The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  ‘Tell me about the pyramids, Maximus. What were they built for?’ Caradoc asked, curious.

  ‘Imagine a four-sided structure rising up to a point on all four sides, like sloping triangles that are joined together at the top. So high, Caradoc! It was as high as forty men standing on each other’s shoulders. I can’t imagine how it could have been built. When we saw it for the first time, surrounded by its smaller fellows in the desert, it was like casting our gaze onto a man-made mountain. The giant stones used in its construction had been fitted together so perfectly that I couldn’t insert my knife into the seam. There are no doors to gain entrance and no easy way of climbing its smooth, steep sides.’

  Caradoc opened and closed his mouth several times like a netted fish. ‘But why was it erected? Such a structure would have taken generations to build.’

  ‘No one seems to know, my friend. I was told that the pyramids were built to house the tombs of great Egyptian kings from bygone days.’

  ‘Tombs? I can’t believe it!’

  Maximus nodded. ‘I had difficulty accepting such a bizarre notion, but I was assured that the words of their scribes rang true. Even more amazing, one of the Greek scholars with whom I spoke insisted that the pyramids were at least three thousand years old.’

  Caradoc shook his head in disbelief and wonder. ‘I haven’t the ability to imagine such wonderful constructions, but my father often told me that our world is full of marvels that can’t be understood by mere mortals.’

  Both men sat quietly for a moment or two as they pondered the many things they had seen that were beyond rational explanation. The fire crackled loudly and a soft breeze stirred the air with a cooling touch.

  ‘You’ve explained where you’ve been and why you’ve returned to Britannia. But what brought you out of the early morning darkness to visit my campsite when I never thought to see you again? Truly, Maximus, I felt the touch of something greater than both of us when your horse loomed out of the shadows.’

  Caradoc settled himself a little closer to the fire so he could warm his tired bones.

  ‘And Decius is still with you – older, greyer and as difficult as ever. He’s proved to be a difficult man to kill over the years.’

  Caradoc held onto a memory of a dying outlaw crucified on a stable door. Hovering on a ladder beside him, Maximus’s decurion had offered the outlaw some liquid from a flask. The Dumnonii king pushed the image aside firmly; the last thing he wanted was Maximus’s sharp eyes burrowing out an old secret and bringing it into the light of day. Decius and the Dumnonii king were bound by their secret, although Caradoc remained ignorant about Decius’s reasons for hastening the outlaw’s death. I intend to find out the truth of that incident, Caradoc thought. But I will need to be careful.

  ‘Decius? Yes! My friend was too old to serve on the line, so I offered him a snug little farm in Italia and an honourable retirement. But he’d have none of it. I’ve made him my personal servant, so he can still be part of the legions and assist me when the opportunity arises. He’s the one person in the legions I can truly trust with my life.’

  But would this noble Roman still trust Decius if he knew what his decurion had done with the crucified outlaw?

  Thoughts of the proud Decius, a Roman soldier to the core of his being, now employed in the role of a menial servant, shocked Caradoc. Decius’s pride must have been sorely hurt by the demotion that advancing age had brought on him.

  ‘But age catches up with all of us,’ Caradoc muttered under his breath without realising he had spoken aloud.

  The Roman gave no indication that he had heard, but he recognised Caradoc’s unspoken criticisms and tried to explain the situation in which he had found himself.

  ‘Decius insisted on undertaking this servile position, although I argued with him over his decision to accept it. He could have stayed in Britannia with a tribal wife and several sons, but he’d have none of it. When Decius realised that his swollen joints had become so debilitating that he couldn’t carry out his duties, he came to me in tears with a proposition that would keep him in my service. What else could I do, Caradoc? To deny him would be to throw him out of the legion and cast him adrift in the stews of Africa.’

  ‘No! I can see the difficulties of your position. I don’t know what I’d have done in your place, so how can I judge you? I’ll be pleased to speak once more with Decius, at any rate. I admire him for his grit, his honesty and his talent for clear thinking. I look forward to seeing more of him.’

  A shadow passed across Caradoc’s face. That unfinished business continued to hang between the king and the ex-decurion, especially the direct stare that had been exchanged over the crucified body of Elphin. The questions came flooding back.

  ‘The decision to come here and meet with you was quite deliberate, my British friend. When I heard that there had been a Saxon invasion in the south, I wondered if the alliance between the southern kingdoms was still holding together. Did you know that your motley group of kings are the first rulers in Britannia to band together for mutual protection? I was curious. A few days of detour would be of little consequence to my campaign because, as you know, I can travel at speed if I must.’

  Maximus was so self-assured that Caradoc wondered at how much his Roman friend might have changed during the years of his absence.

  ‘I plan to travel to Deva initially for discussions with the local commanders in that district. From there, I’ll proceed into the north to finalise my administrative tasks and set my plans in order. There will also be a number of staffing matters to resolve, involving some necessary promotions and demotions. Then, once my problems have been solved to my satisfaction, I’ll mount an aggressive campaign in the north. The Picts have been raging throughout the north in recent years, but I believe the main reason for this sorry state of affairs can be nailed at the doors of our Roman commanders in the field. There are too many pale-arsed, flabby and talentless Romans who have come to Britannia after receiving unearned gifts from the rulers of the Western Empire. Gratian was a fool to entrust his borders to some of the most useless administrators who ever left the City of the Seven Hills, men who couldn’t find their backsides with both hands. I’ve returned to Britannia to crush the Picts once and for all, so I intend to re-establish order from the mess that prevails in the northern border regions.’

  ‘I’m pleased you thought to see me first, and I’d be a liar if I said that your fifty men hadn’t frightened the Saxons during that short moment when you were standing and watching over our clean-up of the northern invaders. They were aware that if they managed to defeat us, there was a possibility that they might have to face a full-strength Roman legion.’ Caradoc drank deeply from his leather flask and passed it on to his guest.

  Maximus raised the flask in a silent toast, and then drank sparingly.

  ‘You were doing well with your own resources, so you didn’t really need me. Fire-eaters such as Llew and Cadal bode well for your Britons in the future.’ Maximus’s lips twitched. ‘Besides, my friend, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.’

  The two older men continued to speak in companionable voices but, try as he might, Cadal realised that his eyelids were drooping. He was about to nod off to sleep when a sudden exclamation from the Roman officer roused him out of his torpor.

  ‘Damn it all! We’ve been talking for an hour or two, but I’ve still not told you the reason for stopping off to see you. Tell me, Caradoc, do I strike you as an over-imaginative man?’

  ‘Not you, Maximus! You’re not likely to be impressed by anything that you haven’t actually seen.’

  ‘Aye! And so I thought of myself. Do you believe in the truth of dreams?’

  Of all the fears and irrational concerns he might have expected from his friend, Caradoc’s list would never have held this one. At the same time, his thoughts winged away to his daughter, Endellion, who had asked a s
imilar question.

  ‘I’ve had the same dream for five years. Sometimes it afflicts me night after night without cessation. Sometimes, I won’t experience it for a month or two, but it then returns again and again. I dread sleep, because I know that my dreams will take me back to this place as surely as night follows day.’

  For the first time in his experience, Caradoc noted the sheen of sweat on the Roman’s broad forehead and the restless fingers that pleated and re-pleated the edge of the material that lined his red tunic. Caradoc decided that Maximus’s affliction might be a message from some form of spiritual power. Concerned, he explained the nature of the dreams suffered by Saraid and Endellion and watched as the Roman’s complexion paled in the light from the dwindling camp fire.

  ‘You’re not an imaginative man, Maximus, so I’d advise you to take your dream seriously. It might be best if you were to consult a priest.’

  ‘What could they do?’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to lose by sharing your concerns with a priest, and you might learn something useful.’

  Maximus reached over and squeezed the older man’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for not laughing at me, Caradoc. God knows, most of my Roman colleagues would be amused by thoughts of the mighty Maximus being brought low by night horrors. I’m happy to tell you the substance of my dream, friend, because I know you won’t laugh at my discomfort.’

  Cadal listened surreptitiously with his eyes closed and his breathing consciously slowed. Satisfied that he couldn’t be overheard, Maximus stumbled into awkward speech.

  ‘The dream starts quietly. I’m standing in an open field and thick snow is falling. Although I can’t see what’s ahead of me, the snowflakes appear to be magnified so they grow bigger and bigger, and then float down to the earth in long wavy sheets. One strikes me on the shoulder and I expect to be knocked off my feet by its size, but the huge, delicate thing simply explodes on my body with a gentle, soundless kiss. I raise my hand to shade my eyes and start to stamp through the freezing landscape. Every step I take mars the perfect snow.

  ‘My feet are cold but I cannot stop, although I passionately want to sit and rest. There is a castell in the distance, a tall fortification that seems as much Roman in style as anything else. I can hear the sea booming behind me, so I’m immediately sure that I’m somewhere in Britannia. But, to be honest, I could be anywhere. I feel a sense of anticipation and recognition that is so strong that I want to run and discover for myself the reason for this strange place.’

  Apologetically, Caradoc interrupted. ‘Are you aware of a castell near the sea that fits your description, Maximus? Surely, you must have some instinct for the existence of this place if it recurs in your dreams with such regularity.’

  ‘No . . . there are several places in Rome where castells are built on elevated expanses of land to protect their owners, and these fortifications are often found close to the sea. There are also similar strategic locations near the Rhenus River in Germania. But I truly believe my castell is somewhere along the remote western coasts of Britannia. I swore to myself that I would return to your lands and carry out a search for my Roman fortifications. I know it is here! I know it!’

  He sighed before continuing with his tale.

  ‘At any rate, I reach these huge iron gates in front of the fortification and I try to batter at them with my fists to gain entry. I’m suddenly apprehensive, but I don’t know why. My heart is beating so loudly that I can hear it in my ears. I look for my sword, but it has vanished and my horror rises even higher.

  ‘I don’t have a chance to beat on the gates for a second time. With much creaking, they open before I have raised my hand. To my left, a gatekeeper is standing, and he welcomes me with a broad smile. I remember him in so much detail that he seems more real to me than my own father. His livery is blue and very clean. Despite missing several of his teeth, this man is well kept, healthy and tidy. He raises his right hand and I notice he is wearing knitted gloves without fingers. He points across the courtyard towards the gates of the ruler’s hall.

  “Ah, Macsen Wledig!” he says. “You are expected!”

  ‘I’m surprised that he should know my British name. But, in the way of dreams, I trudge through the snow to the hall to find that the door is opening as I reach it.

  ‘Inside, I’m surrounded by soft light from the fire pit and the wall sconces. People are sitting at their ease on stools carved from solid timber and cushioned with golden cloth. The air is perfumed with the scent of flowers, so I can believe that spring has come to the winter landscape. But my waking self tells me that it’s only the dream.

  ‘Women are sitting and talking around the fire and its light plays on long curls and plaits of great complexity that are wound around their heads like crowns. Their faces and hands are rosy with warmth, while their lips and their eyes glisten with beauty. Even their dresses glow, so that I’m surrounded by nodding, brilliant faces moving in a perfumed breeze.

  ‘Then I raise my dumbstruck eyes and I see this beautiful woman. Oh, Caradoc! I have a Roman wife who has given me fine sons and daughters. And I’ll not deny that I’ve married the daughters of princes and tribal chiefs across the Roman world. Thus, we secure our borders and build treaties that endure because my tribal sons will rule these far-off kingdoms for many ages after I’m dead and gone. But I swear to you that I have never seen a face more fair, a body more voluptuous and a smile so infused with innocence that my heart almost stops, right there at the fire pit.

  ‘I am prepared to lay down my heart for her to trample on and will swear my soul to her for ever more. But, just when I am about to speak, the gatekeeper places his hand over my mouth and leads me away.

  ‘I try to struggle with him, for the gatekeeper is frail and ancient, but all the strength in my body has bled away like snow in the sun. I can still hear the women as they carol like birds in consternation as if they want me to stay, but the gatekeeper’s hands are like iron and I am whisked out to the castell gates and I am left in the falling snow.’

  Maximus paused. ‘One last detail is worth repeating, Caradoc. Eventually I waken and I am bathed in sweat. But, before I wake, the gatekeeper stares at me with pale-blue eyes veiled with milky growths that make him almost blind. But he smiles at me and speaks.

  ‘“You must find the lady and make her yours, although the wide world keeps you apart. God has decided, so your fate is sealed and, if you refuse to find her, your world will be swept away all the sooner and the sword of the barbarians will be raised over this land without hinder.”

  ‘Then he smiles at me and I awaken from my dream.’

  Caradoc considered his friend’s words. The Maximus who was sitting on his saddle to keep the cold off his rump was a man without much capacity for poetry in his soul, but his description of the castell had transfixed the Dumnonii king. But how could he reassure his friend?

  ‘Your dream is lovely and it’s full of promise, so why does it frighten you? I’ve never known you to fear anybody or anything, least of all some insubstantial thoughts that have passed through your mind in the depths of the night.’

  Maximus raised his leonine head. Under his close-cropped cap of greying hair, his dark eyes seemed haunted.

  ‘It won’t let me be! Even fair dreams can become horrific if the damned things won’t release you from their clutches. Could this dream be a message from God? Or the Old Ones whose spirits survive in the old stone monuments. I’m a plain warrior, but I have a sense that terrible things will happen if I don’t find this woman. Can you help me?’

  ‘I’d like to try, but I don’t see what I can do for you,’ Caradoc replied slowly. He tried to imagine his friend baring his heart to his colleagues and realised that Maximus was trapped by his own rank in the Roman hierarchy and the necessity to be strong and pragmatic at all times.

  ‘Would you be prepared to come into the north and visit
me in Deva after you’ve completed your task in Anderida? I know that you’ve been away from Tintagel for a whole spring and summer, but I assume that your lands have been in the safe hands of your second son during your absence. If you are prepared to undertake a journey into the north from Tintagel, you could provide me with a service that goes far beyond friendship. You would be able to search in places where Romans would be decidedly unwelcome. I’ve cut into my time by detouring here, so I intend to make the best possible speed to reach Deva. If you were prepared to visit me at my headquarters there, you could carry out a search along the western coastline of Britannia. In fact, my dream suggested that the afternoon sun was setting over the sea, so our castell could be located somewhere along the western coast of Cymru. Perhaps such a search will reveal some fortifications with young girls in residence. I understand that you have no reason to waste your time on my fancies, but I swear that I’ll be forever grateful for any help that you can give.’

  Caradoc gave a little sigh, because he had been looking forward to a pleasant winter and autumn in the peace and the remoteness of Tintagel, but he knew the challenge of this quest was already gnawing at his vitals.

  ‘I have a daughter, Maximus. She is a lovely girl, but has not yet reached the age of womanhood. I love her to distraction. Her name is Endellion and she will be furious if I arrive home, only to leave immediately on another long journey. I will bring her on my journey to Deva because she has rarely travelled, other than a visit to Venta Silurum several years ago. To take my daughter, I will have to wait until spring is near. If you are still prepared to have me carry out this quest, I will do so.’

  Maximus shrugged carelessly because the happiness of an anonymous girl-child meant nothing to him as long as Caradoc carried out his search and, hopefully, completed his quest. If Caradoc refused to depart before the arrival of spring, then Maximus would have to agree.

  ‘Agreed, my friend. You’ll know best how to handle a search such as this. You’ll also understand the terrain and the people you’re likely to meet along the way. I’ll leave all the details to you.’