by M. K. Hume
However, this revulsion had its uses. Peering upward, while trying to recognise something in the construction that was either familiar or recognisable, Decius finally saw why the giant crosspiece, the lintel of the trilithon, had not fallen from its precarious perch where it was balanced at a height of at least two men above the ground.
‘Look, sir!’ Decius shouted, his hand pointing to the right edge of the lintel. ‘Do you see? The stone has been carved to create a peg in the bottom of the crosspiece.’
Decius trotted to the other end of the lintel and peered upward to see if another peg was holding it in place at the far end.
No! The carving skills of the ancients couldn’t be exact with the primitive equipment that was available to them. The edge of a circular hole showed a narrow, dark rim shaped like a half-crescent, but the purpose of this hole was a mystery to Decius.
‘A peg on the lintel at one end fits into a hole on the top edge of the left monolith that stands upright,’ the Dumnonii king explained. ‘I believe that the fit would stop the stone lintel from slipping out of place. Would you agree with that?’
Caradoc grinned at Maximus, for he held a genuine admiration for the cleverness of those ancient builders of ancient times.
‘Can you see the other end of the lintel? It has a hole in it. I’ll bet my balls that there’s a peg carved into the top of the upright on the right-hand side. It’s just a really simple concept.’
Light began to dawn on Maximus’s face. ‘Aye! You’re right! When the ancient builders used a hole and peg construction, the stones were locked together and only a blow from our largest catapult could bring the three stones down. Ingenious! But the whole building still has no purpose. There’s a circle of stones with a horseshoe inside the circle, and an altar within all of that. What’s the purpose? There’s not even a roof to keep the rain off it. You’ve presented me with a pointless mystery, no matter how enticing the puzzle might be.’
Then Maximus mounted his horse and rode off laughing. By the time Caradoc joined him, the Roman was hiccupping with belly laughs.
‘So? What’s so funny?’ Caradoc demanded, as the monument of the Giants’ Carol became smaller and smaller in the landscape behind them.
‘You’d have to be Roman to appreciate the irony, Caradoc.’ Maximus tried to explain. ‘You lot are such humourless, grim people. If we believed you, Britannia is the centre of the world, the one place that the gods protect above all others.’
‘So?’ Caradoc snapped.
‘See? You’re doing it too, my friend. I thought you had more sense.’
Caradoc spurred his horse so his stallion leaped away from the other three men. Decius’s face showed embarrassment and Trefor was sullen with affront, for they had heard Maximus’s comments as clearly as Caradoc had been insulted by them.
‘The priests tell us that the shadow of the stone you were standing on runs along the avenue when the sun rises on the morning of the solstice. On one day of the year, and that day only, a shaft of light from the sun reaches the altar and bathes it in light. What say you, clever Roman? Why would barbarians use the earth and these stones to find one day alone, of all the days in the year? You speak to us as if we are backward, but which of your great buildings can do such a wondrous thing?’
Even Maximus had finally realised that Caradoc was seriously offended, and moderated his tone.
‘Don’t be concerned, Caradoc. Don’t you see? Britannia has mysteries aplenty but, as with your system of tribal leadership, the Giant’s Dance is perplexing, indescribable, pointless. If I were to flatten the monuments and destroy them, nothing would be lost, just as your precious cabal serves little purpose.’
‘You insult me, Roman. I am the king of the Dumnonii tribe and I don’t see myself as pointless.’
‘You’re piqued over a few mysterious stones. Shite! Romans never feel a need to pander to the local savages. How many of us have bothered to visit Tintagel, invited or not? Five? No! Two? No! One? Only me! I’m the first Roman to visit the impregnable fortress of Tintagel, and I’m at a loss to understand why I was asked to meet with you.’
Maximus was serious now. Caradoc knew the Roman was practising some subterfuge for some unstated purpose, but he had no idea what the tribune’s plan could entail. Still smarting from Maximus’s ridicule, the Dumnonii king’s manner remained stiff and his responses were curt.
‘We are different, we two,’ Caradoc said at last. ‘Although we state that we each want some of the same things.’
‘And how are our differences such a bad thing?’ Maximus challenged him, as he was forced to kick his stallion in the ribs to keep up. ‘As long as we each take pains to avoid insulting the other, or his people, I’ve found that we rub together surprisingly well. We defeated the outlaw band by working together as one, didn’t we?’
It was Caradoc’s turn to chortle. ‘Those outlaws were hardly a match for cataphractarii or trained British cavalry. Shite, Maximus, they were fortunate to possess decent weapons, despite lacking any real fighting ability or tactical skills.’ The Roman felt his lips twitch with irritation again.
‘At any rate, you’ve now seen the Giant’s Dance and, strange as it seems to my eyes, our British people didn’t build it. It’s far older than we are in the long-gone history of these islands. One day, I’ll show you another monument that would be of interest to you. It consists of a representation of a giant horse carved into the sod along the side of a hill, so huge it can only be seen from a distance. The horse is depicted by the chalk that lies just below the topsoil. Again, we know nothing of its history, but our people accept that area is a plain where the gods once walked.
‘Gods or no gods, all I want from life at this moment is to see the walls of Venta Belgarum. You’ve promised me a bath in that city and I’ll insist that you keep your oath.’ Maximus scratched at his armpit below his armour and recoiled from the reek of his own flesh.
Caradoc laughed at his fastidiousness. What would Maximus make of the always-filthy kings of southern Britannia?
In the days that followed, they passed through Sorviodunum and headed south along wide, well-kept Roman roads. Even so, both commanders decided to stop short of Venta Belgarum in order to prepare for the difficult diplomacy that lay ahead of them.
Their bivouac, an hour’s ride away, was a collection of leather tents grouped around the five wagons that carried the outlaw’s hoard of treasure, their wounded warriors and their supplies. But the grey afternoon clouds smelled of snow.
So far, heavy snow had fallen behind them, but Fortuna had been kind and the worst weather, while snapping at their heels, had failed to slow their journey.
None of the men cared to spend another night in the open.
Caradoc realised that any Roman goodwill towards the British kings in Venta Belgarum would be eaten up by the promise of another night under leather tents surrounded by snow and freezing cold. Still, provision must be made to ensure the security of their treasure.
They would also need accommodation for their men and a secure storeroom where they could mount a guard over their valuables for the entire duration of their visit in Venta Belgarum. Caradoc considered that the comfort and happiness of their men was paramount after their long and trying journey.
He called Trefor to him and instructed him to take a long and rather tart message to Gwaun ap Mairtin, with a request that King Caradoc and Magnus Maximus should be welcomed and housed in a manner in which their respective ranks entitled them.
Trefor recited the message back to his master twice, but his brows twisted with an unasked question.
‘To Gwaun ap Mairtin, King of the Atrebates tribe and Master of Venta Belgarum, greetings from Caradoc ap Ynyr, King of the Dumnonii tribe.
‘I trust that you are well and have not been worried at our late arrival. We have been delayed until late in the season
and await your pleasure an hour’s ride from your city.
‘Tribune Magnus Maximus, a close kinsman of the great lord, Theodosius, Overlord of Britannia, accompanies me with his personal guard. He has been wearied by our journey and would appreciate a warm welcome indoors where he is out of the inclement weather.
‘I trust that accommodation of a suitable nature can be quickly found for our guest and his men so they don’t have to endure another night under their leather tents. I would also welcome your hospitality, as we have been in the saddle for two months on what should have been a relatively simple journey. We are in need of a secure room urgently, where we can place items of some importance and value under close guard.
‘There are eighty-two of us and five wagons, plus a slightly larger number of horses.
‘May the lord be with you.’
After reciting the message with all its pauses, emphases and expressions that Caradoc desired, Trefor’s face was as bleak as a thunderstorm. Caradoc noted his huntsman’s distress and finally succumbed to curiosity.
‘Why are you so glum, Trefor? Surely, you’d like to have a decent bed if Gwaun were to offer us accommodation as early as tonight?’
Trefor coloured hotly. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I never meant to upset you through my confusion.’
‘Well! Spit it out, Trefor.’
The huntsman wrung his hands with nervousness. The king would discover his servant’s reservations and might be offended. Gulping audibly, Trefor surged into speech.
‘Why must I recite your words like a slave? Surely, we would petition Lord Gawain ap Mairtin more appropriately if I were to carry a scroll to him? This way, we both appear to be ignorant barbarians and our Roman friends will scoff at our awkwardness.’
‘I wish this message could be delivered by virtue of a scroll, Trefor. I’d certainly express myself more bluntly if I wasn’t fearful of Gwaun’s reaction towards you when you delivered my message. But I can’t send a scroll because the kings can’t read! They have priests who manage their writing for them, but I’m not prepared to share information with one of Gwaun’s creatures. Would you want me to depend on some third person to explain my messages to the other kings?’
Surprised and appalled, Trefor’s expression changed. As King Llyr had insisted that the clever sons of prominent men within his court were to be educated, along with his sons, Trefor had always been grateful for the education he had received from the old Dumnonii king.
‘No, my lord, I wouldn’t! If they truly cannot read, you would be most unwise to trust a priest to explain your wishes accurately to any of these kings. You’re wise, my lord, as always. And I have been a little foolish.’
Touched, Caradoc embraced Trefor, who swore he would petition Gwaun for palatial quarters for them as soon as possible.
‘Perhaps we’ll ask for the best quarters for the Romans, Trefor. But I’ll be happy just to be warm, because this journey has been one of the coldest for many years.’
Trefor rode away into the deepening snow. Before Caradoc had time to return to his tent, Maximus approached him, curious about the huntsman’s task.
Knowing only that the truth was appropriate, Caradoc explained his message to the Atrebates king and why it had been sent by hand. Maximus snorted with amusement.
Two hours later, a small party of visitors arrived at the bivouac site.
A shivering young nobleman with a fur-lined cloak, an elegant tunic that reached to his knees and beautifully made fur-lined boots eased his way out of the saddle with the assistance of one of his two guardsmen. Every movement and gesture was exaggerated and he minced over the ground to meet the visitors. Caradoc realised that this beautiful young man wore high heels on his boots to give him an illusion of extra inches. Moreover the exquisite youth had cultivated both a lisp and a careless drawl.
‘May I welcome you to Venta Belgarum, Your Highness? My master, King Gwaun, is so pleased that you have finally arrived. He was very worried that you might have been attacked on the roads, but now that I see your warriors, I cannot imagine what fools would dare to attack such strapping young men.’
This speech was accompanied by much eye-rolling and fluttering of stiblum-darkened eyelashes, such that Caradoc had to control an urge to box the young man’s ears.
‘Your name, sir?’ Caradoc inquired with only the slightest movement of his traitorous right eyebrow. ‘You’ll have some wine, I’m sure? We can offer you a reasonable Falernian. Oh, I’ve forgotten my manners! You may make your bow to Magnus Maximus, of whose importance to Roman Britannia you must have been made aware.’
The exquisite appeared to be unconcerned although both men were presented with the exaggerated display of a preening peacock.
‘Silly me! You are the king. I must have left my head back in Venta Belgarum. My name is Drustan ap Drust and my father is the lord of Portus Adurni. I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance, Lord Tribune. My father will be so proud that I’ve made the acquaintance of one of Britannia’s noble protectors.’
Then, to the embarrassment of all present, he offered his soft white hand to the Roman.
Gods! I hope Maximus behaves himself, Caradoc thought. He watched the tribune smile like a hungry wolf who has spied an especially plump lamb.
Maximus gripped the soft wrist directly over an ostentatious wristband and squeezed.
The edge of the band immediately bit into the gilded youth’s flesh and he blanched, even as his own limp grip tried to clutch at the tribune’s wrist-guards. Well schooled, the youth made no complaint, although his mobile face revealed his pain and chagrin.
Trefor looked at Caradoc and the two Dumnonii men shared a moment of contempt, before Caradoc placed his own right hand over the entwined brown and white fingers, appearing to endorse the friendship expressed, but warning Maximus that he must release the poor fool.
‘I’m truly honoured to meet a nobleman from the aristocracy, especially one whose ancestral lands include the trade town of Portus Adurni. Your birthplace plays a crucial part in the passage of vital trade and this excellent wine probably passed through your family’s cellars.’
The Roman is amusing himself at the boy’s expense, Caradoc thought furiously. I hope I don’t have to pry his hands off the boy’s throat.’
Just when Caradoc decided he would have to intervene in earnest, Maximus released Drustan’s hand, offered the boy a brimming horn of Falernian wine and threw his arm over the boy’s quivering shoulders.
‘Drink up, lad, and then you can tell us what Gwaun has planned for us. I hope that he hasn’t suggested another night in the snow, for I’d be very upset.’
Maximus laughed loudly to show he was only jesting, while Drustan opted to gulp at his wine. His eyes darted from king to tribune like a frightened rabbit.
‘Yes! . . . Yes! Silly old me! King Gwaun is rushing to find suitable quarters for your guard, even as I speak. King Caradoc and your good self will be quartered in luxury in Gwaun’s new hall. You may each have two body servants, who will use quarters adjacent to yours. Whenever you are ready to leave for the hall, my lord will be eager to meet with you and express his pleasure at your arrival. Oh, and a large strongroom attached to your accommodations has been provided, exactly as you requested.’
‘Well, then! I suggest we strike camp immediately. What say you, Caradoc? Yes, I thought you’d be eager to meet with your fellow kings. We’ll be right behind you, Master Drustan ap Drust. Perhaps we can speak about trade and the movement of trade goods through your fine home in Portus Adurni, once we are ensconced in the city.’
Caradoc noticed that the lad looked appalled at the thought of answering detailed questions about such a crass subject as trade.
The bivouac was struck with alacrity. Although they were tired, stiff and hungry, no warriors made complaints at the order to pack their gear, mount up and head for
Venta Belgarum. In Gwaun’s city lay warm beds, four walls, women, hot food and hot baths for the Romans. What more could a soldier demand of life?
‘Is that extremely pretty idiot playing a role as a catamite? Or is he really as useless as he seems?’ Maximus hissed his questions at his Dumnonii comrade as he mounted his gelding. The weary horse bridled and refused to answer to the reins until Maximus struck it across the buttocks with the flat of his gladius.
‘The young man’s an exquisite, and that’s the truth, although I’d say he’s really as he presents himself. Be honest, Maximus. Such a display in a land of overtly masculine warriors takes courage. But it says more about Gwaun’s court than it does of Drustan’s character. I fear you will be constantly irritated.’
Caradoc, though grinning, was seriously alarmed. He might despise the natures of his neighbours, but he was appalled at the prospect of the tribune causing an open breach between the tribes. A friendless tribe in Britannia could find existence difficult.
‘Gods, Caradoc! I’ve got nothing against bedding a sweet, plump boy. I had a short-lived passion for a fellow student when I was a young man and was sent to Athens by my father to gain some polish. I assure you, Caradoc, that the love of a man for his fellow man is damned near compulsory there. However, such a friendship as mine was quite different to that of those mincing fops who possess so much power in the Western Empire in Rome. They make my teeth ache.’
And with that curt message, Caradoc was forced to be satisfied.
As it was his first visit to Venta Belgarum as a grown man, Caradoc was relieved to see that this southern city was still beautiful, especially under its cloak of snow. It was also very clean. The small houses that clustered around the northern gates of the city were far less odorous and grimy than those they encountered in Durnovaria and Vindo Cladia. Any executions were obviously conducted out of sight and the city midden was also, mercifully, sited where visitors to the city would never see it – or smell its odours. Because the cavalcade had arrived during the evening, few of the circular huts or storefronts were lit and few owners were in evidence to watch the guard of armed men pass by their homes.