The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  Her eyes glittered like viridian prisms and she seemed to stand so tall that her shadow rose up the wall like a monstrous giant. Then, as suddenly as her strength had come to her, her shoulders drooped in defeat. Desperate, she forced back the tears that would only encourage these horrible girls to laugh at her.

  Angry and upset, Endellion swept away. She hurried up to her guardsmen and fought to control her trembling lips. ‘Please, inform my father that I will wait for him outside in the cool air,’ Endellion told Rowen, who was standing beside the door. Rowen opened the door for her and followed her out into the night. Behind her, the room was suddenly silenced.

  ‘Begging your pardon, mistress, but we can’t permit you to wait alone,’ Rowen insisted, but a tearful Endellion informed him that she had no intention of returning to the inner sanctum of the forum and her antagonists.

  ‘What those women did to you wasn’t right, Highness,’ the guardsman murmured. He handed her a well-washed length of cloth, obviously a neck scarf.

  Turning away to allow Endellion some privacy, the warrior spoke from over his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll wait with you while the other guards speak with your father when he’s completed his business with the magistrate.’ He held his ground because he knew that her safety was paramount. He, for one, would not care to face Caradoc’s wrath if the king discovered his daughter had been permitted to remain alone and unattended outside the forum.

  ‘I understand your embarrassment, Lady Endellion, but your father would have the skin off our backs if you were left unprotected,’ he explained slowly. It was Endellion’s turn to flush with guilt. She brought her temper under control, blew her nose and attempted to compose herself.

  Endellion had never been treated with such spite before, so she had no idea how to combat it. Instead of tears, she damaged the fine felt of her slippers as she kicked angrily at loose stones on the forecourt while pacing from one side to the other.

  Suddenly, this beautiful city was no longer friendly or even particularly attractive. The buildings may have been constructed from finely dressed stone, but they seemed too close together. Endellion was used to the open spaces of Tintagel with its cleansing winds and the strong sucking ocean tides. Here, every nuance of her conversation was judged, so the simplest of conversations made her feel as if she was walking on thin ice. Not yet twelve, she was as yet powerless to find a witty phrase that could protect her in this undeclared class war.

  The outer doors opened and Caradoc strode forward with his two guardsmen one pace behind him. Trefor brought up the rear, with the exotic wooden box still gripped firmly in his hands. Caradoc could see her wounded face, even from the far side of the broad forecourt.

  Endellion ran straight to him and threw herself into her father’s open arms.

  Caradoc soon winkled out the details of the sordid insults directed at his daughter. As she spoke, the flood gates opened and the whole, vulgar incident tumbled out.

  ‘There, there, petal. Let’s return to the inn and climb out of these foolish clothes. We’ll depart tomorrow, because the sooner we’re out of this gilded whorehouse the better. It’s sad that you’ve been treated so knavishly by those bitches, but I won’t tolerate such rudeness.’

  They were forced to wait for their horses to be brought back from the nearby stable, so father and daughter were still in the forecourt when the magistrate hurried out to discover what was amiss. Without hesitation, Caradoc described what had occurred, in the bluntest possible terms.

  ‘Let me tell you, Felix, that I came to Aquae Sulis, and your hall, in the spirit of friendship. But my daughter, who is not yet twelve years of age, was subjected to the kind of treatment that she has been raised to reject. I had hoped to open trade negotiations between us, and to develop a pact that would ensure our mutual protection in times of attack but, apparently, your citizens want nothing to do with backward peasants from the British tribes. Terms such as country mouse and references to provincials are hardly descriptions that should be thrown at guests in any lands. Nor would I expect such talk from well-born ladies who see fit to imply that my daughter should cavort sexually with guards or servants. Is this how your daughters act in your house? There can be no justification, sir, for their manners or their actions.’

  The magistrate spluttered and tried to apologise, while Caradoc tapped his booted foot impatiently and wondered inwardly at the time it was taking for the horses to arrive.

  ‘I admit that some people in Aquae Sulis have forgotten that they live in Britannia and not in Rome,’ Felix began. ‘In fact, all of us would be judged as provincials if we returned to Rome. I cannot express how sorry I am that Endellion has been upset, but I assure you that my daughters and my wife will discover the extent of my embarrassment as soon as I am alone with them.’

  Somewhat mollified, Caradoc accepted Felix’s apology.

  ‘I’ve experienced the prejudice of some noble Romans in the past, so I’m very touchy in this regard. However, my good friend, the Comes Britanniarum, has changed some of my bias. As I told you earlier, we will be staying with Magnus Maximus in Deva for some weeks, but I anticipate we will pass through Aquae Sulis when we make our return journey to Tintagel. I hope that Endellion has a friendlier reception during her next visit.’

  As they spoke, several boys ran up from the stables with the horses in tow, so Felix’s final apology was brief and heartfelt. Caradoc left the magistrate with mixed feelings.

  Before they left the inn the next morning, a messenger arrived with a gift for Endellion as proof of the city magistrate’s regard. It was a large cloak pin set with a deep-blue stone surrounded by sea pearls. She sighed over the beautiful ornament, because she believed herself to be morally obliged to return it.

  ‘Why, petal? I believe we should let the magistrate grovel a little. I spoke with the messenger who delivered this small trinket before I gave it to you and said everything that is necessary to express your thanks. Apparently, the whole villa is buzzing with rumour and innuendo at the punishment inflicted on the females of the magistrate’s house. The gift of jewellery you received was intended for the magistrate’s wife and had travelled all the way from Ravenna in Italia. He’s struck his poisonous females in one of the few places where they can really be hurt, in their love of valuable and pretty baubles. Yes! You must accept this brooch, my girl.’

  Shortly after sunrise, the Tintagel aristocrats rode out of Aquae Sulis to rejoin the rest of their party outside the gates of the city. As they passed the market place where farmers and their labourers were setting up stalls for the start of another day of brisk trading, Caradoc spotted one of the louts who had so annoyed him the day before. As soon as he saw Dumnonii warriors, he scuttled towards the farm cart like a scalded cat.

  As Caradoc watched, the other brothers limped and shuffled into view, while painfully carrying a basket of carrots between them. Both men were battered and bruised, while the visible parts of their faces and arms were covered in networks of bruising, cuts and abrasions. As the bandage around his badly beaten face attested, the eldest brother would be unable to practise his lewd sneer for some time. His swollen, bruised and splinted arm showed further evidence of a serious fall or accident during the night. When the pair saw the Tintagel riders, they dropped the basket and scurried away as best they could into the safety of a nearby laneway.

  They didn’t look back.

  Suddenly, Caradoc’s day was decidedly brighter, so he shared a quick, knowing glance with Trefor. While the warrior’s face remained bland and impassive, he winked at his master. Justice had been done.

  The Dumnonii column wound its way through the towns of Cymru in a spirit of leisurely adventure. Only one incident rivalled their unfortunate experiences in Aquae Sulis, at least from Caradoc’s point of view.

  Endellion had visited Venta Silurum before, on the occasion of her brother’s search for a wi
fe, but she had been a child then. The soft green landscape outside the town, along with the imposing mountains in the background, appealed to the girl’s sense of privacy and her love of beauty, so it was inevitable that she would enjoy their visit to this city that serviced the Roman camp that was home to the Dracos Legion.

  For Caradoc, visiting Venta Silurum would always be a pleasant affair. He valued his friendship with his daughter-in-law Ardunn’s parents, Aelheran ap Einion and Queen Aoifi. On several occasions, Caradoc had escaped there, ostensibly to make treaties, but actually for his personal entertainment. At times, the endless carping of Tegan Eurfron drove Caradoc to search for a convenient bolthole.

  This visit had been comfortable and much had been made of Endellion’s dark beauty. The royal family were also energised by the visit, so a hunt was organised along the fringe of the impenetrable Forest of Dean to celebrate this social event.

  Under normal circumstances, the Tintagel column would have passed along the edge of the forest during the trek to Venta Silurum. But Caradoc had decided to follow the coastal road so that his cavalcade could avoid the dark wilderness that harboured all manner of beasts and dangerous outlaws. And so it was that the Dumnonii king could claim some familiarity with the terrain where the hunt would be conducted.

  To ensure the success of the day’s entertainment, the beaters had been arranged by King Aelheran, while Queen Aoifi had personally ordered an elegant repast for the guests. Against custom, the aristocratic ladies of the court had been given permission to take part in this particular hunt; however, most of the female guests refused to entertain the idea of killing any animal, least of all the pheasants with their magnificent tails or the quail that were so comical in their scurrying haste. Endellion, who was a keen fisherwoman and loved to hunt coney in the spring with a slingshot, asked her father if she could seek out a weapon and test her skills. Caradoc eventually agreed.

  The great day finally dawned. Endellion was almost ill with excitement, for this hunt was the first real occasion where she could attend a private party among her peers. She harassed her father constantly with requests to check her sturdy clothing, jewellery and hair. Her maid, a plump little girl from the south-west, was as excited as her mistress, so the girls giggled together as Endellion showed her first appreciation for younger members of the opposite sex. Caradoc bit his lip to quell the smiles that his daughter brought to him through these innocent pleasures, even as he stifled a twinge of envy when he watched the two girls admire the fine legs and shoulders of a handsome young huntsman from the Silures tribe.

  Finally, after much heartburn and nerves, Caradoc decreed that Endellion should wear her Roman cloak pin and the golden earrings that had been gifted to her on her tenth birthday. He vetoed the many rings she had jammed on every finger, by informing her that ladies never wore all their jewellery at the same time.

  ‘Only a whore or a fool wears their rings that way. One set per hand is sufficient, because this item will show off the quality of your selection. Do you understand?’

  Endellion looked down at her hands and then felt very grown up as she selected her gold thumb-ring shaped like a scaled fish.

  ‘That’s perfect, my sweet. You should also remember that ladies of quality never push themselves forward. My pretty girl doesn’t need to chatter to gain attention from young or old.’

  So, mounted on shining horses, the Tintagel party joined the other invited guests and rode at a leisurely pace towards the margins of the large, spreading forest that was a source of fascination for Endellion, who had never before seen such huge trees so close up. On this occasion, she saw fields that were awash with blue and yellow flowers in among the viridian-green grass. Birds were singing in the coppices, while farmsteads seemed newly-dipped in sunshine, scrubbed clean during the overnight showers.

  To the south, the waters of Sabrina Aest glittered in the perfect spring light. Unconsciously, Endellion began to sing in a sweet, high treble. Her song told a tale of a red vixen who hunts in the forest for food to feed her hungry cubs while the moon sinks towards the horizon. Even when she reached the final verse, where the vixen is bemoaning the loss of her mate in a sharp-toothed trap, the song continued to lift the spirits of those who heard it. The words seemed to promise that life-long love was not an impossible dream.

  As the song reached its conclusion, Endellion sat quietly in her saddle. She was lost in her thoughts when the sound of clapping hands broke her reverie. Turning awkwardly, she saw a young man sitting on a large stallion, his blue eyes warm with appreciation. She blushed, unaware that she had been overheard by another member of the hunting party, and also because this young man was attractive.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress Endellion. My intention was to praise you, not to cause you any discomfort. I’ve never heard your song before and it’s rare to enjoy a melody presented with skill and passion.’

  ‘I am disadvantaged by you, good sir, for I’m a stranger to the land of the Silures and I don’t know who you are. I know my singing voice isn’t perfect, but I do so love the old country songs that my nurse sang to me when I was a child. To be honest, I didn’t realise I was singing aloud.’

  The young man smiled engagingly, while Caradoc watched the young man’s face in an attempt to gauge his intentions.

  ‘My name is Aeron, son of Iorweth, and I was born in Caerleon. My home lies a little to the west of Venta Silurum. Caerleon is a beautiful town and my father is the lord of all he surveys, although he bends his knee to his lord, Aelheran ap Einion. My mother, Eavan, is a sister of Llew, the Dobunni king, so my father plans to send me to Corinium to learn statecraft at my kinsman’s knee. I have heard of you, Your Highness, from both my father and King Llew. They both speak of your strong arm and your unfailing sense of justice.’

  Brought into the conversation with such grace, Caradoc was disarmed for a moment, but his natural suspicions soon returned.

  ‘King Llew is a clever young man, I’ll own, but he gives me too much credit. Your kinsman is an excellent person for any young man to emulate, so your father is a wise man. Nonetheless, I am surprised that your father never sent you to King Aelheran for your tuition and training.’

  Caradoc spoke gruffly and was pleased to see the smile widen on young Aeron’s face. Gracefully, the heir of Caerleon asked the Dumnonii king to share some details of the Anderida raid, and Caradoc practically purred under Aeron’s acclaim. By the time the conversation ended, Caradoc’s misgivings had been mollified by the young man’s considerable charm. Only later did he realise that Aeron had not answered his question.

  Caradoc was so taken with Aeron that he invited the young man to ride with them, an invitation that the Caerleon heir accepted immediately. He pulled his horse aside so that he could ease it forward to ride on Endellion’s free side. So far had Caradoc’s opinion mellowed that he made no objection, telling himself that young people will always seek each other out.

  ‘I disagree with you, Mistress Endellion, when you say that your voice is impure. I would never presume to guess at your age, but I’m sure that you’re still growing. Your singing skill will continue to develop, but I believe that the most perfect and angelic voice will soon weary an audience if the singer uses perfect sound without deep feeling. I know that I felt sympathy for the vixen and her broken heart, although I doubt that foxes have souls that can be shattered.’

  Endellion smiled shyly at his compliments, unsure if he was serious or not.

  ‘Surely any creatures who can think must have souls,’ she replied with downcast eyes.

  ‘The Christian priests, including my own tutor, would tell you vehemently that Man is the only creature who was born in God’s image. In fact, for Eve’s sin, my tutor believes that women also lack souls.’

  Endellion gasped at such an idea, so she looked to her father for confirmation.

  ‘Aeron is quite correct, petal, when he
says that many men of God share this belief. They are convinced that the female sex is the source of all sin, so women were sent into the world to tempt men.’ Caradoc paused when he saw his daughter’s horrified expression. ‘Not all men of God are sensible. In fact, some are f— stupid.’

  Caradoc bit back the expletive. However, he could have sworn that the lad riding with him had grinned for a brief heartbeat.

  ‘If God is a truly loving father, he wouldn’t have created Eve with sin inside her, for her fate would have already been sealed. Why would the Lord of Hosts entrust women to bear and raise the children of the future if they were so wicked? It makes no sense.’

  ‘You are quite the little philosopher, Endellion. Your point is well argued!’ Caradoc leaned across his horse to pat her face protectively. ‘You can believe me, petal, when I say that no man will ever treat you like a sinner without a soul, regardless of whether he is a priest or a king.’

  ‘Well said, sir,’ Aeron agreed seriously. ‘I’ve argued with my tutor, Father Peter, on many occasions over his stance against the other sex. I’ve also discussed his strange views with my father, but Father Peter is adept at flattery and at hiding the worst of his prejudices. He thinks of me as a boy rather than a man, so he’s more careless of his tongue when he’s with me.’

  ‘Surely he realises that you’ll take your place as the lord one day,’ Caradoc answered.

  ‘It’ll be a long time coming. My father was betrothed when he was very young. Unlike most arranged marriages, he was captivated by my mother on sight. I was born when he was only sixteen, so he’s only thirty-two now. He insists he’s at the peak of his strength, and I don’t deny it. My father is a remarkable man.’

  Endellion, who had received a liberal education at Caradoc’s behest, calculated that Aeron was only a few years older than she was and fast entering adulthood.