by M. K. Hume
As Fortuna would have it, Endellion never had an opportunity to hunt, but she hardly felt any lack in her day. Once the hunting party had reached the outer edges of the Forest of Dean, villagers were waiting to serve as beaters and to help raise the pavilions that had been brought in a wagon for the comfort of the ladies. Sturdy blankets were laid on the bare earth, folding stools were unpacked and soon servants carrying large wicker baskets were presenting a feast sufficient to feed a whole village.
The men ate swiftly and with gusto, while the beaters headed out into the tangled, wild coppices that grew on the edges of the forest. A mood of gaiety and celebration prevailed and every man present felt his blood rise in response to the coming hunt.
The ladies’ eyes shone at this variation from their normal routines and, although their work baskets had been brought with them in the supply wagon, they were already enjoying the conversations of like-minded women who saw each other only rarely. Soon, in a flurry of giggles and chatter, needles and thread were plied busily in prosaic mending, or in fashioning small items of clothing.
Endellion was welcomed among their ranks, although she possessed nothing to keep her fingers busy, but Queen Aoifi had brought a serving maid with her who was a noted player of the six-stringed harp, while one of the ladies from Magnis in the misty mountains drew out a simple reed pipe. The queen asked for entertainment as the fruit juices and the wines of the south were passed around.
Then, with a wicked smile, Aeron informed the gathered ladies that Endellion knew many of the old songs from the distant past. Once again, Endellion found herself flushing hotly and attempting to explain that she was far from expert.
‘Nonsense, child! I sound like a crow when I try to sing and most of my friends lack any knowledge of the old songs, even if they have pleasant voices,’ the queen explained in a no-nonsense fashion. ‘We’ll overlook any deficiencies in your performance if you’ll be kind enough to entertain us.’ A chorus of pleas followed from the ladies present, so Endellion mutely appealed to Aeron for assistance.
‘Don’t look to me, fair mistress,’ Aeron answered with a charming smile. ‘I think you sing very well, as I’ve repeated several times. Besides, I’ll be out on the hunt, trying hard to kill something. I was just about to ask you to give me a token for good luck, as I’m not really expert on the hunting field.’
Endellion, embarrassed by the knowing smiles of the queen and her ladies, hastily rifled through her waist pouch in order to find something appropriate. All she could find was a plain black band of plaited leather that she used to tie back her hair when she was riding.
She held it out with an apologetic shrug. ‘It’s all I have, but it might bring you luck.’
With an ostentatious sweep of his arms, Aeron pulled back his russet hair and tied it with the band so that only the plaits at his forehead could swing free. ‘Your token convinces me that I can now kill a boar or two in your honour, Mistress Endellion.’ The bow he gave her was only slightly less than the obeisance he was honour bound to give to the queen. The women tittered in amusement.
As Aeron swung onto the back of his horse, he saw a simple tambour thrust into Endellion’s hands by one of the women. Then she struck the tight hide with her knuckles to set the beat, and he heard her voice rise in the now-familiar tune about the hunting fox. He laughed with the pleasure of the day and the joy of being young.
Then he rode away in an exuberant trot that sent clods of earth flying from the hooves of his stallion. The sound of Endellion’s voice followed him, light, airy and full of a peculiar female longing that nestled somewhere near his heart.
CHAPTER XVI
Of Armoured Boots and Fair Women
Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners.
The Song of Solomon, 10:10
‘Endellion! Endellion! What am I to do with you?’ Caradoc asked himself as his daughter lifted her woebegone face into the teeth of a light rain. They rode along a dilapidated track leading to the north, having left Venta Silurum, Caerleon and Caer Fyrddin behind them. Thus far, there had been no sign of the Castell of Maidens, so his daughter was driving him demented as she pined for a pair of fine blue eyes and a mane of russet curls.
‘I never had a chance to say goodbye to Master Aeron . . . and I don’t even know if he survived his wound.’ The last words were wailed and were followed by a bout of hiccups, as she tried to swallow her tears.
‘The lad wasn’t badly hurt,’ Caradoc replied gently. ‘Especially when you consider that he jumped onto the back of an enraged boar that had its mind set on killing King Aelheran who, I’ve belatedly discovered, happens to be his uncle. The lad has more courage than sense, but he only sustained a broken arm and the odd scrape and cut. He was a very lucky young man, so you don’t need to maunder on as if he was close to death.
‘Still, young Aeron did ask me to pass his apologies on to you. He was unable to return your lucky token, and he was quite vociferous in his belief that your charm saved his life. I had no idea what the boy was babbling about, but his obvious regard for you should make you feel a little less miserable.’
‘I only gave him an old hair tie, because I had nothing that was more suitable. What will he think of me?’ She hardly knew the young Silures nobleman. They had spoken for barely half an hour, yet Endellion was heart-broken by his absence.
Impatient with his daughter, Caradoc spat onto the verge of the roadway. Endellion was showing far too much partiality for this particular youth, a lad who might not reciprocate her feelings. The king leaned across the saddle of his horse to offer comfort but, if he had had his way, he would have preferred to shake her out of her misery.
‘Even his mother didn’t know how badly he’d been hurt. She asked me,’ Endellion sobbed, wiping her tear-streaked face on her sleeve. Caradoc began to accept that this shared journey might be the last time he enjoyed any close contact with her. What could he say if Aeron ap Iorweth came to him with an offer of marriage for Endellion? The whelp’s birth was no impediment. He was well placed to rule the Silures tribe through his father’s status or, if Llew should die without issue, he could easily become king of the Dobunni through his mother’s line. No, Aeron’s birth was impeccable and the boy was everything he could ask for in a son-by-marriage.
‘Damn the boy! Life was so much simpler before we met him.’
‘You’re being unfair, Father. I thought you liked Aeron?’
‘I do! But you’ve only spent less than an hour in his company. You’re far too young to have developed any affection for him. Besides, he’s a young man rather than a boy.’
‘What does that mean?’ Endellion countered, her tears forgotten as the conversation took on a more adult tone.
‘I’m afraid that young men fall in love very easily. Don’t pout, petal. Aeron may be taken with you now, but his world is full of beautiful young women who are eager to attract such an eligible suitor. I’d not have your heart broken by a lad who is trying to take advantage of your innocence.’
‘He’s made no promises to me, Father,’ Endellion said slowly. ‘So I have no hold over him. However, some young people are capable of constancy, even men.’
‘Hmmph!’ Caradoc cleared his throat. ‘I’ve seen many love matches and few remain deliciously happy. By the same token, many arranged marriages work reasonably well. In fact, my dear, we sometimes find we can be much happier if our heart isn’t engaged by that of another.’
Father and daughter rode on in a frosty silence. Endellion had dried her eyes and was staring rigidly at the path ahead of her horse, chewing over her father’s words and showing the first real signs of doubt over her feelings. Caradoc felt his heart melt. He relented, for she was far too young to be disillusioned by love.
‘The lad did ask if he would be permitted to see you, when he recovers
from his wounds. He’s aware that he’s too young to make serious choices about his future, but he has expressed a desire to become acquainted with your family and yourself.’ As Caradoc spoke, Endellion’s face broke into a glowing smile.
‘Father . . .’ she began, but Caradoc raised one hand to silence her slew of questions.
‘I’ve invited him to visit Tintagel, once he’s in good health and has taken up his position in Corinium. I told him he can come if he can be spared from his duties, and if he gains his father’s approval. Does that news please you, petal?’
Endellion simply nodded, but this dull, grey day was suddenly brighter.
Caradoc had chosen not to mention Maximus’s dream to Endellion for he was certain that the Comes Britanniarum would resent a young girl of eleven or twelve summers knowing the details of his intimate secrets.
Instead he had told her that the Roman had asked him to carry out a survey of fortresses along the western coast of Britannia and to provide an assessment of their effectiveness if the Picts and Hibernians were to unite and initiate a determined attack.
So, after a pleasant journey along the spectacular coastal road that took the travellers to Caer Fyrddin, they had been forced to forsake the coastline in order to reach Pennal on the western coast. There was only one negotiable track, which took them through remote and difficult terrain. Endellion had marvelled at the never-ending wonders of nature that seemed to appear before them at every turn.
‘Now! Can we concentrate on the journey that lies ahead of us, daughter? The next major town we visit is Pennal, so we should arrive there in a few days. It lies on an inlet on the western coast of Cymru and I’ve been told that it’s the site of a Roman fortress. The town is very small, apart from the fortress which only has a token force, now that so many troops have marched away to fight in the north.’
From the first days of their sojourn in Cymru, father and daughter had been awe-struck by the unusual features of this wild land. Caradoc had been amazed at the tidal surges that engulfed the great river at the very end of Sabrina Aest, a venerable and astonishing body of water. Now, at the furthest end of Sabrina Aest, which was visible from atop the first line of tall hills that loomed over Caer Fyrddin and the waters, this cleft in the body of Britannia was both beautiful and frightening.
Then, as they followed the road leading into the north, they discovered that the treeless hills were golden with gorse and blue-violet with heather. They had travelled without seeing another living soul for over half a day, yet sheep clung to the hillsides in quaint brown and white clusters. They had spied an occasional shepherd’s hut from the road, but the bleak landscape brooded over the track. The land was silent and very, very empty.
Huge stones loomed out of the spring mists. These monuments weren’t as impressive as the monoliths of the Giant’s Dance but were still drenched with that something that raised the hairs on Caradoc’s neck and sent Endellion’s hair crackling and glittering with their power. In circles, rows, or ominously alone, these stones seemed to hide in every dell, as if they sought coolness from the hot sun. They sprouted out of meadows like mushrooms, they waited above headlands like sentinels that pointed towards the Pole Star and swirled with a superstition that could send maddened men running towards the cliffs and the black sea below. Cymru was filled with inexplicable wonder.
The Tintagel column was following a road into the north that led them to a range of mountains glowering over them. The Roman road was still holding together, but Caradoc winced to see the signs of decay nibbling away at its edges. The deterioration in maintenance along the thoroughfare pointed to a deeper malaise that was beginning to appear in the Roman provinces. Maximus had warned his friend that the Western Empire was struggling, decaying at the centre from greed, ennui and viciousness, while younger and more vigorous tribes were waiting on the fringes to feast on Rome’s leavings. Sooner rather than later, the sporadic attacks on Rome’s possessions would turn into waves of ravening savages screaming for Roman blood.
‘And what will happen to us?’ Caradoc asked into a stiff wind. Ahead of him, Endellion missed his despairing comment. He bit on his lip. Why spoil her innocent pleasure with his old man’s fears?
But my daughter may need to survive the death of an empire. And what will happen to her children? Will she lose sons to the collapse of the Roman Dream?
‘All things die!’ His clever mind came to the inevitable end of all philosophies. ‘The weak give way to the strong and the young replace the old. I had hoped to die in the peace and harmony where I spent my youth.’
Endellion was waiting for him with the sun behind her. Somehow, the road had made a gradual turn and he hadn’t realised the change of direction. His daughter was now a silhouette against a sun that was sliding down towards the sea.
Caradoc shook his head to clear it, then rode towards his daughter and the black shape of her mounted figure became clearer. The green shade of her eyes seemed even deeper when he reached her and the light inside them seemed to crackle with something he didn’t understand. Then, behind her, Caradoc could see a wide sweep of sea below them. Its colour, too, was a deep grey-green, with a border of black weed that made a clear line between the earth and the sea.
Endellion shook her head like a young horse and her hair flew out from her shoulders. Her eyes were strange and fey.
‘The strangest thing has just happened, Father. I fell asleep in the saddle.’
‘What are you talking about, Endellion?’ She failed to answer. Father and daughter rode down the slow, steep slope to the sea and a small fishing village that hunkered on the very edge of the land.
She extended her left hand and Caradoc sensed that she wanted him to hold it between his own scarred palms. He obliged her, so she clutched at his right hand as if it was her lifeline.
‘I’ve occasionally fallen asleep in the saddle, especially if I’ve become exhausted after a long battle or I’ve been weak from loss of blood.’ Caradoc laughed. ‘Trefor can sleep almost anywhere. I’ve seen him fall asleep on bare earth, in snow and in sleet. I can swear that I once saw him doze all night in the fork of a tall tree. Why shouldn’t you fall asleep if you’re tired?’
‘But I had the dream again, Father,’ Endellion whispered fearfully.
Caradoc’s heart sank. His daughter hadn’t been troubled by night terrors for nearly six years and he had hoped that she had outlived her strange aberration. He looked at her suspiciously. Had she experienced that first rush of moon-blood that marked her entry into womanhood, and not told him?
Red-faced and embarrassed, he asked his daughter the intimate question, while wishing that Tegan Eurfron or Ardunn were here to handle this awkward intrusion. Endellion blushed as hotly as he did, but she answered him fairly. She admitted asking the Silures queen for advice when the first gouts of dark blood had come, for she was terrified that she might be dying from some unknown illness.
‘Why didn’t you come to me, petal? We could have discussed this matter together.’
She shrugged. She lacked the words to explain the secret, mortifying horror that she had felt as she realised the implications of her step into adulthood. Oh, how she wished that she was still a little girl and could remain ignorant of her body’s ebbs and flows.
She diverted the awkward conversation towards shallower channels. Like her father, she had heard that priestesses had often-times found their power after womanhood came upon them and blanched at the thought.
‘I dreamed that a wagon came down this road, heading for Caer Fyrddin. A woman was holding the reins, Father, but she wasn’t a peasant. She was wearing a strange, silver necklace and she was frightened of something. I knew that this was one of those dreams where I was the watcher and no one could see me, so I rode as close as I could to the wagon.’
‘What else did you see? Was the wagon alone on the road? Are you sure it was here?’
‘Aye, Father. That’s why it was all so strange. There were several wagons, accompanied by mounted servants and a warrior guard, so the woman was someone important. She had a young girl with her. The young girl was pregnant, Father, and she was very, very angry with someone or something. I could see that she was furious with her mother, her world and all thoughts of happiness. It was as if I could see inside her head and what I saw there was murderous and maddened. Then I woke.’
‘It’s not the dream that’s frightened you then?’
Endellion shook her head and her father could tell that she was herself again, as if by sharing the substance of her vision, she was able to banish the things she had seen into the mists of memory.
‘Forget the dream, petal. A long time ago, I was told by one wise woman that time sometimes ripples like a ribbon that is blowing in the wind. Past, present and future are very close together for an instant when this happens. Perhaps you dreamed something that has happened, or is yet to happen at some time in the distant future. I cannot tell. I’m a plain man, and I’m not used to the world beyond us. But I know that your mother could sometimes see things that would come to pass. I can’t pretend to understand your dreams, darling, but I want you to promise me that you’ll speak to no person, other than me, about any night terrors that visit you, for the ignorant may decide you’re possessed by a demon.’
Endellion’s eyes were very wide. ‘Am I going mad, Father? Am I a witch and accursed by God?’
‘No! Never! You just have a special way of seeing life on some occasions, that’s all. But others might not understand, so we’ll keep your dreams as a secret between us.’
Endellion nodded happily, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her father was the fountainhead of all wisdom, so she accepted his explanations and was comforted. She leaned across and kissed his leathery cheeks with a sweetness that made his mouth dry. She smelled of flowers and sunshine, and all light seemed to be trapped inside her midnight hair.