by M. K. Hume
The entire court at Venta Belgarum was waiting now. Winter came and the short days dragged until they seemed as long as any in midsummer. When winter was at its coldest, Elen went into labour and the midwives were called. After Caradoc’s long search to find her, the dreams, the portents and the changes that had embraced Britannia, the young queen’s death was an anticlimax. Though Maximus sent for an army surgeon from Londinium, even the fastest horses were defeated by the distance between Venta Belgarum and the city on the Tamesis River.
When the hard-faced Roman physician arrived, Elen had drawn her last breath some hours earlier, having slid gratefully into death from exhaustion and haemorrhage. With Caradoc holding Elen’s hand, the inconsolable Bregeen had used a small sharp knife to slice the birth canal open so she could draw the babe from her mother’s body before both mother and child perished.
Maximus had insisted that Elen’s screams would be such that he couldn’t bear to listen, so Elen was forced to face her travails alone. Out of pity, Caradoc allowed himself to stand in Maximus’s stead.
Caradoc looked down at the large baby girl, who was veiled in her mother’s blood, and he prayed sincerely that this child would transcend her ugly beginnings. Elen now seemed less flesh than the wooden carvings of the Madonna in the church beside the town square – just as she had been since her wedding day.
Maximus entered the room as the babe was being cleansed by the servant. He was followed by Kynan, who made a guttural exclamation when he saw that his sister was awash in her own blood and sweat. For a short moment, the room was silent except for the sound of a slow drip of blood from the saturated pallet. Then Maximus came back to his senses as a mental door clanged shut inside his head, and his face set in an impassive expression.
‘And the babe?’
‘A girl-child, Maximus! She is very strong and vigorous, although this good woman was forced to pluck her from Elen’s dead body to save the babe’s life.’ Caradoc’s voice and expression reflected his weary acceptance of Fortuna’s unfairness.
‘You’re here, Caradoc? I didn’t realise that Elen was an intimate of yours. My, you do get around, don’t you?’ Caradoc’s hackles rose.
‘I resent your implications, Maximus. Elen was lonely and frightened about her coming ordeal. She believed our friendship wouldn’t be compromised if she asked me for some advice about children in the presence of her servants.’
Caradoc’s gaze was fixed on the Roman’s face; Maximus broke eye contact first.
‘I’m sorry, friend, but most men would have thought as I did, if only for a short moment. I’m sorry that I wasn’t present for the birth of my child, but time doesn’t stop for me. The army has asked me to take the purple and I’ve accepted their offer. We sail from Londinium in two weeks.’
Caradoc was forced to bow deeply to hide the anger that flashed through his eyes. Saraid’s warnings were becoming reality; even the immature Elen had made an accurate assessment of the Roman’s character.
‘I fear I’m too old to join you, but I’ll come to Londinium to speed your departure. Young Aeron is dear to my daughter, so I’d ask that you do your best to avoid getting him killed.’ This weak attempt at humour brought a fleeting smile from Maximus.
‘Aye, Caradoc, I acknowledge your years, but a troop of Dumnonii warriors has volunteered to serve with me in Gaul. Your assistance is needed here in Britannia, where you will be performing matters of state for me.’
He turned to face Elen’s servant.
‘Woman?’ Maximus shouted at Bregeen, who jumped nervously.
She hurried towards him with the freshly swaddled baby cradled in her arms. ‘How may I help you, my lord?’
‘Give me my daughter,’ Maximus demanded, as he took the child from the nurse and laid her on a part of the bed that wasn’t stained with blood. After unwrapping her, he carefully examined her wriggling body. Then, satisfied, he rewrapped her with the efficiency of an experienced parent and returned her to Bregeen as the baby began to wail.
‘She will join the family of God on Sunday. Her name will be Severa, for my maternal grandmother.
‘When I am gone, I propose to leave the running of Britannia in the hands of two regents. King Meriadoc must be one of them in honour of his granddaughter, if only in name. I doubt that the king will leave his castell of wood and survive even a short journey.’
Caradoc nodded, although he failed to see the logic in this appointment.
‘I need safe hands to care for my realm and my daughter during my protracted absence. What safer hands can there be than those of King Caradoc, a man recognised as the most competent ruler in Britannia? When I return, I will find everything as it should be and, in return, I’ll ensure that your Aeron remains safe.’
Caradoc protested. He was too old, too weary and unwilling to spend his last years away from his beloved Tintagel while caring for another man’s daughter. But Maximus refused to listen. He countered each argument as if he was planning a war and, eventually, Caradoc ran out of excuses.
As his master had planned, Caradoc was now the virtual High King of Britannia. He might not wear the crown, but he would be wholly responsible for the safety of the isles until Maximus returned.
That is, if Fortuna permitted Maximus to return.
CHAPTER XIX
THE EMPEROR OF THE WEST
Whom the gods love dies young.
Menander, Dis Exapaton, fragment
Londinium crawled with traders, flocking to vessels of all sizes as they manoeuvred up the tidal Tamesis River, a brown, turgid flood that was too deep and too wide to be easily forded. Roman engineers had built a simple wooden bridge close to the walled fortress that had been laid out in the familiar rectangle, with four gates pointing to the north, south, east and west. A large island in the centre of the Tamesis was a hive of activity around the last of the supply and war galleys, and the workshops that lived off the maintenance of these vessels. A system of pulleys drew clean water from deep underground, for who could trust the many streams that fed the main watercourse? These streams were bordered by thick, tidal ooze, exposed daily, that was carefully explored by the poor for any largesse that the river might bring. Reeds choked many of the watercourses and those close to several of the British villages were fouled by discarded rubbish in the mud, derelict timber and crushed vegetation. Fortunately, winter had frozen the smaller watercourses and the insects of summer temporarily vanished with the intermittent snow and cold winds.
The landscape was flat and deceptively gentle, but solid Roman buildings created a sense of order in a place that had few natural advantages, except for the remarkable river. The sea was some distance downstream, but large seagulls flew in each morning to feast on the various middens, sitting in neat rows on any fences until strangers passed by their feeding grounds.
Caradoc stared at the cobbled streets which, blessedly, kept his feet out of the mud. Somehow, he had expected more of the largest of Rome’s settlements in Britannia. The town had an unfinished appearance for all that it possessed all the comforts of civilised life, such as baths, an amphitheatre and communal fountains. There were few administrative buildings of note, because Verulamium, a nearby settlement to the north, was the town where the public service and the bureaucracy had been established. Londinium was a trading and communications centre and all the roads in the land led to her busy heart. Some smaller, native townships also clustered around the skirts of the town, and a fortress that was no longer fully manned.
Maximus had requisitioned the lion’s share of the soldiers and supplies from the garrisons that made up the Roman presence in Britannia. The British kings had been required to supplement these forces with a large contingent of young warriors, along with all the weapons, horses and other accoutrements needed to maintain them through a long and gruelling campaign. Londinium was bursting at the seams as the galleys were loaded
and quickly despatched to make the short dash across the Litus Saxonicum to Gesoriacum. Caradoc looked on with regret. Would the legions ever return? Or would this expedition to the continent mark the beginnings of the non-Roman Britannia that was bound to come?
Endellion had insisted on accompanying her father, for she feared that Aeron might never return. Two years had wrought many changes in her appearance, and she now had a natural sophistication that many young girls lacked. She had also taken to staining her lips a deep pomegranate red, although Caradoc objected to this show of vanity.
‘I have a pale complexion, Father, so I simply add to what God provides,’ she responded.
Walking with Endellion was always an unnerving experience for Caradoc. Other older men stared at him with drooling envy and tried to fathom how such an ancient could attract such a beautiful young woman, while younger men stared at Endellion, undressed her with their eyes and tried to understand what she could possibly see in such an elderly man.
Now, Caradoc and Endellion stood among a large crowd of well-wishers waiting for one last glimpse of their loved ones as they embarked. The river bank was packed with crying mothers, wives, lovers and children, while still more parents pressed gifts upon their sons or strung flowers in chains around their necks or the heads of their kinsmen. Nor were the Romans ignored, for many had British wives and children.
Suddenly, Aeron appeared on the bank and then eased his way politely through the crowd until he reached Endellion’s side.
‘My lord, may I speak with Endellion before I’m forced to embark?’
Caradoc nodded and moved back a little way to give the young people an illusion of privacy. Aeron lost no favour in Caradoc’s eyes by asking the king’s permission to speak with his daughter. On the contrary, Aeron always treated his elders with respect, whether they were powerful or not. The thought of such a brave and promising young man dying to further Maximus’s ambitions was a greater source of annoyance to the Dumnonii king than he could readily explain.
Caradoc tried hard to ignore the whispered words between the young lovers, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘See, Endellion. My master has surrounded himself with a huge army so, as his scribe, I’ll be with him at all times. I’ll be perfectly safe while I’m performing this role! I doubt that I’ll even be allowed to hold a sword,’ Aeron explained. He was trying his best to avoid touching Endellion, although her closeness was intoxicating. Her perfume made his head spin.
‘The emperor will have far more men than Maximus, so I’m afraid that none of you will return to Britannia,’ Endellion whispered as slow tears ran down her face. ‘You must promise me that you’ll take care.’
Aeron took Endellion’s hand, as he tried very hard not to overstep the bounds and compromise her. He kissed her soft palm and breathed in the scent of her body.
‘I promise that I will return, Endellion. I swear on the life of my mother that I’ll return to you, and then I’ll beg King Caradoc for permission to marry you.’
As her eyes filled with tears, Endellion threw her arms around his neck, prompting Caradoc to take half a step forward before he stopped himself. He realised that other couples were embracing around them, so no one would notice his daughter’s behaviour.
Don’t be cruel, Caradoc, a small voice told him from within. She may never see him again. The voice sounded so much like Saraid’s throaty contralto that Caradoc felt his lips tighten. In unspoken approval of their embrace, he turned away from the young couple to give them some privacy.
‘I shouldn’t be touching you,’ Aeron whispered into Endellion’s hair.
‘I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m hand-fasted to you forever, Aeron,’ Endellion told him calmly. ‘If you should be killed, I will die unwed. I love you, now and forever.’
‘Please, Endellion. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to me and you spoiled your life over a memory.’ Despite his words, Aeron held her even tighter as if he could breach her skin, and her flesh, to become one with her.
She covered his mouth with hers. In a chaste but passionate embrace, they stood in their own private silence until the sound of brazen horns called the troops to their boats.
‘It’s time to go, son. Release him, Endellion. Don’t make his departure harder for him than it already is. Chin up, girl, because you’re the daughter of a king.’
Caradoc took Aeron’s hand and felt the young man’s vitality surge through his blood.
‘Take care of yourself, my boy! If you should fall, Endellion will travel to Hades to bring you back to this earth, just like the lovers in the old legends. Besides, my daughter will keep her word on her future intentions and I am relying on you to give me grandsons.’
‘Aye, my lord, for that is also my intention. I ask you to take good care of Endellion, for she’s not as strong as she thinks she is. I’ll send a report to you in Venta Belgarum whenever a courier is available to bring messages back to you.’
Then, with lagging steps, Aeron joined the other men on the wharf who were waiting for the small boats that would take them out to the galleys that were holding position in the channel. The tide had turned, so it was time to go.
Father and daughter stood quietly and watched for the whole afternoon as the boats carrying the Roman expeditionary force slipped down the Tamesis in ragged formations. Like gulls at rest on the tidal flow, the galleys slid along the soupy, brown flood along whose river banks oak trees threw out green flags of new growth. Caradoc was overcome with sadness as he watched the departure of the flower of Britannia’s young men, the new blood that would replenish the land; Maximus was taking the hopes of Britannia with him on his ambitious journey.
Caradoc would still have strong sons by his side, for both Cadal and Cadoc had acceded to their father’s wishes and remained at their posts in Tintagel. But tribe after tribe had been deserted by virile young men who sought adventure, spoils and power with the charismatic figure of Magnus Maximus.
As the sun set in the west, the last of the galleys slid around the great turn in the river as it headed out to the open sea. Then darkness and distance stole away their last views of those stately vessels. Endellion began to cry in earnest, so all her father could do was hug her tightly and remind her that he was still the rock on which her hopes were built.
To Caradoc
King of the Dumnonii tribe, and Regent of Britannia
Hail and Blessings
With the approval of my master, Magnus Maximus, I write to you to advise you of the success of the united forces of Britannia in the fields of Gaul.
We landed just south of Gesoriacum and were immediately welcomed by troops from the army of Emperor Gratian who had deserted the emperor. These warriors offered their services to Magnus Maximus in order to swell our ranks. Buoyed by this influx of numbers, Maximus moved with his usual speed to strike deeply into Gaul as he headed towards Parisii.
As we passed through the province of Belgica, the population welcomed us as we marched, while towns such as Samarobriva opened their gates to us without incident.
I have been kept busy recording every detail of our advance because Maximus expects that he will prevail and will become the Emperor of the West. He has told me on numerous occasions that he has been selected by God to save the Roman Empire and its people. He becomes more god-like with every milestone that we pass, but I can attest to his sincerity. I never noticed before that your friend was over-religious, but perhaps he can feel that circumstances are massing behind him.
We move quickly now. Maximus has promoted a man from the ranks to take his place with the cataphractarii. He is called Andragathius and this soldier is the new master of horse. In your absence, Maximus puts much faith in him and often discusses strategy with him. I fear my lord makes a mistake, for Andragathius is hot-headed. But, for the moment, he says what Maximus wants to hear.
One final matter of interest will amuse you, my lord. My master has adopted the nomen of Flavius to celebrate his elevation to the rank of emperor. His men insisted and he agreed – with some pleasure.
I beg you to give my regards to Endellion and I ask you to assure her that I continue to take good care of my health. I hope you are also in good spirits and your family continues to flourish.
I remain your most loyal servant,
Aeron ap Iorweth
Secretary to Flavius Magnus Maximus
Caradoc was much amused by Aeron’s sharp and sardonic inclusion. He could imagine the boy’s voice as he drily proclaimed that Maximus had placated his troops by reluctantly adopting the nomen of Emperor of the Western Empire. Caradoc continued to chuckle and, eventually, his daughter came to him with a plea to read Aeron’s missive, which she afterwards refused to return.
Six months passed and very little happened. Caradoc tended to worry and pace the forecourt at Venta Belgarum, while the servants and guards who inhabited the palace would laugh kindly at Caradoc’s careworn face and his inability to keep still; but they appreciated his halls of justice where he dispensed the law to arguing farmers, citizens and warriors with fairness and blunt toughness.
Within months, Magnus Maximus had become a rather exciting memory, a dream, as was the time before the Roman when King Gwaun had judged their petty squabbles. These were the days of the Dumnonii king and the peasants hoped his benevolent rule would never end.
Across the Litus Saxonicum, deep into the landscape, the warmer months were beginning to fade and Maximus realised his army must reach Parisii and defeat Gratian before the onset of the coming winter. The great forests of the province had been cut down for lumber during the time of Caesar, but pockets remained, as dense as in primeval times, so an army could surround Maximus and crush his fledgling force before he knew they were there. The army that had left Britannia had seemed huge at the time, but in these vast plains, cut by farms and long-civilised by the Romans, their numbers were dwarfed by the surrounding terrain. For a short moment, Maximus felt overwhelmed and lost sight of the throne of Rome at the end of his journey. The thread of his life trembled.