks making their way home from the tavern. Gaia simmered. Niall did not even glance back once.
Before the captain could respond, hoofbeats thundered and she saw a band of her men riding hard for the fortress. They swept past the ragged group of pirates, paying them no attention. What could be the reason for such haste, she wondered? Though she was keen to return to the heat of her throne room, her curiosity got the better of her and she walked down the stone steps to the reeking courtyard.
The gates swung open and the riders rumbled in. Severus emerged from whatever hole he inhabited and hurried across the dusty square to greet them. For a moment, excited words rang back and forth and then he turned to her with a look of excitement.
Intrigued, Catia stepped closer. What she had taken to be a bale thrown over a horse at the rear began to squirm and she realized her men had taken a captive, perhaps some assassin sent by the false king and her vile daughter to kill her, or Arthur. She felt her blood grow cold. She’d order him gutted and spiked on a pole outside the gates so he could ruminate on his failings while the birds feasted on his entrails.
One of the men wrenched the captive off the horse and hurled him to the ground at her feet. He was filthy, his ragged clothes sodden from the rain. His hands were bound behind his back and he had a rotting sack pulled over his head.
The Hanged Man lurched forward so fast in his eagerness, his rolling gait almost upended him. ‘A prize,’ he exclaimed. ‘The greatest prize!’
Gaia looked down at the squalid captive and turned up her nose. ‘This?’
Severus leaned down and ripped the sack off the man’s head.
‘Oh.’ She took a step back in surprise.
The captive flicked his braided hair aside and looked up at her, his eyes burning. She saw the unmistakable tattoo of the druids curling down the left side of his face to his jaw.
‘This is Myrrdin, one of the last of the wood-priests,’ the Hanged Man said. ‘The false king no longer has his guide. He is lost in the wilderness. And we now have all the secrets we could ever want to know.’
In the seething heat of the throne room, Gaia threw her hands to the heavens. There were times when she was certain the gods were punishing her, though for what she had no idea. But this … this was a gift beyond value.
If the wood-priest could be broken and brought to their side, any lingering doubts about Arthur’s claim to the royal bloodline would be crushed. As would any opposition from her hated daughter, when all of Britannia flocked to her own banner. Wait. Had she said that out loud?
She spun round. But Severus was still waiting patiently, his hands clasped in front of him. Myrrdin hunched on the flagstones where the guards had thrown him. She forced a pleasant smile. ‘Here you will have any comfort you ever wanted,’ she said in her sing-song voice.
Myrrdin eyed her. ‘I live in the woods in winter and sleep in ditches and eat the lights of game birds raw. You think I am someone who cares about comfort?’
Gaia winced. Anyone else would have been slaughtered in the blink of an eye for such disrespect. But she needed him, and she felt sick when she looked in his face and saw that he knew it too.
‘Capturing this wood-priest was not a simple matter,’ Severus began in his dull drone. ‘My men hid in the forest for long days, waiting for the right moment to take him. And even though he was surprised in his cave by the sea, where the pounding of the waves hid the sound of the approach, he still succeeded in killing one of ours. My men had to beat him unconscious with his own staff to bring him out.’
Myrrdin looked round at the Hanged Man. Sizing him up, Gaia thought. The two men locked eyes, neither giving an inch. Gaia smiled. She liked it when men competed for her attention.
The wood-priest seemed to be weighing his predicament. After a moment, he nodded, almost to himself. Acceptance. When he glanced up at her, she saw an odd light in his eyes, and a hint of a smile, one she couldn’t quite read. ‘How beautiful you are, if you will forgive me for saying so.’
Severus grunted behind him, no doubt jealous and irritated that this wood-priest was filled with such admiration. Gaia glared at the Hanged Man to silence him. He sniffed and bowed his head, chastened.
‘More beautiful than your daughter by far,’ Myrrdin continued. ‘And wiser too.’
‘That is true,’ Gaia said. She decided she quite liked this wood-priest.
‘And your son,’ he went on, once again almost to himself. ‘The royal bloodline coursing through his veins.’
‘The one true king,’ she replied.
Myrrdin bowed his head, humbled, she was sure. He seemed to be reflecting deeply on what lay ahead for him, for all of them. That was a good thing.
Gaia looked down at the druid. ‘I was there when Lucanus Pendragon slaughtered your fellow wood-priests. Cut down the wisest of the wise. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, the knowledge of aeons. Your kind have shepherded mankind since the first days. And now that light has been all but extinguished, by a man you have stood by ever since. And his son who lays claim to the royal bloodline. How do you justify that to yourself? Does the guilt and the shame not crush you by degrees? Do you not feel like a traitor to your own kind?’
Myrrdin looked up at her. She expected to see defiance in his eyes, perhaps loathing for the way she had challenged him. But there seemed only more acceptance.
‘We will grow again. A few of us have survived. Many are hiding among the followers of the Christ, and they mark their presence by the sign of Cernunnos in the churches.’
Gaia let her voice fall to barely a whisper. ‘That is not what I asked.’
Myrrdin hung his head, his braided hair falling across his face.
‘There is a way to make amends,’ she breathed.
Only the wind in the eaves echoed, and she realized the silence was his way of prompting her to continue.
‘Join me. Recognize my son Arthur as the one true bearer of the royal bloodline. The voice of one of the last druids will give such weight to our claim that all who oppose it will be crushed.’ Gaia felt her hands trembling and she pushed them behind her back. ‘Tutor Arthur. Give him the benefit of all your wisdom so that when he is grown he can be that great leader, the King Who Will Not Die, and guide Britannia into the new golden age. What say you?’
For a long moment, the wood-priest kept his head down. So still was he that he seemed to be asleep. Gaia felt her heart hammer.
And then Myrrdin looked up and his eyes were all afire. ‘I say aye.’
Part Two
* * *
THE QUEST
Life is one long struggle in the dark.
Lucretius
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tempest-Tossed
THE WIND HOWLED THROUGH THE BRANCHES AND THE RAIN drummed. With a shiver, Catia hunched over the neck of her white stallion. She felt beaten down by the deluge. An entire day of ceaseless storm, with no hint that it would break, and now an endless dark swam ahead of her among the trees. However much she squinted, she couldn’t pierce it. All she could do was trust her horse to find its way.
With the Lord of the Greenwood keeping pace at her side, they’d chased the dawn east as swiftly as they could. But as they moved across the wind-blasted rocky spine of that land, the furious storm had swept in, and they’d headed down into the wooded valleys in search of shelter. Away from the eastern track, their pace slowed. With Myrrdin lost, they had little knowledge of their destination, only vague rumours Aelius had heard among the forest folk. Hope was all she had that the path to the cauldron could be located. Desperation drove her on.
With his helmet on, her brother seemed like a different person. His conversation became short and intermittent, and he stalked through the undergrowth like a beast, almost as if he’d been possessed by the spirit of Cernunnos’ acolyte upon the earth. Or perhaps this was simply how he survived when he was on the road. He’d lived in the Wilds away from all human contact, surrounded by constant danger. That would change any man. Never would she have thought the boy she grew up with in Vercovicium could have this skill, this strength, but he’d surprised them all.
